My Dear Watson

Oy.

I think I am the largest pregnant woman who ever lived.

I feel like at any moment a camera crew from the Discovery Channel will knock at the door, asking to feature me in a story about The Largest Pregnant Woman Who Ever Lived. 

Which will air between Medical Freaks Of Nature and Surgical Tools That Got Left Behind.

Today = 35 weeks and 4 days.

I went to get the car seats installed, and the only way they fit in the car was one behind the driver and one behind the passenger. Which isn’t a terrible thing, except that the seats have to be pushed up really far and 1) now I can barely fit behind the wheel; 2) God knows what BeBop will do when he’s driving and 3) anyone wishing to sit in the back to watch the babies will have to cram themselves into the middle seat.

And I have a small BMW SUV, not a frickin’ Pinto, so I was somewhat shocked at the logistics of the whole thing.  But at least they were installed by a trained, certified car seat installer expert type person, courtesy of our local California Highway Patrol officers.

And…can I just say…CHP officers are HOTT.  Good Lord.  I walked waddled in and practically fell over, the first officer was like a cuter version of Taye Diggs in a sexy little uniform.  Then a guy strolled in, after disembarking from his motorcycle (thus the tight little pants) looking like a Polo model.  And the guy who installed my seats (and no, sadly, I don’t mean that in a euphemistic, ‘he installed my seats cha cha cha’ kinda way) was tan with blond hair like a Baywatch refugee. 

I was all, like, tee hee, do you guys have an Officer of the Month Calendar or anything? 

Okay, I didn’t really ask that.

The officer didn’t even flinch when he saw the blue stuffed teddy bear buckled into one of the seats, like that was the most normal thing ever.

And why, pray tell, would I have a stuffed animal shoved into one of the car seats?

Because our baby care class instructor told us to, that’s why.

And, according to BeBop, I have an ‘unnatural and very disturbing level of respect for authority figures,’ like our teacher, so when she suggested we practice with a toy I did as told.

I know.  I’m insane.

There was a slight meltdown Chez Watson the other day…we were finishing the babies’ room (and I swear I’ll post some pix soon) and I suddenly freaked out.  Like FREAKED OUT freaked out. I was looking at all these little things, these little square pieces of cloth with little animal heads attached to one corner thinking, what in God’s name is THIS?

I thought my sister had told me they were for the stroller to comfort the kids or something, but I swear I had no idea what to do with them.  And so I started crying

"What’s wrong?" BeBop asked.

"HOW am I going to be a good mother when I don’t know anything about ANYTHING?" I sobbed.

"You’ll be great," he said.  "Really.  You’ll be a great mom, honey, there’s nothing you can’t figure out…"

"JUST BECAUSE I FIGURED OUT HOW TO SET UP THE TIVO DOESN’T MEAN I’LL BE A GOOD MOM!!" I yelled back.

I was just having a moment.

But thankfully, this week is Multiples Week on TLC so I’m spending hours upon hours watching A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby, so at least I got that goin’ for me.

 

Holy Cervix Check, Batman!  YOWZA.  Why was I not warned of this?

But first things first:  I am good, the babies are good.  I am still pregnant.  35 weeks this Sunday and since my dr. doesn’t want me to go beyond 38 weeks, it’s close, people. 

CLOSE.

And getting closer every day.

Not that I’m starting to freak out or anything..what, me?  Freak out?!?  HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA (insert disturbing, maniacal laugh here that troubles you greatly…)

Now I was going to write a whole post about gratitude.  About how despite my complaining, I’m really and truly unimaginably grateful for how well this pregnancy has gone. And is still going.

But then I thought:  Holy Christ! A post like THAT takes some serious brain power and I just don’t have it in me right now.

And besides, why write something thoughtful — nay, even meaningful — when I can continue talking about my pubic hair?!?

Thanks to the pink Conair lady shaver I bought, my privates are doing much better. It was just in time, too. 

It was like Summer Camp at Crotch Lake up in there, you know?  Shove some Popsicle sticks up there and make some God’s Eyes, kids!  There’s plenty of hair for a dozen or so lanyards, so get to it!

