Super Easy, No-Fail Baked Potatoes

Serves 2-4 (depending on portion size)

Ingredients:

3-4 large potatoes (any kind)
1-2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
salt & pepper to taste (sea salt and freshly ground peppercorns if possible)


Method:

1. Preheat the oven to 375. Scrub potatoes under cold running water and pat dry. Either leave whole, cut in half, or cut in quarters.

2. Place potatoes in the center of two sheets of heavy duty foil. Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. Rub potatoes to coat evenly with mixture. Fold the foil in half, then fold in the ends to create a package. Fold in the top to seal the package and place in oven for 30-35 minutes.

3. Leave in oven to keep warm until ready to serve. Works great with pasta sauce dishes or on its own as a quick snack.

Popped Bubble Wrap

*Note: I typed this out on Thursday and had to wait until I had internet again, and then until it was actually working to copy and paste and publish this post. Stupid, stupid, STUPID country and everything in it.

Anyone that has been following this blog and/or the one I had prior to this one will know that a lot crappy things have happened to me. As a matter of fact, I attract crappy things like a crap attracting magnet. Despite all the whatevers that have been going on, I have been trying, desperately I’ll admit, to be as positive and calm and cheerful and relaxed as I possibly can. If not for the baby or Taurus Man or my furballs, then to keep the pieces of my sanity floating around until some kind of miracle happens so that when I tell people “I’m fine” I’ll actually be able to mean it.

Today, however, is one of those days. The kind of day that makes you want to sit on the floor, throw your hands up in the air and say “I give up. What now?” Yeah, I should try harder to keep a smile on my face and make everyone comfortable and try to be more of a positive influence and less of a party pooper. There are a lot of things I should be doing. But the invisible bubble wrap I’ve wrapped myself in to keep the bad feelings out? All my bubbles are officially popped, and it’s not so much fun sitting in popped bubble wrap. (If you don’t get that I mean that figuratively….well….just know that I mean that figuratively)

Kitty’s death has finally soaked in. My due date is that much closer. My suspicions of the crappy hospital protocols I’ll be subjected to in this country have been confirmed. The options I thought I might have available to me have been shunned. The liberties I hoped I would have until then are gone. Taurus Man is getting more and more insistent on putting Hyper Doggy in the garage and giving away the kittens. There are more and more things piling up on my plate and I have less and less time to deal with these things and work them out. All those things on my plate? My plate got too heavy and today I dropped it. I cracked under the pressure. I fell and hit the ground hard. And I looked around to find myself in a dark little room, alone.

There is ONE person in my family that still has my back and has welcomed Taurus Man as my husband and always treated me with kindness and consideration. She is the only person that regularly checks up on me, albeit online, and shows any care or concern even while tending to her own family. She is the only person that has offered to help me with the baby after delivery. I know I will most likely need help. If Taurus Man is hopefully working by then, it will be me, by myself, to tend to all the household chores, take care of the baby, myself, and deal with Cancer Grump’s crap. With my history, I’m worried about post-partum depression being an issue as well. I would like to take up this family member very much on her offer, but Cancer Grump’s track record doesn’t read too nicely. He bullies Taurus Man and I on a regular basis. I had one of Taurus Man’s friend’s wives come over earlier in the year to help me cook for a prayer service when I was unwell. Cancer Grump insulted her and tossed offensive comments about her religion and cooking style around and tried to start a fight with the priest/pundit and quarreled and complained through half the program until he finally locked himself in his room. The friend left hurriedly as soon as she finished and did not look at me or say a single word. It took until after Taurus Man’s heart attack for her to finally come forward and admit why she left so quickly and requested that she never have to come back again. The relative with the curious questions who stayed with us for a week that I mentioned in the last post? By the morning of the third day, she was near tears. Cancer Grump had apparently been interrogating her and quarreling with her every chance he got her alone. Taurus Man had had a serious talk with Cancer Grump before she came over, stating that a relative of mine (we referred to her as my ‘cousin’) was coming over and that Cancer Grump was to leave us alone, especially me with the additional responsibilities on my hands after Taurus Man’s heart attack. Taurus Man laid down the law and said he would not tolerate anymore of Cancer Grump’s bullying me around. So, Cancer Grump had been waiting to get my relative alone to bully her instead. She actually intended to stay longer, but by the end of that third day, was desperately trying to make plans to find somewhere else to stay. The earliest she could leave was a week after she came and she reluctantly stayed until then. I do not want to risk losing the last family support person I have. Taurus Man thinks that if she’s willing, I should let her come and just explain the situation, but I don’t think he understands how troubled these people are by his father’s actions. The most he can do is ask Cancer Grump not to quarrel with someone, and by then, the damage is already done, and Cancer Grump does as he pleases anyway. Most likely, I’m looking at being alone and unsupported with the baby and everything else that will be going on then. The most I can hope for is that Taurus Man is still unemployed (which I shouldn’t hope for) and can help me and act as my line of defense against his dad.

