Bring on the Castor Oil!

I've heard that when people experience incredible levels of pain the body will go to great lengths of unconsciousness as a way of blocking out such affliction. Though I've never had the opportunity to experience third world torture tactics to test such a theory or make a viable comparison between flagellation and kneecapping, I have now joined the labor and delivery club and can state with authority that labor is like a hefty flogging from the ribcage to the genitals. (Refer to the previously posted pinterest icon.)

It was August 21, 2012. I woke up at 5 AM feeling both enormous and slightly damp. Had I peed myself again? It was the second day of school and, like any amazingly awesome teacher, I went to school to educate the youth of America... until lunch time. I called the Charleston Birth Place and told them that I believed I was leaking.

Midwife: "You need to come in right away."

Me: "Can I come in at 3:30?"

Midwife: "No. You need to come here right now."
 
By 12:30 I was drinking a delightful castor oil concoction sure to get this baby out within a 24 hour period.

Here is the midwifery potion for the
Miracle Baby Birthing Elixir:

2 ounces of castor oil

4 Tbsp Almond Butter

3/4 cup Apricot Nectar (found in the Hispanic aisle)

3/4 cup Champagne

Blend and drink.

Tastes okay the first time.

Tastes awful coming back up.

(You may want to get enough materials for two servings)

The second shake will taste like bad memories, but will do the job.

My first contraction occurred at 7:42PM, we got to the Charleston Birth Place at 9:04PM, and my baby was born at 9:59PM. Though I was fully conscious and aware of my turmoil, I think there were times when my mind compartmentalized the heinousness and hid those memories deep within my psyche. I'm hoping to find them before making future decisions to procreate.

This is what I recall in those two hours:

-Attempting to channel all that I learned in my Birthing from Within class and breathing like an angry rhinoceros.

-My husband drove the speed limit for the first time EVER due to the scary super trooper on the highway and my pleas to not get pulled over. (Who's going to argue with an angry rhino?)

-Saying to the midwife, "Get it out." and "I'm never doing this again." She gave me a look of amusement and responded, "See you in a few years." 

-Watching the clock and thinking I should get a discount if I have this baby in less than an hour.

I do not recall using my lavender aromatherapy, the birthing play list on my ipod, or the color of mood lighting, as specified in my birth plan. I know they told me my nurse's name, but I don't remember it. I don't remember most of the pain as it happened (but my ribs hurt for days and I couldn't walk for a week). And half the things I packed I didn't use. Overall, I'd say I was fairly lucky that I didn't have much time to think about my birth plan or what was happening to my undercarriage.

We left the Birth Place at 4AM looking for an open Taco Bell and looking forward to a new life with our cute*, little addition.

*cute- the most adorable baby that's ever been born. ever.

Depends

Yesterday I set a personal pregnancy record.

You see, my little womb squatter has compromised my ability to ward off the common cold and cough and it has increasingly gotten worse since Friday. I haven't slept in three nights, practice for when my little bundle is born, but that isn't the record that I've broken. Someone call Mr. Guinness, because I've reached geriatric levels of pants wetting. Every time I cough, I pee a little... okay, okay, sometimes a lot. Yes, a maxi can save me from most little tinkle squirts, but I truly had to change my pants FIVE times today due to Niagra-like consequences of cough attacks.

I feel like such a record should be documented for further proof of why I should never have another baby. 

With the new school year right around the corner and few obvious signs of labor, I've decided to stock up on depends and pack my own diaper bag until the little buddy gets here. Then I can again hide myself and my embarrassing pregnancy mishaps within my own living room while practicing my kegels during maternity leave.

Not too Posh to Push

I've always enjoyed researching, so I grew up to be a historian/writer/teacher type rather than a famous actor and singer, which was always my Plan B. It isn't surprising that Google has become my handy assistant and that I would sell a kidney for a lifetime subscription to JSTOR if given the chance. I mostly like to research historical events and what type of cancer I may have each time my head aches. I've learned that WebMD can cause hypochondria.

