Ineedagoddamnnap!

Pregnancy and placenta problems

I'm pregnant. It's been like a year since I have written anything here or anywhere else. I have had writers block for almost 2 years and it blows. Well, anyway...

So, I found out I was pregnant in February. As if I am not already crazy enough, pregnancy definitely puts me over the edge. I had one ectopic pregnancy that ended with emergency surgery and the removal of my left fallopian tube. I have had three healthy children since then with minimal complications during their pregnancies. So, I find out I am pregnant and after convincing my husband all 23 pregnancy tests can't be wrong, he finally accepted it. Things started off okay...for a minute!

I get an early ultrasound to rule out ectopic due to my history. So, I went around 5 weeks, I believe and the tech said she saw a yolk sac and maybe the beginning of a fetal pole. It was extremely early and that was what was to be expected. I was to follow up again in a week or so to check viability.  At 6 weeks, after having a nice pancake breakfast, I used the bathroom to find bright red bleeding. Not a ton, but enough to scare you. I wanted to ride it out at home, but my husband thought we should get it checked. So we did. Big mistake!

The lovely doctor in triage checked my cervix and informed me it was closed, which was a good thing. She only saw minor spotting on my cervix, again, a good sign. Then she did the ultrasound and shit fell apart. She told us there was no heartbeat and my gestational sac was collapsing in on itself. She said I was having a miscarriage and to go home and wait for the bleeding to pick up and pass the tissue. I cried. I cried waiting for my discharge papers, I cried walking through the hospital and seeing all the happy pregnant women waiting for their babies to be born, I cried when I got home and we had to tell our 3 little girls that the baby stopped growing, I cried when I told my family, I cried when I was alone and thought about how excited I was to meet the baby I had only a week or so before found out I was expecting. It was a horrible week. The doctor wouldn't send me home with any medication for pain, so I was worried about how much it would hurt, both physically and emotionally, when it "started." I spent the next week on edge, wearing huge pads everywhere I went and feeling like a ticking time bomb. I had my regular doctors appointment about 5 days later and he said he wasn't convinced there was anything wrong. My blood work still looked good and I hadn't had anymore bleeding. He wanted me to go for another ultrasound. I humored him.

Two days later, the same tech who did my first ultrasound inserted that long wand into my vagina once again, this time expecting to see nothing. After looking around carefully for a good 15 minutes, she pointed to something on the screen and told me she was pretty sure it was a heartbeat. She had me empty my bladder so she could get a better look. Sure enough, there was the tiny little blob of cells with a beating heart. It was a shock and I wanted to punch the bitch face emergency room doctor right in her vagina. I was once again pregnant, but cautiously optimistic.

Things progressed well. My 12 week ultrasound showed no signs of Down Syndrome and I was getting my energy back as I started the second trimester. Around 16 weeks, we had just returned from the store after buying some tomato and pepper plants for the garden, and I was walking into the backyard when my dog blasted into me and took my knee out. Now, I never did do a post last year about our annual beach trip. Last years trip was no less of a fiasco than previous years. The night before we left, I slipped in the dogs water (she tends to dribble some on the floor after getting a drink) and ended up tearing my meniscus and spraining my ACL. So yeah, that was a real fucking hoot at the beach! Wearing a giant knee brace, trying to hobble through the sand in complete agony. Thank God for the tram car! Anyway, I saw two different orthopedic surgeons after we returned and they both said I would need surgery after looking at my MRI films. Through some cosmic energy voodoo magic, my mom fixed my knee about 3 weeks later, while I was sleeping. I swear. I woke up one morning and felt no pain. I didn't need to limp around, I didn't need to take any vicodin...I felt perfectly normal. My mom told me about an hour later she had done a lot of energy work on my knee that morning. So yeah, as I slept, my mom cured my torn meniscus. Aren't moms grand?!

Back to the day in the yard with the tomato plants. My dog knocked into my knee, which caused the same stabbing pain and I fell to the ground. I went to the er, mainly because of the fall and I wanted to check on the baby. Kid was fine, although they couldn't tell me that there wouldn't be issues as time went on. They made me go over to the regular er to have my knee checked out. Thankfully, they fast tracked me and I was able to explain to the doctor that this isn't my first time around with this knee bullshit and I would follow up with my ortho doc. He gave me some vicodin and sent me on my way. My knee was jacked for about a week and then suddenly...nothing. Thanks, mom?!

I went for my 18 week ultrasound and was so excited to find out what we were having, as well as making sure the baby looked good and healthy! After three girls, we found out we are expecting a little boy and it made me tear up right there on the table. And then, they told me I have complete placenta previa. The perinatologist shrugged it off as no big deal. I was only 18 weeks along and he said chances are it would move and not cause any issues. Haha.

At 21 weeks, I woke up and found blood when I used the bathroom. Not a lot, but enough to scare you. I was home alone with the girls. I had been following the restrictions given, complete pelvic rest and no heavy lifting. I was sleeping for Pete's sake! I called my husband and then my sister who said she would come over to sit with the girls so I could go to the hospital. I was in a complete state of panic. My mom came over to drive me to the hospital and wait with me until my husband got there. Thankfully, everything was just fine. The bleeding never got heavy and turned to minor spotting for a couple days before stopping. They did an ultrasound at the hospital and the baby looked fine, my placenta was still centered over my cervix and there was no signs of visible blood on u/s. They sent me home on bed rest. I was allowed to shower once a day, use the bathroom and get myself something to eat. I was terrified and researched the crap out of placenta previa, which scared me even more. Bed-rest, hemorrhaging, c-sections, premature babies, emergency deliveries...wtf? For a good two weeks, I was consumed with anxiety about when I would bleed again, how long I would have to get to the hospital before I died and what would happen if I had a big bleed before the baby was viable. I was chock full of doom and gloom! My family doctor put me on Zoloft.

