Sorry I haven’t blogged much lately.  No I’m not, scratch that.  I’ve just been feeling like total crap lately.  This isn’t new, so I’ll move on.  I’m having contractions every day for about an hour or so..and every day they get a little more intense and last a little longer.  Hopefully this is a sign that my little creep will be wanting out soon.  I’m game, let’s go for it!

Alexis called me last night.  We talked for almost three hours.  Did it depress me?  Yeah.  She called with the good intention to make sure that I was still alive and to make sure that she gets a call when Lukas is born, and then I asked how she and John were doing, and I got an earful.  At least she was honest, but damn.  What a mess she’s in.  It wasn’t a totally painful experience, it was just sad.  Those of you who know her know that she can sometimes have a penchant for the dramatic, but that wasn’t how she was last night.  She sounded tired and defeated.  Blech.  Wish there was something I could do more than offer to buy her and Caleb plane tickets out here so they can have a vacation from life for a week or so.

I have my next-to-the-last doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  I’m going to take my bags with me.  I just have this feeling that things have started happening and I need to be prepared for a last minute “Oh boy, look at that!  We’d better admit you right away.”  That way I can be a smartass and know that I am so awesome I am already prepared.

Something odd that I am experiencing right now is that I am really honestly not at all scared or dreading going into labor.  I have this sort of out-of-character serenity about the topic.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m going into it with no expectations, or if I’m just resigned to the fact that I have to do it.  I kinda think It’s the latter.  I’m like a death row prisoner whose execution is coming up and I know that the governor isn’t going to be making a call and that there will be no miracle to save me.  I just have to bite my lip and take it.  Maybe that’s not the best analogy, but I’m sure you get my point.  I know I have to do it, and I know it is a means to an end, so why dread it?  When it’s all over, I won’t be pregnant anymore and I’ll finally get to meet someone I have been dying to meet since February.  How can I dread that?  And the horror stories about labor people tell me?  I’m not listening to them.  Those same assholes tried to tell me that pregnancy is a miracle and a wonderful experience.  At least with labor I can be drugged out of my skull if it becomes unbearable, and it only lasts a few hours, not a few months!

Enough for now.  If I go a few days without blogging (like 3 or 4) it may be safe to assume that the little creep has arrived.  I wish he’d hurry up.

Over dinner last night……

“Ok sweety, I know I can’t give you your “usual” birthday present this year, but is there anything else I can do for you along those lines?”

“Yeah, you could dress up as Grimace and do naughty things.”

“You want to do naughty things with Grimace?”

“Or we could buy you some fuzzy soft ears and paint a sunshine on your belly and you could be a care bear and give me the care bear stare and I could violate you.”

For those of you who are a little out of it, Grimace is the big purple blobule guy from the McDonald’s commercials.  Gross, huh?

Jessie has also been trying to convince me that there is a protein in his semen that will make the itching of my rash go away.  I guess the guy thinks he’s a fire hydrant or something because if I were to have a serious lapse in judgment and believe his retarded theory, I’d need a lot more than he can spew.

Grossed out yet?

Jessie gets his own post, but I wanted to write one for me too.  As everybody already knows because of my incessant bitching, I have a rash.  Guess what?  It is a pregnancy related rash that occurs in about 1 in every 150 pregnancies called PUPPP.  It stands for something really long and annoying.  If you want to know, google it.  I have a mild case right now, but it is spreading.  Now it is ALL OVER my belly, on both of my hands and wrists, my right leg, and my back.  There hasn’t been a lot of research into it because it poses no real threat to the child or mother, so we just get to suffer.  The fucking doctors just keep telling me to take Benadryl and keep it moisturized.  A couple theories as to why this rash occurs:

The belly is huge and the stretch marks come on rapidly, causing irritation and a mild allergic reaction, which is why the rash starts in the stretch marks of the belly.

More women carrying boys get this than women carrying girls.  Some people theorize that fetal cells get into the mother’s system and since they are male, the mother has an allergic reaction.  Either way, it goes away shortly after birth.  It’s like my body is allergic to being pregnant!  It’s like God is telling me, “This thing you’re doing is WAY wrong.  Someone like you should never reproduce, and I’m going to make sure you never do it again.”  I’ll remember, Lord.  I promise!

I had a Dr. appointment yesterday and everything was routine.  Which is why I snapped at my mom on the phone today.  She called, as she does every Friday to ask how the appointment went. the conversation went something like this:

“What did the doctor say?”

“That I’m alive.”

“Is the baby ok?”

“If there were something really wrong I would call you!”

“Don’t snap at me, Somer!”

Typical mother-daughter conversation in the land where everybody in my life assumes I am a raging bitch and never takes into account that I had about an hours sleep for the past two nights, my rash is seeping because I can’t stop scratching it, and my nausea is back and I had to up my dosage of wonder pills lest I start the daily puking again.  The sleeplessness wouldn’t bother me so much if I weren’t so low on energy as it is. I’m a light sleeper and never really get a lot of peaceful sleep because I am married to a guy who runs marathons in his sleep and always tries to smother me.   I can’t believe how difficult the smallest things are!  I want my damned body back!  I’d like for people to ask how I’M doing and quit being concerned only for the little creep inside me.  Oh, someone will take that wrong.  Just me being a mean bitch again.  Me being a self-concerned brat who wants attention for being pregnant and a little sick.  I should suck it up, right?  I’m not going to explain my real feelings toward this child on here for the thousandth time because people are going to think of me what they will, and I’ll NEVER be ok with that.  I’m a raging bitch with tissue paper for skin.  Everything gets to me.  I try to be good, I try to be what they want, but I’m never there.  I get impatient and it is simply not in me to pretend that you’re not getting on my nerves.  Would it be better if I were cold and just smiled all the time?  Would it be better if I were fake and never let you know the real me?  I don’t know.  Mom, this isn’t all pointed at you.  I just get annoyed and I had to vent my feelings towards many different people, not you.  But seriously, if the doctor told me something were wrong with my baby, I would call you IMMEDIATELY and tell you and want your comfort. you should know that already goddammit.  You’re the only person getting called when I go into labor.  You’re the number one call after he is born.  I know you’re calling also just to say “hi”, but give me a break.  I’m going to be in a bad mood until I feel human again, and that could be a while.

OK……I feel a LOT better.  Seriously, for those of us with problems and insecurites and all the rest, blogging is great.  It’s so relieving to get it out…….and I’m sorry I snapped at you, Mom.