Feeling just about as craptacular as I have been since Saturday. I’ve got the sniffles – not as bad as it was, meaning I’m not so congested that I wouldn’t feel snot running down my face like before.

Oh come on, as if you’ve never had the same thing.

Went to work today, about an hour and a half late. I thought I may get a hard time from one of the guys who I normally banter back and forth with about what time we arrive in the office. He took one look at me and said, “Oh, shit.”

Thanks. Here I thought I was doing about a thousand times better.

Sat through a meeting, coughing (and peeing – yup, peeing again), and chewing down Halls like a hardcore crack addict goes to the rock only to be sent home once it was complete.

Ah! *coughcoughcoughHACK!coughcoughcough*

[Cough is a funny looking word. So is porridge.  They sound funny too.]

I’ve tried just about everything I can to alleviate this sinus pressure and hacking cough – humidifier, showers, Halls, hot teas, soups, water, shoving tissues up my nose, crying, praying, begging – aside from Voodoo.

I am just about at my wits end and will probably end up googling Voodoo magic to see what I can muster up; even if it may just be a Voodoo doll to wreak havoc on some drug companies, who I love so much, for making a severely hormonal and pregnant lady suffer to this extent. Motherfuckers I tell you. All of them. Sitting in their ivory fuckin’ towers laughing at us preggos suffering. All men too I bet. Stupid fuckers. Fuck!

[They get me every time. I just get so mad thinking about it. I mean, we now have private fuckin' air travel to fuckin' outer space but no drugs for pregnant women. Bull shit. Absolutely bull shit.]

Ahem.

At this point, I turn to you Dear Internets. I need your assvice advice on what home remedies I can try to help get rid of this cold ASAP.

While you’re thinking about what to tranquilize me with offer me for home remedies, I’m going to sit my ass on the couch and watch last night’s Big Brother 9.

[Speaking of Big Brother. I was a bawling sappy mess when they  showed Amanda's seizure on Wednesday's Tuesday's (what the fuck day is it anyway?) show. I can't link the video because it's just too hard to watch -  and hear - again. If you're interested though, it's all over YouTube. ]

I used to love sick days. Not that I loved to be sick, but they were days that I could just hang out at home, chill in my pajamas and sleep. Mental health days I liked to call them. Though, days with the flu? Those were just hell.  Any day that involves vomiting and or any other kind of expulsion of fluid is not cool.

Now? I still enjoy sick days to a point, they’re just not the same. A child to take care of and you know, provide a somewhat balanced and nutritious meal to, and maybe even entertain a little – even if it’s for just that short window before I cart him off to the daycare centre so mommy can get some sleep. It’s damn hard people: and I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be a sickie while being a SAHM. I mean, holy shit! Take care of a child (or children) while feeling like a bag of shit? Troopers you all are.

But this is about me. Not you.

I am sick.

I work full time.

My husband’s out of town.

I have a toddler.

I have a toddler that whhhhiiiiiiinnnnnnes about everything. I think he’s forgotten how to speak in a NORMAL voice.

I’m pregnant.

And I’m fuckin’ miserable!

I may have a better handle on this sick thing if it weren’t for the fact that it’s been about 24 out of 28 weeks that I’ve had some kind of aliment during this pregnancy. I am at the point where I want to curl up into the fetal position and just die cry. I’d drown myself in a vat of NyQuil if I could. I’d pop all the over-the-counter drugs I could just to numb the cough and sinus pain. But, since I decided I wanted to be impregnated again, I temporarily forfeited my right to a self induced medicated coma.

Listen up drug companies. You fuckers should seriously start thinking about us sick pregnant ladies and come up with something that gives us the drowsy and decongested (is that a word? Spell check doesn’t like it. Decongested, decongested, decongested. Motherfucker.) rest like our non-pregnant counterparts. I wanna sleep like before I had children, and I wanna be able to breathe out my nose again too. Assholes.

P.S. All this sickness is also making me very hostile.

One of my very good friends from college is expecting a baby boy just a mere 5 weeks before our baby is expected. After a tragic miscarriage last year, I’m absolutely elated for her and her husband that their dream to start a family is finally coming true.

Her baby shower is tomorrow and, as excited as I am, I’m dreading it. There’s so much to plan from my end just to get there. Mike’s working all weekend (Sunday included) out-of-town, Carter’s home sick from daycare today, he’s going to my parents house for Saturday night, so I have to pack everything, and I have to drive an hour and a half together there. Oh, and I’m pregnant and can’t stand up anymore after touring the malls for about 3 hours shopping for her gift today (Yes, I dragged my sick child out to the mall today.)

I am awesome.

Oh, and I’m supposed to cook my favourite dish and bring it with me.

I say fuck that. Sorry friend, but I’m putting my foot down. Anyone has a problem with a veggie tray from the grocery store tell them to come talk to me after they work full time, care for a sick toddler and are nearly 7 months pregnant. If they approach me without first completing the above, I am allowed to full on bitch slap them.

You’ve been warned ladies.

