G's birth

G was born on Sep 26, 2007 at 1:06 p.m.

Despite my efforts to avoid a cesarean section, it became necessary. Two doctors from my ob practice tried to turn G during an external cephalic version, but his heart rate dropped really low--60 beats a minute when his norm was about 150 beats per minute. It started going back up when they stopped manipulating my abdomen, but it was a slow process. I can't imagine how stressful it was for him, but I know on my end it was utterly excruciating pain. Never have I experienced anything like that, nor do I ever want to again.

Aside from the drug I was given to relax my uterus which made me edgy and shaky, I think I was in a little bit of shock from the pain. I could sense the tension in the room when the docs heard his heartbeat at such a low level. Dr. C said, "We don't have to put you to sleep, but we need to get him out now," and off they wheeled me to the OR.

D had been a little pissed that he couldn't be in the room for the ECV, but between the pain of it and the distress, I think he would have just about lost his mind. He was a little stunned by how quickly I was moved into the OR, but he had missed what was going on in the triage unit.

Fortunately, my cousin D works at the hospital and was with me in the OR. She held me in place when the anesthesiologist, Dr. Rob, gave me the spinal and was very supportive. Now this cousin has been known to drive me a little bit nuts but on this occasion I was so thankful to know someone who knew me was looking out for me and my best interests.

I threw up during the surgery when I felt the pressure and tugging of them getting G out of my uterus. I told Dr. Rob I didn't mind, though, because wretching took my mind off what was going on behind the blue curtain. Just thinking about my uterus being flopped outside of my body is enough to start me gagging now.

And then all of a sudden, Dr. C lifted G up over the curtain so D and I could see him, and we both burst out crying. Amazing! My son! There is nothing as remarkable as seeing your child for the first time. All of the ick associated with surgery or birth was shoved completely out the window and I was flooded with joy and love. Dr. Rob had to remove and clean my glasses because they got so fogged up.

My reaction on seeing G was the same as when the doctor held N up after I delivered her despite being in a sterile OR with masked health professionals everywhere and D looking like he was going to a Hazmat conference.

D took pics while they cleaned G up, weighed him and did all the usual newborn work. His apgar scores were 8 and 9, so I was thankful. I had worried so much about whether my antidepressant use would harm him and make it difficult for him to adjust to life outside the womb. He was a very calm newborn...similar to Norah, no wailing and crying out...and he nursed like a pro in recovery.

As I write this I am only 7 days out from delivery and have my moments of panic at now mothering 2 children and my hormones are a mess so I will likely say and think just about anything, but I hope we decide at some point to try for a 3rd. Geez, I'm greedy. I am so damn lucky to have the 2 wonderful children I have.

D-Day Looms

So tomorrow is the day---will he turn or not? Anyone want to take bets? The doctor gave me a 65% chance he will turn. In less than 24 hours, I will have a baby or I will be working on having a baby.

I am feeling strangely calm although I've had to up my Unisom to a whole pill the past 2 nights, so there is anxiety hovering under the surface.

Last night, I dreamed that G turned into the correct head-down position, but his head was down in my thigh so it didn't help my cause in any way. It was kinda creepy because I could see the specific outline of his face and hand poking out through my thigh skin.

D and I have been joking that the poor boy can't turn because the Langford Nose is getting in his way and preventing him from moving around.

I have decided not to have an epidural for the ECV because I have enough hope that this turning business will work, and I will need all the gravity I can get to force his little head down the proper channels. My hope is that I have a fairly high pain threshold if I can withstand 12 hours of pitocin-induced labor without any pain meds. When I delivered N, the nurses were amazed and some said they had never seen anyone be induced and not take anything. I guess I figure the discomfort of trying to turn him will be far less than the discomfort of abdominal surgery, so I will work to will myself calm.

It is kinda sad to know that I will soon not be pregnant anymore, although I have definitely had my fill of being this little parasite's host --- and it will be nice to see his little face.

This blog seems so choppy but I guess that is to be expected. My whole life feels choppy right now because I have no clue how anything will play in the next couple days. Will he turn? Will be be born vaginally or c-section? How will I recover physically? Will breastfeeding go ok? How will N react upon meeting her brother? How will N handle being away from me? How will I handle being in the hospital away from her?

Although none of this is the way I would have liked, preferred or certainly expected, I am ok with however things turn out. I can cope, and that is saying alot because I never believed I could cope with things that didn't go as I wanted.

An algebraic birth

If x=2 and y=3 but your baby is breech, then 2x - 14y= too many unknowns and a head that is about to implode with all the possibilities, choices and decisions.