Another ultrasound at 22 weeks showed no movement of the placenta. The doctor told me it was unlikely it will move at this point since it is still completely centered over the cervix. She couldn't answer my question about how long I would have to go to the hospital before bleeding out if I hemorrhage! Honestly, I am a great nurse, just not when it involves my own issues!

I am now a little over 26 weeks. I am still on bed rest, but I cheat daily. Not that I do anything crazy, but really, who can stay in bed all day, every day? I have constipation like I never thought possible. Colace, Mirilax and suppositories and I still can't take a dump without crying, rubber gloves and calling my mom because I don't know what to do. Yes, I know, too much information. Whatever, it's my blog. I also have Symphysis Pubic Disorder. It feels like someone is stabbing me over and over in the right side of my groin. The pain travels from my low groin to my hip and then into my back and down my leg. It's really awesome. I waddle when I walk, I can't out my pants on without sitting down and being in pain and rolling over in bed has become an olympic sport. My doctor won't give me anything for the pain and Tylenol laughs at me when I take it. I scored a wheel chair from one of my girlfriends and I was super excited about it. Sadly, it is really more of a transport chair, with 4 small wheels instead of those two big ones on the back. So, when my husband attempted to take me for a walk around the block, he nearly sent me flying out of the chair with each bump we hit. After the third incident where I was almost catapulted, face first, out of the lovely chair, I gave up and walked home. To hell with that death trap!

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and another ultrasound on Wednesday. I try to visualize my placenta moving out of the way which would allow me to put this nightmare behind me. But, if that isn't the case, I have made peace with the c-section, the chance of hospital bed rest and more bleeding. I am going to keep thinking positive and remind myself that if something should happen, I know what is causing it and let the doctors do their job. I will be okay and so will my little boy.

So, I caught you up to speed and now I can concentrate on using this blog as an outlet to share my crazy days spent in bed. Until then, I am off to research tubal ligation's :)

The thing about love...

My wedding song was "After All" by Cher and Peter Cetera. Corny? Perhaps, but fitting. My husband and I have split up and gotten back together, well um, a lot of times.

We met in the beginning of January, 2004. We had a great time together, everything was wonderful and our relationship was blossoming as it should. On March 2, 2004, I found out I was pregnant with our first child. Yeah, just meeting a guy, getting to know each other, and then BAM...adding a baby to the mix = kinda tough! We bought a house together while I was pregnant, in July of that year. That added even more strain to our relationship. We split briefly about a month after buying the house (my very first stay with my fabulous sister and brother in law!) Went back about 3 weeks later, had Gianna the end of October, got engaged while I was in labor...and things were swell. Well, they were swell for 5 months or so, and then I believe I moved out again. (Thanks again sis!) ...And then, I went back. And then about a year after that, I left again (um, think I need to thank my sister again??)...and then after a month or so of being apart, I went back! Do you see a pattern here?

After going back that time, I got pregnant with Gracie. We struggled through the pregnancy a little, but made it. And after she was born, you betcha...I left again! Well, kinda...only for a day that time. But still. Then, 6 weeks later, I was pregnant with Emma...um, oops. And again, we struggled through having a 2 year old, a 3 month old and me being pregnant and hormonal. But, we made it. And when Emma was 8 months old, I left again (and yes, I went to my sisters!)

My husband and I started the divorce process, spent all of our income tax money on lawyers, he rented a new place and I eventually moved back into our marital home (once he left it.) The kids were confused, we were confused and hurt and STUPID! After being apart for about 3 months, he asked me if this was what I really wanted, and did I want to try to work things out. And so we did.

Our lives are not perfect, but we both realized that marriages aren't easy...relationships aren't easy. We never gave ourselves time to be "us." We were always so caught up in pregnancies, babies, hormones, hospitals, mood swings, sleepless nights, bottles, diaper changes, pets, bills, work, families and all the other crap in between, that we never gave ourselves a fair chance to behave like a married couple. We didn't work well together, we worked against each other. We placed blame on each other for things that should have been talked about and worked through. To point it simply, we were complete jackasses. Seriously!

We realized that we want our marriage to work, we want our family to be whole, and while that will always take work, dedication and commitment...we are in it for the long haul. We are doing great, laughing together for the first time ever. Discovering things about each other that we never knew. Making time for each other, watching tv together rather than him being downstairs and me being upstairs. Playing with our children together, compromising more, talking more and loving more. Of course there are still things that we struggle with, like, I wish he would notice the over flowing trash can when he leaves for work in the morning!...but really, is it a huge deal? No. Do I love him, absolutely...with all my heart. And I realize that "after all the stops and starts, we keep coming back to these two hearts, I guess it's meant to be forever you and me, after all."

Marriage is tough. Tougher yet when you have children so soon after meeting, and one after the other after the other. But rather than becoming a statistic, we are fighting for what we believe in, fighting for each other and fighting for our children.

My sister in law lost her mother, suddenly, Saturday night. Her parents had been married for 55 years. We had Easter at our home a few weeks ago, and her parents were here. The two of them sat side by side, in an over-sized chair in our living room, taking care of one another. She would worry about him getting something to eat, he shoved her concern aside and made sure he went out to get her a plate. They were so in love, so committed to each other. My sister in law is an only child, and was the center of their world. As "W" pulled the car up the driveway for his bride to get in, I helped my sister in law walk her mother to the car to climb into the chariot that awaited her. They were like two peas in  a pod, they completed each other, they were best friends, husband and wife...soul mates. You could see the love the had for each other in their eyes. They made it through bad times and good times, together. Knowing that they had each other, they faced whatever life handed them. They are a couple I admire, and hope I am lucky enough to have a marriage as wonderful as they made theirs.

