Marie Antoniette Really Said, “Let Them Eat Dates”

Apparently, eating dates the month before your due date will make you dilate quicker, and in theory, you’d have a faster labor.

“If only I’d eaten a few more dates and a little less cake….”

Faster labor = Woo-hoo!*

*I probably won’t be “woo-hooing” during the labor, only after when I’ve labored for only 22 minutes. Yes, 22 minutes of labor is my goal. We live 5 minutes from the hospital so 22 minutes is doable and even gives us a time cushion.

Since I’d never eaten a date before, I bought some warm-up dates at week 34.**

**Yes, that’s 2 weeks early, but this baby needs to come out before she gets any bigger and rips me in half upon her arrival.

I bought date pieces because if they tasted bad, I figured I could swallow the pieces without chewing.

Dates taste sweet. Like really sweet. Like almost*** too sweet even for me.

***Notice the use of the word “almost.”

I’ve now hit 36 weeks and the baby is “breathing” like a champ. It’s time to up the date intake.

My midwife is supposed to check this week to see if I’m dilated or effaced. Keep your fingers crossed for 10 cm and 100% effaced. But I want to be realistic, so I’d also take 8 cm and 80%.

The Blue Hat Hospital Club Welcomes a New Member

On Monday, Kiefer had surgery (he’s ok). Medical procedures and Kiefer are always a fun combination…for me, not him.

A few years ago, Kiefer had Lasik. The aftermath (aka Drugged-Up Kiefer) was entertaining. After insisting he was fine, he nearly fell off the curb and spent 5 minutes trying to get the key in the front door.

Once we were home, I gave him a lemon-filled powdered doughnut because I’m evil the lemon ones were one of his favorites and I wanted one for myself, too.

Powder everywhere. And he had no clue.

Kiefer looked like this…but older.

But the drugs from this surgery weren’t fun drugs. They were groggy drugs. Which meant instead of snickering at a sugar-covered Kiefer, I answered his same questions over and over again.

No fun.

But I had plenty of other entertainment at the hospital eavesdropping people watching. Here’s what I learned:

• One lady doesn’t shave her legs during any months with an “R” in them.
• Hospitals have a Blue Hat Club. All the important people wear the blue scrub-hair-covering things.
• When delivering your baby, have an overnight bag…and a cooler. It was probably full of beer.
• Hospitals give you free socks.
• Leave the room entirely when someone get an IV.

This last one is especially important. I turned away when Kiefer got his IV. Only the first one didn’t work, so I turned back around just in time to see a bloody needle.

And that was enough to send a queasy pregnant me to the bathroom gagging.

Hopefully, when I go into labor, the nurse will only stick me once. Otherwise…

Damn you, karma.

Don’t F*ck With the Babysitter

Back in December, my doctor’s office screwed up. They were supposed to test my progesterone levels, and instead they told me my blood type.  That was Doctor #1.

In June, they tested for blood disorders. While I was waiting for results, I found out I was pregnant, so I had more blood drawn.

When the doctor called to tell me congratulations, he asked, “So what are you doing about your blood disorder?”

Huh?

Because I really liked Doctor #2 (he was the only doctor willing to test for blood disorders), I overlooked this mistake.

Unfortunately, Doctor #2 no longer delivers babies, so I started seeing Doctors #3-7 at the same practice because you don’t know who will be on call when you deliver.

Doctor #3? Fine.

Then Doctor #4 asked if my insurance would cover cystic fibrosis carrier testing. It did. While I waited for my cystic fibrosis results, I visited my specialist for an ultrasound.

The specialist saw something on the ultrasound that could mean the baby had an infection or cystic fibrosis, so he wanted to take blood. And because I love needles and am quite fond of keeping my blood in my body, I said…

Me: Just test for infections. You can skip cystic fibrosis because my doctor’s office just took blood for that.

 That entire week I was a mess. It was the day after our wedding; I was supposed to go to Texas: I didn’t.

The specialist’s office called me 4 days later with the infections results: All clear.

It had been 6 days since the OB’s office drew my blood, so I called for my results.

Doctor’s Office: Your neural tube birth defects test came back fine.

Me: And my cystic fibrosis test?

Doctor’s Office: We didn’t test for that.

Me: Doctor #4 said you were going to.

Doctor’s Office: We can draw that at next month’s appointment.

Me: No. The specialist is concerned about something on the ultrasound; I’m not waiting 3 more weeks.

I will gut you like a fish!

Bitch, I will cut you.

Needless to say, I’m done with that office. I understand people make mistakes, but three times is too much for me.

