Friday, March 30, 2007

Thank You, Ms. Bryant and your Angelic Associates

I know you've all be waiting on the edge of your seats for the next installment of "A Boob Story"

(Can you tell I'm trapped at home with way too much TLC to watch? That's a whole other rant, but let me just say how I laugh and scorn these people with only one baby! HA! you know nothing of my fear and dark premonitions. Fie on all of you. Fie on the whole of TLC!)

Back to the boobs: I recieved my shipment from Lane Bryant dot com and was promptly dismayed. One didn't fit at all. I mean, couldn't even close the damn thing. On the online model it looked so comfy. Of course, her size was decidedly not 38DDD and she definately did not have preggo belly pushing up on the bottom band. The second was the goddess nursing bra that every raves about on the internets.

I don't know who these internets people are, but apparently they are streaming live from 1965. This thing is horrendous. It's stiff cotton with pointy cups. POINTY CUPS! Because, let me tell you, what you need when you have boobs that are larger than some people's asses, it for it to be pointing directly in front of you as if to say, Hello. I am Jeanne's Freaking Ridiculously Oversized Boob*.

As I have no other options and the stabby stabby pain in my ribs is decidedly boob related, I cave and wear this monstrosity. H tries to be kind and tell me that it doesn't look as hideous as we both know it does. He actually tried to convince me that it looked like a fancy lace bra under my shirt. I had to lay down from all the laughing.

My mother takes pity upon my soul and agrees to take mini-mis-marked bra back to the Lane Bryant down by her. Unfortunately the lady in the store tells her that she can't return it there since they don't sell that torture device in this store. But being the angel she is, and given the fact that my mom can chat a blue streak, the lady advises her to buy the world's largest swath of material ever to sport hook and eye closures. I took it out of the bag today and actually laughed. My grandfather was in the car. He asked me when I was planning to start jumping from planes.

I am now wrapped in rapture. They are lifted. They are somewhat separated (hey, let's not get greedy. In order to separate them, I'd need another rib cage). The straps are wide and plushy.

I have no idea how much this thing costs, but I just got our taxes back and we're getting some money back. I think at least $2K should be set aside for boob related costs. H wanted a new sofa. let's see who wins...

*Fight Club reference totally for you, H

Thursday, March 29, 2007

My Fancy New Ankle Bracelet

In case you've all been wondering where I've been, I'll fill you in. I've been here. At home. I've been ordered to D/C working. That's what my doctor's note says. In reality, I'm under house arrest.

Here's the back story:

Tuesday morning I got out of bed and my left ankle was a little stiff and swollen. No biggie, I thought, I must've just slept on it funny. Actually I did sleep in sort of a weird tangled up position Monday night, but I was just happy I slept. So I took a shower and went to work.

Throughout the day on Tuesday, my crazy ankle continued to swell. Then I ran out of ankle so my foot started to swell. and my calf. Pretty much everything up to and including my knee. But only on the left side. Now, come on, who only swells up on one side of their body at a time? It absurd.

I sat all day with my feet up on an upside-down trash can (I know, can you stand the glamour?) but it continued to get worse. I finally called my OB around 12:30 and left a message that I had pretty ugly edema of just my left leg. At 3:30 they called me back and told me to come in. Except they close at 4:30. And I was in the Bronx with my feet up on a trash can. I made an appt for the next morning first thing.

Wednesday morning I woke up and my left leg was less swollen, but still stiff and I could barely get my foot into the most wide and comfy dansko clogs. I limped down the block with H and went to see the OB. I felt pretty stupid since my leg was no where near as hideous as it had been the day previous, but I went anyway. Mostly because my mom and H were threatening me.

While I sat on the exam table waiting for the doctor to come in and laugh at me, my oh, so cooperative lymphatic system decided to re-inflate my left leg. The doc came in, looked at my legs and told me I needed to come up with a "plan" for the rest of the pregnancy. Then H told him about my wierd stabby hot-poker chest pains. So I got an U/S for gall stones (which I don't have thankfully) and a script to "D/C working". I started to ask if that was really neccessary and the doctor actually told me I was being ridiculous. His actual words where "You cannot work over an hour away and be pregnant with twins. It's ridiculous"

So here I am, not being ridiculous, but trying to find things to do that can be accomplished while I keep my feet elevated for a majority of the day. To tell the truth, I'm pretty exhausted as it is, so the rest is somewhat welcome. Petey however, feels differently. He keeps looking at me like, "when the hell are you going to get out of my house?" He is a fan of me opening the front windows for him to glare at people on the street. Maybe we'll come to an understanding...

