A DMX Christmas

Hello everyone from the Schlomer family. We hope this letter finds you well. 

I decided to do a Christmas letter this year because there is so much going on that a Christmas card can not capture it all. 

You may be asking yourself why is this letter called “A DMX Christmas”? Well because my family has decided to test me this year and as my good friend and rapper DMX would say, 

“Y’all gon’ make me lose my mind up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me go all out up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me act a fool up in here, up in here 
Y’all gon’ make me lose my cool up in here, up in here”

The girls are both doing well. Huxley has started full time pre k and so far, so good. I haven’t been called into the principals office, we haven’t gotten sick, and no reports of lice thus far. However, she is upset that she hasn’t gotten student of the week yet. Don’t worry we have a mandatory parent/teacher conference coming up and I’ll get down to the bottom of it. I have a feeling she’ll be student of the week in the early part of next year. 

Langley started a 3 hour a day, 3 day a week preschool program this year as well. Honestly, I’m more surprised that I haven’t been called in for a parent/teacher conference with her. The other day she walked into the house, looked at the cat, pointed her finger at him and said, “Lucky, I’m tired of your sh!t”. I have no clue where she got this but if I had to guess I would say her dad.  (Hey, this is my letter. I’m not going to incriminate myself.) I have zero control over her and every day when I drop her off I just pray that since she’s still so little her speech is still too garbled to actual make out what she’s saying. Langley’s favorite song right now is “Congratulations” by Post Malone. I am both ashamed and proud of this. 

Outtakes from our Christmas card pictures

Typical Langley

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like these little faces. #blessed #myeverything

My children's main motiving factor in life is candy. I just told them,
"You will never taste candy again in your life if you don't smile for this picture!"
 Mommin' ain't easy. 

Both the girls have started dance. At first it was just Huxley but then Langley found out and since I have zero control of her she started too. Their Christmas performance is coming up and I expect it to be a complete waste of time and money since every week I ask them what they learned in dance and they look me dead in eye and say, “Nothing.” Next year, I’m just going to take the money we would have put into dance and light it on fire. That way at least my Wednesday will be free. 

Me - I’m tired and on the verge of snapping at any moment. I’m pregnant (surprise!) and so I’ve decided to institute a self imposed, situationally convenient bedrest. Our house looks like a tornado went through it and I absolutely don’t care. At 34, this is my LAST pregnancy and I plan on milking it for all it’s worth. 

This little peanut will be joining our circus this May.

Two every proud big sisters. 

Second surprise - it’s a boy! Prayers for him because with three extremely strong woman in the house I don’t know that he has a fighting chance. Also, we’re having trouble coming up with boy names. I had the perfect girl name picked out but for some reason Karl has a strong opinion now that he’s about to have his first son. At this point, I’m ready to give him Karl’s middle name and my maiden name and call him Oskar Meyer Schlomer. We could call him Lil Smokey. 

Karl is doing well. Work is stressful and he’s losing a little more hair but we still love him.  Just trying to incorporate more hats into his wardrobe. We’re hoping he can go to Sea School in the New Year so he can move up in a position that will be less physically demanding and more financially rewarding. Sea School with require Karl to be gone from the end of December to the middle of March. Prayers for my mother as she will be the one who picks up Karl's slack during this challenging time. The girls both prefer Karl over me and I’m not even mad about it. I prefer Karl over me too. He’s a pretty great guy. 

Lastly, we had a new addition in August. Lucky “The Cat” Schlomer - the girls named him. He’s a stray that found his way under Karl’s truck one rainy day and conned me and Langley into loving him.  He’s basically the best cat ever. He doesn’t appreciate when I dress him up but I tell him what I tell Karl. 

Halloween cat - it took me a little while before I realized I missed a big opportunity when we didn't name him Salem. 

Christmas AF

“You knew what you were getting into when you joined this family. And even if you didn’t that’s your fault. This is who we are.”

We hope this letter brought you a little laugh during this stressful holiday season. We are tremendously blessed and so thankful for the life God has given us. We hope you and your family are doing well and pray the New Year brings new blessings for us all. 