Tomorrow I’m going to a completely different doctor’s office. Wish me luck!

Will You Be My Doctor?

WANTED: An OB/GYN doctor. Sees patients on time. Doesn’t pass judgment on nontraditional pregnancies. Orders the correct bloodwork. Small hands preferred.

I’m searching for a new doctor because I’m tired of mine screwing up bloodwork.

My doctor wanted to test my progesterone levels, which have to be tested on Day 21 (during ovulation) of my cycle.

So on December’s Day 21, I had blood drawn. A nurse called with test results.

Nurse: Your pregnancy test came back negative, and your blood type is O negative.

Me: Uh…I know that. I thought my progesterone was being tested.

Nurse: Hmmmm…the doctor ordered blood typing. Did you have a Rhogam shot after your miscarriage? When you’re pregnant or miscarry, the hospital tests your blood type and they give you a shot so you don’t have problems with your pregnancies.

While I was pregnant, I read about this shot. But since Kiefer and I were both negative blood types, I didn’t need it. I knew that.

But when someone with some medical background says you’re supposed to get a shot so you don’t miscarry…and you’ve already miscarried…you start flippin’ the eff out.

And if you’re me, “flippin’ out” means tearing up while thoughts run through your mind that the miscarriage could have been prevented.

A couple hours later, the doctor called me back saying the nurse was “confused”; I didn’t need the shot, but I should come back next month on Day 21 for the progesterone testing.

More needles. Fantastic.

Right before my next blood draw, I ate a piece of chocolate to calm me down…yes, just one because I don’t really like chocolate anyways I have excellent self-control when it comes to sweets because only one piece was left.

“Discover how much your heart can hold” turned out to be a prophecy for my blood work saga.

So I was chocolate-pacified and ready to be stuck. Except the doctor forgot to write up the order. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I waited in an office full of pregnant women and mothers with babies.

And I remembered why I was there…why I was having blood drawn…and I started to tear up. And then I remembered that needles freakin’ hurt, so I started to get upset at the anticipation of that.

Finally, they called my name…and it was the most painful blooddraw yet.

Lady, my veins aren’t deep! STOP DIGGING!

And I thought that was the limit that my heart could handle. I almost passed out. But I didn’t.

Unfortunately, the blood wasn’t drawn while I was ovulating, so I have to go again next month. And every month until my blood is drawn during that 2-day window when a woman ovulates.

I thought that was the limit that my heart could hold.

It could take months to have blood drawn on the right day. Why am I still doing this stupid testing? I’m single!

Really? A few pricks were upsetting me? What happened to the woman who was completely prepared to raise a child on her own if Kiefer didn’t propose? What the hell happened to 32 and the turboslut turkey baster method?

I’m gonna kick that needle’s pointy little tushie! See you on Day 21, biatch.

Turns out my heart can hold a bit more.

Favorite Comments From Last Post:

• “Asshat. x10.”—Blissful Britt
• “I’m sure he only pinched you to make sure you were ripe.”—Skipping Stones
• “Immaculate conception by leprechaun? The Bible kept that part quiet….”—Bevchen

How I Killed Santa

Is there a movie that single-handedly shattered your childhood? The other night we watched that movie for Radley.

Every other weekend, one night is usually the night I fall asleep on the couch family movie night. Now that Boo is 12, and Radley is nearly 10, they said they were finished with kiddy movies. They wanted to watch a scary movie.

Their logic was that I watch scary movies all the time, and I’m scared of bugs, so surely, they could handle a horror movie.

Boo and Radley began perusing my movie collection for possibilities.

• 28 Days Later? No.
• Nightmare on Elm Street? No.
• Hellraiser? Hell no.
• Gremlins? Hmmmm….

Kiefer and I hadn’t seen Gremlins in awhile. Surely Gizmo’s cuteness would counteract the scary gremlins. Surely….

“Baby, it’s cold outside….” Let us in.

And they did ok. Even when the science teacher gets stabbed to death with a needle. Although I guess we won’t know for sure until it’s time for booster shots.

But then…it happened.

The girl in the movie begins her story of why she hates Christmas. Turns out her dad died around Christmas. He died in a chimney…dressed like Santa to deliver her presents…because there is no Santa.

And that, my friends, is how I killed Santa for Radley.

Stupid movie. It should have come with a disclaimer: Watching this movie will kill Christmas for your child.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Awww, you are the sweetest girlfriend ever. Maybe when he returns, he will bring your coat back, and there will be a ring in it? I mean, it’s only fair since you kept his tootsies all warm and toasty!”—Misty’s Laws