Oh, and shopping today? Is there a holiday approaching that I’m unaware of? I couldn’t believe how packed the stores where at 11am. Every teenager – presumably on lunch break – and every stay-at-home-mom in the area were in the malls: with their elderly parents. Fuckin’ zoo. I can’t tolerate crowds even on a good day so I was in a less then stellar mood when we finally got the hell out of there.

I’ve always been taught – respect my elders, I know it can’t be hard to be walking around with a cane, all decrepit and miserable. But what about an obviously pregnant woman with a child in a stroller and about half the house packed underneath? Don’t they deserve some help and courtesy too? But no, all those damn old people and stupid teenagers look right through me and continue on cutting me off nearly causing me to ram my stroller up their asses: which I was more then tempted to do a number of times.

People just have no sense of decency anymore. Everyone is out for themselves and fuck everyone else. It’s so disappointing to see how many people don’t hold doors for each other anymore, don’t stop to allow pedestrians to cross the road and don’t help people who have dropped something. Saying “thank-you”? Thing of the past.

The more I think about how rude I am people are it gets more and more depressing.

Not to mention this fuckin’ heartburn. I think I’m about to breathe fire.

Oh, and because I don’t have enough to complain about:

I figured what the hell, if anything it will give me some good fodder.

What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.

We’ve been working on getting Carter to understand the big changes that are less than 3 months away. HOLY FUCK THREE MONTHS UNTIL I HAVE A NEWBORN AGAIN.

*deep breath*

I’ll be fine.

So, yeah. Carter. Around Christmas time we began telling him there was a baby in mommy’s belly and that he was going to be a Big Brother. As expected, he’s been very nonchalant about the whole thing and rather accepting because he doesn’t realize – Sweet Mary and Jesus I Have to SHARE My Toys!

Now that I’ve been showing a bit LOT more we’ve been talking to him about the baby on a regular basis. Asking where the baby is and what the baby’s doing, stuff like that. His answers are very consistent that baby is in his belly at which point he prods at his belly button and insists that “Baby Seeping”

(The visual of a baby seeping through his belly button creeps me out every time.)

Most kids his age that are expecting a sibling, I’ve seen them kiss mommy’s belly and give the baby a hug. This one? I ask him if he wants to kiss baby goodnight and he heaves up his shirt while trying to contort himself into a pretzel-like-shape to get to his belly button.

I’ve been having moments of regret for getting pregnant again. I think it’s too soon, I don’t know if I’m ready for night feedings and sleepless nights days forever. Worry that I’ve forgotten everything about newborns; I don’t know if I’m ready to accept that Carter is no longer The Baby. He’s now going to be the Big Brother.

(Is it weird that every time I write the words Big Brother I think of the TV show?)

Yet, at the same time I long to hold a newborn baby and to have that baby smell and cooing in the house again.

The screams and whines of a toddler just aren’t the same.

The screams that will reach their highest magnitude when Oh My God That Baby Is Touching My Stuff!

Good Times.

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to have another child. I delayed getting pregnant the second time for work reasons (my choice, not theirs) and now I’m more then ready to extend our family, but these NORMAL feelings just keep creeping up and grabbing hold to my consciousness, along with the fact that this pregnancy has been entirely different then it was with Carter, it can’t stop me from thinking those thoughts: Why did we do this again? Can we really afford another child? What if they hate each other? OMG, daycare fees for TWO children!? When. the. hell. am. I. going. to. sleep. again?! What if this child is the polar opposite of Carter and never sleeps, has colic and is the Spawn of Satan?

I know that it’s not really the Spawn of Satan. Mike is a Christmas Baby.

If anything it’s more like Jesus – be it boy or girl, of course.

And I’m the Virgin Mary *cough, cough*

If you’ve missed part one and part two, go read them first.

Oh and a side note: Carter and I just woke up… it’s 10am.

On with the finale.

So, since I had laboured so long, the doctor began preparing for me to deliver via C-section for which I was scared to death and adamant that I did not want one simply because I have a HUGE fear of surgery, post-op and then throw a baby on top of that? Not my cup of tea.

I was given notice that had I not had the baby by 8:00am – 27 hours after labour initially started – I was going to be delivering via C-section.

That was more then incentive to get me working even harder to have this baby.

6am arrived and I was prepared to begin pushing. Up until this point I was really concerned about what kinda help Mike was going to be during delivery; he surpassed anything I had ever thought he would do. He was beyond fantastic. Encouraging pushing, holding my legs and even watching. Watching. Watching everything.

2 hours of pushing and no baby.

I was crushed and exhausted. I began crying, thinking I’d been defeated and this C-section was imminent, though still didn’t give up.

8 o’clock was close to arriving and Carter still wasn’t here; the doctor arrived in my room and said, “Let’s get this baby out.”

I thought for sure this was it. There was no way out of this C-section.

Then she stated, “I’m going to give you a little help.”

Forceps.

Carter’s arrival was 8:01am: they placed him on my chest. I had yet to hear a cry or scream.

He was limp.

Lifeless.

The most terrifying moment being when the nurse grabbed him up quickly and moved to the table yelling.

“We need help!”

I don’t remember must after that.

I do remember Mike stating the time, 8:05am, when we heard his first wail.