Anyway, so that's the news that fit to print. I am here. In my house. With my feet elevated. My big outing for today was to the pet store for Petey food and next door to the bagel shop, duh, bagels. I got to drive the '94 Shadow that's filled with spiders and the driver's side door doesn't stay open. Wasn't that a pretty pictured. Now I'm back in the recliner trying to come up with a daily schedule so that I don't lose my mind as I slowly become one with the sofa. I just realized I'm wearing a beige sweater that blends nicely with the upholstery.


Monday, March 26, 2007

A little advice

Came across this on The Twinkies on how to help someone who's just had twins. Feel free to print and save for future reference :)

hint hint

Extra Saturday

I would like to formally request an extra Saturday. I feel that I am not granted enough time with my current allotment of one Saturday per week.

This weekend we were incredibly productive. We went to my co-workers house and picked up a whole slew of baby stuff, most notably a port-a-crib, a brand new full size crib mattress, another pack n play, a ton of linens and some toys and a rocking chair (that of course wouldn't fit in my car with all the other stuff.

Then we hit Babies R Us. You may or may not have been aware of this, but there is, in fact, a genuine portal to hell located right next to the breast feeding accessories. This is must be where all of Satan's minions are filling the store from. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I have never seen so many freakin' people shuffling aimlessly through crap they don't need. We had to wait over an hour to get a scanner to start the registry. In the meantime, we walked, no, shuffled, the same route as everyone else in yonkers through the labyrinth of plastic crap. Just as we were done compiling our list of things to put on said registry, they called our names to come back to get a gun. So we walked the whole damn store again, scanning crappola.

After that, we unloaded (ha, I unloaded nothing. I sat upstairs with Petey and we watched H unload) all the stuff out of the car and tried to rearrange the furniture so there would be a path through the room.

Sunday involved way too much laundry and reorganizing the basement in order to empty the upstairs closet. Never got to the closet.

This is why I need an extra day.

Also, apparently babies do not like walking around Babies R US / Hell's Gate as I was up every hour from 2 -6 am on Sunday. Apparently, someone decided to stab me with a hot poker in the ribs. I am assuming it is a hot poker as it is someone who is womb-bound and I can't actually see what they are torturing me with. Where would they get a hot poker? I can only assume was at aforementioned aperture to the underworld. H imagines it to be some sort of bizzarro baby inquisition, complete with Spanish accents.

Rib Stabbing is the new baby past time. It has already replaced Sibling Wrestling as a favorite among the 18-22 week demographic. Rock on!

In an effort to combat the anti-sleeping hex that has been sent my way, I finally broke down and bought one of those absurd body pillows. That's the only thing that allowed me to sleep from 6am to about 9 on Sunday and most of last night. I managed to wad the pillow up enough to force myself semi-upright in bed. This makes rib stabbing much more arduous (but not impossible as I am sitting at my desk in a very upright position and they are managing quite well). It also annoys the crap out of Petey as he is rapidly running out of room in the bed.

According to H, Petey spent a portion of the evening giving me and body pillow dirty looks and snorting in our direction. So, yeah, he's going to handle the babies really well. Can't wait for that.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Too Many Feet...

{parental warning: there are some very very bad words in this post. If you are not accustomed to my propensity for profanity, you may want to skip it. Or at least sit down with a nice cup of tea and your church pastor on speed dial}

Too many feet and hands and heads and butts....

H and I trekked to the end of the block last night and had a level II U/S last night. Everything looked good. We saw 8 chambers in 2 hearts, 6 vessels in 2 umbilical cords, 4 little bean shaped kidneys, 2 little round stomachs, 2 bladders filing and emptying, 20 fingers and 20 toes. But definitely ZERO penises (penii? what's the plural here?)

In essence, everything looked great. It took forever since they decided to wiggle all over the place and wriggle themselves on top of each other. They are basically laying in a big #7 with everyone's feet over on my right side. This might explain the excruciating back pain that's wrapping around that side. On the other hand, that could be from my cantaloupe sized boobs. You think I'm exaggerating? We're on our way to honeydew... I'm sure we'll surpass watermelon by August.