The last 8 months of pregnancy has offered a whole new avenue of research that has amazed, angered, and caused me to vomit on varying occasions. Words like 'placenta' triggered my gag reflex at first, but I'm getting over it slowly, perhaps because cervix and vagina are common topics discussed between pregnant people and their doctors... who would've thought!?

Contrary to my many recently watched episodes of Criminal Minds and CSI, attempted homicide and rape are not the leading cause of hospitalization in the United States. Shocking, I know. Child birth is actually the leading reason for hospitalization in the US, a whopping 86 BILLION DOLLAR INDUSTRY. (Condoms are only a 373 million dollar industry.)

It's comforting, really. I'm obviously not alone in my 9 month waddling, pants-wetting, and unexplained crying adventure. Nope, many other knocked up women are right there with me! High Five, ladies!

What isn't comforting are the facts surrounding pregnancy and birth. America, the best country in the world, right?! We clearly have superb swimmers, gymnasts, and....um.... nuclear weapons. So why do we have such shitty statistics in the realm of pregnancy?

The US is a world leader, or so they say, in many areas, but we have one of the worst c-section rates in the developed world. We're like third from the last on the list here, people. That would NEVER fly if we were talking about the Olympics. The World Heath Organization states that a healthy c-section rate is between 5-10%, but the US has a 33% c-section rate. (A costly procedure. See the 86 Billion Dollars mentioned above.) According to CNN Health, we have the 2nd worst newborn morality rate in the developed world, mostly due to low birth weight.

So, when someone hollers ridicule at me for choosing a birth center over a hospital, my first instinct is to tell them to leave matters of my vagina up to me. My second instinct is to recite the facts and explain that if I'm in the 5-10% of people that really need a c-section, I'm right next to the hospital with a doctor all lined up!

Epidurals are not an option at the birth center.

This may sting a little.

Sources:

Friedman, Howard Steven. “US Infant Mortality Rate Higher than any other Wealthy Country” Huffington Post Online. June 2012.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/howard-steven-friedman/infant-mortality-rate-united-states_b_1620664.html

 

Green, Jeff. “U.S. has second worst newborn death rate in modern world, report says

CNN HEALTH.” May 2006.

 http://articles.cnn.com/2006-05-08/health/mothers.index_1_mortality-rate-death-rate-world-s-mothers?_s=PM:HEALTH

http://www.ibisworld.com/industry/condom-manufacturing.html

My Baby's Nursery

 

This is a panoramic view of Mr. Logan's room.  

There's a lot of hype about baby nurseries, and for good reason! I mean, if I have to push a human out of my most prized possession, I damn well better have some fun decorating his new little home. My uterus was a divine place for him for the last 8 months, but frankly, I'm kinda ready for him to move out of this nest and in to one a little less invasive. I hate my body. I hate how exhausted I feel. I hate how much my back hurts. I have some plans for myself that don't involve growing earthlings. But I do love watching my belly morph in to various shapes as he moves. (I'd post the video, but it's freakish)  

LOVE our crib from Shannon's grandmother.

I decided to go with jungle theme, because I if this kid is anything like his dad and mom, he's going to be a monkey. That, and all the thrift stores seemed to have ample quantities of jungle themed gear that would certainly match. Logan is due around the day of my cousin Steve's birthday and, judging by his 24/7 karate chops and cart wheels, I'm guessing he'll be a little crazy, like Steve. Perhaps its an August baby thing?

 

What's a room without a little Zebra flair?

Medical professionals say that babies really can't distinguish colors when first born, but they can see black and white contrasts. I think that what the doctor/psychologist/baby-studier is really saying is, "Get the kid a Zebra curtain!" So I put my little genius' books right next to the brain stimulating genius making curtain with a little help from my new best friend, Pinterest. Floating Shelving using L-brackets are what all the cool pinners are pinning about.

I didn't have a place for all those baby creams, clippers, and blue snot sucking mechanisms.... soooo tah-dah!  The shoe holder worked just dandy.