A good four minutes before he began breathing.

I held him for about 5 minutes before he was whisked away to the nursery to be checked.

He didn’t come back to me for at least three hours.

When we fit the pieces together later on, we realized that Carter had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck two times, therefore pushing him out just wasn’t happening.

I don’t think I’ll ever know how close, if even at all, we may have been to losing him. All I know is he’s here and one of the most important men in my life.

As this new chapter begins, Mike and I have both expressed our fear of a similar delivery this time around, and though everything turned up roses, I worry that I may have pushed too far by rejecting a C-section – which been weighing heavily on my mind this time around.

I am still suer that I will have an epidural this time and at this point I am sure I don’t want a C-section, but not as sure I will be so stubborn.

Birth Story with return on Monday, but if you’re behind – check out part one and part two to get caught up.

The past couple days have been almost exhilarating for me considering the amount of energy I’ve had to accomplish anything over the past five months. Up until now I’ve lived a nearly sedimentary lifestyle; similar to a bump on a log, moss on a rock or some kinda metaphor (is that even what I’m making) to relate my amount of activity to a big fat slob that does nothing.

Today? I managed to clean the bathroom, which I hate to very core of my being, and even scrubbed the toothbrush holder and soap dispenser as well as nooks and crannies. Something that hasn’t been done for ages (ask my parents). It felt great to actually get something done and have a CLEAN bathroom (because we all know that men clean only the dirt they can see – if that).

Beginning of nesting? Maybe.

That might be a good thing since everything’s been pretty much abandoned for five months while I hugged The Porcelain God. Five months of filth and dirt that’s filled my house: probably the main reason I can’t get rid of this stuffy snotty nose. I’m so congested with dust and grime.

Yuck.

Maybe I should be working a housekeeper into our budget.

Speaking of budget. It’s actually been very successful. We’ve managed to put a little extra money away each month by cutting down on our miscellaneous spending (like my buying lunch daily) and also pay down some debts with additional income from Mike working out of town for the past few months. It’s been a relief that our squabbles and arguments have decreased, regarding money, and we’re actually on the same page (financially) for the first time – ever.

Making a budget is not as hard as following it, but seeing where our money is going has been a real eye opener, in the best way possible. For the first time in ever, we’ve even got cash in the bank that’s enough to cover some bills should we be short on a paycheck (since Mike’s income is hourly) and I don’t have to stress about delayed payments and interest charges.

I never thought that we would succeed at this. I always thought that a budget was not for me and we made enough money that we didn’t really need to budget it.

I was so wrong.

The more one makes, the more one spends whether they realize it or not.

Our spending was directly affected by our income. I know that, and now it’s just more evident.

I just wish we got our shit together sooner.

Now, to save for that laptop I’ve been whining about.

There are changes, much needed changes.

Things may be a little rough around the edges for the next couple days as I iron out the glitches, but! Please let me know if you come across something, it would be a huge help!

Thanks!

If you’ve missed the first part of this story, READ IT here.

Now I realize there are many of you that have given birth natural, but when one resigns to the idea of having an “assisted” birth with drugs and then go natural, it’s a nightmare to say the least. I knew from the moment I found out that I was expecting, I was going to have an epidural – then it quit. To say I was devastated may just be an understatement.

My nurse was fantastic. She was very accommodating and even more understanding to the fact that dammit, this isn’t what I wanted! They did just about anything they could to try and make me comfortable, nitrous oxide and some other drugs were administered while I cursed the fact that the anesthesiologist screwed up and then lied saying when she was coming back. The nurse just sat back and listened to my whining and only spoke up to keep me on track with my breathing.

Throughout the 6 hours I waited for the technician to return and give me the coveted wonder drug there were three other women that came through and gave birth to their brand new bundles. Natural.

The screaming and yelling in the next room wasn’t as scary as it was annoying. Those fuckin’ bitches were mocking me! Pushing their babies out in minutes compared to hours and with no drugs while I sat in my dark little room cursing the clock for moving so slowly.

Yes, 6 hours passed as I waited and progressed to 8cm. I contemplated even doing to rest naturally as the anesthesiologist arrived but I so badly needed the rest that I went ahead with another epidural. Which took. The slowed all progress to a crawl.

Finally numb from the pain, I relaxed in my bed and allowed the nurse to let Mike back in the room. I remember he was pale as a ghost and must have been as exhausted as I was because as soon as he sat his ass in the recliner, he was out like a light.

Another 7 hours passed while I waited to dilate only a mere 2 more centimeters. Doctors were concerned because I had developed a fever and both my blood pressure, as well as Carter’s, had increased. Without letting me know, they were prepping for a C-section. Once the doctor came and told me I went into hysterics.

I have never ever had major surgery *touch wood* and was terrified to have a C-section, of all surgeries simply because I feared – and still do – the recovery time. I was bawling as I begged for Mike to tell the doctor I couldn’t have a C-section. Twenty-five hours of labour to end in a C-section was not my plan. I had to push this baby out.

Did I succeed delivering or was a scared into having a C-section?

… find out what happened in part three!!