Sincerely, 

The Schlomers

Huxley's First Day of Preschool: Is 10am too early for a drink?

Today was Huxley’s first day of Preschool. It was also one of the most stressful days of my life. Huxley had an awful time going to sleep last night and finally went down about an hour and a half after she first went to sleep. I on the other hand passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. My alarm went off at 7am and I got up and got ready in a record 20 minutes. 

I went in Huxley’s room and woke her up at 7:30. This is a cardinal sin in our house. Huxley does not like to wake up before 9:30. If I have to get her up before then I know I’m in for a hard day. She was in a crappy mood, crying and whining about everything (Like mother, like daughter). Her pajama pants were wet because she sweat in them after insisting she go to bed with a huge winter blanket. I took them off and tried to persuade her to eat breakfast pants free. I believe that if she could have slapped me in the face for suggesting such ridiculousness, she would have.  So we changed pants. Then she wanted a different shirt. In an effort to make our morning as stress free as possible, I went with it. She walked into the living room after me crying. Why? I don’t know. I handed her a cup of milk and turned on the news. She sat and watched while I made breakfast. 

Huxley's breakfast outfit

Huxley sat down and looked at her breakfast. Her face said it all. “Grits and sausage?!?! You expect me to eat this? Just because I eat it every other day of the week does not mean I will be eating it today!” She looked back up at me and said, “Stomach hurt!” as she grabbed her belly. I said, “That’s too bad. Eat your sausage.” Huxley has been know to make her self throw up in protest of eating so I proceeded with caution. After 10 minutes and with nothing more than 1/2 her sausage patty down I said, “Huxley, you have to eat.” Once again she said, “Stomach hurt!” I asked her if she wanted some grapes and all of a sudden her stomach was magically healed. Praise The Lord. 

I was so worried about her eating because when we went to open house last week she looked around the room, sat in her assigned chair at the long table, and then screamed, “I HUNGRY!” Everyone looked at me like, “Dang Lady, it’s 7pm. You didn’t feed your kid yet?” I nervously laughed and said, “No Huck, you’re not hungry. We just ate. {Looking around at everyone else in the room} It’s probably just because she’s use to having a snack when she sits at the table.” I could not let her go to school and scream out about how hungry she was again. Surely, they would think I wasn’t feeding her and call me into the Director’s Office about it. 

After Huxley made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t be eating any grits. I gave her a handful of goldfish in a ziplock bag to carry around with her and eat at her leisure. 

Huxley: 2 Mom: 0

Huxley had zero interest in taking a first day of school picture. We started trying to work on what I call her “happy face” but it looks more like a “crazy face.”

 

We made it to school on time where I acted like a complete nut who didn’t know how to park or follow directions. If Huxley would have been a little older she surely would have yelled at me for embarrassing her. When one of the teachers came to get her out of the car during drop off she was very reluctant. As the teacher tried to unstrap her she cried out, “No! I stay with my Momma” as she reached for me. Like a good mom I said, “No, you’re going to stay here and make new friends who will play on the playground with you. You know Momma doesn’t like to sweat. You have to tell me all about it when I come back.” The idea of the playground was very appealing and she left with a small smile on her face. 

Langley and I then went to the parent’s meeting in the chapel but not before I almost got us in a wreck for not following directions in the parking lot. I can’t win for losing today. After the meeting the Director said we could go and check on our children through the two way glass in each room. I went not because I was worried she was crying but because I wanted to know how she was doing. 

Let me preface this by saying, Huxley is such a good child. I’m not trying to brag or give her credit to make her look good. She plays well by herself. She always follows directions for me. She doesn’t get into things she knows she shouldn’t. She will watch out for her sister. I seriously could not ask for a better child. I just knew she would do well in school. 

