The Bump Files: Week 37 (AKA the woosah log)

Much crankier now. So cranky in fact that I just don't want to have anything to do with my co-workers. Well, mainly the dumb ones who say retarded things to me like "oh, you're still here!" to which I desperately wish to reply, "no, I'm not. I'm a hologram. A figment of your imagination. You're still sleeping and dreaming of me...how weird are you?" To the ones asking how I'm feeling, you clearly see the size of my belly...how do you THINK I'm feeling? Of course I'll respond "I'm hanging in there," but I really feel like saying "I'm 37 weeks pregnant with what feels like a baby elephant, figure it out." To the ever-polite ones that feel the need to tell me yet AGAIN how huge I am. Yes, I'm massively pregnant. No, it does not brighten my day to have you tell me. To the ones saying "Omg you're STILL pregnant?!" No, I had my baby, this is baby #3 on the way!! To the EXTRA lovely girl who likes to say in a sing-song voice, "your nose is spreading!!" EFF YOU!!! Honestly.

A special shout out to the home attendants and clients of this agency. To the home attendants: figure out your coordinator's schedule and stop asking for someone who clearly isn't in and is NEVER in this early. Also, do I sound: Russian, Jamaican, or have a heavy Spanish accent? No, right so don't be retarded and mistake me for someone who is or does. ALSO how often does your coordinator answer the front desk phone? Never! Sooooooooooo...that's right stop saying "oh, hi (insert any given coordinator's name here) it's me!" Which is an excellent segue into another complaint. Saying "it's me!" whoooooooooooo the hell are YOU? And what in the world makes you think I have voice recognition software installed in my ears? To clients who are no longer with my department STOP CALLING MY DEPARTMENT!!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!


WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSAHHHHHHHHHHHH...

OK, I'm done.

Rant over.

The Bump Files: Pregnancy Log week 29

Um...clearly I should've started this log approximately 20 weeks ago (when I found out I was pregnant) but the idea just hit me last night. Why? Because my friend (who is 38 weeks along) and I were comparing pregnancy woes. She's expecting her second child and it's a boy (just like me) and she's starting to get nervous because she's been informed that he's weighing in at 8 lbs 5 oz. She thinks she won't be able to push him out. She's a slight girl with a long thin frame, so I can imagine the fear of being unable to push out a large baby. She has been posting adorable bump-pictures on her Facebook page throughout her pregnancy, but last night she confessed that her belly isn't that cute. She sent me a picture and...

well...

she's RIGHT!!!

Her belly is stretched taut and it honestly looks like her skin will tear at any moment! On such a small frame it's intimidating to see SUCH a large baby bump. It's not the kind of thing you see in people's pretty pregnancy photos. It looks almost painful. She complained about her stretch marks, which I didn't even notice and I felt I could definitely one-up her in the ugly stretch marks department. So, I sent her a picture. She said mine didn't look bad and I said my camera didn't do them justice.

First of all, my first pregnancy left me with three angry red-turned-brown stretch marks right across my abdomen that made it appear as thought I'd gotten into a tussle with Wolverine and obviously lost. Now, this pregnancy has only added insult to injury and now I've got these pink stretch marks scattered around the original three...not pretty.

Pregnancy is NOT pretty. Not all the time, and women neglect to mention this to other women.

My friend and I discussed several different "uglier" sides of pregnancy...like heartburn. A lot of us suffer from this horribly intense heartburn, I've had it with both pregnancies. But how many times have ANY of your friends told you that their heartburn is so bad that they have to upchuck just to get rid of it sometimes? I've done it and so has my friend -- we both thought we were "the only ones." I told my friend that once mine was so bad but I just didn't want to vomit so I was coughing it out and well, the bile decided it was going to come up any way and it shot out of my nose!! BILE CAME OUT OF MY NOSE! How disgusting is that?! Maybe sufferers of chronic heartburn experience this as well, but personally, it's just a pregnancy horror story.

I'm not trying to freak any one out by posting this stuff, just trying to be honest about what pregnancy can be like. It's still a beautiful experience, but it can be pretty icky sometimes too.