Now, keep in mind that I can’t really contort my body to get a good angle for hair removal, nor can I see what’s happening around those parts. And, the whole new shape of the area (like clothes hanging on a line in your backyard, IsweartoGAWD!) made the shaving rather risky.  I could not ask BeBop to help out.  Unless he awoke one morning with near blindness, I just couldn’t subject him to the horror.  But, I did make sure he was home at the time because I had this fear the electric razor would get caught in the thicket and I’d be stuck…how embarrassing if the Fed Ex guy came by with my next Babies ‘R Us delivery and there I was, limping around the house with a pick electric razor tangled up in the lady jungle?!?

Okay, enough about the womanly bits.  For now.

My last day of work is today, which?  HURRAY!  Working until almost 35 weeks was perhaps not the brightest idea ever, but luckily we’re doing pretty good. I have lots of Braxton Hicks where my giant belly gets as hard as granite, but thanks to the delightful cervical check today, it seems everything is still long and closed and not showing any signs of going into labor anytime soon.

I do want to get everything done soon, though.  So I can try to relax and not have extra stress when The Big Day comes and I’m rushing off to the hospital.  Tops on the list is getting my toes done because once again I’m back to sloth status and I know this will be the last pedicure I get for some time.

We have a couple of things left to do in the babies’ room, and the Pack ‘N Play thing still needs to be set up in our room.  We discovered one of the car seats was defective so we need to exchange it (and by ‘we’ I mean BeBop since errand-running is just beyond me these days).  And I need to pack  my bag and I think that’s about it.

My goal for the next two weeks or so is to relax the best I can, and try in some way to prepare myself for the world turning upside down.  In a good way.

I do have two questions for y’all:

1.  Where in God’s name do I put the two car seats? I have a small SUV, so only the back seat, no third row action.  Do they go side by side and if so, behind the driver or passenger?  Or do they go one each side?  I’m guessing the ski rack is not the best option but beyond that I can use some help…

2.  What else, besides the obvious, should I bring to the hospital?  What did you bring that was a life-saver, what did you wish you had?  Your breast pump, if you had one?  A nursing pillow?  Your bong?

Any suggestions would be much appreciated!

1. Thank you My Sweet Reality and others for suggesting the awesome reckless legs syndrome remedy! Of course you know I (of all people) would LOVE something as crazy as shoving a bar of soap under my sheets. For some odd reason, since I wrote about it I haven’t once had any problems with the crazy legs, but I might just stick a bar of soap under the sheet anyway, because really, why not?!?

2. I was planning on apologizing for my last post, trying to find an adequate excuse for the graphic nature of it and begging your forgiveness for blogging about such things. Such things as the hanging beef jerky comment which probably was not necessary.

BUT!

Over the weekend I had some alarming revelations, it was like a voice from above. If Borat and Dr. 90210 can be considered ‘voices from above’ and in my book they can.

First, I was flipping through the channels and Borat was on cable, so of course I had to catch a few minutes of it. Sadly for me, the part I happened upon was when Borat is talking about his wife, who after three years of marriage just isn’t the SAME. You know. DOWN THERE.

"Her a va-gene hangsa down like a Wizard’s sleeve" was the way he put it.

I almost asphyxiated myself laughing so hard and then I thought, "Wait a frigging minute here — MY vagene is hanging down much like a Wizard’s sleeve" and all of a sudden, it wasn’t so funny.

And then, the very day I was again flipping through the channels I happened upon the reality show Dr. 90210, where Beverly Hills plastic surgeons perform a wide array of procedures on patients willing to talk about the before and after.

And take a little guessy at what the woman was having done…

Some kind of labia lift or labia plasty (and something else to her clitoral hood but I swear I won’t talk about that!). But plastic surgery to improve the appearance of her labia?!? And she’s not even a porn star where that kind of thing might be really important for your earning potential!

Now this one-two punch really floored me and so I’m coming to you with a question: Will my lady parts look at least SOMEWHAT normal after these kids are jettisoned, one way or another. Will my nether regions look anything like they did before I got pregnant or am I doomed? I have to know, I really do. I want to book my labia lift now, since I imagine the waiting list is months long.

3.  32 weeks and 4 days today.  Big as a house.  Big as a BIG house, to be specific. My last scan went well, Jax is just over 4 lbs. and Parker is just under, he was head down but she was breech.  And the NST this week also looked good, but I have to say all of my twin-pregnant friends (IRL and in Blogland) seem to be dropping like flies — everyone is on bed rest and it’s making me a tad nervous, people!