As I listened to her loving, heart broken husband read a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "How do I love thee"...tears filled my eyes. He lost his dearest friend, the deepest part of his heart and soul. He picked a beautiful poem to read, and spoke from the depths of his soul about his wife of 55 years. I can only imagine the devastation and emptiness he must feel over the loss of his beloved wife. I can also imagine the lifetime full of memories they built together that he will forever carry in his heart, and cherish until they, one day, meet again. I am thinking of them tonight, with a heavy heart for the whole family. I will remember her always for the wonderful women she was, and always will be in each and every memory I have of her. Rest in peace "P"...what a great women you were.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

    -- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Just life

I feel sort of like a stressed out, living-dead person. If that makes any sense? Perhaps I am stuck in a rut in life at the moment. I feel like I have lost my sense of self and spend all my time as Mommy. Not that I am complaining about being a Mom, I love my children and thank God for them every day of my life. I suppose I just feel like being a Mother is defining me at the moment, and I am not sure how to change that.

I am a nurse and love my profession, but I can't work because we can't seem to find a regular babysitter. It was easy when we only had one child and my Dad used to watch her for us while I worked. But now, with three little ones, it isn't so easy anymore. I tried putting ads out there, asking around the neighborhood, school, etc. Nothing, nada, zilch. Sucks- really. Not only could we use a little extra income for savings, but it does wonders for me to go to work and feel like I am doing something important other than what I do at home. I am a good nurse and truly care for my patients. I am hoping that once spring break comes around and the college kids are home, I will be able to talk my niece into watching the girls so I can work a little.

My husband and I never get the chance to do anything alone. He works so many damn hours during the week and by the time he gets home and we have dinner (if he is even home in time for dinner) he is exhausted, the kids are antsy and I am about to lose my mind. The weekends are great, but it would be so nice to have the chance every couple weeks to go out to dinner or a movie with him without three kids in tow. I sound like I'm complaining; I'm not complaining. Okay- maybe I am. Just a little!

Hell, I am allowed to complain. This is my blog and I'll complain if I want to. I used to be good at writing. After writing that book last summer (which is still sitting on the dresser in my bedroom, un-edited because I just don't have the desire to pick it back up) I seemed to have lost all interest in writing. It has always been such a great outlet for me in life. I am not very good at talk about my emotions, so writing always gave me a way to get them out without someone listening. Granted, the whole world could read this...so it pretty much makes no sense that I can't talk about my emotions, but I can put them here on this website for everyone to see. But hey, I never claimed to make sense. That's me...the senseless one.

I just spent a half hour rocking the baby to sleep. She finally quieted down and I have been sitting here writing this for the last 10 minutes. My oldest child decided to get out of bed, yet again, and run through the hallway doing God knows what and woke the baby back up again. Seriously, I sort of feel like running away at the moment. Oh the thought of getting in my car and just driving, perhaps to a mental hospital for a few weeks! I can hear my husband walking down the hallway to quiet her. I feel bad. I know he had to leave the house at 4:30 this morning and is exhausted, but sometimes I need a break too. Actually, I need a break and a shower. And, perhaps a lock on my five year olds door.

By the way, my birthday is next week. I will be 34 and I am seriously, despite all the craziness in my life, thinking about having another baby. Insane?-most likely. I just can't shake the desire to add a forth child into our lives and I don't want to do that after I turn 35. So, my clock is a' tickin! Stay tuned...maybe I will come to my senses.

11 years ago tonight...

11 years ago tonight, I was likely watching something forgettable on television, getting ready to go to bed. My life was ordinary. I was 22, 10 days away from turning 23. I lived in my very first home away from home with my boyfriend, Sean. I worked a decent job at an insurance company.

11 years ago tonight, my boyfriend was nervous about me driving his truck to work the next day. My Mom's car had broken down earlier in the day, so I lent her mine to use and was going to drive Sean's truck to work. Despite my desire to own a large vehicle, Sean used to insist I would never be able to handle an SUV. (For the record, I have driven a Tahoe for the last several years and have had nothing but SUV's since 2002-ish.) Anyway, 11 years ago, cell phones weren't very prevalent. Beepers were still the way to go. He hounded me all night long about that stinking truck. "Mandy, when you get to work, page me with a one if you made it without any problems. If you page me with a two, I will know there is something wrong." I laughed at him, but was more annoyed at his lack of faith in my driving abilities.

11 years ago tonight, I went to bed with my biggest care in the world being my drive to work the next morning. Life was so simple. Life was still innocent, whole, complete. My heart was still intact. My soul wasn't missing anything.

So, the next morning I started my drive to work. The first turn I had to make, I got stuck on a patch of ice with a school bus behind me and cursed to myself as I sat there spinning wheels. If that was any indication of the way my day was going to go, I would rather turn around and go back to bed. But, after several minutes of spinning tires and beeping cars, I broke free from the icy patch and made my way, safely, to work. Upon arriving, I found a note taped to the computer screen on my desk saying "call your sister, it's an emergency." I don't feel like going into all the details of that horrible, life changing morning, but I will tell you that Sean's beeper was paged with the number two at least 25 times before he realized something was really wrong. And it wasn't with his truck.

As I slept through the night on March 9th, 1999, my brother, Nick, was killed in a car accident. I was dreaming of something, or fluffing my pillow or turning over in bed as my little brother took his last breath. I was clueless. My whole family was clueless. My brother, who was nothing short of an amazing, beautiful, caring individual had his life taken from him way before his time that night. As I danced the night away in dream-land, my brother was all alone, lifeless in a road, on a cold, March night.

