Damn. D Day Is Near.

Well everyone... I'm still alive. For now, anyways.

The day is drawing near that the obstetrician plans to open me up like a walnut and get this baby out. His abdomen is huge. So large that for the gestational age estimate, they have only listed "n/a". We asked, and that is NOT a good thing.

And this is with MANAGED gestational diabetes. My midwife all but ignored my concerns until I got my own glucose meter after family and a family friend said it was pretty obvious that baby's abdomen measurement meant I had diabetes. I can only imagine what things would be like right now had I not started testing and drastically changing my eating. (Spoiler alert: They denied that I had it and said I was referred to the diabetes clinic because I was anxious about it. Are you fucking kidding me? I ate a banana and my sugars went through the roof, I was huge! They caused a lot of grief with this during labour. It's safe to say I hate my midwives for the treatment I received...)

At my last ultrasound last week, they could tell my fluid levels have gone up another 50%. My own belly is measuring at 42 weeks. That's insanity. I'm so uncomfortable and the pressure is so intense, I vomit every time I lay down. I wish I were exaggerating. Following my stomach check and measurement at the OB's office the other day, I promptly scanned the room for a garbage and when I couldn't find one I proceeded to puke a few times in his sink. Proud moment. I may have scarred his accompanying resident student.

This photo was taken the day I wrote this post, which also happened to be the day I ended up in the hospital! Spoiler alert: WE BOTH SURVIVED BUT IT WAS SCARY AS HELL!!

I love my little kiddo, Baby D. I hope that a new baby doesn't change things too much for her. I want her to know and feel how loved she is, no matter how needy the new baby is and how tired and totally depleted Mommy and Daddy are. It's going to be a tough transition, I have no doubts about that. And I am not looking forward to recovering from surgery... I'm such a wuss. I know we will get through it but man oh man, it's gonna be painful and bumpy.

Next post: We survived.

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Lost: My Touch

So I've been thinking about what the hell to write about on here for the past few weeks.


I remember back in the day, being selfishly disappointed when a favourite blogger announced they were knocked up and were either:
A) Starting a new, separate mommy blog;
B) Starting a new, separate mommy blog while poorly and sporadically updating their wonderful/funny/expletive-laden current blog;
C) Quitting blogging altogether to harness their energy into raising their soon-to-be snot-nosed little baby.

I initially vowed I would do none of those things.

But you know what? I can't think of a DAMN thing outside of my current pregnancy misery and joy. I didn't want to turn mommy blog. My perverse sense of humour, my horrific language, and my general disdain for most things on earth don't seem to mesh well with a blog about growing life inside of me.

The reality is that I will be the same person no matter what, but at the same time, I can't honestly think of other amusing things to write about.

I have lost most regular readers and commenters. Most of my blog traffic is misplaced searchers, leaving us both sorely disappointed when they search terms like "sexy socks".

I have, quite possibly, lost my touch.

When I leave the house, it's either for house move related things, or else baby things. Doctor's appointments. Prescription refills.


There is a fear that I shouldn't get too invested in relationships here because I will only become a housebound, hermit zombie after this babe is unearthed from my nether regions.

I haven't joined prenatal classes because I have a horrific hernia, I'm a wuss, I'm weak, and the amount of body pains I am experiencing because of the bloody "miracle of birth" is astounding. No one, and I mean NO ONE, even hinted that it could be this hard physically. And I'm only half way there.

So... yeah. A part of me wants to tell other stories. Tell more things about life outside of this. But it just feels like there isn't much to say.

I used to be funny. I think. At least a little. Then the husband stopped laughing when he read my posts. And many readers left. And life carried on.

So... I think I've lost my touch.

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