It's the Baby's Fault

At 32 weeks I'm finally catching on to the benefits of pregnancy. I've recently realized that baby Logan is the ultimate scape goat. (Forget the Jews! Blame the baby!)

When I was a kid I often used my mom as a scape goat.

When a childhood friend mentioned going to summer camp with her again I smoothly replied, "My mom said no." It wasn't that I didn't like going to summer camp with this friend, but I lived on a lake with four hundred siblings and cousins, a couple boats, and elderly people that loved to feed us sugar. My house was summer camp on steroids, but with better crafts and nightly smores that didn't require lame songs.

Without her knowledge, my mom said "NO" to a lot of things throughout my life, and now I plan on using my own child as a similar benefit.

• We're gonna have to leave this party early; the baby is so tired.
• Baby Logan really wanted cheap orange soda and pudding for dinner. (No, he isn't black.)
• My little man just wanted to sit and watch HGTV and American Pickers all day.
• Buddy reeeally wants to see the movie Brave. He has a thing for little red head girls.
• The tiny Nugget ate ALL the Dove Chocolates again! He liked reading the promises inside the wrapper.
• Today the vacuum scares the baby... so does Windex... and bleach. I'll talk to him about it.
• The baby says that going out on the boat makes him have to pee.
• It's 7AM and the baby says, "Come on, dad! Get up and play!"
• I can't work out today; the baby doesn't want to.
• Logan has gas again.

Now, I can use my baby to escape blame and events I'd prefer to miss.... which is so much better than growing some balls and becoming assertive.

There will be a Storm of Crocking

As a pregnant teacher with nothing to do but sit around in the summer heat eating Dove chocolate and imitation crab (jealously hating the rest of the world as they enjoy the ocean, freedom, and hip bones), I've decided to spend my time researching ways to prepare for my teeny bundle and many sleepless nights.

According to various sites and magazines, there are websites where solicited friends and relatives can sign up to bring a meal to people who have recently experienced a major life bomb...like cancer or an infant. Unfortunately for Shannon (just Shannon, because I can't cook for crap), he will not reap the benefits of such a genius website. We have very few relatives in the area and all of our friends have been severely overly generous the last seven months. We also don't have a working oven. No, we don't live in a pop-up camper, but our house only receives enough electricity to support an ascetic on a lean cuisine diet.Therefore, I have decided to support Shannon's culinary responsibilities prior to pushing a human out my vagina. I'm super woman, I know.

In preparation for this adventure, I've dusted off the never-been-used crock pot received as a wedding gift for my first marriage! I knew that fairy tale wedding would come in handy someday. And I've found a variety of crockpot freezer meals that can be prepared weeks before the mini me tears me in two.

Here are some of my favorite recipes that will certainly not aid in my pregnancy weight loss attempts, but may save me from insanity.

My Sombrero Wearing Heffer
1 & 1/2 lbs of steak
2 cups of canned or frozen corn
18 oz jar of delicious salsa
14 oz. can of black beans
1/2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 cup water added when meal is put in the crock.
6 hours on LOW

Faux Schnitzel
6 Chicken Breasts (Or less if you wanna cut the recipe)
6 piece of Swiss cheese
10 oz can of Cream of Mushroom Soup... I bought the 98% fat free, holler.
Splash of Water
Dash of Pepper
6 hours on LOW

I also stocked up on the following items in order to throw random bits in to the crock like the crazed, sleep deprived witch I'll be!

- Cream of __(insert item here)__ canned soup.
- Life Cereal
- Dry onion soup powder
- Frozen meats
- Lean Pockets
- Ice cubes

I think that should last a good 8 weeks... 

"There will be a storm of crocking!" 

-me, pretending I'm the witch from Hanzel and Gretel. 

Not only will I be prepared for a rapture, zombie attack, and the doomer oil crisis, but I have also begun collecting a variety of take out menus with inclusive delivery services. Be prepared for follow up posts reviewing such cuisine.

