I usually compose my very best blog posts while I am laying in bed shushing Sugarbaby to sleep. Yes, we co-sleep and we have with all of them. Anyways, last night I wrote an entire saga regarding something or other and of course when I woke up the slate was wiped clean. Damn.
But...I thought of something to blog about besides how much I hate dial-up or my kids latest achievements. Pregnancy. Yeah I know not too far off topic but I've been pregnant three times so I think I might have just a little bit of knowledge on the subject.
What got me to even waxing nostalgic on my pregnancies was watching my obsession Jon & Kate. Jeez, I love those two. I love their whole family. It's just so funny...and it makes me feel a little more sane. So after it was over the Duggar Family show came on. This one makes me feel a little more sick to my stomach. I've given my thoughts on them before, you can read about that here. 18 pregnancies. No thanks and here is why.
Sugarbaby and Cashman (my last two) were easy fetuses. Walks in the park compared to carrying the Monster. I gained less than 30lbs with each of them, minimal swelling, ate moderately healthy, had mostly uneventful c-sections. Heck I even got to pick their birth dates. The Monster...well we'll just say that God must use a memory eraser for pregnancies like that or the world would be underpopulated instead of the opposite.
To begin with I was young (20) and didn't really have a clue. Plus I like food (a lot) and thought this was the perfect time to eat myself sick, that was after I got over puking for 3 months straight. So I ate and I ate and I ate. Chocolate milkshakes for breakfast. Pizza for lunch. Chick-Fil-A fries and lemonade. Fried chicken salads from Applebees. Foot long melts from Subway. 5 coney dogs from Carl's Coney Island. Popeyes's fried chicken with extra jambalaya. Steak as often as we could afford it. And chocolate, lots and lots of cookies and candy bars. Oh how I wish I had known I would eat my way into 60 extra lbs.
Besides the eating I was just miserable anyways. Did I mention the roommate. Yeah for the first 5 months we had a roommate. Good guy and all but him and my hormones...not the best of friends.
Kidney stones, yep that's right. They came next. I thought I was in labor at 6 months. Horrible back and abdominal pain. Blood tinged urine. Couldn't sleep the pain was so bad. I drove myself to the doc the next day, they sent me to the hospital. Spent a day there on the IV.
The swelling, oh the swelling. I looked like a sausage. My skin was tight and purple. I couldn't even go a full day of work anymore. I took off two weeks before my due date.
Then he decided to come a week late. He was difficult from the beginning. I started contractions at two in the afternoon and waited until two in the morning to go in. After being in labor 27 hours I finally had him with the aid of forceps. And for all that bravery I got 18 stitches. Isn't that a pretty picture I just painted in your head.
So my novel regarding my first born ends with the fact that he is now 5 years old and an absolute wonder. I'd do it all again just to have him. But I would politely ask him to please make a speedier and less violent exit this time.