Giving Birth Is Really Hard

Contrary to what I was thinking a month ago, the universe is not so unkind as to allow me to stay being pregnant forever.

That's right! Ripley Ellen Maixner was born on August 19th, 2014. She came in at 7 pounds 9 ounces and 19 inches. And of course, since my pregnancy was so hard, my labor was perfect, easy, and over-all a magical experience.

...

HAHAHAHAH. Just kidding, it was awful, and I'm gonna tell you all about it, in super-duper, graphic detail.

This post will be splattered with pictures of baby kittens in order to ease you into the story of me splattering out a human being into the world.

So, let us rewind to midnight of Monday night (or Tuesday morning, whatever is technically right in this situation). My due date was the 15th, so I was 4 days late and on high alert for any sign of baby coming. The main thing I was really hoping for was actually my water breaking. I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for like a month already, which are similar to real contractions, in that they hurt and suck, but unlike real contractions in that they don't do anything to bring baby out and if you go to the OB while having them, they'll just send you home and you'll just be in unproductive pain inconsistently throughout the day and be super confused as to what a real contraction should even feel like. If my water broke, then I would for sure be having a baby that day, instead of being "allowed" to go back home.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I was also having some lovely, intense pelvic pain, which upon Googling, discovered was called "lightning crotch," which is hilarious.

Like this, but in your vagina.

Anyways, I was laying in bed, playing Restaurant Rush on the iPad and kicking a ton of food ass, when I felt what I could only call a definite weird feeling. I woke Grey up, thinking that this was maybe my water breaking, then proceeded to stand out of bed to go to the bathroom to investigate.

This was evidently the right move, because if I wasn't sure about my water breaking previous to this, my amniotic fluid left no room for doubt.

What my OB had told me to look for when my water broke was a slight trickle or a light burst. This is not what happened. I essentially released what felt like three gallons of liquid in about 0.5 seconds. It was the Niagara Falls of water breakage.

Like this, but out of my vagina.

Cue new pants, and off to the hospital we went.

Well, first we dropped by a gas station and picked up an iced tea and a back of Ranch Munchies, because once you get admitted to the hospital, you can no longer eat, and I wanted to go in with the taste of Doritos and French Onion Sun Chips lingering on my tongue.

An interesting note on water breakage; it doesn't really ever stop. You just keep leaking water intermittently all the way up to baby coming out. It's pretty gross. So make sure to bring a towel to the car and try really hard not to sneeze.

Sorry for that image. Here's a cat mid-sneeze.

We arrived at the hospital around 1 in the morning, me waddling to avoid creating slipping hazards and Grey riding on a crazy adrenaline train that had him way too giddy for the time of night it was. First thing I had to do was assure the horrified nurses that I was in fact not having a stroke, and that my face was weird looking because of Bell's Palsy. (Yes, that's still totally hanging around, stupid not-working facial nerve.) Then, I got taken to another room and set up on this giant machine that monitors the baby's heartbeat and my contractions.

Once I was slightly comfortable, so began the long parade of people who would be sticking things in me. This first one was checking to see if I was actually leaking amniotic fluid, and hadn't just peed myself, which evidently is a thing. I am not a medical expert, but I know where pee comes from, and was really rather sure that's not where I had been leaking from.

It turns out that I was right, so I was whisked away to the magical labor and delivery floor, which, contrary to many movies I have seen, was not filled with the mingled cries and screams of newly-born children, women giving birth, and dads whose feelings are being hurt by previously mentioned women telling them how this is all their fault.

This is a physical embodiment of what I was expecting to hear.

Instead, I got lead to a quiet room, given giant hospital underwear (which were actually insanely comfortable), and got hooked up to an IV that, unknown to me at the time, would be my buddy for the next four days.

"I make you pee every 15 minutes, but I also deliver you sweet, sweet pain meds."

As soon as I was settled, I got asked about my birth plan. The hospital had a bunch of options; birthing tubs, aromatherapy, a whole lot of other things that were a huge, fat NOPE for me. Don't get me wrong, I think it is great that those options are available for those who want it. I just did not want any of it. My birth plan was pretty much, "please remove baby and I would like to not feel much of it, thanks a bunch." This was actually really close to what I got, so I can't complain too much. I'll just complain enough to make this blog post as close to what you're used to from me as possible.