I looked in the window and saw the teacher sitting on the carpet with all the other children around her while she read a book. They were sitting so still and listening to every word coming out of her mouth. All the children except for two. One is sitting at the table by the play kitchen and the other is laying on her stomach, steam rolling all the other children as she rolls back and forth on the carpet. Oddly, this child is wearing exactly what I put Huxley in. Surely, I’m hallucinating and it’s not her. Nope. She stands up and I can see her face. The teaching assistant tells her to sit down which she does for about 15 seconds before going to play with the other child sitting at the table. It took all I had not to slam that door open and tell her to sit down and be still but I didn’t… I didn’t want the other parents standing there to know we were together. LC and I ran out of there, using a side door for a quick getaway.

When I picked her up I fully expected her to have on someone else’s clothes and a note in her bag about how difficult she had been. Thankfully, I didn’t. I did have a sweet little poem with her handprint on it. 

She was tired, thirst, and hungry. We stopped by McDonald’s before going home because it had been such a long day for both of us. I have no clue what happened the rest of the time I wasn't there. I just hope that tomorrow is better.  

One last shot at taking a decent picture after we got home from school. 

I'm pretty much the equivalent of winning the wife lottery.... except for when I'm pregnant.

You guys, can I be complete candid right now (of course I can, it’s my blog). I am a freaking joy to be married to. I am super fun, I keep a clean house, I nurture and love our daughter like I’ve been mothering my whole life, I make sure Karl has all his favorite snacks when he gets home, I do laundry without complaining, I know how to make food (I could work on this a little harder but we never starve), I have our family on a budget and I make sure to always put extra money aside for stuff like Karl’s video games, I plan fun outings for us…. I’m pretty much the equivalent of winning the wife lottery. 

All these things are true 98% of the time, expect for when I’m pregnant. When I’m pregnant I’m pretty much the worst person in the whole world. I’ve talked about this before but let me just say it again, I’m not good at being pregnant. My emotions are all over the place and things have gotten worse with this second pregnancy. 

Here’s a little story, I found a picture that I wanted to hang up a few days ago. I found the right frame, I spray painted it to match the room, I got some nails and then I went looking for my hammer. I have a small lady’s tool set that I got a few years ago for Christmas (it took me writing this blog to make me realize how sexist these are…) anyway, Karl uses them more than I do. Whenever I try to look for them THEY ARE NEVER WHERE THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE. I went out to the garage to look for them and (no surprise) they weren’t there. I called Karl

Me: “WHERE ARE MY TOOLS?!?!?!”

Karl: “In the garage”

Me: “No, they aren’t! I went out there and looked twice and I DIDN’T SEE THEM!!!!!!”

Karl (in a stern voice): “Listen, you need to calm down, go outside and look again!” 

      side note: I don’t respond well when Karl talks stern to me. I’m the serious one in  

      our relationship and he’s the calm, laid back, funny, nothing bothers me, everything 

      will be okay one. I do not like when these rolls get reversed! 

Me: I lost my freaking mind. I can’t even type the first couple of things I said to him out of pure shame. “….. don’t you EVER talk to me like that again. You’re not my freaking dad!!!!”

Karl: “I’m going to let you go. You are obviously going through something right now. I’ll call you back later.”

Me: "Whatever!”

I hang up the phone and go back out to the garage. I open the same cabinet I looked in twice and I’ll be damn… guess what was there… my tool bag. I bet you’re thinking, “Wow, I bet you felt really bad.” No. No, I didn’t. 

I then went and hung up the picture and it looked perfect. Karl called me back about 20 minutes later. 

Karl: “Did you find your tool bag?”

Me (matter-of-factly): “I sure did.”

Karl: “Where were they?”

Me: “IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM!”

Karl: “Well I don’t know how they got there.”

Me: “ME EITHER!”

This lie came to me so quickly, I didn’t even feel bad about telling it. I never lie to Karl but for some reason I felt completely justified. The reason I felt justified is because pregnancy makes you crazy! 

But now three weeks later, I’m starting to feel a little bad about it. So I want to apologize to my wonderful Husband for being absolutely insane. You’re amazing and I’m sorry I take out my irrational feelings on you. I’m almost through this pregnancy so there is light at the end of the tunnel. Your fun wife will be back one day. Let’s make a deal. You quit getting me pregnant and I’ll quit being insane. Sounds like a plan. 

