vaccinations and peanuts

As the debate on vaccinations and the tensions over the measles outbreak continues to concern us all, I have noticed a really troubling (and annoying) little meme or phrase that keeps popping up.  It haunts my facebook feed with a nagging and insidious hidden barb that bugs the crap out of me.

Or this one:

And if it isn't a meme or a cute little graphic, it is an attempt at a witty tweet.

No, Kristen-I-adore-you-otherwise-Bell, it is not a "good point" made by @MotherJones.  I respectfully disagree with you there, though, again, I freaking adore you otherwise.

It is a random, unrelated, unfair point.  

It is an apples and oranges argument, one having very very little to do with the other. It is something within allergy circles that I have seen come up recently, parents really upset by this sentiment who sometimes have a hard time articulating WHY it bothers them so badly.  I wasn't sure what about it bugged me so much first, but I knew I hated it immediately.  The first time I saw it, a meme shared by a friend on facebook much like the Wonka one, I groaned out loud.  

I posted this on my personal facebook page when I was still having a hard time articulating my distaste for the "joke" or "vent" and was met with a lot of well meaning and kind responses.

Most people assured me that those memes were not meant to insult allergy families.  Most of my very pro-vaxxing friends wanted to address the importance of inoculations and how children need protection from these illnesses.  When I discussed it verbally with a friend she assured me that as an allergy mom I am just used to being the butt of a joke and so I am taking it personally when it isn't about me, or my kid, or even peanuts.  

But is it?  And if it is not, WTF is the point of bringing it up?

That ^ cartoon paints me and the anti-vaxxing mom with the same brush, literally and figuratively.  That cartoon illustrated precisely what my underlying nagging little fear was when I saw the meme start to regurgitate itself across the internet with increasing frequency. The implication is that we are both irrational and selfishly overseeing our children's perceived (insert finger quotes and eye rolls here) needs with no regard for anyone else. 

I still find it difficult to articulate though, because I know that the people sharing it when I do try to say why I hate the sentiment will reply with "but that isn't the point."

Well it may not be your point, but as in all arguments, if the ONLY way you can dispute something is by bringing up an unrelated something else then are you really proving anything?

This idea is meant to be witty, biting, and direct.  But it is really none of those things at all.  

Does it bother me that they are aligning me with anti-vax parents?  Yes.  Not only because I personally chose to vaccinate my children to the fullest extent I can (more on that in a moment) but also because not vaccinating is a choice.  A CHOICE.  We never got a say in whether or not a peanut, or milk, or parsley could KILL our child.  No one asked me.  No long-debunked research studies, no famous former Playboys turned parental activist ... I never got to sign a waver for this life.  Choosing to not have your child receive the MMR shot or any other shot is a choice, a decision purposely made.  Food allergies are a life sentence handed to you by fate.

Does it bother me that I am put in, let's be blunt here, the same category as fanatical, uber crunchy, kinda "out there" parents because of this argument?  Yes. Not because of the level of granola in my life, but because that category isn't meant to be a flattering one.  Those parents are instantly dismissed on the grounds of being, I hate the pun, nuts.

Does it bother me that in order to make your point you have to drag my kids into this argument, where they have no real place?  Yes.

Many children, mine included, with food allergies cannot receive certain vaccinations because of the way they are produced.  Some involve egg, some actually involve milk contamination, some children with food allergies carry other diagnoses that leave them immuno-compromised and they are not supposed to get those shots because the vaccination could actually kill them.  My kids get every shot they can have, and I hold my breath in fear for each one just in case because the threat of those shots is not an imaginary one.   

As a food allergy parent we get used to having to field certain questions and sometimes certain annoyances from other people.  It is really hard sometimes to not get really defensive when people are POed about not sending a PB&J to school because it is inconvenient for them while it could make my child suffer tremendously within seconds just to be in the same room.  When I start to think about how defensive, and admittedly, angry it can make me to hear parents complain about "inconvenience" and "annoyance" when these precautions can prevent my kid from dying ... I do begin to see the point the authors of these memes, status messages, tweets and what not are trying to make.  This could kill innocent children.  How can you not get behind something that prevents that?

While I do get it, I really wish people would stop bringing peanuts into the vaccination argument.  Mainly because if you chose to not vaccinate, that is your choice and this is a battle you chose.  It ain't my battle, I have enough of them and want no part in this one. Your on your own here.