So, Nick, in about an hour, it will be 11 long years since you have been gone. So often it seems like a lifetime has passed since I have seen your smiling face or heard your infectious laughter. Other times, it seems like just yesterday I was stuck on that patch of ice with the school bus behind me. I miss you- from the depths of my heart and soul. My life has never been "normal" since you died. Things can't be the way they were before the accident, it just isn't possible. But, I learned a new "normal." I have changed so much from that scared 22 year old girl. I have children, a husband, a home, a profession. I have never-ending laundry to do, fights to break up and dinner to cook. I kiss boo-boo's, change diapers and fall asleep with my ipod on to block out the sound of my husband snoring. I have grown from being a daughter and sister, and added wife and mother to the list. Despite the things that have changed in my life over the last 11 years, my love for you has never wavered in intensity. If anything, it has only grown with me. It is truly one of the greatest honors of my life to be your sister. Not a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars for the relationship I had with you. The bond we shared was like nothing I have ever known with anyone else. You were my brother and my best friend. We grew up together, laughed together, cried together, played together and shared dreams for a happy future together. I will never be sorry enough that you didn't have the chance to live those dreams.

Where ever you may be, Nicholas, know that I love you. Know that I haven't one regret when it comes to being your sister. There was no fighting or name calling. We just were. We just...were. I am blessed to have each and every memory I have of you. I am thankful to have had 20 years with you and I am honored to call myself your sister. So, until we meet again, know you are more than alive in my life. You may be gone physically, but you aren't forgotten. I love you brother. Call me when you get there :)

xoxo~
Mandy

Vacation, bleeding dogs and missing pickles...

For some reason, my life is always filled to the brim with chaos. Sometimes I think I enjoy it that way, other times, I want to check myself into the nearest psych ward. I got married August 26, 2005. Every year since, we have vacationed at the beach the week of our wedding anniversary. Some of my family members generally come along for some of the trip, which is nice. Last year, with three small children in tow, our vacation was much like The Griswold's. Perhaps I should dig that post out.

This year was different, yet equally as full of insanity. We rented a house this year, rather than staying in a hotel. My sister, brother in law, one year old nephew, my Mom, younger brother and step father all joined us. Well, actually, my sister picked the house out and set everything up, but that isn't really relevant. I just wanted to point out that it isn't like we footed the bill for a house at the beach and then had all these visitors join us for a free ride. Anyway, the day we left started off with a bang as my husband decided to tell me he wanted to go get his eyes checked before we started off on our two hour journey. Um, no. You will not be getting your eyes checked the morning we are leaving for vacation, unless you want to get up early to do so without interrupting everyone else's plans. He wasn't happy. Oh well.

Once we arrived and carried half our house inside to our rooms, I realized I forgot the sheets I had carefully put on the chair to stick in the suitcase. Go figure. My Mom assured me she had enough for me to use, so I didn't get my panties in a wad about it. The kids were running around like wild animals, the adults were trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how we were going to prevent the many young children from breaking anything in the multi-million dollar home. In the meantime, back at home, my mother in law was given one of our cars and a key to our home to take care of our pets. As my luck would have it, our dog, Cali, went into heat the day before we left. Isn't that just lovely?

The week was beautiful, the weather was perfect, the house was amazing and the beach is my favorite place in the world. However, we had about a million and one arguments, children throwing temper tantrums, ants on the counter, more arguing, separate beds because the kids wouldn't sleep alone and minimal internet connection to feed my facebook gaming addiction. Our anniversary was spent largely not speaking, but I cannot remember what the hell we were arguing about. Pancakes maybe? Something stupid and unimportant, I'm sure. We were supposed to go out to dinner that night while my Mom watched the kids, but that didn't happen. At that point, part of me was ready to pack up and drive home and the other part was ready to go get a hotel room on my own and not give anyone the address!

Vacationing with a four year old, a two year old and two, one year olds is challenging. Especially when 3/4's of them belong to yours truly! The kids had a great time, plenty of rides on the boardwalk, funnel cake, stuffed animals to bring home for the dog to tear apart...you know, all that good stuff. There were 5 bathrooms in the house, but only one bathtub- the rest were showers. The tub was a jacuzzi and very difficult to bathe our children in. The baby slid all around, the older two thought it was a swimming pool and splashed buckets of bubbly water in the babies face, causing her to scream bloody murder. You couldn't exactly lean over this tub either, so by the time the bath was over- I was soaked and in desperate need of a back massage.

Despite slathering myself up with sunscreen and sitting under a jumbo tent on the beach, I still managed to get sunburn on my back the second day we were there. That felt great. Hot-cold-hot-cold. Couldn't wear a bra, couldn't sleep, couldn't stand the warmth of the shower touching my back. Just my luck. The bay and ocean were swarming with jelly fish, making it rather difficult for the kids to have much fun in the water. We bought kites, but damnit if any of us could get them to stay in the air for more than a few seconds. I played with my Mom's metal detector, but found nothing more than a rusty nickel. We paid a hundred dollars for a pirate ship ride, thinking the kids would have a blast, little did we know the younger two wanted to sit the entire time under the covered area- away from any action. Money well spent.

We did get the pleasure of watching the dolphins jump several times a day. We had a great water view from our balcony and Gianna, especially, got a kick out of watching the dolphins play in front of us. I got my nose pierced, something I had wanted to do for a really long time. My sister went into the shop with me, and before I had mine done, she decided she would do it as well. I went first and it appears as if the piercer hit a capillary or something because blood shot out my nose and dripped down my face, onto my chest. I didn't realize what was happening until my sister inhaled deeply and said "Yeah, you can rip that paper I signed up because I am not doing that!" She ended up doing it anyway, and didn't bleed at all. After 80 bucks and a giant needle through her nose, she took hers out less than a week after getting it done. I am still enjoying mine, although I am still trying to manage the art of picking my nose with a chunk of metal in there!