Karl admiring the assets of his awesome wife. 

Jesus Take the Wheel

I feel like they should let mothers with toddlers do PSAs for young woman about the dangers of having children. Today, would be the perfect birth control for anyone thinking “Oh I want a cute little baby to snuggle and dress up.”  

Huxley and I have been having a pretty crappy few weeks. I have come to the point in my pregnancy where I have serious pregnancy insomnia. Last night, I couldn’t go to bed until 10:30. I woke up at 1:30 to pee and couldn’t go back to sleep until 4:30. At 5:30, I was woken up by Huxley screaming in her room. In my exhaustion, I throw her in our bed where she takes up the majority of the bed, leaving me hanging off the side. I wake up at 10 feeling like I got no sleep. We were headed out to Lowe’s at around noon but when I was getting dressed I laid on the bed and thought, “God, I’m just too tired to move. Give me strength.” Huxley thought we were playing a game so she kept running around both sides of the bed to try and get to me. I went to put Huxley’s shoes on and she is exhausted too. I decide we both need a nap. Two and a half hours later we try again. 

We’ve been going to Lowe’s a lot lately because I’m trying to pick out the perfect color for LC’s room. They have a huge display of halloween inflatables that Huck loves. We take our time looking at each one but she is not impressed today because she sees another little girl running around the store with her grandmother and she wants to follow them. Thankfully, they where headed over by the paint. As soon as we get there Huck looses her freaking mind. I quickly hand her approximately 50 of those color swatch papers to try and distract her. It doesn’t  work. With all the screaming I realize that she has cut her 5th and 6th tooth. I have a mixed reaction over this revelation. On the one hand I’m thinking,  “Praise the Lord. Maybe this is why she’s been getting up at night” and on the other hand I’m thinking, “I’m a horrible mother! My baby has been in pain for weeks now and haven’t done anything to give her relief.” I decide to chalk it up to the fact that she should have said something. I know she can’t talk but damn, I can’t read minds. My mom shows up after getting off from work and takes her to the Halloween stuff while I finish shopping. 

We head to Target because I have a few things I have to get. Huck is not having it. She likes to walk but all of a sudden today she decided if things aren’t going the way she wants she’s going to sit down on the floor. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!!! I’m 24 weeks pregnant, my back hurts, I have sciatica. I don’t want to bend down to pick up a $5 bill much less wrestle a 14 month old off the floor at Target. So she has to stay in the buggy. I’m not proud of this but I knew I could brib her with an icee. Unfortunately, she hasn’t learned how to share so every time I take a drink she looses her mind like I slapped her. I should have taken a picture of how she looked in the buggy slumped over to the side, drinking a blue icee with blue all over her face. It was a ridiculous sight. Eventually, I had to hide the icee in the buggy. The easiest way to shop with Huxley is to distract her with everything I’m putting in our cart. I hand it to her, she looks at it for a while, and then throws it in the back.  We finish up at Target (not because I think I have everything but because my back hurts and she’s getting restless). 

As we drive home, I hear something that sounds like two pieces of plastic hitting each other. I turn around and Huxley has unscrewed the lid off of her sippy cup and pour out the contents all over herself. She looks like the winning Quarterback in the Super Bowel who has had gatorade poured on him by his teammates. I strip her down in the garage and clean up the carseat. I take her inside to take a bath. She makes this weird grunting sound when I’m running the water and she’s pooped. I cut off the water and change her diaper. I don’t put another one on her because I’m about to give her a bath. She runs around the living room and kitchen naked while I throw the diaper away and start more bath water. We get done with her bath and I’m cleaning up the living room when I spot it. At first, I think I’m hallucinating. I turn on every light in the house to get a better look. Sure enough my suspicions are correct. In the 45 seconds she didn’t have a diaper on, Huxley pooped and peed on the floor. Thank God, we don’t have carpet in the living room. If we did, I would have just burnt the house down. It seems like the easiest of all the solutions. 