The bottom line, either way at the core of any of these points are innocent children.  They are not meant to be banners in your war -- stop using them as such.  Whether your point is "if I can be forced to not send peanuts you should be forced to vaccinate" or "you are just as big of a pain in my ass as those kids are" ... please, stop using MY innocent children to further your point in this debate.  

Pick-me-up

As of my last post, I was pretty much a total downer.  Sorry 'bout that, but to be honest this has been a roller coaster.  Greater than any other medical roller coaster *I* have been on personally and it would really be dishonest of me to only post the good stuff.  Some days I am like "I got this, I can do it!" and other days I want to mope and feel very sorry for myself.  I believe I am entitled to have both days.

Today, though, is a good day.  So I figured a little writing and catching up was in order.

Since I left off I have had to have my PICC replaced once due to it clotting off somehow.  I will post about that independently because I know for me, the removal process and what could go "wrong" with a PICC consumed a lot of my thoughts especially in the beginning.  It is better now, though I still worry and have some anxiety about something going wrong again.  Not that I logically have need to worry, just when you go through stuff sometimes it makes you worry.

Anyway, I have wanted to just throw something out there in case my last post left anyone upset because I was pretty down.  I was only a few hours out from getting my PICC and it is overwhelming in a lot of ways.  It represented a huge change, and mentally I felt very much like a failure not only because of all the things I couldn't do (some of which now I can) but also because the PICC was such a "last resort" kind of thing that getting there felt like a big step in the wrong direction.

Perspective is everything, however.  While there are still bad days, and while I will never say that I looooooove having a PICC line, I will say that I 100% do NOT regret getting this sucker.  It has been the right choice for me and for my baby.

I have to be more transparent, with myself even, on the bad days.  I have to give myself permission to vent, because I find that I am constantly trying to reprimand myself for feeling crummy about the way things are now.  It is okay to feel bleh, angry, depressed ... that is all normal.  Even if it is all worth it in the end, it sucks right now.  I can't -- and won't -- give into it, but it isn't being fair to me or fairly representing HG to only post my sarcastic spin on the misery or advice on how not to be a total buttface to someone with HG.  

I am working on a PICC series -- this one will include having it placed, removed, and the day-
to-day stuff.  Since some days are better than others I am not sure how long it will take for me to actually manufacture those posts, but I am working on it.  I am also working on some other posts that may feel a little diary entry-ish to a reader but I have a lot of time to think lately and I know eventually I will want to look back on my thoughts during this time.  Blogging about it is as good a place as any to slap those musings down for posterity.

So since it is a good day health-wise, I am here writing and will hopefully crank out a couple posts or at least get started.  Today I am feeling good enough that being positive and hopeful is possible, so I am focusing on that and will keep on moving forward either way!

PICC Line Pity Party

Well the PICC is in and to be honest of the process of actually getting it put in -- I have had worse
IVs.

As for how I feel today ... well, I know that this will get better because I will continue to heal and get less sore, and I will learn how to navigate all the stuff that is so foreign and new right now in no time.  So I know this will get better.  But for now I just want to feel very very sorry for myself.

I hurt.

I feel so unable to do anything.

I am panicking about my lack of ability to do anything independently.

HG has made me such a shell of my usual me.  The energy I had, the things I did, have all changed.  Now, typing this is hard and I have to do it in stages.

I run two Etsy shops.  Well, I did.  I do home preschool with the Beans.  Well, I did.  I manage the house, cleaning, cooking, and schedules of my family.  Well, I did.  I feel like I contribute very little outside of growing this little person, which I know is a monumental task and everything ... but it breaks my heart to see how tired my husband is.  How my kids are gradually getting used to what I cannot do for them.

Now this ... I had a hellova time getting myself dressed today.  I am not even hooked up to fluids because the nurse wasn't able to come out yesterday.  That is two more lines connecting me to something that presently I don't have to deal with.  And I still barely got my socks and shoes on.  I needed to flush the PICC last night and Bunyan had to help because I cannot hook the syringes up independently given where it is located.  At least not yet, I thought I couldn't with some of my IVs and I figured that out.  I know I will figure out whatever I can, I know that I will have help with whatever I can't.  I just don't want to need to.

Fifteen weeks.  There are fifteen weeks left in this pregnancy and I may be on the PICC for every last one of them.  That, on one hand, feels depressing and on the other is a lot of time to figure out a new normal.

I just don't want a new normal.  I want to be just plain old normal again.

But I won't be.

