How to Recover From a C-Section (With Bonus Husband Bragging Section)

So, this whole once every two week blog posting thing has really been going quite well, don't you all think?

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Don't look at me like that, Mr Spock. 

Actually, we are in the middle of moving, again, since the place we are renting got sold. We could've waited until our lease was officially over to do the whole buying a house, then moving to said house, but that would have involved moving in the middle of December, in Michigan, with a far more mobile baby. I think there is a layer of hell that revolves around that very scenario.

Ah, yes, there it is. Right between Sisyphus and the rains of fire storming down upon usurpers and blasphemers.

Between packing and taking care of a tiny, screaming human (who looks like a little old man when she's really mad, which is hilarious), it has been a bit more difficult than I had previously anticipated to stay up to date on stuff like writing or showering on a daily basis. Slowly starting to get more and more used to the new flow of things though, so here we go with the promised topic!

As you all know, I had to have an emergency C-Section to get Ripley out into the world. Sucked, and wasn't exactly what I had planned, but all in all the best and only option I really had left in the end. However, after the surgery, not only did I have a newborn, but also a fancy, new, recently closed massive abdominal wound to look after. I am now recovered quite nicely, so I'm gonna go ahead and list all of the things I did that I believe helped me, for anyone else out there who go for the non-vagina route of baby birthing.

One day, I'm putting this on a cake for Ripley.

1. Don't Be Afraid To Push the Call Button

Here's the thing about having a baby forcibly removed from oneself; afterwards, you cannot move, because there is a hole in your stomach that has just been sewn up and it does not feel good. I sneezed once in the first day I was out of surgery, and thought that I had to have punched at least 30 puppies in a past life in order to deserve such pain.

Right in their adorable puppy faces.

Due to this fact, the hospital provides you with a call button; it's a magical thing that brings an absurdly cheerful person to your side, no matter what time it is, to do your bidding. It's pretty sweet.

Despite this magical ability that I had gained to get professional men and women to bring me juice whenever I wanted it, I had a genuine aversion to using it. I wanted to do everything by myself, even with the high dosage of pain meds and the catheter. (Oh yes, as a reminder, I had a catheter. Pee bag and everything.) Well, actually, I think it may have been less wanting to do everything myself, but actually feeling bad that I was making these people do menial things. (Like bring me juice.)

This came to a head during one of the few times that Grey was not in the room with me. Ripley was crying, and even though she was in a bassinet right next to me, it was too high for me to be able to reach over to get her. I was able to prop myself up with my elbows, but not able to actually use my torso to hold myself upright quite yet. I felt really helpless and frustrated.

Much like this gif of a cat who is too fat to scratch its ear. Also, you're welcome for this gif.

Then I realized that I was being stupid and pressed the call light. A nurse came in, changed her diaper, handed her over to me, and everyone was much happier.

One of the things I came to realize was that it was okay to ask for help. More than okay, it was what I needed to do in order to heal. Besides the fact that these people were being paid to make sure I was getting the help I needed, people in general are actually more than pleased to make things easier for you and your new human. I just had to buck up and accept that help and push that button; and as soon as I did, life got much better.

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I couldn't tell you the things that I'd do to get a button that brings someone to change my baby's diaper again.

Mostly non-evil things. Mostly.

2. Get Ready for Some Weird Medical Stuff to Happen to You, Be Put in You, and Come Out of You

So, this point is less about what I did to make the process easier, and more a mass info-dump of all the weird shit that comes with childbirth, and a C-Section in particular, that I just straight up did not know was coming up. Some of it is pretty gross, and I am not afraid of getting overly graphic, but really, I know that's why a bunch of you read this blog anyways, so here we go.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww....tell me more.

Let me tell you about lochia. Lochia is Greek for "relating to childbirth." It is also real-life for tons and tons and tons of stuff coming out of your vagina in the days following having a baby. Now, normally, after having a kid, this lovely combination of blood, uterine lining, and bacteria just kind of sloughs right on out while you walk around. Being bed-ridden, I did not have gravity to help me out in this situation. Know what I did have? A whole bunch of nurses who came in a few times the first two days to massage my uterus. By massage, I mean four people stood over me and compressed my stomach for five minutes at a time, telling me to breath through the pain.

This is not fun. I do not recommend it if you are not looking for intense stabbing pain through your uterus.

Also, if this is done to you, for the love of your eyeballs, do not look down. It is sci-fi/horror movie weird the things that are coming out.

Just lean back and think of potoos, the most amazing bird on the planet.

As I told you guys in my previous post, I was preeclamptic by the end of the whole ordeal. In order to stop me from going eclamptic, which basically means seizures and other general awful-ness, I was put on magnesium sulfate. It is standard procedure to keep a patient on magnesium sulfate for at least 24 hours after birth, since the danger of seizures doesn't really wear off till then.

Magnesium sulfate sucks balls.

Huge, huge, giant balls.

Goddammit Japan. I was looking for pictures of giant beach balls, what is this?

