Monday, 24 June 2013

All I wanted was strawberries

At 38 weeks pregnant, I'm into the weekly doctor appointments.  Usually, I end up waiting forever and then some random baby health indicator requires more monitoring or testing.  Two weeks ago I was there for six hours.  SIX.  HOURS.

Don't get me wrong, I want to check on her and I'll wait as long as it takes.  However, I'm not really gonna be happy about it.  Don't you know me at all?

Today I headed to my regular appointment, and amazingly I was only there for 40 minutes.  Sure, parking cost me 7 bucks, but everything looks fine and I didn't even have to wait.  Huh.  Having a lucky day.

So I thought to myself: well, maybe I have time to stop at the bank then.

The bank.  I HATE the bank.  I never go to the bank. I would take cash out of my iPhone if it would dispense it.  I use the internet and maybe an ATM whenever necessary, and I rip Hubby apart every time he makes an actual trip to an actual bank (old man).  I hate banks.

Unfortunately, though, I've had this one cheque for a month that I need to deposit, and it isn't a cheque that I can deposit into the machine.  I actually need to walk into a bank and speak to a human.

Instead of going to my regular branch near my house, I decided to stop on the way home from the doctor so I could also withdraw some cash in order to purchase fresh strawberries at the local fruit farm on the way home.

Strawberries are KEY, and much to my dismay, fruit farms don't accept MasterCard pay-pass.

I used my bank's iPhone app and found a nearby location.  Once I arrived, I stood in a stupid bank line and eventually made my way to the stupid bank teller.  And then it happened.

The fucking POWER WENT OUT. Right at that moment! I'm standing there, in a bank, in front of a human bank teller.  Not even my normal bank, but a bank that I made a special stop to visit.  And the whole place was rendered utterly useless by a lack of electricity.

So no cheque deposit, and worst of all, no fucking strawberries.  Story of my goddam life.


Sunday, 16 June 2013

I bet parenting is a shit show. But he's got this.

I never really had to think about Father's Day, given that I never actually had one. I mean, sometimes it popped up here and there, but generally? Generally Father's Day doesn't really occur to me. 

Until this year, because this year HUBBY is the new father in my life. 

This little Fraggle is due to exit my womb in about 3 weeks (we'll see what she actually decides to do - she's indecisive, I can already tell... Like Hubby maybe!) and all I can think about is what a wicked dad my Hubby already is, let alone how awesome he'll be once he can actually, ya know, *see* his daughter. 

First, he will totally play with her. Not just "Hey let's play catch after dinner" but also "Hey let's get down on the floor and build forts! And stack blocks! And tackle each other! And tickle each other! And dress up dolls! And have a tea party! And bounce around on the exercise ball! And use power tools! And fix things! And run with a grocery cart, jump on it, and coast through the parking lot! And sing songs! And STRUM THE GUITAR! And hey I'll race ya!"  I picture Hubby as the "let's do anything you want to do" kind of dad, because: a) he's young at heart: and, b) he will in *no way* be able to resist her smile.

Second, he will understand her. I think he *may* have a little doubt on this one, simply because she's a girl - and growing up as the oldest of three boys makes him a little uncertain about girls. (Who can blame him? Girls are volitile and mysterious jerks.) However, it is, in my estimation, completely impossible for a sensitive and loving man such as my Hubby to not fully understand his daughter - or at least fully support and adore her, no matter what. Even when she needs a diaper change, or a pretty outfit, or a braid in her hair, or when she cries about some dumbass boy. She'll go to him for that stuff. She'll go to him for anything. 

Finally, Hubby will protect her - protect her in a way that I was never protected, a way that only a daddy can protect. That "you're safe in my arms and I will NEVER hurt you" kind of way that (no matter how much feminism I spit at people) I know I missed out on - even with a strong and independent momma. The way I see it, Fraggle will get the best of both worlds on this one. Me, being strong and conscientious on my own, but also knowing I depend on Hubby as my rock and my defender on a daily basis; and Hubby, being patient and helpful, and overall an active participant in his relationships. 

Hubby dear, I can't wait for you and I to tackle the SHIT SHOW that this whole parenting thing is bound to be. I wouldn't have it any other way. We got this. Hands down. 

 

Friday, 14 June 2013

Hello Antepartum Depression

Is there such a thing as pre-partum depression? Or I guess it would just be partum depression? Because it's 4am and I've been laying here for an hour realizing that I have not felt any good for an extremely long time.

I've stopped blogging lately, because all I can really think to blog about is how hard this pregnancy is, but I'm pretty sure most people either don't understand that, don't buy it, are sick of hearing it, or are judging me for it. 