That sounds like a blast right? I mean, every freakin' pregnancy book, magazine, website etc. are all extolling the virtues of bigger boobs. Fuck you people. really. Fuck all you all skinny little boobed people. go to hell. i hate you. and your little boobs. Sorry to anyone's mom who may now be having a seizure due to my lack of restraint on dropping F-bombs, but I'm serious here. This is some seriously painful shit. I know they don't have to be this big.

I am currently awaiting my delivery from Lane Bryant. Mille grazie to F.fanny in advance for her tip that they have a maternity section where us plus-sized pariahs can go to find enough stretchy cloth to cover our monstrous mammaries. They tell me the wonder slings should arrive on Monday so perhaps by Tuesday I will be floating on a cloud of supportive wire-free bliss. I'm not getting my hopes up too high.

I know you all think I am exaggerating just a tad. Not that I have ever been known to hyperbolize for entertainment or levity.... But I actually had to spend Wednesday in bed. In. The. Bed. I could not go to work and sit in my desk chair. As a matter of fact, I had a hard time sitting on my own toilet. It was absurd. And it brings me to my next rant:

Why when I call in sick does it have to involve a separate phone calls to everyone I work with. What the hell? Don't these people work together. I mean, for chrissake, you all have offices within shouting distance. Someone yell out "Jeanne's not coming, her boobs are too big to allow her to stand upright!" So I called the secretary and the other counselor and got a gripey message from the doc saying that if I was going to call out, could I please call him at home. it's only fair that he, as the director of the program, should know who's going to be in and out.

{get ready, here's the last bomb of the day, I promise}


really, don't these people know not to taunt a pregnant lady? Especially one who likes movies where people pummel each other to death and is prone to day-dreams involving torture. You're signing your own painful death warrant.

Now isn't everyone glad the twins are girls? Could you just imagine boys with H's size, my freakish muscle structure and that temperament? Yeah, I know, it would totally rock!

p.s. H thinks they look "sweet" on the ultrasound. I think this is wishful thinking :)

Monday, March 19, 2007

Comparative pregnancy

I work in obstetrics. In the fetal evaluation unit. I see high risk pregnancies all day long. These women are not skipping down the hall whistling a jaunty tune. They are shuffling and puffing their way to the bathroom and back.

So you would think that people who work here would be a little more understanding of pregnancy. This morning I was greeted by the receptionist who asked me how it could be that I was the most miserable pregnant woman ever.

I think that might be an exaggeration. Although I’m sure I look a little on the miserable side. Let’s face it: I’m 35 pounds fatter with most of it being concentrated in the front of my body, I can’t find a bra that fits and holds everyone up leading to recurrent numbness and tingling in my side, I’ve had a cold for the past two weeks, I pee more than 10 times a day (I’ve started counting) and I can’t sleep at night. So yeah, I’m not miss Mary Sunshine. But you know what? I wasn’t a happy girl before I was pregnant. I just don’t do exuberant.

Having said all of that, I’m not saying that I’m sorry I did this. I was the one who wanted to have a baby. I understand that in order to have said baby you need to go through the pregnancy part of it. I’m not sorry or upset that it turns out there are two of them (I’ve gotten over the shock… for the most part…. for now….) I don’t even mind the mild to moderate discomfort that comes along. What I do mind is people telling me how it should be.

Look people, every pregnancy is different. Every person is different. It’s sure as hell different to carry around two babies as opposed to one. I don’t need to hear about your sister, niece, neighbor or even the nurse in L&D who was pregnant with twins, gained 15 lbs and worked until the night before her scheduled c-section. I don’t give a crap!

This is how I am. I am pissy. I’m pissy when the sun is shining and I’m eating ice cream, I’m pissy when it’s sleeting and I have to walk to the post office. I’m a pissy pissy person. I am not going to turn into some hallmark greeting card all due to the magic of gestation. And really, why do you care if I’m having a rip-roarin’ good time over here? Also, when was the last time you were pregnant? If the answer is never or more than 10 years, take one giant step backward and shove it up your ass.

I am now sitting in my office with the door closed. I think it’s the only way to avoid homicide allegations today.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Weak Fat Mouth Breathers

This morning I got up and decided to haul my sorry self upstairs to do some yoga. I took this prenatal yoga book out of the library in December and have so far used it 0 times and incurred $5 worth of overdue late fees when I forget to renew it. Anyway, so I got the yoga mat and a chair as recommended by the book and I plopped myself on the floor to get going.