That being said, I was actually pretty curious about how far I could go without getting the epidural. I have a pretty decent pain tolerance, and seeing as Grey and I have almost completely decided on Ripley being our one and only child, this was going to be my one opportunity to sit it out and see how much I could take.

The answer to this is around 8 hours of contractions. After that, I decided that curiosity was stupid and I wanted to never feel what a contraction feels like ever again.

Oh, and for those of you who have never had contractions, if you are a lady, I'd say think of the worst period cramps you've ever had, then make those wrap around your entire lower torso, then make them hurt about twenty times as much. For guys, think of the cramps you can get when you need to poop. Then make that poop weigh 40 pounds and also you have not pooped for nine months.

Spiderman understands what I'm trying to say here.

Getting the epidural was not a super fun experience either, though. It is, to be clear, a giant needle inserting a catheter directly into your spinal fluid. And, you do not have an epidural prior to getting an epidural, so you do feel the epidural, even though you get a general anesthetic beforehand.

Luckily, my anesthesiologist had excellent bed-side manner and was hilarious, and Grey let me crush his hands while I crouched ass-up on the bed getting a tube shoved into my back. After the initial pain of the injection (which really isn't that bad, especially compared to the super fun time I was having prior), the nurse flipped a switch, and I was nearly instantly the happiest person ever. No more pain!

Negative side to this: you cannot feel anything below the waist anymore, which means you cannot feel the need to pee, and even if you did, would not be able to walk to the bathroom.

This equals catheter in the urethra.

So, between that, the epidural, the IV line, and the frequent cervix checks, let's just say that, when it comes to the birthing process, the penetration only just begins at conception.

I am so, so sorry for that joke.

Another good thing about the epidural is that Grey and I were finally able to fall asleep after being awake for the past 36 hours. We turned on an ocean documentary and just passed out. Between whale calls and a continuous line of high level pain meds, I had some of the best sleep I had had since getting pregnant. It was awesome.

Speaking of watching things on the TV, we were instructed to watch the newborn videos provided by the hospital, and they were unintentionally the most hilarious things. The shining star of these was the Shaken Baby Syndrome video. Now, shaking babies is a bad thing. Going to go out on a limb and say that it is really terrible to shake a baby and you should never do it, and you really shouldn't make a joke of actually hurting a child.

That being said, this video featured grown men with serious faces shaking very obviously fake baby dolls, and for some reason, it made us laugh really, really hard.

Like, seriously, how could you not at least laugh a little at this?  Like an itty, bitty bit?

But, really, don't shake a baby. That's not cool.

Anyhow, let's get back to me trying to have my own baby.

Despite the hours of labor and contractions, I just could not get to the point where my cervix was really dilating. The doctor even put me on pitocin, which is a medication designed specifically to speed up labor and get the cervix a-going. I got to 4 cm, and stayed there. It needs to go up to 10 cm to actually get the baby out, so I only really had enough room for one nurse to get on up there and tell us, "Oh, I can feel that your baby has a lot of hair!"

Grey and I's response to this statement.

I was being checked every half hour or so, and nothing was happening. As time went on, my blood pressure, which was already not so hot when I arrived at the hospital, steadily rose.

This is where the story gets a bit scary, but it turned out well in the end, so no need for anxiety, gentle readers.

About twenty hours after my water broke, I began projectile vomiting. I felt incredibly light-headed, and when the nurses checked, my blood pressure had risen to 165/110. For those who don't know blood pressures, this is super bad. Like heart attack bad. My temperature had also gotten to 104, which put not only me in danger, but Ripley too. All this, and my cervix was still only 4 cm. This meant immediate C-Section.

This calls for a whole bucket of kittens.

This brought in, and I'm not even kidding, about fifteen people into my room, all talking to me, and generally freaking me out. I got wheeled to an operating room, with Grey left in the room I had been in till I would be fully prepped and ready to go.

Except he never got to come in, because I actually had to get put under completely because the anesthesia ended up not working for me at all. I did not really become fully aware of this fact until the first slice.

Aaaaaaaaand now we'll be needing multiple buckets of kittens, thank you.