Side effects of this drug include the following:

• Muscle Weakness and Lack of Energy (Had this, but I was also on some pretty strong pain meds, so really, I had no chance of not having it,)
• Blurry Vision (Had this, wheeeee.)
• Dry Mouth (Oh, man, did I have this one.)
• Headache (Nope, but again, pain meds.)
• Nausea (Yeppers!)
• Vomitting (Just a little-ers!)
• Heat flashes (Had this one like crazy)

Oh, and you are not allowed to eat or drink anything while on the magnesium. Not sure why, a nurse told me something about it building up in urine and they wanted to monitor the amount of urine I was making or something, but honestly, I was still pretty foggy at this point. So, I was allowed about 5 oz of water every 4 hours. This is not a lot, especially when you have the driest mouth and throat ever. 

Of course, I also really like not having seizures, so I didn't complain too much about it. I was super duper happy to be off of it when I was allowed to, though. I got like a 2-liter cup worth of water, followed by apple juice, and it was amazing. Then I ordered some hospital food, which was super not awesome.

....that's okay, I think I'll just stick to the IV fluid, thanks.

Also, don't do any of these things: sneeze, take too deep of breath, cough, or laugh.

Those hurt bunches. You also risk accidentally popping out a staple. I did not do this, so I can't tell you how it feels, but my brain tells me that I probably would not have liked it.

These actions also make lochia come out of you. And that's gross.

3. Take It Easy, But Not Too Easy

One major thing I noted about the C-Section was how notably similar it felt to when I had my gall bladder out last October. That makes sense, as both procedures knocked me out and removed a big ole' bundle of something or the other from my abdomen area.

This should really serve as a warning for all my other organs. Listen up, spleen. You start acting up and giving me crap and I will not hesitate to rip you right on out.

That goes double for you, appendix.

So, I pretty much handled this recovery the same as I did that one, and I think it worked out well for me. Basically, you just gotta listen to your body and take baby steps in doing things. Take going to the bathroom. The first thing I focused on was sitting up on my own, without getting anyone to help me. Then, I tried to stand out of bed by myself. Then, walking alone. Breaking it down into smaller goals that I knew I could achieve without pushing my body too hard made it easier on me.

Walking itself was actually pretty sucky during recovery. First day, I didn't even try. My day was uterus massage, pass out, uterus massage, complain about magnesium, sleep, look at my baby, sleep, and that was about it. The second day, I might have forced myself a bit too much, but with the reward of getting the catheter out being dangled in front of me, I really made myself work on that lap around the ward. The next time I got up was much harder, so maybe I should have slowed down. But dammit, I had a dream!

The reality of not peeing into a bag, hallelujah.

Essentially, if you want to get better, you can't just lay in the hospital bed and wait forever. At the same time, you absolutely need to listen to your body when it tells you need to lay your butt back down and watch TV. It's a balance, and once you get it down, you start feeling better and can start becoming a moving, normal human.

Plus, the sooner I was up and about, the sooner I could take my baby home to meet the kitties.

Then proceed to take a million pictures of how cute they are together.

Fun fact: after having a C-Section, you get pretty constipated. The way to fix this is to walk and have gravity work on the poop for you. So, there's that information. Do with it what you will.

4. Lean on Your Partner

I am really lucky. I have a great partner that I could rely on, and rely on him I did. Grey did a lot during this whole process which really made it easier on me. I think it's important for me to highlight how he's been an integral part of this whole thing, since, like I said, dad's get kind of a bad rap in the parenting world.

Things like this INFURIATE me.

Having a kid is, in the best of circumstances, a team effort. I have huge, crazy respect for those of you out there who do this on your own. I don't know how I would've been able to keep from just ugly crying the whole five days that I spent in the hospital if Grey hadn't have been there, so anyone out there who didn't have that support, you are amazing and impressive.

That being said, I did have my baby-daddy (I am not up-to-date on the proper way of this lingo, is there a hyphen, should it be baby's daddy, I have no idea) there and he did a good job. He stayed in the hospital with me everyday (even though he didn't have paternity leave), took care of Ripley while I was passed out on numerous occasions, helped me go to the bathroom, did not make fun of my hospital gown being backless even once, cleaned up the bedroom from my water breaking, turned on Jerry Springer for me when I was feeling the worst from the magnesium, and any number of other things that I know I'm missing.

Oh, and he brought me chicken fingers and french fries. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Steak N' Shake is better than a bouquet of roses. Stick it in a vase and hand me some ranch sauce, I'm in love.

All in all, the hospital was not a bad place to be. Everyone was really nice and treated me well, I could have all the juice I wanted, and people changed my baby's diaper if I asked (yes, I'm still dwelling on this). C-Sections are not fun by any means, but I don't think having it took away from my "birthing experience" or anything like that.

Once I got home, the healing process actually went quite quickly, and all I have left now is a sweet scar. Oh, and a pretty sweet baby.

Seriously, look how cute this thing is. Ugh, she's so cute, I just wanna yell at people.

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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.

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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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