It’s ba-ack…

don’t let your guard down
but stop blaming yourself, too
it’s hard to gestate

The short story is: the bleeding is back. But the doc says everything is a-OK and Mystery Baby is doing just fine.

The long story is: WTF? I was minding my own business, getting the wee-er one to take a nap when WHUSH, a tsunami of blood ushers forth instant panic and a really big mess. The really Twilight Zone part of it all is that I was wearing the same outfit I had on the first time this happened. Not only that, but the morning had been eerily similar. Nothing, of course, that I can really attribute to the bleeding. I mean, I didn’t spend both days lifting cars and pulling semi-trucks with a harness. But still. A little creepy.

So there’s the WHUSH. And this time was not like last time. This time was like a horror show murder scene. Like Holy Shit I’m hemorrhaging All Over My Bathroom Floor While My Baby Cries In Her Room, What Is This, A Fucking Lifetime Movie? kind of scene. At one point, the nurse I was talking to on the phone was conferring with a passel of other nurses about whether or not I could wait the 30 minutes for my husband to rush home and take me to the ER, or if I should call an ambulance. They were leaning towards ambulance, but I waited.

He got home, we took the wee-er one to a friend’s house (my friend also ended up picking the wee one up from school – his reaction? "This is not an ordinary day!") and then we went to the ER. In a very serendipitous event, one of the triage nurses, also named Kari (but spelled differently) was 16 weeks pregnant and had just gone through this exact same thing two weeks earlier. So she sped us back there and gave me a room really fast.

Then, IV, tests, doppler, ultrasound… everything looked and sounded perfect. There was absolutely no evidence of any reason for the bleeding. Complete mystery why my bathroom floor looks like someone was shot in there.

So I was sent home, with instructions to come back if it got worse. That’s when the cramps started. Big, mean, wraparound contraction-y cramps. So I took some albuterol (which helped, even if it was a placebo thing), and sweated out the night.

This morning I went in to see my regular OB and, again, everything is hunky dory, other than the fact that I still haven’t stopped bleeding. His theory, confirmed by the ultrasound, is that the placenta is covering just a bit of my cervix. So he says any "moderate movement" jostles the shit out of that ornery thing and causes bleeding. Seriously, though, the only moderate movement I do is walking upstairs and carrying the wee-er one. Ugh. But that’s the best anyone can guess as to what’s the what with this stupid, terrifying, awful bleeding mess.

So my mom is here. And I am in my chair. And I am reading Un Lun Dun (by China Meiville – very excellent). And I am trying not to panic or otherwise freak out. It seems like whenever I am ready to shop for minivans or dig out my maternity clothes something like this happens to remind me that maybe I shouldn’t plan too far ahead. It’s scary and I don’t like it.

This was the longest post ever, but it makes me feel better to throw it out to the interwebs, let the Universe gobble it up, and greedily covet the warm wishes of others. It really is strangely comforting to do those things. And it also takes up time so that I am not tempted to watch Dr. Phil.

Elephants. They are sitting on my face.

pressure release valve
not behind ear or up my nose
implosion begins

I am sitting here possibly dying of a one-two sucker punch made up of bronchitis and a sinus thing. It’s only been since Wednesday night that I’ve felt like crap, but it seems to be getting worse. So I am on the couch, deliriously watching NASCAR for the first time and indiscriminately cursing under my breath every time I cough. For every hack I have, new parts of me hurt. How does coughing make the backs of your knees hurt? I don’t know, but it does.

Also, I am not taking my medicine, so I should probably stop complaining. But here is what the doctor said when she prescribed the Amoxicillan: This probably won’t work. You might need something stronger, but because you’re pregnant, let’s not upset your stomach anymore than it is already.

I appreciate her honesty. However, I wonder if any drugs would help. I mean, there weren’t any tests done to see if this is viral or bacterial – and the handout she gave me said bronchitis can be either one. And since I’m not spewing anything green, I’m figuring this is something I’m just going to have to wait out, as fun as that sounds.

When I was pregnant with the wee-er one I had some similar ailment and I took the abx like a good girl. You know what I got in return? A yeast infection ON MY TONGUE. Yes. It’s just as horrible as it sounds.

