Being annoying! Childhood.

I remember full well being a pre-teen and driving my sister Lisa nuts. It was incredibly fun. One of my most favorite activities (other than having crushes on boys who probably didn’t even know what a girl’s period was yet, and dancing to Madonna back when she was Catholic, and not a “british jew”) was hitting her boyfriend’s car to make his alarm go off. He was very into his camaro or whatever muscle car it was. A mustang? Anyway, it was fun to go out onto the driveway and hit the thing until the multi-sirens rang out, and he came running out saying, “My car, my car!” This was when I learned that the car was truly an extension of the male penis. A man will run fast in two situations: anything involving his car, or his penis. That’s about it.

Another favorite pasttime was listening at the door of my sisters’ bedrooms. I usually just heard conversations about boring stuff or fighting. Ooh fighting. That was fun, because then I became a referree inside my head saying, “Oh that’s a good point!” or “I can’t believe he said that!” Really, I was hoping to hear some making out, or some hot and heavy panting, but I never got to.
Being the youngest certainly had its bonus points. I usually got my way–then again, when you argue your point repetitively for hours and days on end, people get sick of hearing you–and got to be like an only child once everyone was out of the house. It definitely had its drawbacks though: no one your age to play with. Constantly tagging along and people telling you, “Go away,” or “You’re too young.” Having most of our life milestones be ages apart from each other.

But truly, getting a rile out of my sister could make my day. I loved to call her ‘Peter Pan’ because she had a short boy cut. I got all of my friends to do this as well, which really made her want to kick me in the throat. Thankfully we usually just pulled each other’s hair or smacked each other, or just yelled at one another. She used to tell me, “respect your elders!”
I’d taunt back saying, “Respect your elders! Respect your elders! What, are you eighty-years old?”
It was all out of love of course. Without her, whose door would I be listening at? Now that we’re older, I don’t get to do this anymore, and of course we have fun playing with our kids together.

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Vomit: it makes your vision blur

I haven’t thought too much about how sick I was during pregnancy, until it became clear to me that if we want another kid,I may have to go through it again.
The chance of me getting hyperemesis is 15%. That’s too high for my liking, but it is what it is. My wonderful friend Alix recommended I speak to an expert her mom knows who studies nausea and vomiting in pregnancy.
She told me what I knew: that I can’t really prevent hyperemesis. Some people say that supplements/boosting your vitamin B levels and taking milk thistle can help prepare your body for a better pregnancy without hyperemesis, but there isn’t any real proof that this happens.
The fact is, I will either face it again, or I won’t.

I don’t think people realized how isolating it was to have hyperemesis. While friends of mine were basically dealing with the joyous news of being pregnant and making it to work and seeing friends (maybe getting nauseous here and there of course or feeling tired!), I was in a hospital bed. Or my bed. Stuck to an IV pole. I had about 5 EKG’s because the dehydration had elevated my heart rate. They had to do other heart tests to be certain all was okay (it was). I had an MRI of my brain because my vision blurred while dehydrated. I didn’t drive a car for months.
The only thing that makes the possibility of dealing with hyperemesis a little easier the second time around is that I know what to expect, we know how to prepare our lives for it, and I know what treatments work and do not work for me. We won’t be going in blindly.

Some people probably think I am crazy to even think about wanting to possibly go through that again, but it was so worth it. My daughter was worth every hospital bracelet I earned. She was worth every minute of suffering. The gift I received at the end of pregnancy was 1 million times worth it. The silver lining for me is I had a wonderful, wonderful third trimester. The second trimester was not bad at all. Once 19 or 20 weeks came, it was much better…and even though I lived off of a limited diet of foods, I felt good. Maybe to some people that is bad, but after being so ill, living on fruit and cheese was a walk in the park! I slept great…I never woke up fifty times to pee. Even if I had reflux, it was nothing compared to the hell I went through, the hell we both went through hoping it would pass. Once it passed, I was able to walk daily, and was on a treadmill the day I went into labor. Hopefully if I do have to go through it again, maybe I will have an easy rest of the pregnancy like I did the first time go-round.

I just hope that when the time comes for us to try again that we will be blessed with a sibling for our daughter. I truly wished my sisters had been closer to my age so I didn’t have to always “tag” along with them, yet I am so grateful that despite the age difference between us all, they still talk to me, some more than others, but we all love each other. I am lucky. I know quite a few people who have siblings who are far apart in age, and they rarely speak.