I do not remember anything else here, besides saying, "Owwww, I can feel that." I wish I could have had somewhat of a delivery story to share with you guys, but that option just wasn't available for me. I went from a low-risk pregnancy to a high so quickly, I didn't even realize what was happening until I was awake one hour later. For this reason, I was really happy that we chose to come to the hospital we did. It was an hour drive (maybe less, because we may or may not have sped the entire way), but it was much more prepared for what I eventually needed than the smaller hospital in the place we currently live. I had become heavily pre-enclampsic and had managed to get an infection due to my water breaking earlier that day. This really could've been bad news for me or the kid, but instead, I just have a wicked scar and a healthy baby.

Basically, hospitals are awesome, and I feel really lucky. I could've died, and instead I'm here, getting to horrify you with the tale of how my baby got ripped out of my abdomen.

Kinda what I get for naming her after the leading character from this movie.

So, I woke up, and the first person I saw was Grey. Just to prep you guys, I'll be devoting an entire post to how great this guy was through this experience and the following days of my recovery. Dads don't necessarily get the credit they deserve, and he deserves a lot. Being able to open my eyes and see him standing with me made me feel stronger.

Alright, done with that mushy stuff, feel free to barf now.

"Gross, Sylvia. I came here for snarky baby talk, not for you talking about love and shit."

About two minutes after I opened my eyes, I got to meet my baby, and that was pretty rad. It's not a feeling you can really describe, and I was also still pretty drugged up, so I just cried and held my baby.

The horrible pain from invasive abdominal surgery came about an hour later, but I think I'll make yet another blog post about C-Section recovery, and instead leave you with the first picture of what I worked so hard to make.

7 pound, 9 ounces and 19 inches of the greatest baby I've ever had cut out of me.

So yeah. Totally worth it all.



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Third Trimester A.K.A. The Longest Freaking Span of Time Ever

Looking back at all of my previous blog posts, it seems like pretty much all my creative writing energy has gone to complaining about being pregnant and all that being in said situation brings.

I realize that this makes it seem like I have not enjoyed the process at all and cannot wait for it to be over.

That is good, because it is totally the case and I would really like to stop being pregnant any old time now.

If only solo slow dancing could induce labor...

To elaborate, I have been in what my OB has told me is called pre-labor since last Monday. 10 days of inconsistent, but unpleasant contractions, extreme fatigue, and back pain. Oh, and if no one has ever experienced what a ripening cervix feels like, allow me to enlighten you.

It BLOWS.

Plus, my darling baby girl has gotten pretty big, so now has the ability to both grind her head against my pelvis and kick the shit out of my ribs at the same time.

"Oh, is Momma trying to sleep? Time to show off my sweet ninja baby moves!"

We actually did have a false alarm five days ago, since my contractions seemed to have gotten fairly consistent, but by the time we drove to my OB (who is an hour away), got all the monitors strapped on, and had the nurse dig around for like fifteen minutes to see if I was dilated (which I wasn't), they stopped and we got sent home. Of course, as soon as we stopped to eat, the contractions started up again, because my baby is a troll.

So at this point, I'm just waiting for my water to break or for the contractions to get so bad that I want to punch someone in the face.

Right now, I only want to Vulcan Death Grip annoying people, which is only a step above my normal status.

So yeah, super ready to get this baby out. I am so tired and I don't even have the ability to grimace properly about it because of the whole Bell's Palsy thing. I can move my bottom lip a tiny, tiny bit now, which is great, but from other pregnant Bell's people I've talked to, I won't see any real progress until after Ripley's born.

Oh, and I've tried pretty much everything on the holistic list of inducing pregnancy already, which ranges from spicy food to sex, which is really hard to do when you've got a 20 pound, moving beach ball attached to your torso.

I can officially say that the lists are a conspiracy and put in place only to give poor pregnant women false hope because the world is cruel.

Well, I for one am giving up hope. I'm going to be one of those pregnant women who stay pregnant till like 45 weeks, and give birth to a 15 pound monster baby. We all know my pregnant luck. This is a definite possibility.

Congratulations, Sylvia! You have won the shit pregnancy lottery! Yaaaaaaaaay!

Bleh.

At least Ripley is doing well. Got that at least!

...

So. Freaking. Tired.

You and me, adorable fluffy bunny. You and me both.

By the way, if anyone utters the phrase, "Oh, you think you're tired now, wait until you have a newborn!" I will puke on their shoes.

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Bell's Palsy: Because Just Being Pregnant Wasn't Hard Enough By Itself

No cutesy intro to this one.