Honestly I will never be quite who I was before this again.  This is the kind of life experience that changes you a bit.  I value my health more now than I ever could have had I just always had it to take for granted.

My nurse comes in a few hours to actually hook me up to the fluids and teach me how to use this sucker properly.  I will get all my questions answered and she will be here once a week to help me troubleshoot and change the dressings.  I know it will get better.  Sometimes you just need to give yourself a moment though, and now I kinda need one.  I need to acknowledge that this is hard, this sucks, and this is overwhelming ... but it could be worse AND it will be worth it once the baby is here.  Once my nurse gets here it is about coping and functioning again, I will have some independence even if it isn't the amount I want.  I need to make a list of questions and stuff.

But for now, I am taking that moment, because I have a lot of work to do later.

Pregnancy & Pintercrack

I am so bored.

I am so nesting.

My husband is doomed.  At least his sanity is.

This pregnancy has been a unique experience for us, full of unique challenges and learning experiences -- says the girl typing this blog posts with an IV in her arm.

I have always been an obsessive compulsive nester in my pregnancies, and I do not use the term loosely or as a joke.  It is compulsive, as many of my unique little NEEDED behaviors are LOL.  Nesting is sorta perfect for my OCD tendencies (I do not have the full blown disorder) and ADD.  I cannot sustain the overly ambitious projects I launch, and I don't need to with nesting projects.  They are shortish termish.

But what do you do when you can't?

Well, you make yourself (and your long suffering husband) insane.

My house is *shudders* horrible.  We intend to move before this baby really has a room of their own anyway, so I never planned to do a room here for him or her.  Now?  Now I am infused with the need to.

I need to clean.  My wash is piling up.  Despite Bunyan's best efforts you cannot remove my ability to do everything I was doing from the scheme of things and maintain this house.  In a way it is a little affirming to realize how important I am in the functioning of this home and family.

Its also hell on earth when I can't do anything.

So I have begun trying to find ways to fulfill my desperate need to DO something and combine it with my complete inability to do much.  I mean how much cleaning can I do when my BP is a hawt mess, I am constantly weak and sick ... oh and the stupid IV pole.

God bless Pintercrack.  I have officially taken pinning-with-no-intention-of-execution to all new heights my friends.  I have a board about knitting, its hilarious.  I have a board about quilting.  I can't quilt, and I have no real intention of learning to.  I have a ton of pins for organizing my minivan ... the one I don't own.  Yet.  My dignity is marching up to that guillotine soon enough.  I have a board devoted to balloon stuff, I have a life threatening latex allergy and could never want this stuff.  I even have a board for Tom Hiddleston.  Basically, I have a board for anything that is NOT food.

I can't do food.  Not for like another five months.  (I have food boards, lots of food allergy related ones, but I just don't look at them now.)

In all of these random obsessive searches to compose boards thoroughly versed in awesomeness I came across the granddaddy of OCD and ADD in planner form.  Erin Condren.  I have always had a thing with planners.  I have lots of them and I have tried a million types of them, usually to find that I am caught up in the fury of the moment and have like this totally awesome month ... then never stick with it.  I need something that will captivate me in more than one way and will actually visually keep my attention.  Granted, these ain't cheap so this is a gamble in light of my previous failings with sticking with ... well, anything.  But here's hoping.  I figure with the fact I may have another 5 months of butt-sitting I might have all of my 2015 planned out and should get at least some use out of it.

Of course I made a board about it too.

Online shopping was a bad thing to discover though.  I wound up purchasing the planner and some accessories from Erin Condren.  Then I searched Pintercrack for ideas ... because that is what I do these days.  There where whole Etsy shops devoted to stickers, inserts, and washi glory to feed my fire.  So I spent some money there too ... then I realized Etsy is like a goldmine ... eventually I purchased a whole new wallet for the envelope system we utilize (the irony here being we do it because it saves us money! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!) and a bunch of baby stuff before I curbed my need.

I sat back and happily smiled at my tablet thingy, feeling sure that this binge of organizing based purchases would keep me content for a while, I would be good to go!

Wait ... I just made a bunch of custom orders.  CUSTOM.  This ain't Amazon people, with free two day shipping.

Sigh.

I bought much of this stuff weeks ago.  I am still waiting for the perfectly reasonable shipping times that the shops clearly stated for them.  I am the moron, they are doing their jobs and many of them are doing more than one job.

So I threw myself into the HG Treatment Series for a few weeks.

Now I am done with that.