The Fear of Favoritism

For as long as I can remember my sister and I have felt that our brother is our mother's favorite child. She vehemently denies it and I can see the pain in her eyes when my sister and I point it out to her, but it's just so obvious. We feel it and other people see it. She even said it once. Although, I'm sure she'll go to the grave swearing she never did but she did. I remember the day clearly, my sister, my parents and I were in Petland because we needed a new light bulb for our iguana's heating lamp. My sister and I didn't want to ask a question; we were being stubborn kids and didn't feel like being our parents go-to translators. My mom was probably annoyed from working the whole day then having to tend to her kids' crazy pets, she probably had a migraine, it probably pissed her off that after treating us to Burger King we couldn't do this one little favor for her. There were probably a lot of contributing factors that led her to shout "THIS is why your brother is my favorite!!!" She should've never said it and she'll always deny it but I still remember it. Clearly. Obviously.

When I had Isabella I understood what true all-encompassing & unconditional love felt like. Each passing day of her life illustrated to me that I could never and would never want to love anyone other than her. In other words, when I had Isabella the idea of having more children kind of repelled me. I wanted to selfishly love only Isabella for the rest of my days of my life. I didn't want any more children because I couldn't honestly picture myself loving anyone else as much as I love Isabella. I didn't want to be like my mom and have a favorite but pretend I didn't.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

I've been afraid since two lines showed up on that stick I peed on, sealing my fate as a mommy of two. Everyone has been happy & excited during this pregnancy, especially Isabella. But, a part of me is still nervous that when this little boy is here I'll have a favorite and one of my children will suffer the pain of feeling that favoritism and I'll suffer the pain of knowing I couldn't hide it.

Things I do NOT need right now...

If I didn't have a toddler, a baby on the way, rent, electricity, gas and a phone bill I'd get up and walk out of this place right this second. Why? Because I'm FED the EFF up. I am in no way saying that I need to be treated like a delicate little flower just because I'm pregnant but for Pete's sake have a little mercy on my nerves! I don't think I need to remind these people that I delivered my daughter 6 weeks premature and the ONLY contributing factor that anyone could come up with was STRESS! This place always makes me feel borderline guilty for being pregnant -- like the birth of my child and maternity leave are so detrimental to the entire company! I don't need that sh*t...here's a list of other sh*t I don't need from this wholly awful institution...

• I don't need to be treated as though my pregnancy is some sort of inconvenience for MANAGEMENT.
• I don't need to be pressured until the stress of it all makes me lightheaded and has me on the verge of tears from the injustice of it all.
• I don't need my boss staring at my belly like it's a ticking time bomb that's going to blow up in her face leaving her with *gasp* unfinished work!!
• I don't need to be pushed into finishing everything pending on my desk as if it's all as easy as snapping my fingers.
• I don't need to literally be poked when I overlook an error that frankly was made by my boss in the first place!

I really just don't need anything from this Godforsaken place other than the money.

Sadly, that money really talks.

The Scents of My Childhood

This is just a little something that came to me while on the bus on my way home from work:

A man just hopped on the bus, his scent was instantly familiar. It was the malodorous scent that permeated the parties I attended as a child. Sitting side by side with my siblings, ankles crossed, hands folded in my lap, dressed in itchy frills. It was cheap cologne, beer and a working-man's sweat. Sweat that percolated from pores a few drops at a time before bursting forth in rivulets that streamed down faces that tried to tickle and bite me and eventually shoved a dollar into my little folded hands. The smell of my uncles.

I think it's something I can expand on to include other scents from my childhood. Oscar de la Renta perfume in that tall bottle with a floral embossing on it's front that will always and forever remind me of my mom. The musky smell of sweat and "outside" that's the signature scent of teenaged boys all around the world that reminds me of my early teen years and following around my skater boyfriend.

Expectations

As a child my parents always expected the absolute best from me. I've always been the brainy one, so anything less than the best was not acceptable. It wasn't that they wanted MY best but THE best. That's tough to live up to, but I always did well anyway so it was tolerable. My father was the pushy one for the most part. An A wasn't good enough, why wasn't it an A+? My mother was always proud of anything I did, as long as I did well she was happy.