With N's delivery, I agonized to death over being induced at 41 weeks. Now I realize how easy I had it then when compared to what a breech baby does to the decision-making process.

Since Sep 14th, I have been reading tons and tons and tons of info about external cephalic version (ECV--manual turning of the baby), chiropractic turning of babies, various other turning methods, induction/cervical readiness, and c-section delivery.

It would be sooooo much easier if I was just the type of person who said, "Schedule a c-section," but I am not.

Unfortunately, I am also not the type of person who is willing to go to the other end of the spectrum and investigate every single avenue which might also be easier because then I would feel that I had, no holds barred, done EVERYTHING a human being could do to help ensure a natural vaginal delivery. I would have exhausted every single possibility.

But I feel most comfortable in the middle ground-- I have a fairly risk averse personality and a certain amount of laziness.

There are lengths to which I am not willing to go, and that is a quality of life issue on two fronts: psychological and logistical. I have spent too much of my life driving myself crazy trying to "make" things my way. Sometimes putting loads of effort and frustration into something is worthwhile, and sometimes it is futile, and I have only recently learned and begun to accept that this can be the case in life.

Maybe I feel this way because I had a nearly perfect birth with N so on some level my need for this has been fulfilled? Maybe I feel this way because I am on my meds and they keep me from obsessing too much? Maybe because this time around I understand the most important thing is a healthy baby? Maybe all of the above?

So this middle ground leaves me with ALOT of unknowns and possible decisions.

KNOWN : Try to do an ECV.
UNKNOWNS: Do I have an epidural during ECV or not? If I have an epidural during ECV and it is successful, then I lose the ability to walk and squat and do all those good things to get labor running better so will I then be more likely to have a c-section as a result of failure to progress? If I don't have the epidural, will the ECV be painful and perhaps be less likely to result in a turn? If the ECV works, do I have an amniotomy or have them use pitocin? Will an amniotomy maybe mean the labor kicks in better or will it only start me on the "infection zone time limits to labor" path?
POSSIBILITIES: Leave after a successful ECV and wait for labor to start on its own (but could that mean the baby could flip back to breech position and then I'd have to do another ECV or be told "you lost your chance, now it is c-section time.") Leave after a successful ECV and something possibly happen to the baby as a result of placenta problems or cord issues that might not show up for a day or two? Not leave after a successful ECV and be induced and then have to deal with all the issues of being induced (see above).

And as I muddle through these thoughts and questions, I keep wondering, "Maybe there is a reason the baby is breech" (aside from my pelvis being out of whack). "Maybe he knows something I don't," which is certainly possible because the older I get the clearer it is that I know nothing about everything.

I don't really mean what I am about to say because it is really, really not what I want, but there is a teensy part of me that almost hopes that the ECV isn't successful as a result of fetal distress so that I have no choice but to have a c-section. The decisions would be taken out of my hands. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER have I ever had a thought like this, and anyone who knows me even a little bit well knows this is a totally un-Carrie-like statement. I get it at this moment that there can be peace in surrender.

For perhaps the first time in my life I feel the exhaustion that comes with pushing for what I may not be able to control. So when do I stop pushing? And even if most of my brain and heart accepts where I stop pushing, there is that doubtful part of myself that says, "You could do more...you didn't try x,y,z...you gave up too easily."

And I have to ask myself then: Is it really giving up? I like to think with this birth I am making decisions that my head and heart can agree on in the health interests of my baby and the psychological interests of myself. After spending so many years in an obsessive quest for control of every facet of my life and finally getting off that treadmill, I can't willingly get back on.

Adult vs. child temper tantrums

Today N had a grand mal tantrum on the way home from the store.

We had met some neighborhood friends at a local play area for kids where N and her 2 little friends ran themselves ragged to and from the various inflatables. Afterwards we stopped at the store to purchase miscellaneous items: detangler, toothbrushes, vitamins. Of course, no trip to any store is complete without a visit to the toy section.

When leaving the toy department, N found a book she wanted to peruse. Fine, no problem. "After you finish looking through this book, we are leaving because mommy is starting to get tired."

Five minutes later, I am hoisting her into the cart (probably undoing the pelvic adjustment I had this a.m. at the chiropractor's) and having to listen to what will become a 25 minute concert of lament and despair throughout the entire drive home. This was the chorus:

N: "I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home."

N: "I want my paci. I want my paci. I want my paci. I want my paci."