So I am pinning quilts and minivan organizers and wondering if I will get unsick of the mundane soon.  I used to think I would kill for nothing to do ... it is nice for like two weeks friends, then when you can't do anything you start wanting to climb walls (but can't) and talking to yourself even more than you did.

Yeah, my sanity may be a thing of the long gone past by the time I have this kid, not to mention my husband's.

Oh no he di-in't!

I just came back from an OB appointment.  I am 17 weeks, HG is kicking my ass and I am having like nooooo fun at all.  I went into the OB prepared to be reasonable but to complain about the following.

• I am hooked to the infusion pump (Reglan now, Zofran was awful and not helpful) 24/7 and still spending more than 6 hours a day nauseous.  The 6 hours is an indicator the home healthcare company established.  
• I may not be puking, but I am dry heaving constantly and my body is trying to throw up daily.  I am miserable but not constantly vomiting, so while better I am not better.  Make sense?
• The reflux is horrible.
• Bolus doses of my medication make me much sicker, can I have something else on demand when needed that isn't Phenergan because that knocks me out for hours?
• The last thee IV attempts went like this:  Three ago she poked me twice (I think) and got the IV in.  It died 12 hours later.  Two ago she poked three times, blew two veins, and got it in.  Died about 14 hours later with constant intervention and flushes to keep it that long.  Last one took five pokes, three blown veins and she never got the IV in.  I am now a week without IV, my eyes are hot, I get winded talking, I feel super drained, and I am covered in painful bruises.  What can we do about this, because I do great the second an IV is in (as in I can eat and drink myself).
• Last but not least, I am obsessed with the panic that I am having twins.  My only ultrasound occurred at 7 weeks pregnant and was just an on-the-abdomen type so the image was terrible.  We saw a faint heartbeat, but everyone tells me that this is no reliable indication of a singleton pregnancy at all.  

So I wanted to have some conclusion on at least some of that.  I know there is some of that he cannot help me with ... but I had hopes that something would be addressed.

Nope.

I was offered no other anti-nausea meds and he never even addressed it.  Told me to take Tums or Prevacid for the reflux and see if that helps.  When I detailed how awful the IV attempts have been he interrupted me to say "I will not order a PICC line if that is what you are hoping for."  Um, who hopes for a PICC?!  I never said anything about one, I was concerned that is where we are heading because several nurses have commented about it.  Perhaps this has come up in reports or something because he was awfully vehement but not explanatory at all.  He said he only does PICCs in cases of parental nutrition, and I am not sick enough for that.  Um, yay?  So what does that mean.  "Let the nurses keep digging."  Uh, you offering your arm up for that?!  I cannot describe how unpleasant that is.

With the twin thing he only put the doppler do-dad on my abdomen for like 10 to 15 seconds so long enough to hit a heartbeat, but no attempt to listen for two, no uterine measurements to see if I am measuring around gestational age ... nothing.  Just commented that I have "at least one in there."  Har har, you funny Doc.

But by far the best part, that made me want to peel my ass off that paper covered exam table I was having so much fun balancing on was when he suggested I eat crackers and cereal.

Oh no he di-in't!

Then he added to that suggestion, which meandered its way into this post as shit to NOT say already, that I sip my drinks all day.

Oh so you mean I shouldn't shotgun them?  WTF! *slaps forehead* why hasn't someone told me this already?!

I actually thought of this scene while in the doctor's office.

I do sip.  It is how I force down my 30 ounces of fluids I am so proud of a day.  I also tried crackers, like 14 weeks ago.  Funny thing, when your throat is raw you start thinking about your consumption in terms of regurgitation.  Crackers hurt coming back up.  Mashed potatoes do not.  At least not as badly.  I will stick with my effing potatoes, thanks.  Blood coming up with the puke and bile is just not my idea of fun.

Ultimately, I am trying to just calm down and figure out what I want to do next.  I am writing this more to vent than anything.  HG is hard enough without having to fight for medical care that is helpful.  My doctor was super helpful and awesome before today.  Then today happened.

I want to spoil myself and wallow in my misery but other than lay here and keep trying to *ahem* sip my Sprite (the only liquid I can drink) I can't exactly do much.

Nine Circles of Pathetic

Ever heard of the Nine Circles of Hell?  I loved Dante when we read it my senior year, I am weird, I know.

This is like that. If your rolling your eyes and thinking "Lawd, I hope this isn't anther depressing HG post" ... well, sorry. Come back in like a year, I might be done by then. Right now it's rather consuming. 

