I figured it was time for another uterine update. (This may be TMI for some of you delicate readers, but there isn’t anything terribly gross if you want to plunge on ahead.)
My midwife thinks – and I agree – that what I’m experiencing is a blighted ovum, or anembryonic pregnancy. This means that due to a chromosomal anomaly, the gestational sac grows but there’s no baby inhabiting it – it’s an empty placenta, basically.
Spontaneous abortion in this situation takes a long time, because the placenta can continue to grow and support itself without a baby for up to two months, and so body-fooling pregnancy hormone levels exist for quite awhile. Loss of pregnancy symptoms, “not feeling pregnant,” and spotting and bleeding are common experiences with this condition.
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Morning people are the dominant bio-type, and they set the attitudinal tone of the entire culture. They’ve decided that morning is the best time of the day, and that people who are not naturally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the very ass crack of dawn are in some way lazy and unfocussed.
Well, screw that.
Morning is not the best time of day. It’s a fine time of day of course, but it isn’t inherently better than any other time. Getting up early does not mean you’re more productive or a better member of society. Being on time during the pre-noon hours doesn’t mean you care more or that you’re a better person.
As a night person, I’ve been chronically late to morning events my entire life. I’ve been told my tardiness proves my lack of commitment or concern about jobs, classes, and friends. It’s been condescendingly explained to me that if I just “made an effort” to go to bed on time I’d be on the “right” schedule and would find myself reaping the benefits of a morning person lifestyle.
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Does ‘Spotting’ Foretell a Miscarriage?
Yes.
Fuck yes it does. All those articles to the contrary are bullshit, designed to minimize panic. The simple truth is that when you’re pregnant and you bleed, you’re about to have a miscarriage. Trust me, I’m an expert on this.
I just went pee and there it was: a tiny little bit of pink on the TP. This is exactly how it started last time. First, an innocent streak of color. Next, bleeding… days and daysof light bleeding. Then weird, dark bleeding.
Then horrible, gut-wrenching cramps, and then my period will really start.
In a few days my hormones will be so utterly fucked up that I won’t be able to work or see anyone other than Brett, and him I’ll just cry all over. The poor, poor man.
Miscarriage makes you insane. Literally. It’s a state of temporary insanity. You know you’re acting nuts, but you can’t stop it ’cause your brain is full of weird hormones and chemicals and you can’t tell if you’re coming or going.
You know what? Screw this. I obviously can’t have a baby because my hormones are too fucked up, and I’m beginning to get too old for a first child anyway. I do get bummed about losing potential babies, but not half as much as I hate going through the suffering of the purely physical aspects of miscarriage: it’s hard and it hurts.
I should get my tubes tied and resign myself to a life of spending all our money on ourselves and our dogs.
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I am aware that there are problems with comments.
This problem is the fault of spammers, who are bastards all, and deserve seeping venerial diseases for filling my server up with such total crap.
Because of spammers, I have to run a plugin called MT-Blacklist, and MT-Blacklist occasionally just freaks out and stops working properly. I personally read through my entire list and couldn’t find anything that should be blocking comments from, for instance, “Cooter”. So I shut off the plugin, deleted the list, and installed the latest one.
Please send a carrier pigeon if you continue to experience problems with comments.
This morning when I came downstairs, Brett turned to me and said, “We need wood.”
I turned groggily to look at the wheelbarrow, which was full of logs and kindling, and looked sleepily back at him.
He smiled. “We don’t have enough to make it through the winter,” he explained.
My brain shuddered into motion. “Oh, yeah, we need wood. Definitely.”
Brett drove around the property this fall and pulled out all the fallen trees; so our woods don’t have much more to offer this year. We used to get screamin’ deals on wood from our friends’ parents, but the grandpa had a stroke this year and I don’t even know if his woods are even being managed. (I guess they have hundreds of acres, a very well husbanded plantation. They’d ring their trees and let them stand a year before cutting them down so they were all aged and dry. It was a really healthy, good looking forest. Brett would drive out there and they’d load his truck full of logs and he’d bring them home and split it all pretty much by hand. Have I mentioned my man’s my hero?)
It’s pretty expensive to buy those little loads of split wood you see advertised on pin boards around town; what we need is about a dozen entire trees to get us through the winter – wood heat is our primary heat source. I think we have about enough to get us through the next three weeks. Ugh. Trying to heat with propane would cost about a zillion dollars!
I think I’m going to take a stab at the upcoming Wisbar/PocketBreeze contest. I’m no Juni of course, but no harm in trying. Especially since the prizes are so great. This’ll be my first attempt at skinning PocketBreeze icons, but I read the tutorial last night and I don’t think it’s too impossible. Right now I’m working on two skins with the intention of submitting the best. If they’re both good I’ll turn them both in. Wish me luck!
Juice of 1 lemon
Cinnamon stick
Raw honey
boiling water
Place the juice of one lemon in a deep mug. Add honey to taste.
