The Yeast That Took Over the World

I hate this yeast. I hate it with every fiber of my being.

Yesterday, we went to my midwife to see about the raging boob yeast. “I’m not entirely sure that is yeast…” she said. See, she said that because I have taken it upon myself to wash the evil bumps with Dial soap. Yes, Dial soap. It’s no longer as bumpy, but it looks like someone took a cheese grater to it. I was, desperate, see? It had to go away, and Dial kills 99.9% of…well, everything. I figured, what the hell? Might kill of the yeast, too.

It didn’t. Just my skin. Now I’m not so bumpy but raw, ragged and itchy. I am an idiot.

She prescribed me a 3 month treatment of Diflucan. THREE MONTHS. Because, apparently, my yeast is evil.

Ben’s pediatrician prescribed him more Nystatin because the Miconazole was not working. If it doesn’t go away in yet another two weeks, he’s to go in and see them. However, after one treatment of Nystatin last night, he’s much less red and there are nearly no more bumps left. I think we’re finally in the home stretch with his demonic yeast.

Now, I’m going to go boil my nipples.

First Walk O’ Shame

After getting my membranes stripped on Monday morning, I had pretty regular contractions the rest of the day. We got to bed around midnight, contractions about 7-10 mins apart, not lasting more than a couple of seconds. At 3am, I awoke to some relatively harsh pains that refused to stop, even when I asked them to. I got up at about 3:30 and began timing. They were 4 mins apart, 30 seconds long.

I awoke Eric (actually the wind awoke him when it slammed the bedroom door shut, but same difference) at about 4 and let him know what was going on. I tried going back to bed at 5, with them 4 mins/50 seconds. It wasn’t working. We both got up at 6. I called the midwife. I hadn’t wanted to awaken her before that. She said to eat something, take a shower and come on in. So that’s just what we did.

We got there around 8:30. They checked us in, hooked me up to some monitors and answered a million questions that seemed entirely ridiculous to me. L&D admissions came down and asked the same questions all over again, supplied me with an admissions bracelet and gave us our “patient contact number.” Silly me, I thought that meant I wouldn’t be going home.

I was still at 2cm, although my contractions were showing at 3 minutes apart and 90 seconds long. To make an already entirely too long story short, they had me walk about for about 4 hours, checking and stretching (OW) me every hour or so. The farthest I got was 3.5cm, 3 mins, 90 seconds. Unless I wanted to be hooked up to Pitocin right then to get things going, they’d send me home. I went home.

So tomorrow at 7:30am is my induction. I think I may actually have a little fluid leakage but it doesn’t quite matter at this point. His head is so far engaged there’s very little chance of any infection or cord slippage. We’re going to try to get some good sleep in our own bed tonight in preparance for tomorrow’s marathon. Not that I’ll be able to, but it’s better than trying in a hospital.

Another bit of good news, no Cytotec needed! Takes a helluva lot off my mind. I’m still scared of the Pitocin and probably epi, but it’s 100% less horrifying of an idea without the Cytotec crap added. Woohoo!

I Am Not a Complete Failure!

2 cm dilated and 70% effaced. Hoh yeah! I know it’s not a huge improvement but it’s something, and that is really all that matters.

She stripped my membranes and I had contractions for about an hour afterwards. Then I went on a 30 minute walk, which is supposed to keep contractions going. Make them stronger, even. It didn’t. In fact, it made them stop entirely.

I think my body is officially a rebel.

The Foot That Took Over the World Pt 2

My foot has never been a skinny minnie. She’s always been quite a chubberoo, but a cute chubberoo. I’m sad to say I no longer feel any love for my foot. It’s 12″ around today. My foot is a foot around. And that fold in the ankle? My foot’s stretched out. The fold is from the swelling. My toes feel like they’re on fire, the entire thing is throbbing and it’s not responding to any sort of nice treatment or kind words. I do believe I may be the first woman to give birth through her ankle. It definitely feels that way.

The Foot That Took Over the World

Take a look at it folks. It huge, it’s grotesque, and it’s actually on it’s way down in that picture. My right foot has begun swelling to insane proportions in the past week or so. It’s so large, even my Crocs no longer fit. The day we went shopping, it had actually managed to swell through the holes in the top of my Crocs. How ridiculous is that? Had I stood any longer I am convinced my foot would’ve swallowed my shoe like The Blob did to so many teenagers. As adorable as this whole marshmallow foot is, I miss being able to tell I actually have an in-step. I certainly miss not having stretching pains in the skin on my foot. Most of all, however, I will miss having cute toes. Not these pathetic, wrinkley, “I’m suddenly 107 years old” toes thanks to the dramatic gain and loss of water in them, and definitely not the little Vienna sausages that have been ruling the roost as of late.

One week to go and my main reason for wanting this kid out has become the insane swelling of my feet. You know, since the whole inability to lift my legs or sleep isn’t enough.

On a side note: The Girl rocks my socks. She’s terribly sweet, and don’t you dare let her tell you otherwise.

Contractions Suck

I spent the majority of the day yesterday in bed. It couldn’t entirely be blamed on being a lazy ass, either. I haven’t been feeling right since Sunday. I’ve been exhausted. Eating puts me to sleep immediately and I’m hungry all the time. It’s been a mess.

So, I had a major intestinal freak out in the AM, followed by an hour of painful (!!) contractions coming about every 7 minutes for an hour. I followed the midwife’s instructions - lay down, drink water for an hour and if they’re still close together, call. They went away but I felt light headed the for rest of the day.