I'm presently waiting for doctor authorization and insurance approval for another round of continual IVs and a new medication for my pump.  I feel like I got run over by a semi and have not kept food or liquid down with much success for .... a while.  Time is a blurry thing.   And I am bored.

So without further adieu:

First Circle: Fantasizing about the food I will eat when I can, simultaneously gagging at the thought of the food I cannot possibly eat now. 

Here your punishment is dreaming about all the stuff you want to eat.  You can't do this all of the time, but when the waves of nausea abate enough that you find yourself with the energy and ability to dream of "normal" you let your mind wander to all the stuff you will binge on once you won't automatically vomit at the site of food.  Of course, these fantasies make you puke ... and the cycle continues...

Second Circle: Sobbing over anything because I'm pregnant and that happens, then sobbing because tears are a huge waste of hydration.

Hormones tearing through you at nine thousand miles an hour, you find yourself moved to "ugly cry" over a video your perpetually single facebook friend shared of her cat.  You hate her cat, but suddenly it is the most breathtakingly adorable thing ever and you find yourself weeping with the sheer overwhelming flood of emotions Mr. Twinkie buries you in.  Then you realize that you are weeping out the shit that is probably dripping into your arm via IV because you haven't been able to drink in ... a while.  So you cry over the senseless waste.  Spilling more tears.  And that cycle continues too.

Third Circle: Philosophizing about which is better -- dry heaving or actually puking.

Its a toss up sometimes.  The dry heaves are violent, because your body is as determined as a three year old in a tantrum to complete the job.  But for whatever reason, you can't *ahem* get it up.  Irony, no?  Anyway, puking sucks.  Dry heaves suck too.  When you do both so often that you find yourself critically analyzing which is harder on you, you really have hit a new level of pathetic.

Fourth Circle: I watched Dora, Team Umizoomi, and Paw Patrol with the kid not in the room because the remote was too far away and energy is a precious commodity.

Seriously, that is an hour and a half of my life I will never have back.

Fifth Circle: I am like a dog ... I just want to take a ride in the car. 

Sun light.  Fresh air.  I miss anything that isn't this house.  I just want a ride in the car, but it might make me puke ...

Sixth Circle: When you can eat, you consider regurgitated texture as equal in importance to taste.  

If I am going to eat, then odds are it might not all stay down.  Why try something like bread or crackers when something like oatmeal or even baby food is the same regardless of if it is heading up or down?  Oddly this makes it feel a little more tolerable and like less work.

Seventh Circle: Mumus.  I am considering them.  

My weight keeps dropping, but my tummy keeps swelling.  I don't think my uterus is this big at nearly 16 weeks pregoo, so I am blaming the bloat from the side effects of Zofran (like constipation that could kill and elephant).  If this wasn't enough misery, it means that my normal clothes are less than comfy, so maternity clothes are the option.  Except they cover your tummy.  They actually touch your belly.  You know, the tummy that is sore as a mofo because of the icky infusion sit reactions I keep having.  Bleh.  So when you are too fat for normal clothes and too sore for maternity clothes ... mumus.  God help me.

Eighth Circle: Peed my pants while vomiting.

Yup.  More than once.  I may even admit to this being a reoccurring problem if I was an honest person.

Ninth Circle: Peed my pants while vomiting but wish I had pooped myself because at least that means I can go. 

When you are actually at a point where you are wishing you would just crap your pants ... you know its bad.  Need I say more?

I didn't think so.  

Outlander *drool*

I tend to obsess on certain things.

Hot Scottish men, happen to be one of them.

Historical romance is totally my dirty little secret.  Has been for years.  Oddly, my mother got me hooked.  I was going through a really dark period of my life and reading has always been my escape, but I was having a hard time finding stuff that I could handle.  She handed me a copy of Whitney My Love, saying it was an emotional roller coaster but worth it.  After years of rolling my eyes at the lurid book covers she burred her nose in (seriously, this is my MOM, ew!) I rolled my eyes and only promised I would give it a chapter or two before I would give up.

I couldn't put it down.

I love an assured happy ending.  Romance novels, at least of the genre I adore, guarantee me that.  I call it a Sound of Music ending ... where they all escape the Nazis over the Alps at the end to live happily ever after.  I love me a happily ever after.

I also love historical fiction.  SO combine the two and I am a happy camper.  Throw in a couple steamy scenes and I am good to go.