I've always considered myself to be relatively strong and in decent shape. I don't exercise regularly, butI can still move my living room couch by myself. Actually, I might border on the freakishly strong. (sorry if my brother is reading this, he is laughing himself silly as he IS freakishly strong. it's genetic. my father once lifted a school bus. long story. but very true)

I've also been practicing yoga for probably about 7 or 8 years now pretty regularly. I like it. It has the fluidity of dance without the tights and crazy old french ladies who make you call them "Miss". Can anyone tell I took ballet class from age 4? Sometimes I'll be standing in my kitchen waiting for something to boil and realize I'm using the kitchen island as a barre and running through releve.

I'm reading through this book and thinking, "Gad! these are way too easy, how is this going to help me in anyway". Then I started to run the sequence. I can't do anything. I can't align anything properly and I can't hold the poses. My arms are weak and my posture is horrible. I actually started crying.

Two things can happen here. I can give up entirely and embrace my new being of gelatinous goo or I can try to do a little more everyday to regain some of my strength. I actually told my mother once that I didn't think she should be on a diet because moms were supposed to be fluffy. The fact that this woman hasn't murdered me is amazing, but does explain some of the tics. I have to somehow bridge the disconnect between who I am and what I think "mother" is supposed to be.

This is a long winded way of saying that I'm just not sure that I'm fit to be in charge of someone else's life. Let alone two lives. I can't even feed myself. Which brings on another rant...


So I'm at 20 weeks which I happen to know is a big brain/nervous system developemental period. This is why synapses start firing. So, I should be eating all sorts of brain food. Fish and almonds and omega-3 cookies (oh, hmmm, maybe not so much of those) I am thinking of fighting Petey for his fish oil capsules. Am I eating these things? No. Of course not. The idea of consuming fish actually makes me puke a little in my mouth. and I LIKE fish. and it's lent. It's so easy to get. But the smell, the mere thought, is too much.

What am I eating? Here's yesterday's food tally:
Breakfast: (10:30am) 2 large bowls of frosted mini wheats
Lunch: (2:30pm) greek yogurt with fruit. but it was only a cup of yogurt.
Dinner: (5:30pm) Grilled cheese sandwhich and two spoonfulls of bean soup. Couldn't force the bean soup down so I ate ritz crackers with peanut butter instead. yum nutritious.
(10pm) H came home late so I made kung pao chicken and a salad in an attempt to eat again. I managed to force down 2 slices of avocado and a little lettuce from the salad but the smell of the chicken was a no-go.
Water consumption: 5 glasses.

Seriously? this is not enough food. but I'm just not hungry again and nothing appeals to me. I certainly wasn't going to grill myself a tilapia fillet and sprinkle it with almonds. I actually had a conversation with my own belly where I informed the twinlets that they were not going to be allowed to eat like this once they were outside. Then someone kicked me in the ribs.

And so, the title of this post is exactly what my poor children are destined to be if I don't do something to redeem this entire pregnancy and possibly my life.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

At long Last...

I know you've all been dying to see the big round belly and it's contents. Well, H finally got around to uploading the exterior. We'll have to wait for the interior shots, but here's what you get so far:

Bah, you say, this is nothing. Well, folks, you're right. Keep in mind that at this point I'm already a good 15-20 lbs heavier than oh, say, at my wedding in October. This is jan 18, the day we found out there were two of them. Prior to the twinsight, I would never have allowed any giant belly photos to be taken, but now that I'm a genetic anomaly, sure. why not?

Ok, well, this is one month later. You can see sponge bob peeking around the corner, but what is probably dwarfing the size of my belly are the ginormous boobalas. But just wait, it gets worse...

This last shot is only two weeks after the previous and it's about 2 weeks old now. The fact that I no longer have to hold my shirt up to expose the belly should be enough evidence of it's enormity. It has begun to have it's own gravitational field. As soon as H scans in the U/S shots, I'll post them up with the corresponding belly shot. scary stuff.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Mas Preguntas

Crazy Diana Queries:

Will I be allowed to buy you frilly cute girl outfits or are you against dressing girls in gender specific clothing? I also need to know where you stand on baby headbands.