Given that I grew up with such high expectations from my parents, I guess it rubbed off on me and I have nothing but high hopes for my children. So, when I saw a cousin of mine post her son's report card with THREE C's on her Facebook page I was confused. I wouldn't be flaunting Isabella's report card if it had three C's on it (regardless if the other grades were two B's and an A like her son's) and I definitely wouldn't be patting myself on the back and writing off the report card as a job well done on my part. To be perfectly honest, I'd be disappointed.

Is that wrong...?

I shared my feelings with Isabella's father and he said he WOULD be proud of Isabella "just as long as she passes." That's it? Just as long as she passes? What kind of goals will Isabella have if all we ever want/expect from her is the bare minimum? I'm not saying I want Isabella (or my son on the way) to be a super genius and anything less will cause them to be the bane of my existence. Not at all!! Unlike my father, I just want them to do THEIR best, that doesn't mean they have to be THE best. As long as they challenge themselves and do the absolute best they can then I'll be happy. I do not want my kids to just skate by in life. Their dad on the other hand seems like just getting by would be fine by him. He said to me "you have your degree and what has that gotten you?"

On some level he's right. I went to private school from kindergarten to 8th grade, graduated high school as a member of the Honor's Society, a Regents endorsed diploma and ranked 60 out of 519 students academically. I went on to Hunter College, where I obtained a BA in Media Studies. Now, I have a  job as an Intake Coordinator at a home care agency where I make a measly $15 an hour. He was born and raised in Guatemala, did some of his elementary schooling here in the states, was shipped back to Guatemala for bad behavior, came back and got his GED. Now, he's a receptionist at a dental office where he makes a measly $15 an hour. To be fair, his boss is his uncle's "special friend" so his pay rate is higher than that of any of his co-worker's -- it's favoritism. But on the same note, it sucks! He really hasn't done anything compared to me, academically, but he makes the same amount as I do. Although, this could be the infamous "glass ceiling" that people talk about...

What ever the reason and what ever my kids turn out to be like I'll continue to help them do their best and never expect anything less than the results of their hard work.

Which, ultimately, I guess, means I would be proud of three C's if I knew my kids worked hard for those C's. If they didn't then I'd do MY part as their mom to encourage them and inspire them to DO BETTER, isn't that what we're here for anyway?

Pregnancy: Version 2.0

A while ago I came the realization that I am much more nervous with this pregnancy. I was discussing this with my friend (who is also pregnant for the second time) yesterday. She only has 9 weeks left until her due date while I have 18. My heart literally skips a beat every time I think about those pains, that delivery room, the sleepless nights, the tiny breakable baby -- I'm FREAKING out! Thankfully, she is too!

Isabella is such a breeze now, being her mom isn't scary anymore. Being her mom is fun and easy. She's almost two years old and my latest venture in raising her is a foray into making bento lunches for her to take to grandma's. While pregnant with Isabella, I had my first time mom fears; is this car ride too bumpy? Why haven't I felt her move yet? Is this much discharge normal (seriously, though)?! Now with this second pregnancy all of those first time mom fears aren't an issue, it's the knowledge of what's to come.

I'm being given progesterone shots to prevent preterm labor (since Isabella was six weeks early), so at least that worry has been assuaged. But what about everything else? What if this labor isn't as quick as Isabella's? This baby will be full-term, hence bigger. Will it be a long drawn out labor? Will I give in to the epidural this time? With Isabella labor was 5.5 hours if that and then she was out, by the time I arrived at the hospital I was already 6 cm dilated. There really wasn't any time for an epidural. Having Isabella ALL NATURAL is a badge of honor I wear very proudly! But what if this time I'm more like my sister who was stuck at 3 cm for hours?! Or what if, horror of horrors, I need a c-section this time? I don't know why none of these fears assailed me with Isabella, but they didn't.Then there's the issue of maternity leave. I only get "paid" for six weeks of short-term disability. Which in reality only comes to less than what I make biweekly when I'm working. I have rent to pay now, electric, gas, a phone bill, oh and yes I have a two year old! Where am I going to get the money necessary to keep us afloat? And of course let's not forget the hospital bill!!!

Ultimately, I am overjoyed to be having my little boy but his arrival comes with a whole boat-load of worries.

Still, I adore him.