So I am sick and complain-y and blogging about gross things and I am sorry. There are lots of crashes in the NASCAR race, though, and that makes me kind of happy.


railroad spikes in ears
carving out my eye with spoon
more fun than Star Trek

I would like to take a moment to pause from my usual whining about feeling sick and panicking about Mystery Baby and general freaking out about how the wee-er one treats me like an abusive boyfriend treats his girlfriend (thanks to Tina Fey for that analogy).

I want to pause so that I can tell you how much, how incredibly, palpably much I HATE STAR TREK ENTERPRISE. The other Star Treks? Eh, I could take ’em or leave ’em. The Next Generation wasn’t too bad and I’ve been known to watch Janeway kick some ass late at night. But holy shit, Enterprise? With Scott Bakula? IT MAKES ME CRAZY. It is SO BAD. I mean, it’s so bad you can’t even make fun of it. It’s so bad it offends me that the Star Trek creators thought they could get away with it. It’s so bad that the idea that the Star Trek creators DID get away with it makes me want to hunt them down and strap them to chairs and force them to watch this poopy crap non-stop until they admit they took advantage of hapless Trekkies everywhere.

My husband, of course, loves this show. He watches it all the time. It is all over the TiVo, like a plague of sores that won’t heal.

Now, I am not a person to attack TV. I love TV. Even bad TV. Farmer Wants a Wife? Stupid, kind of offensive, great fodder for The Soup, and whatever. Tila Tequila, or whoever she is? Don’t care. But this shit? This Enterprise show? It makes me hate people. It makes me (gasp!) hate TV.

Couldn’t. Hate. It. More.

And it’s on right now. So I am listening to the Dead Milkmen and grimacing and wondering how my husband can stand this show. How can he stand it? HOW? It is a mystery. A mystery wrapped in an enigma, swallowed by a giant space horse and crapped out all over my TV screen.

filling them in….

happiness all round
let’s hope the sentiment lasts
these kids are so great

Yesterday, we told the kids about Mystery Baby. The wee one was very excited, though he pretended to be put out. "You mean there’s going to be one more baby I have to watch while you go to the bathroom?!" He asked in mock exasperation. Then he gave a little dance and asked why we had to wait and why couldn’t the baby come out right now and why don’t we call the baby Junie B. I told him that I would LOVE to expedite the next six months, but the Mystery Baby needs lots more time to cook and grow.

The wee-er one is still pretty little so she’s not 100% sure what’s going on. She did say, "Baby? Nap!" when she saw the sonogram. I asked her the other day what she would do with a baby and she pushed her doll off the bed and said, "Drop." So that seems promising.

I have felt terrible today, but I can tell you that, in general I have been feeling much better. No more baby postcards knock on wood. I think my problem today is a cold that’s kicking my ass. Is this just so boring? You don’t care about my cold.

Here’s a picture of the kids and their spill the beans t-shirts (that I made with the expert help of my friend Average Jane Crafter and my other friend, Mama Librarian [BLOG TO BE LINKED TO AS SOON AS SHE DECIDES ON BACKGROUND COLORS AND KICKS SOME STYLESHEET ASS AND TELLS ME IT’S OK TO GO CRAZY WITH THE LINKING].)


The shirts say "Little sister, Big sister, Best of Both Worlds" and "Knock, Knock, Who’s there? Ya. Ya Who? What are you getting so excited about? I’m excited about getting another sibling!" (The wee one loves these long ridiculous jokes.)

11w 5d

am hunkering down
first trimester onslaught done?
a girl can hope, right?

Worst haiku ever. But I need some slack because I’m tired and sicky feeling. You know what, though? My second trimester starts on Sunday! And though this may not sound exciting to anyone, and may actually seem like the most boring post ever, I just wanted to say it out loud.

Reasonably, I know not to expect bright shining happiness and no more nausea and no more starvation and no more exhaustion all on Sunday morning. But at least I know it will end soon. Hopefully.

Now I am off to Target. To buy things. Things that I "need." Like an ice pack for my throbbing head and some trail mix for my evil stomach.

Also interesting news? The due date has been pushed up to 11/15. So no more Thanksgiving baby. My dates were all jacked up, I guess. In fact, they still could be jacked up. It is very fitting for the Mystery Baby to have a Mystery Due Date, though. I kind of like the suspense.