Friday morning, I woke up with a rather irritating pain in my ear, along with a tingling sensation across the left side of my face. My tongue was numb as well, but I chalked that up to the delicious leftover gyro I had for breakfast that I heated for far too long in the microwave.

Oh, yummy gyro, why would you burn me when all I want to do is love you?

Grey's parents were visiting from Nebraska, so I decided to try to not make a big deal out of it. I had been clenching my jaw while I slept, which I have never done before, so I figured that's where the weird face feelings were coming from.

It being the 4th of July, we hopped in the car to hit up the beach. The entire time I was getting more and more anxious, since I was beginning to lose the ability to wink in my left eye, and it seemed like I was talking more heavily out of the right side of my mouth. When we posed for a picture at the beach, I noticed that I actually could not smile with the left side, at all, which was horrifying.

There are several things on Friday that I would have done differently, and this moment was one of them. I did not go to the ER right when I noticed that I had lost complete control of half of my face. I didn't want to ruin the day out, and since my face did not appear to be drooping at all, I pretty much brushed it aside and tried to ignore the problem, hoping it would go away. It wasn't until about three hours later that I finally insisted on going somewhere to get looked at. Since it was Bell's Palsy, there wasn't anything that could have been done within those three hours to have really made a difference, but if had been something worse, I may have caused myself more harm by not wanting to be a drag on the day.

I was making myself sad, so here's a kitty.

However, I did end up doing to the hospital, where I got diagnosed with the fun affliction known as Bell's Palsy. Wheeeeeeee.

What is Bell's Palsy, you ask? Well, since I am now a lot more learned about it than I was just a week ago, allow me to learn you all a little something.

Bell's Palsy is a disorder that goes after the nerve that controls your face. This leads to weakness, or in my case, complete paralysis of one side of the face. No one is quite sure what causes it, though it is guessed that it is caused by a variant of the herpes virus, which means there is a good chance I have herpes in my face, which is gross. It's also much more likely to hit people who are diabetic, or, lucky me, women in their third trimester of pregnancy.

Wheeeee.

Another "fun" fact regarding Bell's Palsy; there's no real method of curing the disorder. It comes as it pleases, and leaves the same way. A good chunk of people who have had it being to start seeing recovery within two weeks to a month, but some people don't see real improvement for six month to a year. A few don't even recover at all, and there is really nothing you can do, medication or therapy wise, that is proven to be effective in all cases.

Now, me being the over-researcher that I am, found that a round of steroids has been shown to help at least improve your chances of recovering quickly and completely. I did not receive those from the doctor I saw on Friday, since she was afraid of what it might do to the baby.

This leads me to the second thing that I would have done differently; if you are pregnant, and at the the ER, INSIST that they call an OB to get an opinion. The person I saw was not a trained OB, and knew so little about Bell's Palsy that she left the room to go read an article about the disorder. An OB would have been able to tell her exactly what to do and what was safe for the baby, since this is something that they do see on an occasional basis. I almost missed my window of opportunity to take the steroids (you should begin the treatment within 72 hours for it to do any good), and all because I saw someone who didn't think to ask an expert who would have easily been on call.

Oh, and steroids are totally fine in the third trimester, by the way. I went in again to the ER on Sunday, determined to get some medication, and the doctor I saw actually had the sense to check with the OB on call. So wooooooooo taking lots of pills that don't affect my baby, but hopefully do fix my face.

What with hypermesis gravidarum and now this joyous experience, this is kinda what breakfast looks like now.

Side note. If you are doctor and someone comes in with half of their face not moving, that is an inappropriate time for jokes. I mentioned that I didn't have a new driver's license for Michigan yet, and would probably be waiting until the Bell's hopefully cleared up before going to get a new one. His response was, "Well, at least you'd be easily recognizable if it does stay that way."

What I should have done. Instead, I just burst into tears, which was actually just as effective.

So yeah. Bell's Palsy.

....

Man, guys, this sucks so freaking hard. Like, really, this pregnancy has been really goddamn hard. I throw up all the time still, I can't poop, my heartburn is barely in check, I can't sleep, but I could deal with all of that, especially since Ripley is doing so well. It was manageable, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel and I was so close to it. Five weeks, and I could switch all that out (except for the sleeping bit) for a little mini pooping human.

Now this.

