Fetal Flashbacks
Obviously my material this week is limited. After all, the boys spent their week without this chick. And then they didn't even want to talk to me on the phone at night! What a rough crowd. Apparently they survived camping out, kayaking and movies (i.e. copious amounts of spoiling).
That being said, I have decided to reach way, way back for this weeks edition to the ultimate birth control: pregnancy. Because I don't feel like people give an accurate representation of this part of parenthood in the least. I've been spending some time with some ladies trying to get pregnant for the very first time, and the information they are being provided is setting them up for failure in my humble opinion. Now don't get me wrong. I'm sure I've said before, and I'm sure I'll say again, my boys are the best part of my life. They are amazing creatures who never cease to amaze and entertain. And I know there are women out there who absolutely adore pregnancy, and do it well. We've all seen them. They glow. They have the tiny volleyball bump tummy, long lustrous hair, and the serene look of the Virgin Mary. They glide in to the obstetrician's office making the rest of us feel like heifers. When they give the urine sample to test for protein pee floats gracefully into the cup without ever splashing their delicate fingers. And probably, though I haven't been there to witness it, babies emerge after two or three pushes with the mother's keeping each hair in place and gazing adoringly at the father, doctor, nurse and wonder child.
Isn't that nice?
Now, in the world of the slightly less perfect, nothing works quite so nicely. First off, Gavin was no easy baby to come by. A long time and a lot of fertility treatments led to a slightly less then serene lady before I even GOT pregnant. And how did I know I was finally preggers? The smell of a defendant I was transporting in custody actually made me vomit. Total height of professionalism right there, huh folks? Clue number one that pregnancy might not be an easy feat. The vomiting, it lasted over five months. It hit when things were stinky (and this happened in transport cars, in holding cells, and in Court), it happened when I was exhausted (during middle of the night call outs, in the morning, in the afternoon...), and it happened whenever the fates aligned against me (pretty much any amount of awake time heretofore undescribed). And as a puker, I am the utmost in glamour. Blood vessels burst throughout my face, I made hurling noises that could be heard counties away, and I started traveling with clean up travel packs so that I'd be presentable in between bouts of exorcism worthy spewage.
But morning sickness (right, because it's totally limited to the a.m.) is just one tiny thing, right? Lets reflect on some of the positives that are attributed to pregnancy. For example, everyone tells you about the glow, right? They tell you that your skin will never be better. Truth? Well the truth is (and they will NOT tell you this until you are actually pregnant) that if you have any pre-existing skin conditions they will actually be exacerbated by pregnancy. Which is how, in my late twenties, I rediscovered acne. Fan-diddly-tastic. The closest I got to glowing was gleaming with sweat, usually while puking.
But wait, the hair and nails! Because suddenly you will have thick and lustrous hair and healthy nails. And there is truth to this. The good Lord had previously blessed me with those two attributes, but apparently feeling a little guilty about how everything else was turning out decided to turn that perk on full blast. Never in my life did I have thicker, fuller, more lustrous leg hair. Which after about month six I couldn't reach to shave. Nor could I reach to trim the healthy, razor sharp toenails.
Being all of 5'4", my hips and ribs pretty much adjoin. And Gavin, being a fat head like his Momma, of course got stuck breach with his head lodged UNDER my ribcage. Lets talk about breathing, folks. It's one of those things you never take the time to appreciate until suddenly you can no longer inhale fully. And how much fun is it when your little in vitro angel gets hiccups? Especially when they result in repetetive head butts to your own diaphragm and lungs and the occasional projectile vomiting as a result?
And here's where you realize what a cop out as a mom I really am. Because the greatest gift Gavin could have given me in utero was being breach. Breach babies, they are scheduled c-section babies. Bummer, right? Oh, to be robbed of the natural childbirth experience! I would have tried it, I swear, but I've heard lots of stories of ladies pooping mid delivery, and given my track record with pregnancy up to that point I was mortified at how this would have presented itself in my case. Not well, I'm sure. So yes, I was an utter failure at pregnancy from start to finish.
Here's my bit of hope, though. For all the ladies still thinking of trying for babies after this bit of horror. My children, they are amazing. And pregnancy, it ends. It ends with the most fantastic little squealing balls of spit up and projectile poop ever. This really and truly has been just a bit of educational information so that the ladies I care about realize that the perfect pregnancy chicks don't get anything better in the long run. My kids are totally tougher than theirs, I bet. And with that being said, this soccer mom will see those perfect pregnancy chicks at the next Saturday match! Bring it!