Prenatal Depression- It's a thing

As I've stated before, there are far too many aspects of pregnancy that women have failed to mention in general conversation. In fact, teen pregnancy would greatly decline if parents and school districts would only mention that in addition to a baby and/or an std the consequences of sex are also the complete loss of money, freedom, bladder control, sleep, emotions, attractiveness, and rational thought. Herpes isn't scary. Unbearable heart burn, waddling, gas, saggy boobs, hemorrhoids the size of a small ferret, wetting your pants in public, having the appetite equivalent 30 prepubescent 8th grade boys, and losing your nice bed to an evening of misery and infomercials on the couch, that's scary.

Because I was born with an older sister that introduced me to words like "episiotomy" and "placenta" far before I could stomach them, I was somewhat aware of how much growing a baby sucked. I've heard of postpartum depression, but no one ever speaks of prenatal depression.

I stopped taking anti-depressants when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't think it would be a big deal until I became a raging psycho, not unlike Charlie Sheen in recent years. Clearly I lacked much needed tiger blood, because the next few months involved the occasional melt down, days wearing nothing but sweat pants, and two trimesters of crying in my sleep. Now that I'm not sleeping anymore, I just cry...

I cried while leaving the gym yesterday, because I biked for one hour and had to interrupt my calorie burning for THREE bathroom breaks. Being a pregnant lady in the gym is like eating a cheese burger at a vegan event. Spandexed bitches lookin' at me every time I got off the bike...judging me and my monster abdomen with their skinny little eyes. 

I cried at Wild Wings, because Shannon said that a mark on my leg looked like ring worm and then he smiled, which clearly meant that he was laughing at my misfortune. Then he drank his beer, mocking my sobriety ... and then comfortably ate his chicken wings while I sat there all chunky with my unsweetened tea crying about my wormy, alcohol-free, gargantuan life.   

I cried after helping with vacation bible school at church. I'm not sure why. Jesus tears? Or maybe because I thought, "Oh my gosh, these mom's have to take these kids with them everywhere they go!" 

I cried when the baby room was finished.

I cried when I felt hungry for the third time in a morning, after seeing the chocolate wonderfall on TV, knowing I had already eaten a normal daily allotment of calories. Damn Golden Corral.

I had a clothing meltdown (and cried) prior to getting pregnancy photos taken. Looking like an obese whale will do that to a person. (Note: an obese whale is the largest of all whales... a whale with a BMI of like a zillion).

I cried while watching a makeover show.

I cried when the dog hair needed vacuuming AGAIN.

I cry every time I take a shower and feel like crying when I see my reflection in a mirror.

I cry when Mr. Logan kicks me and dances on my bladder, but its because I'm so excited and I really just want to meet him.

Luckily, I have a husband that hugs me and a dog that follows me everywhere, licking my legs, scared that I might burst at any moment. To the non-incubators that are thinking, "this is normal", that doesn't help me. Wine helps.... okay, maybe no wine. Oh, how I miss wine.

Pregnant Lady To Do List

Last night's evening news ingeniously reported that "summer can be a difficult season for pregnant women." Now there's a news flash. Not only has every sales clerk, check out lane bagger, waitress, and random stranger encountered at the local Walmart made that same observation, but I am also alive and able to notice the temperature and humidity.

"Wow, it's a rough time to be pregnant. August is a horrible month to have a baby. Did you plan it that way?" -Babies R Us Lady.

Never fear. As any thoughtful pregnant lady would do, I put together a list of doctor approved* activities for all the stupid women that dared to have a baby in the heat of the summer, myself included.

Pregnant Lady To Do List

1.  Go to your local, air conditioned gym and find the bench press area. Leave the bar completely weightless and ask the grunting, sweaty, ripped sleeved t-shirt meat head, the one that stared at you condescendingly upon entrance, to spot you. After one press, give him a high five and leave.

2. When approached by a random that has taken it upon him or her self to offer unsolicited advice, simply state, "You think I'm pregnant? I thought I just ate too many cheetos! Quick, do you have a pregnancy test!"

3. Order two pieces of cake and two beverages. Alternate bites and sips while saying, "One for me. One for baby. One for me..."