I put Huxley to bed, watch some TV in our room, and then go to take a bath. As soon as I get in the water with my Bath and Body Works aroma therapy bubble bath, my candles are lit and then I hear it…. screaming. All I can think is ....

Momma

So I started this out as a really long Facebook wall post then I thought, "This is too long and not everyone one wants to read about my weekend puking and pooping all over the house. I should move it to my blog." But then I something weird happened... I couldn't find my blog. It's been so long since I've written anything that I forgot my blog address. I had to go back through my facebook searching for it. I then realized how hilarious my first pregnancy was and it made me sad for Langley and my second pregnancy. Who knew that passing a 6lb 4oz football out of your vagina could completely suck all the funny right out of you?!?!?! A little heads up would have been nice.
So my vow for the second half of this pregnancy is to find the humor in everything and then blog about it, for Langley. In the meantime, here is the post for my mom (warning, this is not funny).

I would like to just take a moment to thank my mom for being so wonderful. Not just because she dressed me in this awesome bonnet back in 1986 but because she wasted the past three days taking care of me, Huxley, and Langley.
I started not feeling well Thursday night and after I put Huxley to when to take a bath. I was relaxing in the water one minute and the next I was puking in my own bathwater. Talk about disgusting. You have never seen a pregnant, fat girl move faster then when puke is invading her bathwater. I texted my mom and my sister to tell them because we are all in a constant, 24/7, 365 group text where we share everything- at least I share everything. My mom said to call if I needed anything during the night. I said to just pray it was a one time thing and that Huxley sleeps 14 hours like she has been. Well of course things can never go my way. Huxley wakes up screaming and crying in the middle of the night. I go to her room in just enough time to pick her up and realize I need to throw up again. We run into the hall bathroom where I sit on the toilet, grab the trashcan, and place Huggles on the floor. We are both a screaming crying mess. I call my mom and she's over in record time trying to put Huxley back to bed.

She finally comes and lays down with me (of course Karl can never be at home when stuff like this goes down). I proceed to puke more and more throughout the night. I get worried for multiple reasons. I went to the my midwife on Thursday where she told me I was dehydrated and my amniotic fluid is low (with Huxley it was too high, why can my body not get it's act together). She said I needed to push fluids and make sure that I stay well hydrated. Also, I haven't felt the baby kick. At this point with Huxley, I had felt her and I know with the second one you're suppose to feel it sooner. We decide to go to the ER because I can put up with a lot but once you throw a helpless baby who depends on my into it, I need someone to reassure me that she's ok. Turns out I have some weird stomach flu/food poisoning thing. The baby is fine, I even felt her kick while laying on the stretcher at the hospital. They tell me to go home, take it easy and just try to focus on holding down fluids. We returned home where crap got real.

For the next 16 hours all I could do is lay in the bed in-between puking and pooping. I was so weak I couldn't even pick up Huxley (finally I had my mom put her in the bed with me so I could rub her hair while she drank some milk). My awesome mom got no sleep, took the day off from work, washed disgusting clothes, towels, bathroom rugs, and sheets all day long while she watched Huggles and took care of my every needed. Finally, late Friday night I stopped puking and was able to hold down a glass of water. My mom took Huxley to her house to let me recover in peace for the next two days. My mom is the BEST and I hope to be the same kind of mother to my girls as she is to me and my sister.

In closing, some old school Boys II Men

Crazy, pregnant, psycho

I have a tendency at times to be a pretty emotional gal. Like on a scale where 1 is Mrs. Cool, Calm, and Collected and 10 is absolutely bipolar, I’m operating between a 6 and 7 on any given day. Well pregnancy has expanded my range to anywhere from a 2 to a 12. This sudden mood shift can happen in a matter of seconds. I feel like I have absolutely no control over it most of the time. Sometimes, I scare myself with the things I do and say when I’m at a 12. You know if I’m scared, everyone else around me must be pretty nervous too.