To Which I respond:

buy as much frilly nonsense as you like. we have a short window before they are able to vocally protest. Also, baby headbands are sometimes necessary to identify girls as they all look rather masculine without hair. So I am pro headband. especially if it's pink. and frilly. maybe we could always put different colored headbands on so we'll know who's who. I foresee much switching of clothing and accessories as well. this is what I would do if I were a twin.

let's hope at least one is the good twin. If i were a twin, we'd both be evil twins. does not bode well for me.

and for once, she will be happy to see I did not exaggerate. so there.
I realized this morning that I haven't written anything positive about this whole thing so far. That's kind of sad and not really what I intended. I guess the positive things just don't entertain me or incite me to violence the way never sleeping or growing to the size of a water buffalo do.

So I will now think of positive things to say about the twinlets and the whole pregnancy bag. They will be bulleted because, yeah, it's 4pm and I'm less than creative, and besides, who doesn't like lists?

  1. Ice cream. I eat ice cream like it's going out of style. I haven't eaten this much ice cream since summer camp, but hey, it's got calcium in it if you eat enough. and it's mad cold. I can eat sick amounts of dairy food to start with, but now I am allowed/recommended to get 4-7 servings. That rocks. It means so far today I've had milk in cereal, greek yogurt and a pudding snack. and I'm not half done! that definitely indicates some ice cream for dessert. And I have some delish fancy schmancy confections, made by Chef 'Tavo I snagged from Brother Fi when he was moving and didn't want to pack/deal with stuff.
  2. Little wriggling heads and butts and arms and legs are pretty cool feeling. I make H try to feel them every time they move. I'm pretty sure he's humoring me, but it's like being the coolest science fair project. I would totally win both "best in show" and "student's choice award" (little known trivia, I won both these titles in the 6th grade science fair for my Underwater Mouse House and again in the 8th grade for my merciless torture of sea stars and their freakish regenerational properties. the more you know..... )
  3. New wardrobe. It's actually easier to get dressed in the morning when you have a limited number of options. This is making me think about doing a great closet purge when I am no longer behemoth sized. It won't happen, but at least I had the thought and really, isn't that what counts?
  4. Bargain hunting for baby things. So far I've scored a used double stroller, a stack of cloth diapers and this weekend we are headed to check out someone's attic of baby stuff. You know I loves me some recycling. Fits right in with my granola-crunchiness and my cheapness plus I can feel self-righteous about saving things from landfills. oh rapture!
  5. H is now the house-husband (again. ah, yes, remember the rasta-days when I worked three jobs and studied for the boards and H was in charge. Yeah, we burnt out the blender and went through two barbecues, but I didn't do a damn thing), chauffeur and chef. and laundress. and primary Petey care giver. Thank you toxoplasmosis for making me never have to change another litter box again. not that I ever did. cause it's gross and smelly and Petey watches you very very carefully. oh, and he tries to play with it after you scoop it into the toilet. Petey has issues..
  6. Getting out of going to work a few months earlier. According to my OB, I shouldn't be working so far from the hospital after 28 weeks. this means 7 weeks and 3 days left here hablando espanol and driving (oh, who am I kidding. I've driven maybe twice) 2 hours each way to get paid next to nothing. Not that they are going to pay me for my leave, but at least I won't be here.
  7. Blaming hormones for my normal inappropriate outbursts. Right, so I've always been well versed in absurd bullshit, but now, people don't even look twice at some of my ranting. Either that or they're getting used to me.
  8. Eating all the time. Plus people yell at you if you aren't eating enough. I've gained 34 lbs since we got back from Greece (no, we will not be counting the five pounds I gained drinking ouzo until I was blind and eating pastry whenever possible) and even the doctor said I wasn't too fat. Frabjous day!
  9. Talking to myself is far less strange as I've found a captive audience. The twinlets can't run away so I can just chat to my little hearts content. They seem ok with it. Like I care. They can't do anything about it for at least the next year. mwahahahahahahaha!
  10. Being lazy by requirement. No one expects me to do a damn thing. I don't even have to get up to get my patients from the waiting room; they are escorted back to me. and people are constantly telling me to relax and sit down. No one is lazier than me. ok, no one with two X chromosomes.
But to be honest, the coolest thing about being pregnant for me is knowing exactly what's going on and being totally freaked by it on a daily basis. At least once a day I call H on the phone and just say "We're having TWO BABIES" and then I hang up. Cause it's funny. and freakish. and right now they are growing eyebrows and things. Pretty soon they will be able to hear my chit chat and all the random little songs I sing all day. They are 9 & 10 oz each and probably around 5 or 6" a piece. I would post pics from the U/S, but someone (ahem) has not uploaded them or the fantastically funny belly pics and so I cannot. But I'll tell you they look far less alien and way more like babies. And I also realized that I'm about halfway through. Only about 18 weeks until they show up and start screaming and pooping and keeping us up all night and making us laugh and rendering us completely unable to tell a single story that doesn't involve baby antics.