4. Take your cooler of O'Douls to a nearby beach and sport your belly for the world to see. Bring sun screen; bigger bellies can burn somethin' fierce!

5. My husband accused me of sitting around all day and doing nothing but watching TV. . . not true! But should a really great sitcom marathon come on, I just may do that. Bring on the Gilmore Girls and a bag of chips! Get yourself a crystal bell and yell your husband's name in a British accent every time you need something; you're growing a human and deserve some assistance.

6. Eat a chocolate bar while pinning your amazingly taut after baby body on pinterest. ... then go make the 3 dozen different desserts, organize your garage, reuse various condiment bottles, learn to braid, and spray paint some random toy dinosaurs and put a plant in them.

7. Start a blog and talk to yourself and the great cyber abyss of the world daily. :)

*These activities were not approved by any doctor. That was a lie. I do have a masters degree, so they are only approved by a history master and therefore should not be taken seriously. Proceed at your own risk.

That should cover about seven days of summer. If you have great ideas to fill my next two months of unemployed, womb growing, pregnant time leave your ideas in the comments section. It'll be appreciated.

In the marathon of life... I've reached a few mile markers.

In my 27th year I hit many of life's major mile markers.

I moved back to Charleston after a few fun nomadic years where I failed to figure out what I was looking for, but definitely found what I was not looking for. Ultimately, I did determine that the beach and this historical city is a very nice fit. I think I'll stay for awhile.

I shed my starter husband and found my life partner, soul mate, baby daddy... the one I wouldn't mind pushing around in a wheel chair when he's old, gray, and over weight, because he'll probably still be funny...fingers crossed.

I also found a career that I like, sometimes love (sometimes hate, but only momentarily), friends that are loyal, awesome, and fun, some silly in-laws, and a big pregnant belly that destroyed my typical weekly activities as well as the hobbies I use to define myself.

Due to baby Logan, I no longer define myself as a gym rat, runner, or buff chic on the beach. Instead, I'm humpty dumpty. Okay, I'm a soon-to-be mom marking her days with other various mile stones and trying to gracefully accept comments like, "Whoa, you're huge."

In honor of my pre-baby life, I would like to remind the world that last year no one would have screamed "Free Willy!" at me on the beach.

Birthday 27: Bring on the Wine

Mile Markers Attainable ONLY Through Procreation or Bodily Deterioration:

1. Fear of Sneezing: Caught off guard while watching Dance Moms by a triple round of sneezes is no longer just a nuisance, but rather a moment of crotch grabbing fear. Will I pee myself again? The answer is almost always YES, but the real question is, "WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME!" From now on, I'm buying Poise and Witch Hazel as a gift to all my pregnant friends.

2. Granny Panties: Wearing a sundress while pregnant doubles a lady's chances of a Marilyn Monroe moment. As any pilot knows, the widened hips, larger bum, and gigantic belly all cause an increase in lift when one encounters a wind speed greater than 2 knots. Therefore, I swallowed my pride and bought underwear, Granny Underwear. . .a floral circus tent that would cover my bum and lower belly while accentuating my egg-like appearance.*

*Thankfully, I have found that slightly larger than life thongs are just as comfortable and we're back to feeling sexy in lacy thongs that can double as ratchet strap tie downs the next time we move.

3. TMI Vocabulary Terms are Acceptable: Vagina, Cervix, Episiotomy...all are words that cause slight leg crossing, eye-twitching discomfort and yet, now that I'm a whale, people openly discuss various facts and mostly horror stories with me. I feel like my scholarly chats with peers have transformed from Middle Eastern politics to tits, rashes, and tearing. awesome. Tip for the experienced birthers: Keep it to yourself.

Overall, I'm excited that I'm about to be a member of this child rearing, play date posse. I can soon join the coveted local gang called Charleston Mommies. And, rather than introducing myself as Jamie, I can now be called Logan's mom. I can discuss important things like crib recalls and lazy high school gym day care workers that let the children watch things like Sponge Bob!