Me: "Paci is at home." (The new rule is paci doesn't leave the house--we are working on slowly breaking her dependence).

N: "I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna go home."

Me: (Turns on NPR to help block out the screams coming from the backseat).

N: "I don't want music. I don't want music. I don't want music. I don't want music. "

Me: (Thinking, "It isn't music. It is talk radio.")


So how I feel at this moment is how I imagine God must feel about me, except my tantrum is a bit different and only goes on in my head:

Me: "I don't want a c-section. I don't want a c-section. I don't want a c-section. I don't want a c-section."

God: (Turns on talk radio to block out my whining).

Dealing with irrational, self-absorbed creatures can be a real pain.

Lopsided

It is so funny the things I learn about myself and how learning often makes sense of something that I never could figure out.

Take for example, N's torticollis. She was born with it but wasn't diagnosed until 2 months old. I had to do physical therapy on her for about 10 months to resolve it. This morning, for some weird reason, I remembered reading that torticollis is often caused by malpositioning of the fetus in utero (if it isn't caused by forceps use, which wasn't the case in her birth).

Hmmmm, breech is a malpositioning in utero. Any connection?

Well, according to the chiropractor I saw today, my left leg is a half inch shorter than my right leg. Strangely enough, the round ligaments on the right side of my body are extremely tight, while the ones on my left are loose. All of this together means an oddly shaped, torqued uterus and a pretty good explanation for why both of my babies have been caddywhompus in my belly.

I may well have been very lucky to have been able to deliver N vaginally...or maybe something changed after her birth to made my uterus even more odd than it was before.

Dr. L, the chiro, said she had recently worked on a woman further along than me and after 3 adjustments, her baby turned on its own. She and her colleague are participating in a research study on the Webster technique, which is what is being done on me and other pregnant women to help turn breech babies. It is pretty interesting stuff.

I definitely felt different, looser in my hips and legs, after today's adjustment. I just hope I'm taking a good attitude with it. I don't necessarily expect it to work, but I am hopeful. And even if it doesn't work alone, maybe in conjunction with ecv, it will be a success. And if none of it works, then G is just meant to be born differently, I guess.

A dear friend of mine told me G knows he has such an amazing big sister that he must forge his own unique path... she always knows how to say things that make me believe everything will turn out ok.

Feeling better

Friday was shock day.
Saturday was depression day.
Sunday has been start to cope day.

Medication and therapy are truly remarkable because were it not for them I would be stuck on Saturday. Sunday would take weeks and months to come, if it ever happened at all.

So D and I have talked, read, and tried to regroup. I feel sorry for the poor guy because were it not for me, he would likely be totally ok with scheduling a c-section right now. But he worries for me and about me (so despite the X-Box he's a keeper).

Anyway, we have jotted down our plans. Ha, ha, ha, what a funny little word that clearly means nothing.

I am going to try to see a chiropractor this week for the Webster technique and talk to the doctor on Thursday about scheduling the external cephalic version (ecv) for next week. If G turns after either one, my hope is to wait until I go into labor on my own or 41 weeks when they will want to induce me. I would just be extremely pissed if after getting him to turn, they want to induce me before my body is really ready and I have to undergo a c-section because of "failure to progress." It is one thing if G is breech and won't turn; it is another if G turns but my labor doesn't live up to the 1 cm an hour rule.

If G doesn't turn after either of these, I won't schedule a c-section until I'm at 40 weeks in the hopes that maybe he will do it on his own as my body gets more ready for labor.

Of course, we haven't talked to the doctor so who knows what her take on this whole thing will be. D is going with me to the office for moral support and to bring up any questions when my brain freaks out and my ears start to not function properly.

The whole breech thing has set off a worry spree of sorts in my head. Not a bad one, really, but that is only because of my meds. It has just made me worry more about G's health in general. Whether he'll have antidepressant-related breathing problems that will be potentially compounded by c-section-related breathing problems? Whether he'll have musculoskeletal issues from being in the breech position too long?

Despite all this chaos, I have been sleeping better than expected. I did have a dream on Friday night that I was laying on a gurney and a woman came towards me with a huge syringe and needle and a butcher knife. I grabbed the knife by the blade to keep her from getting to me, and it started to slice into my fingers. Gee, I can't imagine what might have provoked such a vivid dream????? I clearly have some issues with the whole notion of c-sections.

Breech Rant #2

Ok, so I've had a little time to start a dialogue in my head about this whole breech thing.

I don't know how other women feel upon learning their baby is breech and that they will maybe have to undergo a cesarean. Maybe they take it in stride and aren't that upset about it, but I take nothing in stride.