If you are wondering, no, the GIFs have nothing to technically do with this post.  I just like using them.  Yum.

Anyway, I heard from a friend about the Outlander series and thought it sounded up my alley even if it wasn't a traditional historical romance book series according to some.  I also happen to love and obsess over Scotland and always have so it was like the best of all things for me.

I am only on book three now, but since I am not exactly up to my usual tricks lately I have been able to read a lot more and am chewing through my Kindle allowance rather fast these days.

Then I heard it was a TV show.  Of course, I can't actually WATCH the damn show, which is killing me.

I have to sustain myself with GIFs and youtube teasers.

It has been hard.

Ahem.

Anyway, I check at least once a week for a legit way to watch the show without suddenly getting a cable package.  So far I have had mixed reviews from people who swear certain sites are safe while others swear the same site made their computer speak in tongues and vomit pea soup.

While Paul Bunyan is super and understanding and all that, I think if I turn our computer in to a scene from the Exorcist he will not be pleased with me regardless of how valiant the cause.

I also suspect he may think the cause less valiant than I do.  Sooo not my problem.

Hyperemesis Gravidarum: what NOT to say!

Irony of ironies, I have barely been able to post the myriad of things I have wanted to, including wrapping the editing of the post where I announce my pregnancy, because I have been too sick.

So, by the way, I'm pregnant.  Yay!

I have always said I was a princess, but man, Hyperemesis Gravidarum just wasn't the thing I wanted to check off in that box as proof.  Not only to Duchess Kate and I hypothetically bond over illness, but this same illness is the reason we publicly announce our pregnancies.  HA!

It is hard to talk about HG when you are actively in the throws of it.  Go figure, talking about puking is hard when that is all you can do.  So I'll not tell you much right now about how I am doing or what this journey has been for me personally, but I will.  Just when I am better.  Presently I am 14 weeks and the clouds are lifting enough that I find this post possible, a few weeks ago it simply wasn't.

This is part hormonal, nauseated, angry rant with a dash of begging and education thrown in for good measure.  And lots of GIFs because they make me happy.

In no particular order because anyone of these if grounds for me aiming at you when I get sick for the 100th time today ...

1. "Oh I had morning sickness too!"

Morning sickness is crummy, I make no bones about it.  But HG is not morning sickness, though by medical definition it is often referred to as "severe morning sickness."  Let me put it this way, if you can count the number of times a day you get/got ill this is NOT the thing to say to me.

2. "Have you tried crackers/ginger/Preggie Pops/Seabands/some-weird-wives-tale/etc.?"

If one more person suggests ginger in any form {typing paused because I actually had to gag and dry heave over this} ... in a word, yes.  Yes.  I have tried all of that.  Desperately. Repeatedly.

3. "Oh my gawd, this one time when I was pregnant I threw up in...."

Do not talk about up-chuck in any form.  Not only do I not care, because that requires energy I do not have, I also cannot take hearing it.  Its also pretty freaking weird but for some reason people seem compelled to tell me.  I have managed to christen every receptacle typical for catching illness and many never intended for acts so vile.  We can swap horror stories some other day, for now please just shhhh.

4. "Have you tried just forcing yourself to eat or drink?"

Seriously?  I am trying not to drop F-bombs here but this one is hard not to reply with a good ol' "eff you" too.  Scientific question: what would happen if you tried to spray a garden hose UP Niagara Falls?  Same dif here.

5.  "But doesn't taking medicine while your pregnant make you nervous?  What if your kid has like a third eye because of that?!"

You're asking the wrong questions.  What if my child is so malnourished that s/he doesn't make it?  What if I am so malnourished or dehydrated that I go into preterm labor or miscarry?  What if both my baby and I don't make it, because that happens with HG?  I hate taking medicine, but without them I wouldn't have gotten this far.  It scares me, but not taking them scares me a lot more.

6. "Oh I understand!  When I was pregnant I would hurl the second I even saw *insert food item here* much less smelled it!"

I am sure that was awful, and I say that without too much snark.  I had that in prior pregnancies and it sucked then.  But here's the thing, I don't vomit because of seeing or smelling food, though that is a sure fire way to make me sick. I am sick no matter what.  Sometimes I can't even talk because the act of opening my mouth and activating my vocal chords does it for me.  I cannot swallow my spit half the time.

7. "I gained 30 lbs when I was pregnant, you're lucky to be losing some!"

Or anything like this.  Anything that comments on my weight loss as though it is some kind of GIFT makes you an undisputed asshole.