4. And finally, a close friend of our family passed away last weekend.  I wasn’t too sad, personally, because he was like 110 years old (depending on who you asked) and very sick.  But Rest In Peace Whirley Gig Joe, rest in peace. May your crazy dowsing rods show you the most direct route to heaven.

So last Friday I had the perfect day planned: 

"Working from home" entailed a quiet, relaxing breakfast followed by a pedicure* and an hour long foot reflexology appointment.

Sounds blissful, yeah?

Well, the babies had other ideas…apparently they’re already conspiring to make my life miserable, like all good kids, because I was experiencing some odd swelling issues.

I got used to the swelling during the day — remember how I said I was starting to look like the love child of

and

?

I had grown accustomed to the looks of horror on my co-workers’ faces as my feet and hands swelled throughout the day, so much so that by mid-afternoon I would lumber down the hall to the restroom on Frankenstein feet (as the ankles were nonfunctional) and hands the size of baseball gloves.

But at night usually the swelling would go down and by morning I would be much better.  Until last week, when the swelling would increase at night! I woke up feeling (and looking) like the Hindenburg.

I should have known once I called my doctor just to run it by the nurse that she would order me up to the office AS SOON AS POSSIBLE (said with much alarm).  And once I got there, even though my blood pressure was okay and they didn’t detect any proteins in my urine, they still sent me to labor and delivery at the hospital for a nonstress test.

Once I got there, out of breath from the 10 second walk, I took the wrong elevator up to the 3rd floor and had to ask directions to labor and delivery. A kind nurse pointed me in the right direction and then screeched, "CAN YOU MAKE IT?!"

I was sort of taken aback by the question and was mumbling a, "Yes, I’m fine thank y–" when an orderly yelled "I have a wheelchair, do you want me to take you there?!?"

Now I realize they were just doing their jobs and granted, I certainly LOOK nine months pregnant, but people PLEASE.  For the love of Christ, I’m not about to squeeze these kids out at this VERY moment!!

So that testing took about four hours as they had to make sure both babies were on the monitors, and then of course once we were set one would move and they would have to reposition the sensor.

Luckily everything came out okay, but now I have to go every week for follow up NSTs.  Which is okay, I guess at this point the more monitoring the better, to be on the safe side.  But it’s still stressful, to watch the numbers on the screen and listen to the heartbeats and  pray that all is well.

I go in on Monday for another growth scan, Tuesday for the NST and on Wednesday I see my OB, so next week is chock full o’ doctors’ visits.   I’m going to have my doctor write a note recommending I work from home on a more frequent basis starting the week of the 22nd, and also recommending I stop working the first of next month.  I’m not sure how my boss will take that, as he’s expecting me to be here for much of November, but at this point I know it’s what I have to do in order to get these babies to 36 or 37 weeks, which is my goal.

Wish us luck with that one, will ya?

*My need for a pedicure (which I STILL haven’t gotten!) rivals my need for some heavy deforestation in the nether regions.  BeBop even exclaimed how long my toe nails were, going crazy with picturesque references to a sloth and also?  A super hero-type creature who could jump ten feet in the air and slice the neck of her enemy using the aforementioned talons as deadly weapons.  Nice, huh?

And speaking of personal grooming (or lack thereof) may I continue this nonsense for a moment and talk – again – about the girlie parts?  Thanks. 

The untrimmed hedges are driving me CRAZY! I know when I brought this up before, many of you recommended I just leave it alone and go with the flow, so to speak, but I simply cannot take it any longer.

The whole AREA is so unattractive.

I think the the proud new Mommy to the Lemonheads tried to warn me about this, but really, what the hell is up with the changes that occur in the hoo ha region?

GAWD.

And not to be all 1960s burn your bra baby and empower yourself with a MIRROR and take a good look DOWN THERE woman, but I did make the mistake of using a mirror to see what’s going on and I swear, it looks like a meat locker where you’d hang long pieces of beef jerky to dry out.

And the hair growth!  In unfathomable new folds of skin I never had before!  (Is that too graphic? Should I have included a disclaimer here?) I finally ordered one of those lady razor contraptions and when I get it in the mail, I’m gonna fire it up like a motherfreaking weed whacker and GO TO TOWN. 

Really. 

I’m afraid if I don’t the doctor won’t be able to find the babies and they’ll be stuck down there until it’s time to start preschool or they’ll get caught up in the hair like little monkeys trapped in hanging vines. 

And that doesn’t sound like fun at all, does it?