As of yesterday, I'm twenty eight years old! 28! I remember my dad saying I couldn't have a boyfriend until I was 28. (And I wish he would have stuck to his guns on that one!) I think my 28th year is going to be my best year. With a new little munchkin and my studly hubby, how can it not be anything less than amazing?

 Birthday 28: 

Never leave a cake at home with a pregnant woman. 

She WILL eat some frosting at 9AM and a baby piece for lunch.

I Bought a Brand New Circus Tent for Summer

366 days ago I was competing in the Grand Rapids Triathlon and was in fairly decent shape. (Several months of living depressed and friendless in Coral, Michigan with a free YMCA membership will do that to a person.) Today, I'm at my heaviest and happiest as I sit here with my baby bump eating sharp cheddar with my cranberry juice filled wine glass. Ah, chunky bliss.

I'm afraid baby Logan may have some behavioral issues. He likes to wake up at 7am and give his mom a good couple kicks, a flip, and a jab or two right on the bladder. He spends most of the day engaging in some sort of baby Tae Quan Do or Crav Maga, though we're not Asian or Israeli. And then around 4 pm induces heart burn. Shortly after, he takes a nap until 10pm when the dance party begins. I can't tell if he's going to be the next American Ninja Warrior or Richard Simmons... hmmm... or Jason Statham, but with hair.

There are so many details involved in growing, having, and raising a human. Lucky for me, I have pinterest. Though I have only a few purchased nursery items so far, pinterest has provided me the opportunity to plan my life several years in advance. I can ultimately live my life prior to living it, adjusting potentially poor decisions and changing my mind as I go. For example, I can pin twelve different nurseries without having twelve children, but still enjoy baby soccer playing monkeys until I'm sick of the motif and can move on to rainbow unicorns. I can also design an entire album of baby girl pictures, outfits, bedrooms, names, crafts, birthday parties, spelling bee flash cards, and much more all the way in to her teenage years, college, and wedding without ever having to have another child. I can get out there and "do" the fitness section of pinterest while I "pin" the other stuff. glorious. GR Triathon 2013 here I come!

Hello, Saddlebags.

Its 8:58 AM and I’ve eaten my typical, pre-pregnancy allotment of calories for the day. The current tally includes: 1 spoonful of dark chocolate peanut butter, 1 Sprite Zero, 2 bottles of water, 1 totally unsubstantial yogurt light, 1slightly revolting pepperoni  lean pocket, 1 mini bag of peanut M&M’s, and a small coffee with two French vanilla creamers. 

Good morning 740 calories, you’ve neither fulfilled my baby’s cravings nor prepared me for the next several child-filled hours.

On a good note, it’s really the first time in 10 years that I haven’t been on a diet. Pregnancy is like running around wild without a bra, freeing but the droopy consequences are sure to come.  

 Just last week I ordered something other than a salad minus all things evil from a Mexican restaurant and it was like I had an epiphany. What is this thing they call a chimichanga? What have I been missing these last 10 years of exercise and diet? Apparently, I’ve been missing out on a lot; including saddlebags, which I can now claim as my own. Hello saddlebags!

Due to the small closets and few storage areas of our new home, last night I decided to pack up the clothes that currently do not fit me to make room for baby onesies and miniature sweater vests. Six large plastic totes later and I have securely packed up all my favorite clothes along with the depression of seeing them in all their tiny glory. This very task completely exhausted me, so I popped a prenatal and went to bed before 9. Pregnancy, it's the life.

Pregnancy: The unmentionables no one chose to mention.

Pregnancy: The unmentionables no one chose to mention. 

Hollywood and pinterest have totally glorified pregnancy to be nothing but adorable baby bump pictures and Dr. Seuss parties. It isn't so. I recently read an article in a pregnancy magazine about other delightful pregnancy side effects such as hemorrhoids, infections, gestational diabetes, and the dreaded kankle. Still, I feel like the article was inadequate and women have failed to warn the childless what pregnancy really has to offer.

1. Pheromones

Pheromone: "a secreted or excreted chemical factor that triggers a social response in members of the same species. Pheromones are chemicals capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual." -Wikipedia, a very reliable source.