8. "Well you haven't lost that much weight."

Seriously, if you were an asshole on #7 this makes it even worse.

If you are looking at me and thinking I haven't lost that much weight chances are you are seeing how puffy and bloated the medication I am taking has made me.  Or even better, and way more TMI but you -- special snowflake that you are -- deserve it: Maybe my tummy is so large because the medication that they have pumped me full of makes it utterly impossible to poop.  Yup.  I am so damned constipated that my entire GI track is as backed up as a LA free way at 5 PM on a weekday.  What I manage to get down may never come out again!  So my tummy IS huge and I AM maintaining weight temporarily, but its not a good thing either.

9. "Oh I bet you are so sick because you're having a boy/girl this time!"

I admit, I have always joked (as a mother of only boys) to my girl friends who have had girls and are uncomfy through their pregnancies that it has to be that they are having a girl causing their misery.  "After all," I tell them, "two women can never occupy a confined space in peace!" so they MUST be having a girl. I swear, I will never say this again.

I have been assured I am having a girl this go-round because of my pathetic state more times than I can count.  Wives tales and gut feelings aside, HG has no known cause, cure, or even a sure-fire treatment plan.  The gender of my child is not what is making me so ill, even if it winds up coincidentally matching your theory.

10.  "Bet this will be your last baby now, eh?"  

I admit, now is NOT the time for me to discuss ever being knocked up again.  But I find any questions like this rude and nauseating when I am not in my current state, why are you inquiring about this at all you nosy weirdo?

Because actually screaming would mean
I have to open my mouth ...

Between the sickness, and the resulting exhaustion and weakness I have experienced as a result, I have not been up to a whole lot.  Sitting up at the computer is actually a challenge.  So whether you found this because YOU are going through HG (hugs and sympathy!) or because a loved one is, hang in there.  My thoughts and prayers are with you.

karma, threenagers, and juice

A letter to my mother, if she could have read it 30 years ago.

Dear Mom,

Fear not, karma soooo has this under control.  I know right now you are looking at that precious child you birthed and thinking "dear gawd she is a demon" but I assure you, what goes around comes around.

You see, I am that demon ... er, I am your daughter.  I am all grown up now nearly 30 years later with a child the exact age as I was when you first really started debating "can I sell her?"

You didn't sell me, and I am grateful, but I doubt you could have if you tried.  While I was cute, I was apparently an absolute mutant of a child.

You have told me that I would scream or shriek when I threw a tantrum so badly you were just sure someone would overhear and call the police convinced I was in the process of being boiled to death.  Reality being what it is, I was merely pissed you had dared utter the word "no" to me.  But for all those times you shared those stories and I rolled my eyes convinced you were exaggerating, even after my first child was born for he failed to have meltdowns of that level, I assure you I am now eating a feast of crow.

The Beans is cute, but oh. My. Goodness.  Hereforward for the sake of clarity we will call him Dr. Banner or Hulk.

It all started with Captain America.  No joke, it really did.

He loves these juice bottles with heads of characters on them, and most of all he loves Captain America.

I was out of Dr. Pepper and decided to splurge before we picked Meatball up from school.  We were going to get me 44 ounces of my drug of choice and him an apple juice with Captain America's head on it.  The whole way into the gas station he babbled about getting his hero and how he hoped they had one.  Well they did, but they also had Muck.  He is a stupid truck from Bob the Builder, a show Beans has watched ONCE.  But he was CERTAIN he needed Muck.  Had to have him.

But Muck is smaller than the Cap I said.  I showed him.  He saw that it was smaller and NOT Captain America.  He heard me tell him that I think he should get the Cap'n.

Yes, he hears all of it and knew, he wanted Muck the scoopy truck.

So after about a minute of my "are you sure"ing him he convinced me.  We bought Muck and my beloved Dr. Pepper.  We walked outside, buckled him into the car seat and then I pealed the seal off the Muck apple juice that we had already been discussing for about 3 minutes at least.  I handed it to him with a smile, certain he got the ridiculously expensive juice of his dreams.

"No, Mommy, I need my Captain America."  said Dr. Banner, the still reasonable big-blue-eyed angel in my car.

"Sweetie, you picked the truck one, we didn't get Captain America."

Then he did this.

Figuratively of course.  Well mostly, it did kinda look like that but he was less green and muscley.