After I spoke to my mom and she flipped out, I called. The midwife says, “Lay down, put your feet up, drink more water, eat some protien and call back if you have more contractions, double vision or pass out.” Well, alrighty then.

I’m not feeling much better today. I’m tired and incredibly hungry. Ben’s been quiet, which is scaring the crap out of me. I have an appointment tomorrow, and I sure don’t want to be that crazy lady who calls every ten seconds, but if he doesn’t wake up and shove me in the bladder soon, I may just have to do it.

I have to say, those contractions were eye opening. I have no idea how self-hypnosis is going to help when the time comes but I’m going to hope. Suddenly the needle in my back doesn’t sound so bad.

Symptom Check-in - Week 26

I haven’t done one of these in a while. I was nearly getting comfortable in pregnancy…that’s going away.

• Evil leg cramps in the middle of the night. Point and flex! POINT AND FLEX!
• Back pain like I carried a fridge up 2 flights of stairs.
• On occasion, that back pain carries from my lower back, down my butt cheek and my thigh.
• Random, sharp pains in my side if I rollover too quickly.
• Waddling. WADDLING!!!
• Rice Krispies joints. Snap crackle pop whenever I move. Especially in my hips.
• Gingivitis like mad.
• Sore, sore feet that have grown about half a size and are now considered Ws.
• Leaking boobs. TMI? TOO BAD!
• VIOLENT mood swings. When I get mad, I get REALLY mad. When I get sad, I never want to move again.
• Depression, meh.
• Having to pee every 10-15 minutes. I get in a good 20, if I’m lucky, but then he starts to dance on my bladder, which is way less fun than it sounds.
• Gas…lots and lots of gas.

What’d the Pregnant Lady Say to the Popsicle Stick?

I’m depressed.

Not funny, is it? Laugh anyway, or I may sob uncontrollably for a few hours.

I’ve always had a little problem with depression, but it hasn’t been a consistent depression until recently. The hormones make me insane. Some days, I feel great. I wouldn’t say top of the world, but good enough. Any day I don’t feel like ramming my head repeatedly into a wall is a good day. Ante-partum depression, I think it’s called.

Last week I cried because Eric was grumpy, I was grumpy, dad was grumpy, and I was confronted with the super hard task of “how do I manage to do the exact same thing I do every day?” I didn’t just cry. I locked myself in the bathroom, sat on the floor and cried for an hour. Then later, I sat outside in the middle of the night and cried some more.

My days go up and down. I feel like there’s a million and one things to do and I am incapable of doing them. I can’t muster up the energy or motivation to save my life. I feel like I’m completely worthless when it comes to contributing to our home. I feel like Eric always has to take care of me and that he’s got to be sick of it. I’m always feeling insecure, alone and incapable. Most of the time, I find a way to ignore it but some days…

I’ve read that ante-partum depression is a pretty great indicator of possible post-partum depression after the baby comes. Now there’s something to look forward to.

Tis I, Benjamin, The King of Sciatica!

Dearest Momma,
You and I have known one another for quite some time now, so I will not sugar coat things. I have tried my best to gently remind you that I am the boss here. I understand it’s a tough transition to make but this is getting ridiculous.

First, a list of demands:
- I need some freakin’ vegetables in my diet, a kid can’t live on cheese, chocolate and granola bars. Jalapenos are great, really, and yes, momma, they are vegetables but not the ONLY ones that exist.
- Stop trying to smoosh me. You can’t sit like that anymore and you definitely cannot sleep like that anymore.
- I’ll wake up and kick you whenever I darn well please. Just because YOU won’t get any exercise, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have to! Besides, how do I know it’s 4am? Like your uterus is this whole planetary system, containing a sun and moon? Tell you what, I’ll get on your schedule when you implement those upgrades.
- Stop trying to wake me up when I’m napping!! Daddy will feel me when I’m good and ready for him to. Back off!
- Your bladder gets in my way. Empty it more often and I won’t need to kick and shove it out of what precious, tiny space I do have.

Should you choose to not comply with these demands, I will continue my current reign of terror on “that nerve” in your back. You know of which I speak. The one that makes your entire left buttcheek hurt, all the way down to your thigh. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I have upped the ante. What was once simple compression of the nerve has become pinching, riding, pulling, biting and plucking like a guitar string. I have, once, even moved over to the right side, just to show you that what you were feeling was only HALF of what could be done.

Really, momma, this is only for your own good. I have tried my best to gently prod you in this direction, but you have refused to listen, therefore I must result to terrorism. I hate for it to be this way, momma, but you’ve left me no choice.

Love,
Benjamin

Ways to Not Be a Jerk

Not being a jerk does not equal being “politically correct,” it means just not being a jerk.

State your opinion, but understand it is only an opinion. “Red shoes are the BEST for everyone.” Now, with tact: “I believe red shoes are the best.”

Having a strong opinion about something is awesome, pushing it on other people is not. “Everyone should wear red shoes, now.” Tact: “Red shoes are the best for me.”

Respecting someone else’s opinion is not a bad thing. “You’re wrong, blue shoes are for horrible people.” Tact: “I prefer red shoes, but I totally get that so many people love blue shoes.”

Being judgemental is not a mortal sin, but it’s still a pretty crappy thing to do. “Anyone who doesn’t wear red shoes doesn’t deserve to have feet.” Tact: “I’m a raging jerk for judging you because you haven’t chosen the same thing I have. I’m sorry.”

I must be hormonal because I’m getting more and more annoyed with people disregarding others thoughts and opinions. I don’t get why it’s so hard to just be nice.