Then I'll have to share them with everyone else. Everyone will want to hold them and squeeze them and play games with them. and I hate sharing. So for now, I'm happy that I get to hog them to myself for a little while longer before they come out and they're babies and they're not just mine anymore.

WE'RE HAVING TWO BABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously, I'm growing two actual babies. How freakin' cool is that?

Saturday, March 10, 2007


The worst part about being pregnant is the lack of chemicals. There's no drinking, no smoking, no tasty cheese and no drugs.

Being sick blows. Being sick when you can't see through the nyquil/sudafed/echinacea and fun nasal spray haze is sort of entertaining. You sit through all three Godfathers and think it's a quality afternoon.

Being sick while pregnant just blows. All you can hop yourself up on is grapefruit juice and matzo ball soup. My throat hurts, my nose hurts, everything itches and the babies are resting oh so gently on nerve endings causing all sorts of spontaneous numb spots.

I could complain more, but my current disgusting state must be so apparent that H has spent the better part of the day cleaning the house. He's turned into, well, me. So far, he's made dinner in the crockpot, done a load of laundry, vacuumed and mopped the floors, cleaned the whole kitchen and he's upstairs now wrestling with the litter box. Petey is afraid of him.

Now he's bringing me the newspaper. Which I won't be able to read due to lack of attention span, but at least I can look at the pretty pictures.

oh. and in honor of the twinlets gender I changed the template. I thought it would help those of you who were too slow to grasp my riddle from yesterday.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Two at a time I want....

Here is the post you have all been waiting for. I was waiting for H to send me the pics, but alas, the world of slimfast and sprint phones is more important than someone's unborn children. We can discuss this topic later.

Before I tell you what they are, I will fill you in on some of the incorrect guesses. They are not:

alien lizard people
creatures from George Lucas' strange little mind
wool bearing llamas coveted by knitters
or semi-aquatic mammals (which is a weird dream I had last night and will require it's own post)

If you didn't figure it out yet, I suggest you go back into the deep recesses of your brain to pi kapp bar night or some similar college debauchery and start hummin' yourself some Beastie Boys. While you're at it, you can fear for my children since this is all I've had running through my head since last night.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Tales of an umbilicus

*warning: this post may include more information than you ever wanted to know about my belly button*

Many of you are aware of my belly button fascination. I mean, I really contemplate the damn thing to death, and not in a karmic, know thine inner self sort of way. I mean in a play with it while I talk on the phone and refuse to wear anything that rubs against it kind of way. And as you may also be aware, one of my great fears of pregnancy is the outing of my innie.

Today this fear has been eradicated.

Yes, it is a momentous day when I no longer fear the out-pouching of my poor sweet belly button. What brought about this strange and mysterious change of heart?

Today, of it's own free volition, my tiny umbilical stump fell off!

I'll back up for those of you just joining. You see, my main fear of poked out belly button is that inside my belly button (which happens to be waaaaay more innie than normal people's) remains the tiny dried up scary scabby stump of my umbilical cord. But not anymore! Not as of today.

"that's madness" you may say to yourself, "no one's belly button stump stays on that long!" I at one point would have agreed. I first discovered the belly button stump sometime in college. (Do your self a favor: if you don't know why I was deeply contemplating the inner contents of my belly button in college, don't ask. If you do remember, try to block it out again. No one needs that memory taking up valuable synaptical resources.) Back to the stump. I tried to remove what I felt must be some seriously old ass belly button lint with my finger. it wouldn't budge. so i tried a pencil. still nothing. so I got the tweezers. This is when I first knew true and searing pain. The kind of intense pain people feel when limbs are removed without the niceties of anesthesia and an operating room.