I am trying really hard to stay positive, though. It doesn't do me much good to get super depressed about this, and as much as I would like to stay inside and just hide until I am looking a tiny bit more normal, that just isn't an option for me.

The outside world is where you go to get slushies, and slushies are too delicious to deny.

Plus, I find myself thinking about the type of person I want my kid to see me as. If I hide away and allow myself to get completely swallowed up by this, what does that show Ripley about strength and determination? It's okay to cry, and it's okay to be sad, but I don't want her to think that the best way to get through a bad time is to sit and be consumed.

So, I'm going to get up every morning, take my giant handful of pills, put on eyeliner even if my left eye is not cooperating, and keep living, not just for me, or Grey (who has been amazing with all my emotions and hormones and crying at least three times a day), but for the person we're bringing into the world.

Also, the cats wouldn't leave me alone if I stayed in bed all day being sad, because that would mean a possibility of an empty food bowl.

Pictured: Cat hell.

On the plus side, I can use this as my smiley face emoticon now ----> :/







Oh, and I made a video on YouTube for this as well, which can be found here.

Oh oh, I have a Facebook page for the blog too, so you can like that too, if you want.

Moving Sucks

I'm going to go ahead and make a bold statement here.

Moving is awful and no one enjoys it, and if they do, they are crazy people.

These people are obviously sociopaths.

On that note, Grey, I, and all the kitties have arrived and are pretty much completely unpacked here in Michigan. I'd say that being pregnant made the whole experience even less enjoyable than other moves we've taken, but really, it was equally as unpleasant as the other four times we've moved since we've been together.

This is due in part to the fact that Grey's new job provided a moving stipend, which meant we could pay people to move the boxes for us. Well, to move boxes for me, since Grey is still allowed to lift things that are over 15 pounds, unlike my baby bearing self.

So yeah.

....

You know, I honestly thought I'd have more to say about this topic, but I really don't. Except for the fact that we left behind an entire kitchen drawer that contained my rice cooker, our blender, and several specialty pans, it all went pretty smoothly. I mean, we left Illinois on Monday, and we're already essentially done with the whole unpacking thing today, not even a full week later.

*sob*

I guess if I have any tips that I learned from this particular move, it would be to hire movers if you possibly can, because they are awesome, and pregnant or not, having extra people around to move your stuff is super helpful.

Also, realize your limitations. If you need to sit down, sit down. I had swollen ankles that could've doubled as flotation devices before I finally decided to give it a rest, and had to take pretty much a whole day or two off of unpacking for them to return to human sizes.

Grey also managed to obtain a bruised rib, so we were a cute invalid couple, sitting on the couch, him with a frozen bag of lima beans on his side, and me with my elevated elephant feet, playing Wario Ware for hours because of course the first thing that got set up was the TV and the Wii.

For future references, this is a TERRIBLE game to decompress to. Seriously, there is nothing more stressful than that freaking thumb wrestling mini game. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO WIN, WHY WOULD THE GAME DESIGNERS EVEN DO THAT?

Oh, and check all the cupboards and drawers because you will feel really, really dumb when you realize that with the power of two college-educated brains combined, you still managed to leave behind like $250 worth of kitchen equipment.

*wailing and gnashing of teeth*

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On Being Six and a Half Months Pregnant and Going to a Strip Club For the First Time

First off, yes, yes, I know, I have not written a blog post in forever. I'd apologize, but instead I'll just post a picture of me and my baby bump to distract you all, then move on to the topic on hand.

Also, too lazy to crop this photo, so enjoy my adorable owl toothbrush holder too.

So, life has been pretty insane these past few weeks, what with getting ready to move to another state and also continuing to bake fetus into screaming human baby. As we've gotten a good chunk of the essential moving things done, like finalizing on a rental house in Michigan, getting off of our lease here, and finding a good moving company to work with, we've been spending a lot of our time cramming in as much friend time as possible.

This allows me to awkwardly merge onto the actual subject you came here for; one of Grey's friends took him to a place called the Silver Bullet, and I, along with another wife, were invited to come, too. Fifteen minutes later, cue me waddling into my first ever real-life strip club.

New experiences, illustrated in neon.

I'll admit, I had major apprehensions about actually walking into the bar; not only have I actually never been to a place where the breasts swing sans covering, but I am (shocking) pregnant.

Like super obviously, having trouble moving between tables, pregnant.