I have done a lot of research on birth over the years, and I had decided on some options I would have liked to have when I was ready to give birth. For this reason, Taurus Man and I were working on a plan. The gist was that we wouldn’t consider kids until we could save up to get out of this house and have a place of our own, where a child could grow up safely and hopefully happily, without fear of abuse or mistreatment. I told Taurus Man we would consider it after 5 years of marriage. I figured with both of us working, we should have a little something to get the ball rolling. With his mother constantly pressuring us for grandchildren and insisting that she would financially support us and the child, Taurus Man and I agreed that even if we were to take her up on her generosity, the earliest we would go was 4 years. According to my plan, 2 years before we were ready, Taurus Man and I would both get into shape and have regular exercise routines. 1 year before we were ready, I would start prenatal yoga and exercises, we would both get check-ups to make sure our health was top-of-the-line, and we would both be eating as healthy as we could and Taurus Man would be on multivitamins while I started pre-natals to see what my body would tolerate and adjust to and whatnot with all my sensitivities to side effects. 6 months before our planned time of conception, we would have enough money to live off of for at least a year in case we needed time off or either of us was too sick to work during my pregnancy and after the baby was born. We would also make sure that we had a list of essential things for the baby covered financially for at least the first year, so once the time was right, it was just to go out and spend money. We would have spoken to our doctors about trying to conceive, make sure they okay-d our health and saw what our options were for proper health care in this country, where my dad is, and where his mom is. We would have chosen the best place with the best options and made sure we had enough money saved to go with that option and support ourselves comfortably. 3 months before trying to conceive, we would have enough money to try egg or sperm donation or IVF if we couldn’t conceive naturally. We would treat ourselves and enjoy our time as a couple to have “that time” before taking the big leap into parenthood, and when we were ready, have as much fun as we could trying to conceive, holding off if it got too stressful, and stopping to get my much-awaited hysterectomy if we had no luck after 3-5 years of trying.

You know how I said I’m like a crap-magnet? I didn’t think that I would become as sickly as an invalid and have to give up my job after being pressured by the very managers that begged me to take the job in the first place. I didn’t see endometriosis being thrown at me. Taurus Man, laid-back, playing-football-three/four-times-a-week-for-fun, healthy as a horse getting a stress related heart attack with an unknown genetic heart problem at the age of freaking 27? Taurus Man’s job refusing to continue letting him work because technically, they didn’t sign the contract yet, so technically they had the right to turn him away without “discrimination” if technically he wasn’t legally their employee yet? Taurus Man’s family unleashing hell on us both and trying to break up our marriage AGAIN? Turning to my family for emotional support to have their figurative doors slammed in my face? Cancer Woman, my wonderfully supportive MIL, withdrawing her love and support to renew her obsession with Cancer Bitch? My depression spiraling out of controlling, reaching out blindly to anyone there for help to find all backs turned, and end up in the hospital after a carefully planned out triply backed up suicide attempt? Cancer Woman insisting to Taurus Man that I didn’t love him if I didn’t want to live and Taurus Man, after his confusion about his love and faith in me when his family intervened with the heart attack, turned on me again to believe her? Trust me, things were not supposed to happen this way. I know, I know, life laughs in the face of plans. But to end up like this? Seriously? What the hell?

When I realized my shrunken boobs were filling back out, my nipples were constantly standing on end and darkening, my typical PMS of wanting to murder Taurus Man was replaced by mushy lovey-dovey-ness and non-stop tears during action movies, I looked at Taurus Man and said one word. “No.”

Taurus Man stared at me for a long time before I spelled it out. “I CANNOT be pregnant.”

Taurus Man stared at me for a long time again. “Are you late?”

“No. I still have a couple weeks. But I feel it. I know. But I can’t be.”