That being said, I have decided to reach way, way back for this weeks edition to the ultimate birth control: pregnancy. Because I don't feel like people give an accurate representation of this part of parenthood in the least. I've been spending some time with some ladies trying to get pregnant for the very first time, and the information they are being provided is setting them up for failure in my humble opinion. Now don't get me wrong. I'm sure I've said before, and I'm sure I'll say again, my boys are the best part of my life. They are amazing creatures who never cease to amaze and entertain. And I know there are women out there who absolutely adore pregnancy, and do it well. We've all seen them. They glow. They have the tiny volleyball bump tummy, long lustrous hair, and the serene look of the Virgin Mary. They glide in to the obstetrician's office making the rest of us feel like heifers. When they give the urine sample to test for protein pee floats gracefully into the cup without ever splashing their delicate fingers. And probably, though I haven't been there to witness it, babies emerge after two or three pushes with the mother's keeping each hair in place and gazing adoringly at the father, doctor, nurse and wonder child.
Isn't that nice?
Now, in the world of the slightly less perfect, nothing works quite so nicely. First off, Gavin was no easy baby to come by. A long time and a lot of fertility treatments led to a slightly less then serene lady before I even GOT pregnant. And how did I know I was finally preggers? The smell of a defendant I was transporting in custody actually made me vomit. Total height of professionalism right there, huh folks? Clue number one that pregnancy might not be an easy feat. The vomiting, it lasted over five months. It hit when things were stinky (and this happened in transport cars, in holding cells, and in Court), it happened when I was exhausted (during middle of the night call outs, in the morning, in the afternoon...), and it happened whenever the fates aligned against me (pretty much any amount of awake time heretofore undescribed). And as a puker, I am the utmost in glamour. Blood vessels burst throughout my face, I made hurling noises that could be heard counties away, and I started traveling with clean up travel packs so that I'd be presentable in between bouts of exorcism worthy spewage.
But morning sickness (right, because it's totally limited to the a.m.) is just one tiny thing, right? Lets reflect on some of the positives that are attributed to pregnancy. For example, everyone tells you about the glow, right? They tell you that your skin will never be better. Truth? Well the truth is (and they will NOT tell you this until you are actually pregnant) that if you have any pre-existing skin conditions they will actually be exacerbated by pregnancy. Which is how, in my late twenties, I rediscovered acne. Fan-diddly-tastic. The closest I got to glowing was gleaming with sweat, usually while puking.
But wait, the hair and nails! Because suddenly you will have thick and lustrous hair and healthy nails. And there is truth to this. The good Lord had previously blessed me with those two attributes, but apparently feeling a little guilty about how everything else was turning out decided to turn that perk on full blast. Never in my life did I have thicker, fuller, more lustrous leg hair. Which after about month six I couldn't reach to shave. Nor could I reach to trim the healthy, razor sharp toenails.
Being all of 5'4", my hips and ribs pretty much adjoin. And Gavin, being a fat head like his Momma, of course got stuck breach with his head lodged UNDER my ribcage. Lets talk about breathing, folks. It's one of those things you never take the time to appreciate until suddenly you can no longer inhale fully. And how much fun is it when your little in vitro angel gets hiccups? Especially when they result in repetetive head butts to your own diaphragm and lungs and the occasional projectile vomiting as a result?
And here's where you realize what a cop out as a mom I really am. Because the greatest gift Gavin could have given me in utero was being breach. Breach babies, they are scheduled c-section babies. Bummer, right? Oh, to be robbed of the natural childbirth experience! I would have tried it, I swear, but I've heard lots of stories of ladies pooping mid delivery, and given my track record with pregnancy up to that point I was mortified at how this would have presented itself in my case. Not well, I'm sure. So yes, I was an utter failure at pregnancy from start to finish.
Here's my bit of hope, though. For all the ladies still thinking of trying for babies after this bit of horror. My children, they are amazing. And pregnancy, it ends. It ends with the most fantastic little squealing balls of spit up and projectile poop ever. This really and truly has been just a bit of educational information so that the ladies I care about realize that the perfect pregnancy chicks don't get anything better in the long run. My kids are totally tougher than theirs, I bet. And with that being said, this soccer mom will see those perfect pregnancy chicks at the next Saturday match! Bring it!
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