According to the hippy midwife at the birthing center, pheromones are affecting my husband and, as a result, he likes me more. Not only can I get away with acting like a crazy, but he no longer protests when I alternate dipping popcorn in to mustard and chocolate sauce. (A delicious treat, by the way.) Due to this hormonal trickery, he has also recently purchased an expensive Gender Reveal Test and a fetal heart monitor, watched several episodes of the Gilmore Girls, and has given up drinking. Just kidding. He hasn't given up drinking, but rather has concocted a new beverage he dubbed "The Tolerator".

Regardless, I can tell he likes me more despite my whale like appearance... and I'm banking on those pheromones to kick in when he comes home and realizes I just ate all the good jelly beans out of his Easter basket.

 2. How to tell 6th, 7th, and 8th graders that you're now an incubator and a teacher.

During my first year of teaching, to my first husband, in my first year a marriage, a little boy raised his hand and asked,
"You gonna have a baby?"
 "Um, no. Let's stay on topic."
 "She looook pregnant. I can tell. You not fat yet, but its your face."

I found out the following weekend that I was pregnant and after having a miscarriage the same child said to me, "Yer baby dead, huh?"

Children are odd little creatures with unusual pregnancy detection tentacles. This year, my students asked me right away. A seventh grader came up to me, put her hand on my belly and asked, "Is there a baby in there?" While other classes just flat out asked me in front of everyone, "You pregnant?" "Why you wearing big clothes?"

None of the students bought the lie, "I've been eating too many sloppy joes at lunch."

So after a few weeks I told them.  

6th Grade Response:
Several hand drawn pictures of Baby S put on my desk each week by a variety of cute little girls. One was a little monster baby with fangs saying, "I'm a cute monster baby! Rawr!!!!" One day I told them to stand silent in line or Baby S would cry. They were silent. I love sixth grade.  

7th Grade Response:
"Mrs. Stengel! You can NOT move that stack of books! Let me do it." "You can NOT pick up papers on the floor. You can't bend over like that; you'll squish that baby."  

8th Grade Response:
A little too much teacher belly fondling from the girls followed by a list of 8th grade approved baby names: Emily, Na'Talya, Tania, Francis Marion...

And too many questions They asked if it was black even though they know what Shannon looks like.

They also asked me if I wanted to get "knocked up". When I said "Yes, I wanted to have a baby. Knocked up is typically a term used when people accidentally get pregnant, so I'm not knocked up. Let's not use that term." Which led me to the conclusion that we have a generation of students confused about artificial insemination, because as one girl stated, "I thought all kids were accidents unless the mom went to the doctor to get a baby put in her???"...and back to learning about the Civil War.

I also overheard the following statements from one particular darling child:
In response to getting homework: "Oh wow, ain't my fault you got knocked up"
In response to telling the class to quiet down: "She need to get laid"
Randomly yelled out several times during a lesson: "Dirty Whore!"
It was difficult not to stop and tell him that such comments contradict.  

3. Ridiculous Comments/Sassy Responses
After completing this nine month adventure, I'm going to write a guide to pregnancy. However, my guide will actually contain pertinent information all pregnant women need to know. That is, sassy responses to ridiculous comments.

 "So, was it planned?" No, this baby was an accident, but I'm keeping it anyway so that I can blame all my future failures on my mistake child.

 "I feel so bad drinking in front of you." Oh, don't feel bad. I just smoked a joint.

 "You're gonna get it circumcised, right?" Unless you're a pedophile, my baby's genitals really aren't your concern.

Random strangers awkwardly molesting your belly saying, "When are you due?" Um, not sure what you're talking about. I'm just fat.

 "You're going to (insert hospital). You're really brave" So, you think I'm going to die? Excellent. Thanks for the words of encouragement.

 "Water birth seems so nasty." Um, from what I've heard, all birth is pretty messy.