I closed my door and took one sip of my 44 ounces of heaven.  I hadn't had a Dr. Pepper in 2 days and that caffeine flew to the pleasure receptors of my brain promising that we could handle this melt down.  He's usually a reasonable kid.  We will have maybe 5 minutes of yelling and whining, then he will be fine.

Oh how wrong I was.

I start to pull out of the parking lot, and this is when the Hulk realized the shmit was getting serious.  He started kicking the back of my passenger seat with everything he had.  The seat organizer that hung over the back was a casualty that he flipped up and started pummeling.

Unfortunately, as a driver, the sight of something suddenly flying like that startled me.  So I jerked the wheel.  Did I mention that the cup holders of a 2001 Corolla are really not equipped to hold a dixie cup much less 44 ounces of peace and deliciousness?

So 44 ounces (minus ONE sip) of Dr. Pepper dumps down on my feet, all over the pedals and floor.  Any moment now Noah will come floating along in the deluge I tell you.

I turn around and pull back into the gas station as it is the easiest place to go.  Hulk is now really screaming "GO INSIDE.  I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE!!!"

If I had been on fire and Captain America apple juice was the only means with which to douse the flames ... well, burn baby burn.

So I scoop the ice out of my car into the parking lot.  I use my discarded sweatshirt to absorb what I can.  All to the tune of:

"I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE NOW!!!! MOMMY, GO GET IT!"

I try to calmly say no and reason with IT.  Nope.  I try the mom voice.  Nope.  I try the little-devil-that-was-my-last-$3-and-my-Dr.-Pepper-is-gone voice.  Still nope.

So I drive.  Realizing there is no way we can go to the grocery store with him like this I just decide to take the long way to Meatball's school to pick him up.  Maybe we will be there early, but hey the kid will likely fall asleep and I will have a quiet moment to crush some candy like a junkie needing some kind of fix since I am without caffeine now in the parking lot.

Yeah, I still was underestimating the sheer power of karma and the Hulk.

Over an hour later he was exhausted.  The Hulk fell asleep.  Thank goodness.  I privately swore to myself I'd kill anything that woke him -- see this is why we know where he gets his anger issues from.

Then he starts again.  In. His. Sleep.

Seriously, how is that even possible?!

I tried to soothe him.  I was even kind about it.  It was hard, but I did it.

He wakes up.

"NO YOU BE QUIET MOMMY!!!!!!'

Okay, kid.  Sheesh.  I say nothing.

"YOU NEED TO BE QUIET MOMMY!!!"

But I am being quiet!  I desperately point out.

"BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, he had me there, I had spoken.  So I stayed quiet.  But he kept screaming how I needed to be quiet NOW.  Then Meatball got in the car.

"MOMMY BE QUIET LIKE MEATBALL! BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!"

Dude, seriously, I am not talking!!!!

He started to go hoarse.  Then he shrieked until he gagged.  Each time I asked what was wrong (before the command to be silent of course) I was told "I DON'T KNOW!!!"

He kicked one shoe off at some point in this ridiculous mess and when we got home and I pried him out of the car and set him down he screamed anew at me for that. We got inside ... well after Paul Bunyan ran after him when he tried to run down the street screaming "I NEED MY SPIDERMAN SHOE!!!!" then carried the kicking screaming mutant inside.  He continued for a little bit and I sat on the ground.

"NO SITTING ON THE GROUND MOMMY!!!!!!"

I am waiting.  I said.  I think you need a hug, I told him.

"I NO NEED HUG.  YOU NO HUG ME!!"

I made the best sympathetic grimace I could, sure my ears were bleeding and the neighbors -- who had to have seen the screaming child try to flea in desperation -- had to be assessing if it was 911 worthy yet.  I held out my arms and said "I think my Beansie needs a mama hug."

Then he ran at me and threw himself in my arms.  We sat quiet for about 5 minutes with him just hiccup breathing and me regaining my hearing.  

I learned a new term today, mom.  It is "threenager" and I am hoping that it is a short lived phase because he isn't even actually three yet!

So, mother of mine, rest assured that I will some day get every ounce of what I have given.  I too will have friends smile and say "oh surely he didn't scream for the whole hour" while my left eye twitches.  I too will want to snap and scream and go as crazy as you probably did.  But I too will hug that little a-hole and tell him how much I love him, making him know he is incredibly special and safe and loved in spite of the monster he is being.  Just like you did.

And I will pray that he will grow out of this, just like I did.  Only sooner, please.

With love, respect, and wine,

Me