Free birth control

Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Be warned: if you are squeamish or are of delicate sensibilities, do not read any further.

Being pregnant is unlike any other experience I've ever had, and I've lived a jam-packed life. When I was pregnant with E, I was one of those annoying women who actually liked being pregnant. I was skipping through tulips, rainbows and lollipops, the whole nine. Even the side effects weren't that bad. Sure, I had heartburn and sciatica, but I had this amazing little life growing inside me and my hair looked great. I went to the gym, I went on hikes, I packed up a house and a garage that contained an entire 18-wheeler full of stuff, moved it and unpacked it a week before I gave birth. Short of the one night I spent on the couch with tears streaming down my face as I endured the most excruciating pain of my life because of the degenerating fibroid that threatened the life of my baby, I was the happiest pregnant lady ever.

Then I got pregnant again and I became a walking billboard for birth control. I puked. I ate white bread. I broke out in huge, nasty pimples that elicited sympathetic looks from the pimpliest of teenagers. I almost fell asleep standing up in the freezer aisle at Target. I finally caved and put a DVD in the player and wolf napped on the couch with one arm over E to make sure he didn't leave the couch and get in trouble. I was a nasty, nasty bitch who came very close to being a single mother because either I was going to kill D with my own bare hands - once again the bowls he had put in the dishwasher were facing the wrong fucking direction! - or he was going to decide one day on his commute home to keep on pedaling right past our house and into the arms of a nicer, kinder woman who didn't have fiery hot estrogen coursing through her veins and muddling her brain (and really, who could blame him?!?) I woke up in the middle of the night and stumbled on my tiptoes towards the toilet because both my heels were asleep. Once. Twice. Ten times a night. I felt like there was a little monster baby going "glub glub glub like a fart in the tub. Like a fart in the tub inside of me."* I spent two months with an um, bikini area, that was dead asleep. As in, pins and needles in my crotch. I accumulated back fat. I ate Salisbury 9 o'clock in the morning! I couldn't sleep. I still can't sleep. I am currently sleeping with the spiders in the basement because my tossing and turning keeps D up and because the only place I stand a chance of getting any rest is in the cold dark cave that is our basement guest room. And according to my old ob, sleep-deprivation has been scientifically linked to depression in pregnant women. No shit. I guess they must have found the cure to cancer if they're wasting their time making "discoveries" like these. Stupid scientists. Wonder why that one didn't make it on the cover of JAMA.

And what makes things even harder is that now I am a mother to a very energetic two-year old. A joyful, loving, demanding, curious, fearless two-year old little boy who deserves the best of me. Which means I've got to suck it up for the next few months and get through this. Our lives are about to undergo a very major change, and I am dead-set on making sure that E goes into this a confident and well-loved little boy, sleepy crotch or no sleepy crotch.

* Many of you will know her from Juno, but Kimya Dawson has a kid's CD that is hands down one of my favorite sing-alongs. You can find a Rolling Stones review of her album here:

1 comments to Free birth control:

dreama said...

Good stuff Nanny!
Keep it up. Great read.

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