I just wish I didn’t have to think about hyperemesis. It makes me angry that people think women are just complaining and not tough enough to handle pregnancy. Try not eating for weeks! It is called malnutrition. The body is practically starving to death. Who would wish that on anyone? Speaking to one expert today really made me feel less alone. I am so grateful every day that I did not end up with Post-partum depression as many women who suffer HG suffer both partum depression, and PPD. Having hyperemesis really made me rethink a lot of things. It was an experience unlike any I have ever had before.

The only real physical preparation I can do is to keep myself as healthy as possible and at a good weight. I laughed when I read that people with high fat diets are more prone to getting hyperemesis. I have been eating a low-fat diet for ages. And honestly, I was in good health, but weeks of not eating and few fluids will tear down anyone’s body. I can make myself as strong as possible before hand, but if it happens again, I’d have to build my body back up again like I did before.
The most important thing for me will be to have emotional support if I have to go through this again. I hope my friends can be there for me. I know I appreciated every visit, every message and email I got. I remember every single person who contacted me, and can name them to you if you ask.
One day when my daughter is older, I sure hope she does not have to go through this. I will have much support to offer her, but I hope she escapes the genetic link.

Boob-age: from taunting times to the milk factory

When I was a kid, I pretty much was surrounded by boobs. I have three sisters, all a good deal older than me, so by the time I hit my teen years, I was ready for my turn, and oh boy, did nature throw me a pair of big ones, especially for my size frame. I was harassed quite a bit about them, and even ostracized by most of my classmates in elementary school. I remembered keeping my jacket on so no one would look at them for most of my eighth grade year. For years, they were rather noticed by the male generation, and I only imagined them as how they’d look in a bra.
Now, I have breastfed my first daughter since her birth. She is nine and a half months old, and as we approach her first birthday…and she eats more and nurses less, I have decided that shortly after her birthday, I would like us to wean. Just writing this is making me cry. I never thought I would feel such a bond that could generate from “Chester and Lester< the child molesters," a little nickname someone used to taunt me with. I have been incredibly fortunate to have this relationship with my daughter, and to be honest, it has been a mostly easy journey. Sometimes though, it was not easy. I had mastitis, and some clogged ducts…all painful, and it definitely is exhausting at times. It looks like a woman is just sitting there when in reality, the body is burning calories. It definitely serves as a great weight-loss tool! Anyway, when the baby is sick…fussy…tired, nursing has always been my secret weapon. I have no problem with nursing until she wants to stop, but I have my own reasons health wise, why I feel it will be good for me to stop shortly after she turns one, unless she really fights me. Then I won't pursue it…at least for a month or two, but at some point post-birthday, I would like my body back, as much as it makes me sad as well. At night, when she is with me, it is the best thing in the world. That she wants mommy and knows I am always here for her, means so much to me. I know nursing has been wonderful for both of us, and thinking of it ending is making me so sad. I am so glad that after all the teasing, taunting, and harassment, my boobs could actually produce a positive memory: the feeding of my daughter. I cannot believe she will be almost one. How is it that I am 35 years old with a baby? I still remember myself standing in a comedy club at eleven at night, waiting to go on stage. Where will life take me next?

From Douchebags to Diapers

So here it is. I am 35 and a mom. I worry about big things, like messing up my kid, dealing with psychotic people, and my boobs sagging.  Hey, my boobs sagging would suck. Sure, it’s gonna happen eventually, but let me enjoy them while they’re still here in the upper part of the hemisphere. Anywhoo, I’m gonna share with you all my adventures from childhood to teenage years (that’s where the douchebag part comes in–I dated many of them) to now (diapers: I change them. My baby eats regular food now and her diapers make me gag. Poop is good when you’re making it, not cleaning it up). I’m gonna test drive some of my memoir pieces, share my current thoughts, indulge my thoughts of self-importance to make up for my crappy self-esteem, and generally try to laugh because hell, life is too short to bitch all the time.

Join me!

2012, viva la resistance! ( I say this as I write in my pajamas, hoping to holy hell I might stay awake long enough to seduce my hubby).

xoxox