Please meet Ivy Rose. She was born June 26th, 2016 at 11:47 pm.

Weight was 7 lb 9.8 ounces.

20.25″ in length.

13.5″ head.

Last night was her first night home. So far we’re all doing well. Welcome to the world, baby girl. I love you so much.

What I’ve Been Doing Instead of Posting

Taking lots of naps

Frantic nesting bursts in which I try to clean everything in the apartment, only to wear myself out after the first twenty minutes, leading to a three hour nap

Dicking around on the internet

Playing video games

Watching all of Markiplier’s Five Nights at Freddy’s videos

Reading lore on the Five Nights at Freddy’s wiki

Having nightmares about Five Nights at Freddy’s

Cooking a butt load of really tasty food

Eating all of the tasty food, leading to regret in the form of gastric reflux

Hiding from the extreme heat like a pregnant slug


Running to the bathroom to pee again because ohmygodmoveI’mgonnawetmyself

Rubbing the pointy heels of my baby through my tummy as they push out with all their might yet again because they’re mad they’ve had the hiccups for like, the last hour

Going to doctor’s appointments

Doing fuck all

Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around the changes in my life that are right around the corner

Trying to find ways to not aggravate my SPD

Wearing sun dresses without caring that I haven’t shaved my legs in over a month, LIKE A BOSS

(Because seriously, I couldn’t reach to shave my legs even if I cared enough at this point to want to)

Being excited for the Mystery Science Theater 3000 reunion on the 28th

Trying to decide if the baby is gonna be an asshole and choose that exact moment to be born, making me miss the whole thing

Being torn up about my reaction to said possibility because as much as it would suck to miss the show I have still hit the point where I’m like, “HURRY UP AND BE BORN!”

Attempting to socialize with people, desperate to find someone I can talk to about anything other than my pregnancy (seriously, I’m excited, you’re excited, but I am capable of talking about other stuff as well)

Finally go swimming and use the maternity suit I bought like, a trimester and a half ago (but it still fits and is really cute!)

Strongly considering packing my hospital bag before giving up pretty much immediately

Swearing off tomato based pasta sauce forever because at this point it’s less a food and more a trigger for instant nausea and vomiting

Still not going into labor. Damn.

No Shame

Every time I look at a typical pregnancy tummy picture I am always filled with a particular sort of envy. I see their smooth, flawless looking skin and the perfectly cute bump sticking out and I would scroll past quickly because it’s just. Not. Fair.

Not too far into my pregnancy the skin on my body decided to just shit the bed. I found myself erupting in red bumps and glistening white heads everywhere. My shoulders, the back of my neck, my back, my breasts, and yes, my tummy. While most pregnancy tummy photos showed soft, delicate looking skin that practically glowed with a vibrant health and life, my tummy looked distinctly medieval. As in, a plague victim.

It didn’t really leave me with a lot of desire to photograph my growing tummy bulge. Why would I want to take up-close and personal photos of the time in my life where I have never looked worse? To see my skin looking so red and blotchy and spotty and just plain GROSS?

As for the stretch marks… Well, they’re like the only thing going on with my skin that honestly don’t bug me at all. I knew stretch marks were gonna be a thing that happened and I was mentally prepared for them, I guess. So when they showed up I was just like, “Meh. Whatever.” The acne was honestly way more surprising and to me is way more horrible.

(And I have tried pretty much every form of pregnancy safe treatment for these things that is available to me. Nothing works. Like all acne, this stuff is just hormonal and hopefully it’ll go away after I give birth.)

It was kind of funny that I had stretch marks for a lot longer than I thought I did. You see, we don’t have any full length mirrors in the entire apartment and the mirrors we do have stop at my belly button. (This mirror situation also led to me believing I looked a lot less pregnant than I did. Right up until I walked past a very reflective store front at the mall and was like, “JEEPERS CROW.” Because I honestly had no idea that I was already that big.) And all of my stretch marks were hiding just underneath my belly, right out of aerial view.

I was in a maternity store dressing room, trying on clothes. I took off my pants and BAM. Stretch marks everywhere. I was more than a little surprised. Stretch marks! Here all along! I had had no idea. But there they were, big purple-red marks that do look remarkably like animal stripes of some sort. Like a tiger or a zebra.

When I got home I told Matt, “I have stretch marks!”

“Yeah…?” He said, obviously confused that I had not known about them before.

“Why didn’t you tell me?

He just sort of looked at me and shook his head and said, “I’m not that stupid.”

I honestly don’t know what I expected.

About a week ago I got a little cluster of stretch marks right above my belly button. For some odd reason, they strike me as cute. I dunno, they’re really short, right above my belly button and they’re clustered like a flame shape. I like them. Even though they are the highest marks I’ve got now.

Maybe they’re part of the reason I decided to actually take a post a belly picture today. Maybe it was just me deciding that who cares if my skin doesn’t look at nice as everyone else’s? That doesn’t mean a dammed thing. This is still my belly, with my baby inside and just because my skin looks like crap, that doesn’t mean that this is anything less than anyone else’s pregnancy.

So here we are. My belly at 37 weeks, two days. Acne, stretch marks, nappy maternity pants and all.

Belly pic

When Trolls Attack

So you may have noticed that I haven’t been posting a whole heck of a lot on here as of late. (Or not. Much more likely the not because even when I was good about posting I tended to go through long jags of blog-silence because I absolutely suck at making myself write on a regular basis.)

This recent bout of silence has just been because things have been hard lately. And not the fun, “I can totally make a self deprecating joke about this!” sort of hard. More like the, “I don’t even want to talk about these problems with my close friends, let alone type it all out for the internet.” Partly because I don’t want to inadvertently enter myself in the Pain Olympics (where everyone tries to outdo each other’s pain) and partly because the sorts of troubles we’re going through right now are not the kind I feel comfortable sharing.