What I feel like doing is laying down on the floor and throwing a big ass tantrum. Dammit!! Why this? This isn't what I wanted or expected!!!!! I am so pissed that life is not doing exactly what I want it to do!!!!

I guess therapy has done something for me because I never realized how 3-year-old-ish those thoughts sound. But isn't everyone somewhere, deep down, at least on occasion a whiny, egocentric 3-year-old? I know I can't be the only one. And really, I'm so angry and disappointed I don't care if I'm the only one....which only goes to show how immaturely I am taking all this.

So my rebuttal to my inner preschooler is that what I really want most is a healthy baby. And a c-section is not the end of the world. And I will cope.

BUT cesareans scare me for a myriad of reasons. The spinal, the idea of being awake during major surgery, the fact that it is entirely clinical and not remotely "natural," the fact that I won't get to hold G immediately because he'll have to be examined by the doctors, the fact that my recovery will be longer and certainly more painful than when I had N, the discomforts of nursing with abdominal incisions, the fact that I won't be able to drive or lift things or whatever other restrictions will be on me post-delivery. There is NOTHING about a c-section that I like.

A part of me is determined to try everything I can to get him to turn, but another part of me feels so defeated, like "Why bother? You can do all this stuff and still end up having to have a c-section."

I have thought that given all the recent medical misfortune related to my family in the last month, I wouldn't trade a vaginal birth for my dad being clear of melanoma, so I guess I do still have some sense about me.

I cannot believe my job is to guide my 3-year-old in weathering life's disappointments when I do such a piss-poor job of it myself.

BREECH (do not read this post if you don't like cussing)

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I am so, so, so, so glad I am on my medication because I would be spazzing off far worse than I am right now....

So I go in for my 37 week check today. 1 cm dilated, 50% effaced, and oh wait, I think I feel his butt. That hard lump D and I thought was his hip is his head. He is basically in a pike position....hog-tied....hands and feet up near his head with his butt down.

Ain't it just like a man to fubar my hopes & plans.

So now what???? Desperate call to my doula. See a chiropractor to try to get G to change his position. Do positioning every night to encourage him to flip to head-down. Maybe switch to high-risk doctor who will deliver breech babies. Maybe have external cephalic version done.

And definitely do a lot of praying that G decides to turn on his own.

Week 37

And nothing going on but the mortgage---
(For those of you who did not spend your teen years listening to "No-Diggety", it is actually, "Aint' nothin goin on but the rent" which sounds way cooler than the mortgage, but I do live in suburbia).

Anyway.....

Took N to storytime and McDonald's for lunch. While she was playing in the jungle gym, I sat on my butt and happened to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. HUGE!!!!! I just simply look like I stuck a watermelon under my shirt.

Despite my girth, I think I must forget that I'm pregnant because I am always shocked to see myself in a mirror or reflective window. It is like it's leftover from when I was early in my pregnancy, just pooching out a little bit, and people would ask, "When are you due?" It would take me a minute before I realized they were talking to me.

Of course there really is no way for me to forget I'm pregnant. I haven't seen my feet for months; I have no earthly idea how much pubic hair I have and whether it is braidable at this point, and every time I eat I receive seemingly joyous kicks of delight from my parasitic son. So I don't understand my surprise at seeing myself. Maybe it is just that pregnancy has become as normal to me now as being not pregnant was normal when I wasn't pregnant. There's some circular logic for ya!

And now that the weather has cooled off into the delightful 70s and 80s, I think I can thoroughly handle and even enjoy these last weeks. Because even though I've done this birthing business before, it is a lot less work to be pregnant than to deliver and tend to a newborn.

First day of preschool

And nobody cried. I did have a big fat lump in my chest for a good hour or so until I got to the mom club meeting and got distracted.

When I picked N up, as soon as Miss S opened our car door, N yelled, "I HAD SO MUCH FUN!" Well, you can't get any more enthusiastic than that. A ringing endorsement for preschool, I'd say.

She started jabbering about everything she had done....played with the dollhouse, painted a picture of Winnie the Pooh, ate goldfish for snack-time. Later in the day she said the kids and Miss S talked about what they ate for breakfast and read 2 books. And played with playdoh.

I am so glad she enjoyed herself. Tomorrow I will celebrate my little independent girl by visiting a Starbucks and savoring "me" time (since it will soon come to an end when G makes his entrance).