I am currently the living, breathing physical embodiment of consequences from sexual desire. So, like the opposite of what I imagine people want to see at a nudie bar. (Or in the case of the Silver Bullet, a topless bar. Panties stay on in this establishment.)

Pictured: Motivation to keep those dollar bills and put them into a high- interest, long-term college savings account.

You know what, though? It was a ton of fun. I am really, really glad I went. In fact, I think it's one of the better things I've done for myself since I've gotten pregnant.

Weird? Maybe.

But, allow me to explain myself.

Also, if you couldn't tell, this is going to be quite the graphic, personal blog post. If you find naked people, sex, or the idea of naked people having sex disturbing, well, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog in general, because I had to get pregnant somehow, and it had at least a little something to do with naked people sex.

Spoiler alert, not how babies are made.

1. Going to a Strip Club Made Me Feel Pretty

Ever since I have gotten out of terrible, awkward puberty, I have been blessed with a healthy self-image. I, in general, have always thought of myself as a fairly attractive lady. Even when I was technically overweight or had terrible haircuts, I never really felt fat or ugly.

Then, I got pregnant.

Here is a list of things that have happened during pregnancy that has led me to feel less attractive:

• Throwing up. Like, a mountain of vomit.
• Nausea. Similar to vomiting, only without physical proof.
• Weird zits in weird places.
• My OB saying, after looking at my chart, "You look puffy, but you're actually a little underweight."
• Sweating. Never ending streams of sweat coming out of everywhere.
• The realization that nothing fits and anything that does will be stretched to oblivion after it has served its purpose.
• Going swimsuit shopping and discovering the tops that are normally sold in stores only have enough fabric to cover one boob. Barely.
• Hair growing everywhere. Leg hair thick and bountiful, hair all over my stomach, mustache, and two very long nose hairs.
• Ligaments stretching.
• Having the following adjectives used to describe you on a daily basis: huge, gigantic, humongous, big, really pregnant, Buddha.
• That one time a coworker, upon seeing me back up, went, "Beep, beep, beep, wide load coming!"
• Knocking over stuff with my wide load.
• Gas. Both the burpy and the farty kind.
• Being reminded constantly what a "cute" waddle I have.

Now, I do realize that there are more important things in life than feeling pretty. My baby is healthy, Grey got this new job, I have awesome and adorable kitties; life is more than satisfactory. I don't need to feel beautiful to feel happy. I'm confident in more aspects of myself than just my looks.

Writing blog posts in a timely manner is not one of those aspects.

But still, it sucks. I didn't feel pretty; I just felt pregnant, and, at that point, those two things could not be combined.

Strippers showed me that I was quite wrong.

To be clear, I do not mean this in a mean, comparative way; it wasn't like I walked in and the strippers were unattractive, and I, therefore, felt better looking being surrounded by ugly people. To the contrary, I'll be honest; those women were super hot. Oh, and they were only wearing tiny, tiny underpants, so there's that too.

Like this tiny. Only exaggerating a little.

Here's the thing though. All those hot, pretty much naked women kept coming up to me and telling me how hot I was. One of them even asked if I ever worked as a dancer myself. Never before have I been so flattered to be asked if I had ever been a stripper. Oh, and I got a hug, which was actually really sweet.

Also, strippers smell like cocoa butter and glitter. Just so you know.

Also, my huge, unruly boobs that I had become very self-conscious of were like stripper catnip; they just zeroed right in on 'em. Seriously, everyone of them went straight for me and the girls. It was pretty great. (On a side note, strippers are very courteous. They all ask for permission before touching and say thank you afterwards. Just good manners.)

By the end of the night, no one mentioned that I was huge or stopped to tell me that I was looking "super pregnant today." Instead, I was told several times that I was radiant, my skin was "so smooth", and that my hair was amazing.

So to sum up, if you haven't had the experience of attractive, topless people telling you that you are also attractive and wanting to touch you, let me tell you something; it is absolutely great for your ego. Seriously.

And yes, I did give out dollars, and yes, it is a possibility that these compliments stemmed completely from said dollars. To that I say this; I have spent money on stupider things that have not made me feel half as good.

A feeling that is worth a fat stack of one dollar bills.

2. Going to a Strip Club is Actually a Really Fun Couple's Activity

Now, I know what you are all thinking: it's one thing to have thong-clad women hanging all over you, telling you how awesome you are and how great your face is...