We decided to leave Friday night rather than Saturday morning. I figured it would be easier to have the kids in their own beds and we wouldn't have to rush in the morning. We walked in to a house that smelled rank like tuna fish, a ruined mattress in the kids playroom, a kitchen floor that desperately needed to be mopped and an 80 degree house. Awesome. We threw the mattress away as soon as we got the kids to bed, just what we felt like doing at 11:30 at night. I quickly mopped the floor and decided everything else could wait. All in all, I was glad to be home.

The next day, I was doing laundry and as I went to pour the laundry soap into the cap- out came water. Uh huh, classy. Mother in law took it upon herself to use up all the laundry soap, then fill the bottle with water like I wouldn't notice! Come the hell on. Jackass. As if that weren't bad enough, the next day, as I was looking for some homemade pickles my lovely neighbor made for me before we left- I realized they were missing. There was two plastic containers of said pickles on the top shelf of the fridge. I looked everywhere- gone. I asked my husband to call his mother and ask her what she did with them. Of course, she denied taking the pickles. I don't care if she ate some of the pickles, but Christ, there were two containers, she could have left me some. After she lied about taking the pickles, she proceeded to call back about 6 times leaving messages about the pickles. "Raannn, call me back about the pickles. I DID NOT take the pickles." -click. Shut up you ass hat, you took the fucking pickles and used up all my laundry soap and let my dog bleed on a mattress and were out cruising in my car...so just shut up about the pickles already.

We never did find them, obviously, but my sister did ask me if I had any pickles at the Labor Day cookout we had Monday. Once I caught on, I dared her to go outside, where mother in law was sitting, and ask my husband. She wouldn't do it. I was tempted myself after watching mother in law fill up four giant plates of food (she is a diabetic, for the record. And also brought nothing to the gathering when everyone else in attendance did...just sayin)...and then she blew up the downstairs bathroom like some sort of sickly man. Jesus, my guests were found wandering the hallway upstairs looking for a bathroom that didn't smell like something just died in it. Couldn't she have taken her giant dump upstairs and spared us all? "Well, I opened the window and you didn't have no spray" was what she said about the filth she left behind, right outside the kitchen, for us all to enjoy. Classy!

Oh well, enough complaining for the day. I should probably drag myself to the grocery store before I change my mind all together. I am fighting a bad case or writers block, both on here and with the book I have been writing. Hoping it ends soon, I miss writing.

MckDrama

I started blogging about a year ago. Back then, my blogs consisted largely of me bitching about my husband or how stressful my life was with three little ones. After several months, I ended up deleting the entire blog (hindsight being 20/20, I wish I would have saved the posts first) because my husband and I went through a period of separation. I enjoy blogging, it is a good stress reliever and a way for me to put my sarcasm to good use. I have 3 young children, 4, 2 and 1. I have 5 cats, 2 dogs, an African Grey parrot and a goldfish. I am a nurse and went back to work, part time, in March. I am busy and my life is full of chaos. I don't have the time to blog daily, let alone several times a day.

I have been following a blog called MyCharmingKids for about a year now. I have been pretty sucked in as the blog is written by the mother of a little boy with a heart condition. He was supposed to die in utero, but was born "healthy." He has suffered with his heart condition on and off since he was four months old. When I first started reading this blog, I felt the writers intentions were good. I felt she enjoyed blogging and was using her blog as an outlet for support because of what was going on with her unborn child. But, the more readers she got, the more vain she seemed to become. She started advertising on her blog, which, okay...who doesn't want to make a little extra money?- I just think it's annoying. She started hinting around for things she wished she had when her little boy was in the hospital. Her readers apparently sent her gifts, money, put her up in hotel rooms, etc.

Then she started having "live chats." I think that is what really started to turn me off. What goes through a persons mind to make them feel important enough to do a live chat? I would be so embarrassed! "Hey guys, come talk to me live because I am special." Come the hell on. As if the live chats weren't enough, she also plans picnics for strangers to attend and meet her "famous family" as well as a cruise of some sort that her family will be going on with other strangers. Yes, what a brilliant idea- lets expose our entire family to the idiotic maniacs of the world. I don't get it, really.

And of course, she isn't religious...but knows Jesus. She isn't religious, but goes to church. She isn't religious, but trusts that God has a plan. She isn't religious, but asks her readers to pray. She isn't religious, but posted numerous posts about God, Jesus and quotes from the Bible. Sounds a tad religious to me?? Just sayin.

She claims she doesn't swear- come on! She makes her own hummus and some other kinds of nasty health foods that sound completely unappealing. She takes a million and a half pictures of her kids, many of them half dressed, covered in dirt or eating a filthy cracker with filthy hands. Hey, to each their own...but, um...ew.

While her son was hospitalized, she was on twitter about a bazillion times a day. She took pictures of her lunch, her feet, her baby getting injected with medication to stop his heart. She refers to her husband as "Prince Charming" but doesn't keep it real enough to admit that her hubby is so charming she had to call the police on him not only once, but twice. Yikes! If you don't want to air your dirty laundry, I completely understand, but let's not paint an unrealistic picture either. When the truth comes out, you sort of end up looking like a smacked ass to anyone with half a brain.

But what really sealed the deal for me with this MckDrama is her latest shenanigans with the "secret" trip they recently took. She is posting a series of pictures, trying to leave clues, asking her readers to guess where they went, stating that big changes are coming, yet she leaves everyone hanging in suspense for days and days. It dawned on me a couple days ago- who the fuck cares? Who the hell is this lady? Some wanna be looking for her 5 minutes of fame and subjecting her children to a bunch of lunatics in the meantime? Why did I bother following her blog for so long when she had made it about fame rather than her ill son? I have always, and will continue to pray for her little boy. I cannot imagine having a sick child and I thank God for my families health every single day. I also cannot imagine using my child's health condition as a way to make myself famous.