Checkout Freak Magnet

Ok, so I had the run-in with the teenage "But Are You Excited" girl at my local grocery store last weekend.

This weekend was my run-in with Irene, a check-out lady who looks to be in her late 60s...maybe early 70s. I had gone to my local Wal-Mart to purchase diapers, wipes and cleaning supplies...nothing exciting just a run-of-the-mill "buy this junk before baby comes and you are cooped up for 6 months" venture.

I forgot to take my own canvas bags into the store so I asked Irene to load up the bags, which is my request regardless of which bags I use. You see, I hate to make 5,000 trips out to the car for bags, especially when I find a bag holding a bottle of Lysol...and that is it. Or 1 box of tissue. It is not even the wastefulness that pisses me off, it is just the stupidity of only putting one 4 oz item into a bag.

Now I know there are alot of older people who want their groceries and household items bagged lightly because they are heavy and cumbersome, but I truly think the majority of people can handle carrying a fully loaded plastic bag of groceries. Even women with burgeoning bellies like me. However, I know the checkout people probably are told to err on the side of light bags so they don't get their asses chewed out by a surly 90-year-old or a lazy-ass 43-year-old.

Which is why I specifically tell whomever is bagging my stuff to "LOAD IT UP." They give me a funny look, reply, "I never hear that," and do as I've asked.

But not Irene. No Irene wants to ARGUE with me about my decision to put 4-5 spray bottles of Lysol All-Purpose Cleaner into 1 bag.

Our conversation about the Lysol (as I had already asked her to load up the bags)--
Me: "Please put all those bottles into the same bag."
Irene: "It's gonna break."
Me: "I think it'll be fine. Really, please put them into the same bag."
Irene: "It is gonna break on you, but if that is what you want to do, ok. Just don't blame me when it breaks. Mine broke 1 time carrying this much. It's gonna be your own fault when it breaks."
Me: "I think I'll be able to handle it."

Damn Bitch! You ain't my mama!

And as surreal as this was, she then commented on the nightgown I bought (for nursing purposes) by saying, "Louise and I went up to Carrolton to the outlet center there because I wanted to get some flannel pajamas but they didn't have their flannel pajamas out yet." Who the hell is Louise, Irene?????? Why do I care what kind of pajamas you wear? Please bag my shit and let me blow this joint!

So I have determined that I am becoming a magnet for the freakiest ding-bats who work in retail check-out lines.
But I am THRILLED to report that the bag of Lysol bottles withstood the immense strain of me carrying them 10 feet from my car to my kitchen island. Praise the Lord! I am so glad it all worked out because I never would have forgiven myself, I would have beaten my breast till the end of days, had the bag ripped.

Achilles heel

The thing about having Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) is just that...you have anxiety about generally everything. For me, though, health-related issues are what set off my anxiety like fireworks. Now I did well with my dad's melanoma scare, but I haven't had enough cooling off time to deal with 2 other illnesses, however small and manageable.

D had to go to the doctor yesterday for a case of epididyimitis, which basically means a bladder infection moved into sensitive dude territory and made things inflamed and very painful. (Sorry D for spilling your info but this is my therapy blog.)

This morning at 3:00 a.m., N awoke with a fever and despite acting pretty "well" has been having low-grade fluctuations all day.

Now D and N's little health blips, I realize, are nothing to get spazzed off about, but I think my anxiety bucket was already pretty full with the health unknowns for me related to pregnancy and childbirth and my dad's melanoma.

I would so much prefer that I be sick instead of D and N. When D is sick, my mind automatically goes to the most serious illness that will render him unable to work or dead. With N, I likewise imagine the worst possible scenario. Plus, it is just sucky being cooped up in the house with a sick little person.

I am hereby letting it be known (God--I am specifically addressing you) that I would like for the sickies to be gone for awhile. I know other people have far worse on their plates than I do, but I can't handle what little I am given to handle in life.

Note to self: Keep repeating "This too shall pass."

Dad is A-OK

Today my dad found out his cancer has not spread to his lymph nodes---THANK GOD---so he will not have to undergo chemo or radiation. We had N's get acquainted day at preschool this morning, but I told mom to call me as soon as they knew the results.

When we arrived home, I saw the blinking light on our answering machine. When I pressed the button I heard Dad's voice and got scared...I just knew he was delivering the bad news. This was not the case, and I felt like I took my first real breath in about a week.

He hasn't been released by his doctor yet because he just had his drainage tube removed today and he has a lot of bruising and tenderness around the incisions. My dad isn't a great sleeper at the best of times, so having the tube made it nearly impossible to sleep....not to mention the worry over the lymph node results. He lost 10 lbs in a week. Suffice it to say, his doctor wants him to sleep, eat and get his strength back.