Yes, yes, shower me in your compliments.

...but a completely different thing if they do it to your husband, who is sitting right next to you, with a ring on his finger, thank you very much, ma'am.

Admittedly, even though I am quite secure in our relationship, and in how I know Grey feels about me, I was a little wary about the thought of watching another lady touching him. Or, in the case of what actually happened, a lady climbing on the table, throwing both her legs across his shoulders, then crab walking towards him, all of which was done with an amount of fluidity that I did not think possible by the human body.

Seriously, how does one possibly make this look anything other than stupid?

Surprisingly, I was not at all bothered by watching women put their boobs on my husband's head. In fact, it was actually, and I am being completely sincere, really fun. We held hands, tipped generously, and were both super impressed by how some of those ladies worked the pole. In the end, it was just something the two of us were doing together, and it was new, slightly taboo, and very exciting.

Like bungee jumping, only with more high heels and naked people.

I do not know what this says about me or about our relationship, other than the fact that we are probably weird perverts, but I don't really care to psychoanalyze it myself, especially when it works as well as it does. It's fun to hang out with my husband, no matter where it is.

Plus, he was always quick to agree with the glittery ladies about how cool I am, which, again, makes me feel good, and is worth a dollar.

(Grey, this does not mean I am going to start giving you dollars.)

3. Going to a Strip Club Reignites Certain Things That I Thought Had Left The Building For the Remainder of This Pregnancy

~POSSIBLE TMI ALERT~

You have been warned.

Seriously, I have no way to put this gently.

After the strip club, my sex drive came back. I thought it was gone for the rest of the pregnancy, but it came back with a vengeance. Like a killer whale seeing a baby seal after a long period of famine.

Graphic.

I don't know if it was because my self-confidence had been restocked, or if it was just being reminded that I was in fact a woman, and not just a walking incubator, but either way, it has found it's way back home.

Welcome back, little buddy.

Yep.

So there's that.

Moving on.

To conclude, here are some tips and tricks to navigating a strip club, regardless of whether or not you are pregnant:

• If you are unsure about etiquette, just ask. Strippers do not mind being asked, or at least, they are very good at masking any annoyances of being asked.
• Tip the girls. Seriously, it's just common courtesy when someone is doing their job well, and tips are their main source of income. 
• Don't be afraid to ask the stripper with the amazingly soft skin what kind of lotion she uses. (Cocoa butter. My skin is now also amazingly soft.)
• Keep an open mind.
• Write a blog post about it, so I won't feel so weird about having had such a good time and then telling the Internet all about said good time.
• Have fun!

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Life Happenings

Good news!

Grey got a new job! He's going to be the Emerging Technologies librarian for Ferris State University in Big Rapids, Michigan. 

I, for one, am greatly looking forward to his new uniform.

Bad news.

This means we'll be moving while I'm seven months pregnant.

Good news for you guys!

You will be getting a blog letting you all know how much I will have enjoyed moving while seven months pregnant.

There was going to be a longer blog today about something, but my fetus would like me to play video games instead, so, being a good mother, that's what's going to happen.

Milking the pregnancy card, hells yeah.

Actually, let's make this next blog post a wee bit more interactive. What would you guys rather read me complaining actively about: pregnancy books or existential crisises caused by tiny human in the womb? 

Comment below! Or don't, and I'll just play video games instead again.

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Making a Registry

Having reached the over half way mark of being pregnant, Grey and I decided to take the next step, as modern parents, to prepare for bringing a new life in this world: buying stuff.

Well, making a list online of stuff we need to buy, or, even better, have other people buy for us.

It's like Trick R' Treating, expect instead of knocking on doors for candy, we hope someone buys a crib because they're very expensive.

This is actually a lot harder then it seems like it should be, because I actually have no idea what babies need. Newborns, contrary to what I believed before I really started looking into it, require more things than just diapers and boobs to live, comfortably at least.

After typing in "What do Babies Need" into the Google and becoming instantly overwhelmed with the lists of all the stuff that I would need to buy in order to prove to my child that I do not want her to hate me, I decided to just go off of the still rather extensive "Registry Checklist" on the Baby R' Us's website.

At this point in the blog, I just going to make a list of all of the things that I learned, since this entire process was a learning experience, in that I learned that there are several different types of bottle nipples and I also learned I am still bad at being organized at doing things. Welcome to my world, people.

