Beautiful Woman Barely Escapes Assult With Catheter


Thank god it turns out that I was NOT exposed to any form of pox, but rather this little boy has a devestating reaction to mosquito bites. Woohoo. However, last night I nibbled on some strawberries while finishing a Michael Moore book. I then fell asleep watching a case on the Forensic Files regarding food poisoning. About 30 minutes later, I wake up in devestating pain. Guess what I had? Food poisoning. It was the kind that of violent illness where your body is so beyond your control, you are helpless and begging strangers to make it go away. I ended up at the hospital. By the time I was finally seen, I had endured my last round of torrential expulsion. The doc did a quick ultrasound, and baby boy was fine. He got really quiet and still while I was sick, but once my body fell back to my own control, he was back to beating the crap out of me- Yea! Good, strong boy! SO, at this point,I was feeling 90% better, and my body quieted down, and this fucking dense-but-gorgeous doc now wants to give me an IV (for hydration) and a catheter catch (to renounce the possibility of a UTI). Ummmm...UTI? I don't think so jack. I presented with violent vomiting and more shortly after ingesting the berries, no fever, no pain during urination, no increased frequency of urination (OK, how could one tell at my stage? I'll give him that one), and my symptoms were all but nill before you actually dragged that pretty arse in here. What screams Urinary Tract Infection to you?
Needless to say, I left the pretty doc to return home in the middle of the night, explaining that there was no indication for his course of treatment. What I needed was a liter of water and a long nap, not a large rubber tube up my urethra, as fun as that could have been and all.

But, I Don't Even Like to Eat Chicken!

My other bestest friend popped in today, so I couls watch her kids as planned. Well, needless to say that I did NOT sleep well last night with my babe out of the house. Damn that ex-husband. I cried uncontrollably for 2 hours straight after she left. Can you believe that MF picked her up half an hour early? Early! I watched him back out of the driveway, bawling and muttering to my hub, "That SOB did not visit me for the two days in the hospital when I had her. He was about 6 hours late picking me up from the hospital, oh, but today, he fucking has the audacity to be early? Fuck him!" Sob, sob, sob for two hours. My hub was so sweet and when I finally calmed down, he held me as I drifted off from exhaustion...then...AWAKE. FOR HOURS.
Ok, so then I am barely up, and the kids arrive, and I am thinking that maybe I will take them to see the torch pass through town...nope. Baby boy seems to have a case of the Chicken Pox.
Uh-oh. I am pregnant. 30 and 1/2 weeks exactly. And I have never had the chicken pox. I call my OB, and I will have to show up in the morning for blood work to test my immunity, and so forth. Baby boy leaves in one hour, leaving me to deliberate the pros and cons of this possible turmoil. And then, I remember- BONUS! My daughter has never had the chicken pox either. I suddenly envision my ex driving in his new mini-van, headed home immediately without a choice, as his vehicle is now filled with four contagious little girls, covered in Chicken Pox. My spirits soared. She would be home within days, and we could lay around, watching cartoons, and she would be itchy but safe in my presence. Yep, things were looking up!
And, then it turns out that Baby Boy simply has a severe reaction to mosquito bites. And everyone is in perfect health, including me. I know I shouldn't hope for my dughter to have a childhood illness and ruin her vacation. And last week, when she fell, I shouldn't have hoped that she broke her leg so she would have to stay home. I don't ever want her to suffer through any pain or itching, really. I just want her back. Maybe my ex can break his leg instead! Here's to hoping!!!!

Aint No Sunshine When She's Gone...

My baby is leaving me. My daughter is headed out tonight, with bio-father and his new family to Maine. Yeah, all the way to the top of the fucking country, Maine. 3 weeks or so until she comes home. I cannot stop crying. My daughter and I have never been seperated. Never. A day or two here, maybe three. This is unbearable. I will never let her move out. I made her promise this is the last time she ever leaves me. She is my world. More whining to come after she leaves....

When It Rains...