All last week I couldn't help but think about D's dad dying so suddenly. It will be 3 years in December, and sometimes I still can't believe it happened as it did and as quickly as it did. The thought popped into my head a couple times about the possibility of having to watch Dad get sicker and sicker...in a worst case scenario situation which I am so outstanding at creating in my mind.

It is difficult to watch your parents age and get old, especially when getting old means getting sick and/or feeble and/or watching them waste away with cancer or the like. But I know it was difficult for D to deal with not being able to say goodbye to his dad. Even though he knew his dad "knew everything" D might have wanted to say, it was hard not having the opportunity to have said it. I would think about my Dad and how with cancer I might have the opportunity to say it but that wouldn't make it any less sad.

Bottom line: No one wants to lose their mom or dad in any way--fast or slowly. It changes everything when you are no longer someone's kid.

Isn't she lovely?

She started drawing on her face last week. Who knows why? Perhaps just to see if she would get a rise out of me. I didn't bite but instead took her to an Usborne Open House in all her markered glory.

I was gonna take her to the funeral home for my aunt's visitation and described it to N as a "party to celebrate a person's life when they go to heaven." Party to her means Winnie the Pooh dress and princess jewelry. She got so gussied up and cute but then fell asleep on the couch just prior to us leaving. And we all know you don't wake a sleeping kid.

I guess it is just my nature, but I usually find myself complaining about my kid moreso than singing her praises...at least to my friends. Grandmas get a mixed bag of complaints and "Isn't my child (and your grandchild) just the greatest?" I know they are just as biased as I am (probably more) and won't roll their eyes in boredom or disgust.

Tonight while uploading pictures, I have found myself charmed by N's cuteness so I thought I'd make a memorable "non-bitchin" blog about my 3-year-old.

But are you excited?

I may have mentioned that I have hit that stage of pregnancy where I feel like shit about 98% of the time. Moans, groans, sighs upon moving in any given direction, can't sleep enough, eating makes me want to puke due to abdominal over-extension---you know the 2nd fun part of pregnancy.

Last night, I ventured to the grocery at about 8:15 for milk and on-sale pork while D put N to bed. She and I did NOTHING yesterday. She watched videos all day, and I laid on the couch and slept or felt sorry for my bloated self.

Anyway, suffice it to say, this grocery venture was not fun since dude was ramming his head, hands or whatever other body part is inhabiting the lower part of my uterus into my cervix, I was distended from dinner and just all-around tired. I waddled through the grocery and finally made it to the checkout lane.

Now this grocery is not my usual one...this is a much smaller chain than my normal one, and thereby perhaps more "friendly?" Anyway, the checkout girl who looked to be about 17 began the following conversation with me....

Checkout girl -- "What day are you due?"
Me : "5 weeks, early October."
Checkout girl -- "Are you excited?"
Me: "Well, this is my second child so I know what to expect."
Checkout girl -- "But are you excited?"
Me: (DUMBFOUNDED LOOK UPON MY FACE) "Well, I guess so. I'm excited to have him out of my body."
Checkout girl-- "How old is your other child?"
Me: "3 and a half. A girl."
Checkout girl-- "Is she excited?"
Me: "Yeah, I guess so. Of course, she doesn't know what she's in for?"
Checkout girl-- "But is she excited?"

Ok, at this point, I'm ready to slug the bitch.

Yes, I know she is a teenager and clearly not a mom otherwise she wouldn't ask such dumb-ass questions, but I couldn't help but want to knock the crap outta her for bugging me. Here is a brief synopsis of the rant that occurred in my brain on the way home:

Am I excited? About pushing this turkey outta my body? About exposing my genitalia to the entire nursing staff at the hospital? About the pain in my vaginal area which will look like chopped beef steak by the time he is born? Or am I excited about having my nipples sucked raw? Or maybe I should be excited about waking up 4 times a night (at least)? No, I'm excited about how many tantrums my 3 year old will have at not being the center of the household anymore. I'm really excited about seeing my house go to shit for the next year and not having a social life.

You, my dear, are an idiot. Just like any other person who has never had a child AND insists on asking such stupid questions. When you see a woman this pregnant at 8:45 at night on a Friday who is waddling around, just say, "Did you find everything ok?" and SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!!!!!!!!

The only thing that would have excited me is to have had the energy to pummel this kid in the middle of the checkout lane.