These all do different things, and I have no idea what that is and how it works, oh god, what is happening?!

1. Cribs Do Not Come With Crib Mattresses

This makes really no sense to me. I mean, I know mattresses don't automatically come with frames in grown up land, but that doesn't make sense either.

...

You know what, now that I've written it down, it makes more sense, because you might need a new mattress before you need a new frame. Maybe I should erase this first post and come up with a different number one.

Nah, I've gone too far. Moving on.

Inserting appropriate movie reference right about here. 

2. The Answer to Is "____" Blank Safe For My Baby Will Almost Always Be No

I'm not exaggerating here. Like two thirds of the things on the registry list came back with some pediatric group saying that it was not safe: crib bumpers, swaddlers, pretty much everything is horrifying, which is greatly appreciated from this first time parent who is still seeing all these things for sale and wondering why they are essentially selling me tiny baby murder tools.

Admittedly, that mini crossbow is really adorable.

Of course, this is another thing I'm learning rather quickly when entering the increasingly frightening world of parenting: everything is a controversy. Seriously, there is nothing the Internet will not argue about, especially about kids. Let's take swaddling, for example.

Or, as I like to call it, rolling a baby burrito.

Pro-swaddlers believe that this is the good way to prevent SIDs, which seems great, because I'm all in favor of not having anyone in my house suddenly dying. But, then, the anti-swaddlers say that swaddling can lead to hip dysplasia, or, when wound too tightly, hypothermia. So, looking at this, it appears my two choices are wrapping my baby burrito and then having her hips not work while she overheats to death, or not going the tortilla route at all, and put her at risk for SIDs.

Luckily, I do not believe everything I read on the Internet, so I'm going to go ahead and say these are probably exaggerations, but still, that's a lot of pressure to put when on someone when they're trying to figure out what their baby will need.

Also, there was a lot of articles telling me to not get a crib, and just a co-sleeper, which is not happening. (And I am NOT judging people who do this, it's just not for me.) Not that I don't enjoy the prospect of seeing my baby first thing every morning, (or smelling exactly when she poops, right at head level) but there is only one thing that I can think of when I look at co-sleepers at stores...

Behold: The Cock-Blocker, Co-Sleeper Edition

3. There Are Approximately 2 Million Different Types of Strollers, and Apparently You Need Them All

I am exaggerating for comedic effect, of course, but there are seriously a bunch of different types of strollers, and it is hard to figure out which one's you actually need, as opposed to just being a giant extra thing with wheels that costs $300.00 and will just get covered in cat hair and baby vomit.

I typed in cat stroller as a joke, and discovered it is real. Thank you, Internet.

So, to break it down, you've got normal strollers, travel strollers, umbrella strollers, jogging strollers, lightweight strollers, stroller frames, and double/triple strollers. There are also strollers I found online that cost over $2,000, which I call, HAHHAHAHAHAHAH no strollers.

From what I've read (famous last words, right) it seems like one, nice stroller, is all that is necessary, so that's nice, but also now we have to make decisions, and decisions are hard.

We can automatically drop out on the double/triple strollers, as there is only one human in me, and I will not actually be taking one of the cats for a ride along with baby. Umbrella stroller is out too, since those are the ultra-collapsible ones that are pretty cheap, and seem a bit flimsy to trust a newborn in. Originally, after actually going to the store and checking it out, we decided on a jogging stroller, since it folded up nice and easy, looked comfy, and seemed pretty easy to push around. However, after doing some more research, they aren't meant for babies under six months of age, either, since they don't recline.

I tried looking online at pictures on the website to figure out what a better fit would be, but ended up getting distracted by someone posting a video of Korean people twerking to classical music, so we're gonna put a pause on actually deciding for realsies till we can get back to the store and actually check out some strollers, hands on style.

I can't come up with a snarky comment. I just want to watch this forever.

4. Why Do So Many Baby Sheets Come in White?

Seriously, the entire wall of sheets at the baby store is mostly white with adorable characters on them.I understand how cute they look, but I also understand how hard poop stains are to get out of white sheets.

Don't look at me like that, Clint Eastwood. I have long-harired cats, and they get dingleberries.

Seriously though, we're registered at Babies "R" Us now, so if you ever feel like getting our baby something...

:)

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