  4. The importance of the baby nursery and baby shower
Due to pinterest it is now an inconceivable idea that a mother-to-be would not have a themed baby shower. With so many great ideas being pinned at record speed, women are now planning pregnancies just to have the cute themed shower. How does a girl choose between owls and zebras and circus acts? Not only is the shower important, but the coordination of the shower with the baby nursery is essential for decorating technique. There are just so many creative ideas, how does one choose? Is the world map wall decal going to make my baby more intelligent? Will pastels and stuffed lambs make my baby more calm? Is green really the new pink?!

Between this, painting a wall with organic, homemade chalk paint, and utilizing empty cottage cheese containers for more bathroom storage, how will I ever find time to grow a human?!

Slow Water Buffalo

Today I went for a two hour pregnancy run.

Pregnancy run (adv)(v): (1)The act of moving slowly in a running formation. (2)Wearing three sports bras while briskly pumping your arms. (3)Walking and/or waddling with an occasional quick step. (4)A waste of clean workout clothes. (5)Similar to that of a water buffalo running from a predator.

"I'm sexy and I know it"
-my head as I ran at an abnormally slow speed and was twice past by an old woman.

I wasn't alone on my pregnancy run. Shannon came with me, because he has a gimpy knee. Now that I'm a water buffalo the playing field is "evenly matched" (meaning: he feels bad and will run slow and walk with me). Shannon took the opportunity to manipulate the situation in to securing his baby name of choice, Cooper.

If my baby is named after a local bridge, blame it on the pregnancy run.

Everyone knows that crocodiles, lions, and monsters specifically hunt the slowest of water buffalo. Unfortunately, my eighth grade class contains mostly monsters as well as a few lone sloths and three doe doe birds. Because of this, my days are typical of those described in Dante's Inferno, though a day in the frozen lake may reign superior to a day with those budding young spirits that insist on attacking my buffalo-ness and tormenting me.

I now understand why teachers take advantage of maternity leave during the school year. And now you understand why teachers have to take 2 hour runs despite their giant growing belly.

What's in a name?

After careful thought and consideration, I've finally decided on a baby name.

There were several excellent name choices in the running. "Aiden" seems to be the new favorite, sure to secure my baby a spot in the popular club. A "Baby James" would quickly boot my brother from the long held favorite child position and possibly prompt my parents to make more frequent trips to Charleston. My husband, Shannon, has specifically stated that no little boy should be named Shannon, Jamie, Whitney, Sandy, or Sue... After five years of teaching, I've learned that names such as Ian, Tyrone, and Shithead can only result in Ritalin, Juvenile Detention, and dog collars. Being an Edward now makes you a blood sucker, and if I wanted my child to be a divinely appointed religious fanatic and politician, I'd name him Rick. But none of these name really seem to fit MY little munchkin.

So, after much contemplation, I've decided to name the child Vomit.
It's creative, gives a portrayal of strength and strong will, and isn't any different than naming my little bundle Apple, Blue, or Poppy. In fact, Vomit is a verb, highly superior to some lame noun or adjective. It's original and will certainly stand out on a resume header. :)

Why no girl names? Because I'm positive that only a male could induce such extreme nausea.

Its Baby Time

"There are a few things worse than pregnancy. Holocaust, port-o-potties, stirrup pants..."

I'm officially 14 weeks pregnant, and it hasn't been all sunbeams and unicorns since the stick turned pink.

My pregnancy was planned, though I never thought I'd be pregnant so quickly. And, because of my unexpected extreme fertility, I've thoughtfully changed my name to Amaunet the Fertility Goddess, but you can call me Jenital for short.

I'm so excited about having a little munchkin that I can raise, ruin, and push to extreme levels of success. Baby Stengel has already been added to the waiting list of the best tennis, ballet, archery, fencing, equestrian, clay shooting, synchronized swimming, and t-ball programs in Charleston. I have an Urdu, Farsi, Mandarin, and Cuneiform tutor lined up and I've paid off the principal at the local private school. She/He is only the size of a peach and already has an extra curricular calendar destined to land Baby S in the first round draft of Harvard University. Mommy's so proud.