Add to that a month of pregnancy complications that are beating the shit out of me (and Hubby) and then ask us if we'd ever do this again...

So I stay silent. 

And it eats me alive.

Somehow I'm supposed to go into labour/delivery/newborn/parenthood mode on this remarkably *depleated* capacity. How the fuck am I supposed to do that?  Everyone keeps saying "the first three months are hell."  What am I supposed to do with that information? I apparently can't handle the 9 months prior to the three-month hell and you want me to raise a child on top of it?  My body and mind are clearly not strong enough to grow the human, let alone be its mother. 

At this point, I feel like the only thing I have to cling to is the possibility of upcoming *change*.  I already adore this little Fraggle more than anything and I really just need her to be OUT of my body. I need to go for a bike ride. I need to roll over onto my stomach. I need to pick something up off the floor. I need to hug her and soothe her and call her by name. 

But I can't do any of that. So instead I face every day like a marathon and try to find any single solitary little source of stability that provides any small fraction of peace. 

But I'm running out of sources...


****
Updated

Elle (below) shared this link with me.

The Beast Known As Antepartum Depression - By Allison Zapata

Although my situation hasn't gotten as bad as it can for others (yet), I apparently am experiencing what's called Antepartum Depression.  I wouldn't be so quick to self-diagnose if I didn't already have a propensity for Depression in the first place.  It's been a slow build-up over time, magnified by recent complications and doctors orders to stay still all the time - the Stir Crazy has added to the already-existing Crazy and I'm running out of power to overcome.

But having a name for it helps, and knowing there are some women out there who understand and who are maybe not judging me helps too.  I also have a therapist that will get me through and an understanding and supportive Hubby who *always* makes me feel unconditionally loved.  And then there's hope - hope that when this adorable little darling arrives I will find some form of peace... new stressors, sure, but hopefully some new strength as well.



Sunday, 2 June 2013

Our love story will freak your freak

Hey look.  I'm blogging.  Weird, eh?

I can't put my finger on why it's been so long, necessarily, other than the fact that I'm now 8 months pregnant and it has not been the easiest thing I've ever done - to say the least.

But something funny happened today that made me and Hubby laugh, which is nice because if I'm honest with myself, laughter hasn't been as prominent in my daily life as it once was - another symptom of pregnancy, I suspect.  So laughing out loud today, shaking this giant belly of mine, felt, well, pretty damn good.

We went to Hometown for a wedding this weekend.  Not just any wedding, but my best friend's wedding.  My best friend who is so sweet, and so considerate, and so happy with her new husband that I have been devastated - and I mean devastated - that I haven't been able to be the perfect maid of honour.  The effort and emotional energy that growing a baby requires has unfortunately taken away from my capacity as best friend.  I've done my best, which in my eyes it isn't good enough.  In fact, I almost couldn't even be there, so at least I accomplished that much, right?

So.  Hubby and I drove to Hometown, enjoyed the wedding, and then made our way to our hotel for some much needed rest.  Given the emotional disaster I had become throughout the course of the day, a two-hour drive home late last night stopped being an option.

I felt a bit better this morning.  We packed up our stuff (poor Hubby carrying my 16 heavy bags) and walked (in my case, waddled) to the lobby to check out.

When I came around the corner I immediately recognized the girl behind the counter.

"Annie!"

Annie went to school with me.  In fifth grade.  And in case you haven't heard the story a million times before, not only did she go to school with me, but Hubby too.  Yes, Hubby and I went to school together in fifth grade, and every grade after that until we started dating at 16, married at 25, and are now in the process of growing a tiny human at 29.

Annie recognized me too, and quickly noticed how fat I am - but that's not the funny part.  She looked at me, and then Hubby came around the corner.  Annie, like every other girl in our class (including me), had a huge crush on Hubby.  She looked at him, recognized him right away, exclaimed his name, and then:

"...wait..."

*eyes to me, eyes to Hubby, eyes back to me*

And then?  Then came the most hilarious confused and surprised facial expression I've ever witnessed.

See, Annie is apparently the one person in Hometown that I haven't actually seen since we were about 12 years old, and it seems she wasn't familiar with the adorable Hubby-Wifey Love Story.

It's as if she was in the twilight zone.  We freaked her freak.  The look on her face said "Whoa. What year is this? Am I on shrooms?"

I laughed. "Yep.  We're married."

She laughed "And you're pregnant!"

We chatted for a minute, left the hotel, and then laughed for about 20 minutes.

This is Hometown; this is my remarkable history with this wonderful husband of mine.  And I adore it.