I received a phone call at 6:30 am- I knew it was bad news. Hub and I were sleeping soundly, with no alarm set...no hurry this morning. I had even made him breakfast to heat up- oats with cream, vanilla, cinnamon and brown sugar. "An easy day" I thought. Wrong.
Chuck's maternal grandmother had passed last night. I knew someone had passed when the phone rang, and once I overheard the "Mom?", I knew it was his grandmother. She has been suffering with a brain tumor for way-too-long. (Actually, how long is an appropriate time to suffer?) I have spent the past 20 minutes on the net, searching for the pefect bouquet to send. Sometimes I feel like the most wonderful thing that I am is C's wife.
It's an awful season for death. Baby Q's death was just a year ago, along with my own paternal grandfather. This year, it's Grandma G and Ray Charles. (I am not forgetting the fmr. prez, rather I am not mourning a man that considered ketchup a food suitable for school lunches.)
I am now off to make arrangements and preparations, supporting my hub and new fam. Trips to the dry cleaners, making oatmeal cookies for the hub, lasagnas maybe for his mother and grandfather. Please, send me strength...I need it. I am so wiped out from "Contraction Jackson" as I now call my son. One after another, day after day- Maddie did this too...I guess my uterus likes a long, slow warm-up! Too much to do, and often panting through it.

"Your Father and I Managed to Have a Child, and We Hated Each Other"

I am sitting on my nest, happy and fat, awaiting the arrival of my darling son. My daughter and I spend our days together, and make sure to entertain a friend of hers with at least a weekly sleep-over. Bills are paid, and as a wise man once said, "Life is good."
To be honest, however, it's better than good. I have found something that only I seem to have. Last week, on the way out of town to visit family, my hub grabs my hand, and says, "I cannot think of anyone else that has a marriage as good as ours." I thought and thought over the few good marriages I have seen- there are only about 4 that I would deem as great. I rattled these off to my hub as I pondered in a means of compare and contrast. Nope, we got 'em beat. I simply cannot believe I have found such earthly perfection. I believe most Americans are going without this. No wonder we have such jacked up kids in this culture. I should know. I was easily about to become a casualty to my parent's first marriage. In fact, if you count my first two marriages, you could say that I was. I had no idea what I was doing, just living and breathing through some dysfunctional fog.
My hub saved me, reached out his hand, and with such utter gentle patience, taught me. I used to see that poem hanging in various places, you know, "Love is patient, Love is kind..." and I would read those words and think "Love is merely a four-letter word, pink and cross-stiched in some grandma's bathroom."
I have now spent a year in love's presence. (Sorry I am so sappy) I have changed for the better. A year of hopes and fears, tears, understanding, communication, patience, devotion, orgasms. If I could bottle it up, I would give it to my friends.

A Killing Spree Probably Won't Solve Anything...

Today, I am now 29 weeks pregnant. I have gained 21 pounds (gulp), and although my arse and hips are rounder than I would like, I am glad to say that I am "all belly" and void of any new stretch marks. (I hope that I am not jinxing myself). Woohoo. I was hoping this baby would go easy on my body, and so far, he has- on the outside. My insides, however, are another story.

Yesterday, the doc-on-call requested that I return to Labor and Delivery, as I had experienced mild contractions for almost 24 hours, 10 minutes apart. The contractions did not prompt me to call my OB. It was the "bloody show". A small amount, indeed, but a wise woman pays attention to a talking uterus, let me tell ya! False alarm, returned home. Here I is, waiting and counting. I am ready for the arrival of my son. In eight more weeks, the docs will let my body push this little one. I am ready. My uterus has become akin to Amityville- "Get out!!!" I am running out of room. In fact, the doc checked my cervix yesterday to make sure that I hadn't dialated or effaced. My particular cervix is high and posterior, and I am not a big girl to begin with, so it really felt like he was up to his elbows in birth canal....I said to him, "No...those are my tonsils." A merry chuckle and a hand towel later, we saw Jackson via ultrasound. Wow! He is so big! And he looks just like his Daddy, but his Daddy cannot tell, so he gives me this look whenever I say that.

As for the rest of being a stay-at-home-mom...well, I think I am more of a Horny Housewife than a Soccer Mom. I fear I am going slightly mad, and I have been confined for too long and alone. Between my husband working and my exhaustive condition, I could use some more fun. I think what I need is Silent Bob.