You know the acid reflux is bad when you all you have to holler is, "Gavi" and your husband goes galloping for the nearest bottle of antacid, strategically placed every 7 feet through out the house. Another indicator is when you ponder why they don't sell it in handy 2 litre versions. If my kid comes out with a suspicious minty smell and an aversion to chalk, I might feel a bit guilty.
One of my favourite things about the burning, biley burps are their propensity to happen mostly in the middle of the night. I don't think this is fair. I have finally fallen asleep, I am in between my every 45 minute pees and my hips haven't started to ache yet, when I am jolted awake by bile defying the laws of gravity by flowing up and out of my nose. The only slightly funny thing is that it is reminiscent of the time in grade 12 when I was throwing up Rockaberry Cooler and someone made me laugh and it came out of my nose. Side note-we were discussing this the other day at work- anyone else find it slightly weird that coolers were sold in 2L plastic pop bottles? Does anyone else beside high school kids purchase coolers in that quantity? Hmmm...I wonder who their target market was?
Anyway, along with the feeling of burning stomach acid in your sensitive nose tissues, it often tries to find it's way into your lungs leaving you choking mid-sleep, which is always a joy. Your immediate reaction is of course to sit up, but in the last week or so, I have found popping quickly into the sitting position is taking a bit longer than usual. So while I am frantically pushing myself up, hoping in vain that a stray abdominal muscle or two will help heave my monstrous gut into a vertical position, I am trying not to perch too precariously near the edge of the bed because if I tilt too far to the side, I am going over. Iain's hand automatically rises to pat my back (he can do this without even waking up) and after a good cough, a couple of wheezes, a glug of Gaviscon and sometimes a brushing of the teeth if it was an especially good mouthful, it is time to try sleeping again. I usually perform this act for the amusement of the cats three times a night.
All is not bad with the acid reflux. It also "prevents" me from doing some of my favourite tasks, such as sweeping the dirt into the dustpan, scrubbing the tub, picking up dirty clothes or cleaning up cat puke. Iain especially enjoys putting my socks on for me after a good meal - at least I have been able to clip my own toenails. I have been wondering if I can get my hands on one of those claw-like things city workers use to pick up garbage to assist me.
Acid reflux, yet another trial in the quest for motherhood (and apparently the real fun has yet to come).
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Preggers Club
One thing I have noticed since becoming pregnant, is that as soon as it becomes public knowledge that you are knocked up or it becomes visually obvious, you gain automatic acceptance into the "Preggers Club". This club meets anywhere at anytime and the members are not always obvious to the naked eye - they come from all walks of life but the common threads that weave this procreational tapestry together is advice and the slightly humiliating questions.
Case in point-as soon as everyone at work found out the good news, I was instantly more popular than I have ever been. Everyone smiles at me as I huff and puff up the stairs to my classroom and I get asked at least 25 times a day how I am doing, how I am sleeping, how hot I am (temperature wise), etc. The crankier I am, the more pleased everyone else is. The less sleep I have, the more rejuvenated the rest of the world is. I am not saying I don't like the attention, because deep down I do and I would probably be pissed off if I was ignored and didn't get a couple of good belly rubs a day in. This is the good part of the club.
The rather annoying part I find is not the endless advice (since this is baby #1, I am all ears), but the questions. I don't mind people I have some sort of a close relationship with asking me personal questions but the ones I get from people I either don't know or barely know blows me away. There are certain things about my hoo-hoo I don't really want to reveal to any but a chosen few. Being asked about hemorrhoids, discharge, my breasts and other fun things, is not my topic of choice with many but apparently this is part of the no questions barred membership policy. Did I mention that there was no choice in joining this club?
Last but not least, my number one pregnancy pet peeve are the inevitable "sunshine-club-eternally-enthralled-with-pregnancy" members. These people, who after asking me how I am making out and I give an honest answer, always smile condescendingly and reply that they had a wonderful pregnancy, loved every minute of it, where never sick, were in labour for only 8 minutes and would love to be pregnant again. I used to look rather astonished and then sort of back track that maybe I didn't really feel that bad and then make sure I said out loud how much I really wanted a baby, etc. Now, I tell all of my tales of woe to these people because I know they enjoy countering with a perfect pregnancy tale. For example, I will "let it slip" that I am addicted to my anti-nausea meds that I am still taking even though I am seven months pregnant. I would crush these tablets, grow out my pinky fingernail and snort these pills if I thought it would help. The sunshines give me a pity smile and talk about how they were never sick for a moment. Then I usually tell the story of when I was packing my bag for work on the dining room table one morning, I threw up so quickly and violently my breakfast that the dogs gobbled it up before I could even wipe my mouth. Anyway, you get the point.
As inconvenient as the club can be, I am secretly pleased to belong. I can't wait until I rise to the upper ranks after having my child and can become one of the elders and can then impart cryptic Yoda-like wisdom to all newcomers. Until then, I must endure these nine months as a fledgling mother to be.
Case in point-as soon as everyone at work found out the good news, I was instantly more popular than I have ever been. Everyone smiles at me as I huff and puff up the stairs to my classroom and I get asked at least 25 times a day how I am doing, how I am sleeping, how hot I am (temperature wise), etc. The crankier I am, the more pleased everyone else is. The less sleep I have, the more rejuvenated the rest of the world is. I am not saying I don't like the attention, because deep down I do and I would probably be pissed off if I was ignored and didn't get a couple of good belly rubs a day in. This is the good part of the club.