I started looking around the web and found there are hundreds of people who feel the same way I do about this woman. It made me feel much better to know that it wasn't all in my head- that this lady has some serious something going on! And what blows my mind even more is where she finds the time to write several blog posts a day. Christ, I am constantly pulling my hair out with my three little ones...I can't even take a dump by myself! She has four children, under the age of four, and manages to blog her heart out. Um, what are the kids doing? Just wonderin' ?

Anyway, I just wanted to vent about that for a sec. It has been on my mind lately, you know, between changing diapers, making my own, organic, baby food, milking the cows and cleaning up puppy poo. Just thought I would share my thoughts...not that anyone cares, but hey, it made me feel a little better.

Happy Birthday Nicholas

I remember calling my brother around 9:30 at night one time. He had just gotten done work. I was complaining about how bad my back was hurting and how I wished I could get a massage. My brother drove to my house and rubbed my back for me. No complaints. He was more than happy to help me anytime he could.

I remember one time my brother and I were out early in the morning riding our bikes. As we wheeled back into our driveway, he stopped a little too fast and somehow, his leg got caught in between the chain on his bike. I had to go wake our Dad up, who wasn't happy about being disturbed so early in the morning! But once I told him what happened, he rushed outside with a tub of butter to help my brother get his leg unstuck.

I remember one time my brother thought it would be a good idea to put a piece of cardboard over his skateboard and sit down on it while riding down what we called "acorn hill." It was a pretty long, twisty road in our neighborhood. Inevitably, the cardboard slid off the skateboard and my brother slid half way down the hill on his ass. He walked around for a good week with a patch of his red Umbra shorts stuck to his butt. He refused to pull them off the wound and made my Dad cut the shorts off, leaving the patch of red shorts stuck to his buttocks for at least a week!

I remember when my brother got out of the shower one afternoon and walked into my room looking like he was going to cry. I asked him what was wrong and he replied "I need you to look at something for me." I said okay and asked what he wanted me to look at. He said, "I think I have hemorrhoids." I protested, telling him I was NOT going to look at any hemorrhoids on my own brother. We have boundaries! But he begged me. He said it hurt him so bad he couldn't sit down and he didn't know what else to do. Finally, I gave in. He lifted his towel a slight bit to expose just the edge of his butt cheek. I got hysterical laughing when I realized what he thought was a hemorrhoid was nothing more than a pimple on his lower butt cheek! He was mortified and made me promise not to tell. I never did...well, at least not while he was alive.

I remember one night watching the 11 o'clock news and seeing a tornado warning flash across the screen. I am a compulsive worrier and immediately grabbed my pillow and blanket and headed downstairs to the basement where my brothers room was. He was trying to sleep when I barged in with my bedding-ready to bunker down. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was sleeping down there incase a tornado came. He was annoyed and expressed how ridiculous he thought I was, but after he was done, he slid over and let me sleep there, in the basement, where I felt safe.

I remember one day when my brother was visiting me, after I had moved out of our family home. I had a few cats at that time and their litter box was in the downstairs bathroom. I remember him opening the bathroom door and looking back at me with a look on his face that told me it was time to scoop the litter. Then turned around and as he was closing the door behind him, he said "I'm gonna give you cats some competition!"

I remember his smile, his laugh and his bright blue eyes. I remember his kindness, his compassion and his gentle nature. I remember his flair for life and his desire to be positive and have fun. I remember his lectures to me about loosening up and worrying less. He would tell me to listen more and argue less. His advice was wise beyond his years. I remember his very last phone call to me. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was cleaning my bedroom. I talked to my brother every day, but I always called him unless there was something specific he needed. But that day, he called me out of the blue. We talked for a good hour before I asked him if he called for any specific reason. He said, "Nah, just wanted to talk." My brother, Nick, was killed the next day.

Today is his birthday. He would be celebrating turning 31 right now, instead, his life was cut short because of a careless drunk driver and no seat belt. I miss my brother Nick with all my heart and soul. He was my best friend and I often feel lost without him here. There isn't a day that passes that I don't think of him, wish he was still here with us and hope he is "somewhere" looking out for those of us who were left behind. Happy Birthday Nick. I love you from the depths of my soul and hope and pray you are able to celebrate the day you entered this world where ever you may be.

xoxoxo~
Mandy

Fed up with worrying

I am a worrier. Always have been, hope someday that changes. Not that I don't think some amount of worry is healthy, I do. What good would a person be if they wandered through life not giving a shit about anything? It's just that I take things to an extreme.

For example, childbirth. While most women look forward to meeting their new bundle of joy, or stress out about the pain of contractions, I am convinced I am going to die. Of course I pick the rarest thing out there to die from, an amniotic fluid embolism. I have a better chance of perishing on my way to the hospital to give birth, and rationally, I know that. But some part of my brain misfires way too often and I obsess over whatever thing I happen to be worried about. Doctors love me. Family has learned to ignore me.

My oldest daughter, Gianna, is suffering from many of the same symptoms I have and it scares me to death. I can remember worrying as a young child. I would sit on the edge of my bed and look out my window watching for my Dad to get home from work. Or give myself a stomach ache when we were left with a babysitter because I was afraid my Mom and Dad wouldn't come back. I remember findingwhat was probably a bug bite, on my arm while showering one afternoon. It scared me so bad, I jumped out of the shower, threw a towel around me and ran on to the backyard where my step-mom was hanging clothes on the line. I insisted she look at my "bump" right away. I knew it was something awful and I was sure to die from it. She marched me back into the house, quickly, and tried to reason with me about how ridiculous I sounded.