Ever since then I have lived the philosophy of "Let sleeping umbilical stumps lie" or something to that affect. (or is it effect. meh. i never know)

So you can understand my fear of ginormous pregnant belly being punctuated with hideously foul dessicated 30 year old umbilical stump. I can only imagine the panic and hysteria it would incite.

Today while in the bathroom for one of my many breaks, I examined the remnant of my precious fetal life line, as I do on almost all trips to the bathroom or anytime I change my clothes or even if I happen to be laying on the couch or reading a magazine... remember people, it's called an obsession for a reason.
Recently my belly button has stopped resembling a perfect round little "o" and has become something of a smirking tilde, a snide spanish punctuation if you will. There appeared to be something poking out of the wavy little line. "oh great" I thought to myself "it has begun". Upon further investigation, my little lost stump seemed to have moved to a more southern latitude. Fearing for the worst, I tentatively touched the tiny scab and it fell off! It actually fell off on my finger! Seriously, I almost passed out.

I regained my composure and looked further at my belly button, which now resembled a normal human belly button. I breathed a sigh of relief.

So I no longer have to fear the horrific spectacle of decayed and moldy stump navigating the way forward on the world's most rotund surface.

To tell you the truth, I think I miss the little bugger. We've been through so much together. Just try to guess how many times I've looked at my belly button nostalgically since then. I couldn't begin to count...

side note: thanks to wikipedia, I now have this little gem to focus on: "
As navels are essentially scars, and not in any way defined by genetics, they are often an easy way to distinguish between identical twins." I'm especially fond of the little snippet at the end of the article.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

All Bets In

Just a heads up that you have only 53 hours left to place your bets on the gender of the dynamic duo.

That's right, Thursday at 7pm we (and I use the term 'we' very loosely here as I'm pretty sure H will not be climbing up on any exam tables or having gloopy gel squirted on his entire belly) will be having a level II U/S.

While the purpose of this ultrasound, for me, will be to detect any hideous malformations or other unimaginable horrors, the purpose for everyone else will hopefully be to determine the boy/girl nature of the twinlets.

I have an entire post on what could possibly go wrong with my ultrasound, but perhaps I'll save that for tomorrow. I know you all can't wait for a glimpse into my scary scary little brain.

In the meantime, vote away in the comment section. I'll try to think of a prize for the winners, but it will probably be lame as you have a 50-50 shot here.

Pencils up...... Begin!


How on earth could one person be this tired? I am waiting for my last patient of the day to finish watching the very informative amnio video in a language she probably doesn't understand and I am seriously concerned about keeping my eyes open through the entire session. I tried to grab a few Zzz's on my exam table about a half hour ago, but no one really liked that plan as my phone would not stop ringing. I'm sure you can all get a nice visual of me hauling myself up onto the exam table and trying to flop around gently so as to not fall off the table or make too much noise. Yeah, that's always priceless.

It is possible that my extreme fatigue is due to food coma being as how I ate 2 pieces of eggplant rollatini and green beans, then put on my coat and shuffled across the street to the deli to get a turkey and cheese on a roll and washed that down with a yogurt smoothie and a few (thousand) chocolate covered pretzels. But I was starving!

Now my poor little belly is feeling like an over inflated beach ball and all I can do is sit here and hope I don't actually explode. I fear that would be messy.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Sorry for the lack of posting for the past day and a half. Thursday is my day off and if I want to write anything I have to go upstairs and fight withthe behemoth desktop or use the mac with the partially busted screen. Neither seemed viable.

Today H and I bagged work based on flooding and general malaise. He's getting a cold and well, I couldn't roll myself out of bed. Petey is sitting on my lap trying to type, grab the pen sitting next to the laptop and eat soy yogurt while alternately yawning and putting his paw on my face to make me stop typing and start petting. As I have not cooperated in any of his evil cat plans, he's leaving. But not before using his back claws to leave the 'Mark of Petey' in my thigh.

By the way, soy yogurt is pretty foul and I should let the cat eat it. it would serve him right. Although he'd probably like it, he eats niblets made of fish parts and lick his own ass.

Sorry for the boring post. Even Petey left. I really don't have anyting exciting to say, except that both my skin and pee smell like maple syrup. H's suggestion: Start peeing on pancakes.