I don’t think a whole lotta people out there want to hear me wallow and whine and bemoan a bunch of things that I can’t do anything about. And for me personally, whining and wallowing about things I can’t do anything about has a tendency to just stress me out even more. I try to post things that are more on the lighter side but my brain has been more preoccupied with the Bad Stuff which is why posts have been extra rare lately.

But then I remembered a story that had happened not too long ago that I had wanted to write about before I lost someone very dear to me.

And I figured, “Hey, this is still pretty funny.” So here goes.

I was going to run to the store for some milk. As I waddled walked to my car I saw a small, folded up piece of paper on the ground right by my driver side door. Like someone had stuck it in my handle and it had fallen out. The note said, “From: ME 2: U ;p”

outside note

Feeling completely confused, I opened it up. Only to find a grainy, faded-looking black and white printout of a naked woman engaged in a sexual act on top of a man.

My first instinct was to look around to see if someone was watching me for a reaction of some sort. I dunno, maybe I just got Punk’d? But there was no Ashton Kutcher or anyone else around and I stood there dumbly for a few seconds before I realized I was standing in broad daylight with a piece of porn unfolded in my hands for all to see.

I hopped into my car and started looking at it more thoroughly to see if it had any sort of advertisement on it. Maybe I had just misunderstood this whole thing entirely. Maybe it was a bad attempt at “clever” marketing done by a local sex shop or something. Honestly I was just trying to combat the heebie jeebies that were hitting me that someone had purposefully done this to me to get a rise out of me (pun wasn’t intended but I’m leaving it in because it’s too perfect not to).

But no. There was nothing more to this paper than the bizarre handwritten outside and the grainy, porn-o-riffic inside. I folded it up and stuck in my purse, drove to the store and bought the milk.

And of course, I do have a photo of the picture in question and I did censor all the naughty bits that most people find a lot of offense but I still put the image after the jump because, I dunno you may be at work or something and even though you can’t see anything explicit it might still be too NSFW for you to want to look at right now.

Continue reading

36 Weeks 3 Days

Sooo at my doctor’s appointment this morning they asked me if I wanted my doc to check my cervix (and all who are not a fan of hearing about baby things or medical stuff flee the room in a shriek of horror) and I said, “Sure!” Partially because hey, why not but mostly because I was hoping to hear some sort of progression on this whole labor thing because OH MY GOD I AM SO SICK OF BEING PREGNANT.

It’s been getting hot as all get out here lately and while we are fortunate to have a dry heat as opposed to the soup-like heat of places with humidity it still makes it hard for me to do anything. I feel huge and I sweat like I’m in a sauna. So honestly if this baby wants to come a little early I’m like, “Fine. Yes. Do it. GET OUT.”

(Then the nesting part of my brain is like, “Wait! We can’t have the baby now! We don’t have a dresser set up yet! Or all the clothes washed! Or any other number of little random things I can think of!”)

So! Anyway! Cervix check! My doctor checked me out and said, “It feels like you’re about two centimeters dilated.” She probably said some other stuff too but my brain had been all, “BOOGEDEWAHHHH?!?!” And I didn’t hear much other than a sort of dial tone sort of noise. Cause dilated? Doesn’t that mean, you know, labor?!

Turns out not necessarily (if the fact that I’m sitting at home typing this instead of at the hospital having a baby wasn’t already a big giveaway on that question). Apparently women can sit at two centimeters for quite a while and as my mom pointed out, effacement is also an important part of being able to deliver a baby and that even if you’re at 10 centimeters, if you’re not effaced at all you ain’t having that baby yet.

My doctor seemed really calm and said it’s possible that I could go into labor in the next few weeks or so but really, there’s no way of knowing. So, we’ll see? I guess I’m happy that all the false labor I went through on Saturday wasn’t entirely for nothing. Cause that was fun. Little clusters of contractions that were too varied in length and intensity for me to consider calling my ob or getting ready for the hospital. They still hurt like an SOB though so that was fun. But hey! Dilation! Things are kind of happening!

My mom thinks I’ll give birth around June 22nd which is funny cause that was my original due date for this pregnancy to begin with. It got pushed back to July 1st when one of the ultrasounds measured the baby as being about two weeks smaller than expected. (That has to be one of the least fun things, honestly. You think you’re a certain period along and then with a wave of their [ultrasound] wand, poof! Two weeks of progress disappear without a trace! Abracadabra!)

I guess this all means I should maybe think about packing my hospital bag or something. As impatient as I am to finally meet my baby there is still a good dose of fear in the realization that THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING OMG.

Today on, “Definition Theatre.”

Matt and I were sitting in bed the other day; he was playing on his phone and I was knitting. There was a tissue on the bed between us that I had pulled just in case I needed to sneeze.

Matt noticed the tissue and picked it up, asking if he could use it to blow his nose. “Sure, go for it.” I said.

“Wow. It’s like a fancy napkin or something.” He said right as he blew his nose.

I stopped and looked at him.

“It’s called a Kleenex.”

He stopped and looked at me sideways. “Don’t say a word,” he said as his face started to turn red. “Just, don’t.”

EPILOGUE: Matt admits that even as he was saying the fancy napkin line his brain was like, “Wait, what? Are we seriously saying that? Stop! Abort!” I about died laughing (but then, so did he) and he said it’s now officially my turn to have a severe lapse in common sense. (We take turns without really meaning to. If I say something particularly stupid or lacking in logic there is an almost guaranteed chance that Matt will be the next person to make a hilarious mistake. And then it ping-pongs back to me. It’s the saving grace of this marriage, I swear.)