Gianna worries about everything. She used to be an overly happy four year old. Over the last 9 months or so, she has become more and more concerned about things that she should pay no mind to. She worries about police officers, and if they are going to come get her if she spills something on herself. She worries about having children someday because she doesn't want to get any needles. She worries about future doctors appointments, for herself and her sisters. She worries about foxes getting into the house and attacking her in her bedroom at night. She worries when she coughs that she will throw up. She worries when her sisters cough that they will throw up. I hate all her worry. I worry about her worry.

My husband and I tried homeopathic therapy, much to my Mom's insistence, but it has done nothing for her. I hate the thought of putting her in therapy, but it looks like it is coming to that. I cannot stand the thought that my little girl may suffer through life like I did. I have spent years and years struggling with anxiety attacks and anxiety medication just to make it through the day. Of course, as I got older, I learned to better deal with my anxiety. But, it took me a long time and a lot of wasted days.

Anxiety sucks. Worrying sucks. Watching your children suffer sucks. Life isn't always easy, but when you love someone more than you love yourself, like any mother should, it makes life a million times harder watching them struggle. I hope my first born learns to put the worry behind her and live in the moment. I hope she wakes each day with excitement for what the new day will bring. I hope she laughs her heart and and brightens entire rooms with her smiles. And after all that is done, I hope she teaches me a little of what she learned.

I've learned that...

I've learned that there aren't enough hours in the day.

I've learned that, too often, I appreciate my kids more when they are sleeping.

I've learned that I will never be a perfect Mother. I will never even come close to that status. But, I love my kids with all my heart and try to learn from my mistakes.

I've learned that four and a half year olds love to be the boss. They also master the art of talking back.

I've learned that sometimes, I find myself defeated by my four and a half year old!

I've learned that two year olds can be bull headed and throw a mean temper tantrum.

I've learned that two year olds prefer to live off of fruit snacks and chicken nuggets.

I've learned that sometimes it is easier for me to give in and let my two year old eat fruit snacks for breakfast, than it is for me to argue with her.

I've learned that one year olds quickly pick up on the bad habits of their two and four year old sister's.

I've learned that once my one year old realize she could scream, she decided to make a habit of it.

I've learned that I should invest in earplugs...today.

I've learned that one should NEVER buy a puppy two days before surgery. No matter how cute he is.

I've learned that I am impulsive and while I have attempted to improve my bad behavior, it doesn't seem like it will ever go away completely.

I've learned that I make mountains out of molehills.

I've learned that I need to worry less, laugh more and appreciate what I have.

I've learned that money is necessary to live, but it doesn't bring a person happiness.

I've learned that you cannot change people. You can lead a horse to water, but you can never, ever make it drink.

I've learned that no matter how much it hurts you to see another person making the wrong choices in life, they are their choices to make.

I've learned that I make a lot of mistakes myself. Sometimes I learn from them, sometimes I pretend they never happened.

I've learned that I love writing and wish my "writers block" would go away so I could get back to writing my book.

I've learned that I secretly hope my book will be a huge hit and will eventually get published.

I've learned I am very much a dreamer! Go figure, I'm a Pieces.

I've learned my passion for being a nurse isn't what it used to be. At this point, I would be happy never to work as a nurse again.

I've learned that taking care of people at the end of their lives isn't easy, and takes a toll on you. Despite not knowing the person outside of a work atmosphere, it is hard to watch as each breath they take is one closer to their last.

I've learned that when my four and a half year old decides she wants her name to be "Taylor" rather than Gianna...it is easiest to agree. Taylor it is!

I've learned that marriage is hard work. The work never ends and both people must be dedicated to the work, or else the marriage will fail.

I've learned that you never stop learning about your spouse, no matter how long you are together.

I've learned that I can be a spiteful person when I want to be. I can hurt a person in ways that are shameful.

I've learned that changing that behavior is hard as hell to do. But, I keep trying.

I've learned that mother in laws can be giant pains in the ass.

I've learned to choose my battles.

I've learned to appreciate every single person involved in the making, producing and stocking the drug Xanax. Without it, I would very certainly be spending a lot of time institutionalized.

I've learned that my family is everything to me.

I've learned that I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful family. It saddens me to see other people with a family dynamic that just stinks. They miss out on so much without the happiness and love a good family brings into your life.

I've learned to take nothing for granted.

I've learned that the pain and hurt from losing someone you love never goes away. It becomes bearable, but remains intact, ready to haunt you at any given moment.

I've learned that the concept of life and death can be very scary and overwhelming.

I've learned that trying to figure it all out is impossible.

I've learned that the best I can do is strengthen my beliefs, maintain some sort of relationship with my higher power and pray that there is more to it than we can understand.

I've learned that there have been an awful lot of unexplainable things that have happened to me in life that bring me much comfort.

I've learned that I never stop looking for those "signs"...my eyes are always open.

I've learned that I will try most things once. Most things.

I've learned that I will never try caviar, veal or several other types of animal meat many people consider delicacies. I will never jump from an airplane. I will never learn to like spiders.

I've learned that losing weight is hard as hell to do.

I've learned that a small part of me secretly hates thin girls that can eat whatever they want.

I've learned that I have a hang up on vampires.

I've learned that Vicodin and me don't mix.

I've learned that I am tired of thinking of things I've learned.

What in the...???

For the love of all that's ...loved?
Honestly, I have no idea what the hell has been happening lately. Perhaps the planets are out of alignment, as my Mother often reminds me that can screw with communication and whatnot. Or, perhaps the Vicodin I took a little while ago is kicking in, and I really have no idea what I am even typing. Why am I typing anyway? It has been a while. A lot of shit is going on.

I was busy writing a book. I am still in the process of writing and editing, but, was rudely interrupted a few weeks ago. I went for my routine ob/gyn appointment and mentioned a few issues I had been having. Mid-cycle bleeding, mood swings, hair loss...all things I thought my doctor would tell me were perfectly normal and send me on my way. Instead, he mentioned the word "surgery." SURGERY??? No, no...see, I don't do surgery. I had emergency surgery once, in 2002, and it wasn't a good situation. I am a nurse with an anxiety disorder and a hypochondriac! I don't fair well with surgery.