 

I’m not much of a crier. The root of this stems from my childhood. I was never allowed to cry when I was little. I would get in trouble and my mother would pinch the inside of my arm until I was certain blood was coming out. I would begin to wimper and cry and she would lean down into my ear and say, “Keep it up and I’ll do it again” or “I’m about to give you something to really cry about.” I quickly learned that tears would get me no where so I reserve them for the most distressing of situations. Pregnant Sinamon cries all the time. I watched “The Polar Express” for the first time this December with Karl. I hated it! Let’s be real, those kids were bad. As a child, I strongly believed in following the rules. If those kids on the Polar Express would have just minded their own business and stayed in their seats everything would have been fine. Even though I hated the movie, at the end when the little boy got the bell, I cried. Karl looked at me and said, “Why are you crying, this is not a sad move.” I blamed it on my hormones. Somewhere around this same time we went and saw “Catching Fire.” I cried most of the movie and it wasn’t a few tears out of the corner of my eye. I was crying like this was a real life documentary about something that happened to people in my own family.  I’ve had a strict rule against watching ANYTHING sad since I’ve been in Nursing School. This ban has extended and now includes anything that can be described as wholesome, heartwarming, romantic, etc. I have pretty much banned everything except comedies. My life currently revolves around watching old episodes of “The Office” and “30 Rock”. 

I love my husband, and I enjoy when he’s home but sometimes I feel like he stays up at night thinking of stuff to do that will piss me off. It’s always the same things too. I think that’s what makes it so frustrating. My husband is convinced that something bad will happen to your clothes if you take them off and place them directly into the hamper. You have to let them set for a minimum of 36 hours on the bathroom floor before they are moved. This is the only explanation as to why I’m constantly picking up his underwear.  One day, I was giving it to him good for this underwear issue; I believe it went something like this:

“Karl, if you don’t start picking up your dirty, nasty, sweaty ball underwear off the bathroom floor I’m going to start putting them in your pillow case…. I’m going to start putting both of our underwear in your pillow case. Then you can dream about nasty crouch smell ALL NIGHT!!!!  And after I let them marinate together in your pillow for a couple of days I’m going to use them like a tea bag to make dirty, crouch water that I will use to cook your dinner.”

Karl responded with something like, “Okay, I got it.”

Then I said to him, “Come here and cuddle me, I feel needy.”

Karl: “Babe, honestly I’m so scared of you right now I don’t want to come that close. I’m worried you’re going to choke me.”

Me: “That is a valid fear. I understand from my previous statement how you got there. But I promise that I will not hurt you.”

I have about 10 more instances of me going from a 2 to a 12 in seconds. One day, Karl looked at me and said, “Babe, you are so emotional. You’ve got to calm it down.” This is probably one of the most dangerous sentences he has ever uttered to me. My response was, “OH, I’M SORRY THAT I’M PREGNANT AND MY EMOTIONS ARE OUT OF MY OWN CONTROL. How about next time I get YOU pregnant and YOU do it perfectly I’ll try to remember to take notes. That way for the third baby I’ll be able to live up to your perfect example.” 

Valentine’s Day

Karl forgot Valentine’s Day this year. I don’t mean forgot as in he forgot to get me a present, I mean he forgot as in he didn’t even call me all day to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day.  Karl is horrible at giving gifts. When he picks something out for me I wonder if he’s even met me before. He’s trying to do better. When we go shopping somewhere he’ll pick up a shirt or something he thinks I would like then he asks if he is right or wrong. So far he’s been right about 25% of the time. It’s a work in progress. Gift giving is my love language, not his. His love language is acts of service. So I let him off the hook when it comes to gifts and instead I appreciate when he deals with car stuff, washes the dishes, and especially when he cleans the bathroom. I didn’t expect much for Valentine’s Day since he was on the boat but I expected him to call and say something sweet to me. He’s usually pretty good about that. I waited ALL DAY! All I got were a couple of text messages with the generic, “I miss you,” “Hope you’re having a good day,” etc.  As the day went on I got more and more pissed. I could have let it go but because I’m a crazy, pregnant, psycho, I didn’t. I forced myself to stay up until 11:59pm and I wished him a happy valentine's day in a pretty hateful text. I then turned off my phone and went to bed. The next day we were texting about it (because he didn’t have good service) and he was trying to apologize. He sent me 5 texts back to back that said happy bday.  Don’t believe me here’s proof:

I was so pissed about this I couldn’t let it go for about a week. However, I have a plan. When Karl comes home he promised to buy me flowers and take me to dinner. In my opinion, that’s just a normal Saturday night. I want something more. So here’s what’s going to go down. Karl is going to get dressed up and then leave the house and go buy me something special (probably starburst and flowers – I’ll let him decide). Then he has to come home and ring the door bell and ask me on a date. Then he has to wait for me to get ready. We will go out to eat then we will go to the Redbox where I will pick out the movie (because I never get to pick). Then we will come home. In an effort not confuse Karl as to where the nights events will be headed, I will immediately but on my pregnancy uniform. I went to Walgreens after Valentine’s Day and bought a gigantic Russell Stover’s box of chocolate that’s probably the size of my torso.  I will proceed to eat the entire box BY MYSELF! If I throw up I will come back and finish the box when I’m done. Karl will then rub my feet while we watch the movie and I’ll probably fall asleep.  I plan on sleeping in the middle of the bed (just like Karl always does) and letting him fight to stay on the edge. In the morning, since I’ll still have my pregnancy uniform on for safety, we will finish the rest of the movie.  I think this sounds like a pretty solid plan. I’ll let y’all know how it goes.

Invasion of the Body Snatcher

Pregnancy is weird. I guess in my mind I had always imagined my pregnancy like someone on TV or in a magazine. My growing stomach would be the perfect accessory, like a Louis Vutton purse, that people would admire as soon as I walked into a room. I was going to feel fine, give off a radiating glow like a pregnant model, and act like the best version of myself. The reality is that I’m not a pregnant model or the best version of myself by any means. Most of the time, I’m more like a pregnant hobo with a crappy attitude.

This blog will focus on the physical transformation I have made thus far. 

Heartburn: I swear, I took my second pregnancy test on a Friday at 6pm and when I laid down for bed that night I had heartburn. I haven’t suffered much heartburn prior to being pregnant but we are definitely making up for lost time. It’s so bad that I can feel it radiating up my esophagus. It wakes me up in the middle of the night. Lately, my nightmares are of running out of Tums and not being able to get to the store because of bad weather. I’ve heard that heartburn is a sign that your baby will have lots of hair when they are born. Well this little girl better come out looking like Rapunzel. Seriously, I fully expect to deliver the baby and for my midwife to still be pulling out hair after she is in my arms. 

Boobs: The second thing I noticed was my chestal region. I didn’t need any help in this area but this is where my pregnancy transformation happened during my first trimester. I was already at a point where finding bras in my size was limited to one store in town. During my preceptorship, I remember going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror. My cup literally runneth over and my uniform was getting tighter. I was forced to wear my lab coat everyday in an effort to not look like a hussie. From the time I found out I was pregnant (4 weeks, 3 days) to my first OB appointment (8 weeks) I had went up 3 sizes. At my 8 week appointment, I asked my midwife if there was anything I could do…. bind them down, wear a regular bra then three sports bras over it, cut an onion on the night of a full moon and throw it in the woods while keeping the other part under my pillow… I was up for anything. She simply replied, “Prepare to invest in lots of bras.”  This is not what I wanted to hear. Meanwhile, it’s the coldest weather we’ve had in 20 years and my boobs are so big my coat no longer buttons. My mother convinced me to buy a fleece cape thing from the Cracker Barrel which I have worn one time. What’s the problem you ask… first of all never buy your clothes at a restaurant, second all I’m missing is a monocle and a pipe and I’d be Sherlock Holmes. Not exactly the pregnancy model look I was going for. I also get shooting pains in my boobs, mainly the right one. It’s like a Charlie horse but more stabbing and less of a dull ache. Well what do you do when you get a Charlie horse? Like any normal person my first response is to rub it out. This gets me lots of awkward glances at Target. Karl has asked me to please stop doing this or at least go to the bathroom. I’m working on it. At my 12 week appointment, (the only one Karl has been home for) I asked my midwife what the stabbing was all about. She said, “It’s just your breast growing.” Karl, sitting quietly up until this point in a chair in the corner, lets out a loud, 7^th grade boy “YES!” while throwing his arm in the air and bringing his elbow to his waist (you know the move I’m talking about). I looked at him with cold, dead eyes in front of God and our midwife and said, “I’ll kill you for doing this to me.”