Pour boiling water to fill and stir with cinnamon stick. Give to ailing person, saying, “This is Mush’s grandma’s recipe. You’ll feel better soon.”
You may also add a chunk of peeled ginger, or some whiskey.
Servings: 1
Ready in: 5 minutes
Recipe Source
Author: Me!
Source: Here!
Tahmi & Jason got a new bed, so they offered us their old one. Never being ones to avoid an amusing bout of moving random shit across town in a truck, we accepted.
Their old bed is, believe it or not, a king sized Sleep Number 5000! It may be made primarily out of foam rubber and Legos, but has a very deep quilted pillow top that I have unclean feelings for. (Pillow top. Yum.)
Putting the bed together actually required a look at the directions, and it got a little confusing due to the fact that T & J gave us more pieces of foam than were shown in the illustrations, but we made some executive decisions and got it all zipped up. (Yes, you have to place all this stuff inside the “mattress” and ZIP IT UP. It’s freaking awesome. When you’re done, it LOOKS like a mattress, but it’s really foam rubber and air bladders ZIPPED UP to LOOK like a mattress… a mattress with catheter hoses sticking out of it!)
I think… I think I like it! I slept great! I was expecting to hate it because it seemed all bumpy when I was rolling around on it last night, but it truly was a comfortable night’s sleep! And Mr. Brett thinks he might not hate it either!
How cool is that? God, I love an exciting hand-me-down! (Especially when it replaces the diveted, rumply, bumpy, and wholly mean back-breaking piece of shit we WERE sleeping on. Man.) Are you getting sick of exclamation points?!
KHOE played an entire side of an old Carpenter’s album this morning. It was the one with “sharin’ horizons that are new to us / workin’ together day to day… TOGETHER,” whatever that song was called.
Anyway. I’ve never listened to this album before, and what kept me from changing the station was my sick fascination with the fact that Karen apparently could not sing. I mean, I’ve heard the Carpenters on the radio all my life, just like the rest of you, and I never new she couldn’t sing.
What I heard today was awful. Out of tune, breathy, bad phrasing, awkward… yet it sounded exactly like the hits I’m used to from AM radio.
Was it a remastered re-release? Was it badly EQed? I don’t know, but whatever it was it was terrible. Guh.
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Seven things I thought about while I was in the bathroom this afternoon showering, drying my hair, fixing my face, and getting dressed.
1. Ganglion cyst
My accursed cyst disappeared sometime yesterday afternoon ALL BY ITSELF! I mean, it was there around three or four yesterday afternoon, I remember because I was trying on a mitten I was knitting and I saw it there, then at dinner at Noodle House last night with Tahmi & Jason I noticed that IT WAS GONE! Halleluia. For real.
Some might not consider a ganglion cyst a ‘personal hygiene’ issue, but I hated it the way I hate a mutant eyebrow hair or a hangnail or a zit.
2. Pudgelette
My God, how did I get so fat?!?
I put on a pair of jeans today (that I last wore before my BFP, a mere seven weeks ago) and damn if I can barely breathe in them. Damn!
3. Perfect nails
I had perfect nails just three days ago. Like, PERFECT. Like, “Are you drinking gelatin?” perfect.
Then life happened. Now I have a bunch of no-nails and about four freakishly long ones, like those sickening coke nails hipsters and dudes called Huggy grew in the 70’s.
4. Body hair
If I didn’t love y’all, I’d take a post a picture of the HUGE WAD OF HAIR that coagulated forlornly in the drain after my shower today, but I do so I won’t.
Suffice it to say that whatever wonder pregnancy hormones had wrought is well past now, and I’m back to going bald again. GOD DAMN IT.
To add insult to injury, my amusing and dismaying colony of chest hair has grown back since its last shave with a fucking vengeance.
5. Makeup
I saw The Mummy the other night. There’s a scene in it where the female lead is dressed up like a Bedoin or something, in veils and black eyeliner.
I just happen to own a container of honest-to-goodness middle eastern kohl, given to me by Ilana Iguana for my birthday about a decade ago. It came with a metal applicator – basically a giant, round-pointed toothpick – which I’ve lost. But the lid unscrews and it has a built in plastic applicator in it. To apply this wondrous eyeliner, you just put the applicator between your lids, close your eyes, and draw it from the inner to outer corners. When you open your eyes, YOU LOOK FANTASTIC. Seriously. Dude.
As a contact wearer, I don’t apply it that way: I draw it on like a pencil, and only on the lower lid. Then I swoop on some mascara and I feel pretty and Eastern-looking. (Fat, but pretty.)
6. Teeth
I need to get my teeth cleaned.
About two years ago.
7. Sex appeal
The wonderful thing about my husband is that no matter what, no matter if I’m pudgy or losing my hair or if I have a giant zit on my nose or I haven’t bothered to bathe in three days or I haven’t bothered to wear clothes that MATCH let alone take any care whatsoever with my appearance and I look frumpy and unloveable, he always makes it perfectly clear that he still wants to Do It with me.
Because he’s wonderful. 🙂
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4 random books from my Library!