Worse yet, he tells me he wants to do this surgery to make sure I don't have "some sort of freaky endometrial cancer." Uh-huh...soothing. I could hardly think straight when he read the word "bump" off my nicely written list of issues I wanted to discuss with him. He was holding my list in his hand and asked me where the bump was. Since I was a little girl, I have had a freckle in my pelvic area, near my hip bone. After my third child was born, I noticed a skin tag-like thing grew on top of the freckle and I wanted him to check it out. He took one look at it and said, "Oh, that's a wart." WHAT??

But, before I could start screaming profanities and telling him I have been married for 4 years with no possibility of having warts, his phone rang. He answered it. I was sitting, undressed and alone on the table scared to death about endometrial cancer and furious that my husband was a cheater. I don't remember much more of the visit with my doctor. He told me to schedule an appointment to have my "wart" removed, that someone would call me with a surgery date for my hysteroscopy and when I nervously asked him if I might be dying...he told me he couldn't answer that until he got my biopsy results back.

I walked to my car, shaking, and called my husband as soon as I got inside. I asked him to come home right away as I didn't think I could be alone with the kids after everything I had just heard. Thankfully, he was home before me and I didn't have to suffer alone. Long story short...

I had an ultrasound a few days later. I was told I had four uterine fibroids, but everything else looked good. I felt better about that. I got a letter in the mail the day of the ultrasound with a surgery date of 7/13, which took all my reassurance away. They told me in the office they scheduled six weeks out, but my surgery was less than two weeks away. It must be bad. I had my pre-op testing last Tuesday in my doctors office, and he mentioned there was some other "spot" on my ultrasound and that he hoped it was just a polyp. I was scared out of my mind, and drove pretty much everyone in my family insane with my worry. I had to return to my doctors office last Friday to have my "wart" removed. This is how that visit went down.

I arrived, waited about a half hour before getting called back into my room. I got undressed from the waste down and sat on the table, waiting for the good ol doc to come remove my "wart." He enters the room and we exchange greetings, for the second time that week. His nurse is with him and as he is talking to me, casually, he takes my legs and places them in the stirrups. I am sort of confused, thinking the stirrups are going to be rather uncomfortable to be in while he removes something from my pelvic region, but whatever, he is the boss. Before I knew what was happening, he starts doing my pap test.
ME: Um, doc...you do realize the thing you are supposed to be removing is on the outside of my vagina, right?
HIM: Oh, geez...what am I doing? I am doing your pap! I forgot you were having something removed.
ME: Yeah, ok well, I am having surgery on Tuesday. Are you going to forget anything while that's going on? I mean, I would like to keep my uterus if possible, you know?
HIM: (Laughing) Yes, I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you will keep your uterus. Tell me again why we are removing this? This is just a skin tag.
ME: (Seriously, about to go postal...a fucking skin tag, like I thought to begin with. But then he went and scared me into thinking I had some nasty virus that caused me to get warts.Fuck!) Um, doctor, I told you I thought it was a skin tag, but you said it was a wart??
HIM: Hmm, yeah, you didn't need to have this taken off. I will send it to pathology anyway, but it's just a skin tag.

Communication is just wonderful, really! As much as I enjoy giant holes in my pelvic region and fleeing thoughts of a cheating spouse, I could have done without all that nonsense. Regardless, it was done and over with and I left the office with serious doubts about letting this man operate on me! I like my doctor, truly. But, he seemed off and it obviously concerned me. Nevertheless, I showed up for my surgery Monday morning with my husband and sister in tow. I was filled with anxiety and wanted to run in the opposite direction, but figured I had been bleeding for twenty some days at that point...how much more could I really take before needing a transfusion? Before long I was doped up and laughing on the operating table without a care in the world. I woke to my sister and husband sitting next to me, both reassuring me everything went well and my doctor didn't think I had cancer. He removed two polyps from my uterus and said they looked normal, but would have them sent to pathology to be sure.

I felt drugged and foggy and wasn't paying much attention to anything anyone was saying. I managed to hear "doesn't look like cancer" and that's about it! I set the monitors off several times when my heart rate dipped into the 40's. Despite feeling heart palpitations and mentioning them to the nurse, she scurried in and turned the alarm off each time it sounded. I was released with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to put anything in my vagina for two weeks. I was happy to be home, and looking forward to a couple days in bed to rest. Except that didn't happen.

My heart rate remained low, the heart palpitations didn't stop and I was worried something was wrong. Around 1 in the morning, I called the on call doctor to seek some reassurance, and he tells me to go to the er. Oh, fucking goody! Off I went, alone, in the middle of the night. Of course my husband offered to take me, but I didn't want to bother family to come babysit...so I broke my discharge instructions and drove myself. Another waste of time, the er did pretty much nothing. Five hours and an EKG later, and I was on my way home with instructions to follow up with my cardiologist. Ok, am I 94? Or 33?

I am assuming it was all the drugs in my system that made my heart rate low, but I do see my cardiologist tomorrow to be on the safe side. My uterus hurts and I have cramps, but whatever, I probably don't have cancer...so YAY! I also don't have warts, but I do have a gaping hole that hurts a lot in a sensitive area. I bought a puppy last Friday, because I am a jackass, and along with chasing my three energetic children around...I also have a puppy to deal with. He is awfully cute, however. I don't really remember the point of this post. The Vicodin is definitely working...and I am going to stop writing now. Time to enjoy the moment, the silence...because way too soon, it will be over and I will be pulling my hair out again. Please excuse the babbling...I will return in the next few days with something that makes sense.