***On a serious note, if you are reading this and you know where I can get some freakishly large nursing bras, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!! I read somewhere that the first bra was made out of two handkerchiefs and a ribbon. I’m thinking pretty soon I’m going to have to fashion something out of two tarps and some duct tape. ***

Stomach: I honestly went from looking like a fat girl who was pretending she was pregnant to being pregnant with twins in four days. Thankfully, Karl was here to witness this transformation and to validate that I wasn’t losing my mind. On Sunday night as we laid in bed Karl said, “I was hoping there would be some kind of a baby bump when I got home this time (I was at the end of week 17).” I said, “well you know my sister didn’t really show until she was about 7 months, it might take me a while since I’m a meaty gal.” He said, “Don’t you ever talk crap about my wife being a ‘meaty gal’ (his usual response when I say something self deprecating).” Then we went to bed.  Apparently, the baby heard this conversation and she wanted her presence to be known. For the next four nights I would lay in bed with a miserably full feeling in my stomach, I couldn’t get comfortable and things just felt different. Friday morning when we woke up the proof was in the pudding. Four thin purple lines were on my stomach. I was devastated. My bikini modeling career was officially over before it had even begun. Not that I was in any shape to be a bikini model (I haven’t even worn a bikini since I was 4) but all my hopes and dreams of going on the Biggest Loser and getting that bikini body were dashed. Karl blew it off like it wasn’t a big deal. He said, “Babe, what do you think they have Photoshop for? I can’t even see anything. You look fine.”  Another thing no one told me about pregnancy was when I started showing in my stomach it wasn’t a cute round ball. It was more like I was suffering from a severe case of Dunlap Disease. Even now at 21 weeks I can feel people looking at me thinking, “Is she pregnant or has she been to the all you can eat buffet about 10 times too many?” I’m thinking of buying a shirt that says “This is a baby, not a burrito.” 

Hair: The next thing I noticed was hair growth. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard about women getting a majestic mane of hair when they are pregnant. It’s kind of like God making up for all the other bad stuff. Well I have a pretty thick rat nest on top of my head anyway so if it’s gotten any thicker I haven’t noticed. But do you know where I have noticed an increase in hair… everywhere else. I’ve always had peach fuzz on my face. Well that peach fuzz has turned into a full grown man beard. What the heck!!! I’ve even noticed peach fuzz growing on my stomach. This is gross. Between the big ole belly and white beard I’ve pretty much turned into Santa Claus. You want proof? Here’s a recent picture:

Clothing: Because of this weird body morphing that’s been going on I have adopted what I like to call my “Pregnancy Uniform”. Like I mentioned before, it’s as cold as Antarctic here in the Deep South and my coat doesn’t fit. Pants make me feel nauseous. I’m in this weird place between finishing school, taking my boards, and starting my new job. Being dressed on a daily bases is not a necessity.  My uniform consists of Karl’s royal blue Old Navy fleece pull over and an old pair of white and black leopard print Old Navy fleece pajama pants. I wear it every day. I wash it every few days at night when I have on my night gown. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve slipped out of the house with it on… to run to the Redbox, Walgreen’s, Sonic, Tiffani’s house, Dominos, etc.  I wanted to mention this because if you see me at the store in my uniform PLEASE PRETEND LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW ME! It’s not that I don’t want to say “Hi” it’s just that I don’t want to have to feel guilty for choosing comfort over style. 

I feel like I’ve rambled on enough about all this for now. Next time, I’m going to talk about the emotional stuff like the time I was practically in tear on the phone with Karl putting out an Amber Alert on a box of Sour Patch Kids.