The rather annoying part I find is not the endless advice (since this is baby #1, I am all ears), but the questions. I don't mind people I have some sort of a close relationship with asking me personal questions but the ones I get from people I either don't know or barely know blows me away. There are certain things about my hoo-hoo I don't really want to reveal to any but a chosen few. Being asked about hemorrhoids, discharge, my breasts and other fun things, is not my topic of choice with many but apparently this is part of the no questions barred membership policy. Did I mention that there was no choice in joining this club?
Last but not least, my number one pregnancy pet peeve are the inevitable "sunshine-club-eternally-enthralled-with-pregnancy" members. These people, who after asking me how I am making out and I give an honest answer, always smile condescendingly and reply that they had a wonderful pregnancy, loved every minute of it, where never sick, were in labour for only 8 minutes and would love to be pregnant again. I used to look rather astonished and then sort of back track that maybe I didn't really feel that bad and then make sure I said out loud how much I really wanted a baby, etc. Now, I tell all of my tales of woe to these people because I know they enjoy countering with a perfect pregnancy tale. For example, I will "let it slip" that I am addicted to my anti-nausea meds that I am still taking even though I am seven months pregnant. I would crush these tablets, grow out my pinky fingernail and snort these pills if I thought it would help. The sunshines give me a pity smile and talk about how they were never sick for a moment. Then I usually tell the story of when I was packing my bag for work on the dining room table one morning, I threw up so quickly and violently my breakfast that the dogs gobbled it up before I could even wipe my mouth. Anyway, you get the point.
As inconvenient as the club can be, I am secretly pleased to belong. I can't wait until I rise to the upper ranks after having my child and can become one of the elders and can then impart cryptic Yoda-like wisdom to all newcomers. Until then, I must endure these nine months as a fledgling mother to be.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Hello!
This is the first post of the new blog site for Iain and I. The general purpose of it is of course to introduce and keep everyone up to date on our little munchkin once he makes his appearance in two more months. Plus, since I enjoy blog stalking everyone else, I felt perhaps I should make a contribution to the sport myself.
Until our little one makes his entrance, I thought I should get practiced up on the art of blogging. It feels a little too close to scrap-booking for my liking, but I think I can handle being this creative in the world of arts and crafts.
I am a bit worried that I may offend "those who love being pregnant" with my posts, so if you are one of those, you may want to proceed with caution. I am, if anything, allergic to being pregnant and if there was an Epi-pen for it, I would be jamming it into my thigh as we speak.
Case in point-Saturday was a beautiful day, so Iain and I decided to mow our lawn and start prepping the pool. I actually like mowing the lawn (because we have a ride on) and I couldn't foresee any real reason why I couldn't putter around on it, as long as I went slow. Not much different than driving on a dirt road I figured. No major incidents except I hit a root and the steering wheel jabbed me in the gut (seeing as how my stomach was only about 4 inches away from the wheel to begin with, this is not as dramatic as it may seem). We mowed and puttered all day, took the dogs for a walk then went for a drive out to the Village of Gagetown and took one of those weird river ferry things over to Jemseg. When I got home, I headed for bed and noticed my feet and ankles felt strange.
I looked down and a disgusting sight awaited me-swollen ankles. It looked like I severely sprained both of my ankles, minus the bruising. As if I don't look enough like a sausage that I had to add this to my list. All I could think of were old ladies with their knee highs and velcro dress sneakers on, limping painfully around Zellers as their ankles burgeoned out over the tops of their shoes. I had become one, all for the want of a child.
I quickly checked one of my baby books and it said the swelling was caused by either sitting or standing. Very helpful. So I tucked a pillow under my feet and by the morning, they returned to their normal shape, which has been the only thing on my body to do so in the last seven months.
That is all for the first blog!
Until our little one makes his entrance, I thought I should get practiced up on the art of blogging. It feels a little too close to scrap-booking for my liking, but I think I can handle being this creative in the world of arts and crafts.
I am a bit worried that I may offend "those who love being pregnant" with my posts, so if you are one of those, you may want to proceed with caution. I am, if anything, allergic to being pregnant and if there was an Epi-pen for it, I would be jamming it into my thigh as we speak.
Case in point-Saturday was a beautiful day, so Iain and I decided to mow our lawn and start prepping the pool. I actually like mowing the lawn (because we have a ride on) and I couldn't foresee any real reason why I couldn't putter around on it, as long as I went slow. Not much different than driving on a dirt road I figured. No major incidents except I hit a root and the steering wheel jabbed me in the gut (seeing as how my stomach was only about 4 inches away from the wheel to begin with, this is not as dramatic as it may seem). We mowed and puttered all day, took the dogs for a walk then went for a drive out to the Village of Gagetown and took one of those weird river ferry things over to Jemseg. When I got home, I headed for bed and noticed my feet and ankles felt strange.
I looked down and a disgusting sight awaited me-swollen ankles. It looked like I severely sprained both of my ankles, minus the bruising. As if I don't look enough like a sausage that I had to add this to my list. All I could think of were old ladies with their knee highs and velcro dress sneakers on, limping painfully around Zellers as their ankles burgeoned out over the tops of their shoes. I had become one, all for the want of a child.
I quickly checked one of my baby books and it said the swelling was caused by either sitting or standing. Very helpful. So I tucked a pillow under my feet and by the morning, they returned to their normal shape, which has been the only thing on my body to do so in the last seven months.
That is all for the first blog!
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