“Let’s wait and see. It might not be. It can’t be. I highly doubt it. When is the last time we…?”

“I can’t remember. But I know my body. This doesn’t happen. This has NEVER happened. I keep thinking I love you so much. At this time of the month, I’m supposed to want to kill you.”

“Oh. I knew something was different! That’s it! You’re not mad at me! Wow. This is weird. You’re always mad at me by now.”

“But I’m not. Why do I want to hug you and cry? This doesn’t happen. Not now. And look.” *pulls off shirt*

“Oh yeahhh.” *cops a feel*

“NO. Wasn’t I complaining that my boobs were shrinking? LOOK. AT. THESE. THINGS.”

“Oh yeahhhh.” *cops a feel*

“You’re an ass. I can’t be pregnant.”

“But you love me. And we’ll wait and see if you’re late. You know you want kids. You’ll be a great mother.”

“Yeah I do. And I want kids, but not now. What will we do? I really think I am.” *starts to cry*

“Nah, you’re worrying too much. Don’t worry until you have something to worry about.”

“You’re not listening!” *throws pillow at his face*

“See, that’s more like it. Get angry. PMS means you’re not pregnant.”

*stare at him for a long time*

I peed on a stick for the first time exactly a week after my missed period. As soon as my urine touched the stick, a thick black line showed up. I ran out of the bathroom pulling up my pants as Taurus Man and I scrutinized the instruction sheet and tried to figure out what it meant. One line was negative, two lines was positive. But the pictures showed the other line showing up as negative, and on the positive result, the other line was thicker and meant positive. We held our breaths and shook the test and waited. “Maybe it’s negative?” I asked sadly.

“I thought we don’t want to be pregnant?” he asked confusedly.

“I know, but it was exciting to think about. But we’re not ready. But it would have been nice. But we’re not ready.”

“WOMAN. You’re confusing.”

The second line had shown up, albeit thin and faint, there were now two lines. Maybe I did the test wrong. I’m not sure how you pee on a stick wrong, but I was sure I did the test wrong. But a stupid smiled crawled on my face and I hugged Taurus Man. “We’re having a baby.” I said.

“I thought you said the paper said the lines have to be the other way?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know I’m pregnant. I told you I was.”

We went to the doctor the next day, I peed on another stick that tested for HCG, and the doctor looked at both his pee stick and mine and confirmed my pregnancy. As soon as I got home, I called my dad, Taurus Man called his mom, and then we called everyone else we could think of. It was either that night or the next morning I put a picture of my pee sticks on facebook and announced it there too.

You might be confused. I didn’t plan to be pregnant and I was hoping I wouldn’t be. We weren’t ready for it. But I’ve wanted kids my entire life. My entire life, every decision I’ve ever made, has been structured around what I will tell my kids one day and what kind of example I want to be for my kids. The endo crushed me. After all of my careful plans, all of my health-nut freak-ness, after barely managing to deal with Taurus Man’s heart attack, you’re telling me I have an incurable problem that will eventually lead to infertility? A problem that leads to most of its sufferers having hysterectomies by the time they are 25(doesn’t matter that I was already planning one)? A problem that may screw up my insides and kill my careful plans for children? A problem that is impossible to track and diagnose by stages unless it’s bad enough to see with the naked eye during surgery? As much as the diagnosis took a weight off my shoulders by explaining why I bled and was in pain every day for months after losing my virginity, and why my periods are so heavy that blood gushes out onto all my clothes, the floor, and my hands, and why I am in constant immobilizing pain and occasionally have a swollen belly and swollen extremities and other symptoms of pregnancy every few months, and why I have menopausal symptoms like hot flashes that get so severe I can’t breathe and eventually pass out, it crushed me harder than everything else Taurus Man and I had faced. My greatest hopes and dreams were planned around, focused on, and were children. So as unprepared as we were for the pregnancy, and even though it came at the worst possible time, I was pregnant. With a child. After finally accepting that I may not be able to have children. BAM. Accidental pregnancy in the middle of WWIII. Life wasn't just laughing in the face of my plans. Life was rolling on the floor, gasping for air, and convulsing from hysterical fits of side-splitting, tear-inducing, lung-popping, screaming laughter.

It was only at today’s OB-GYN appointment that I was finally allowed to ask my doctor about labor. Call me a hippie, but I was hoping for a water birth, for Taurus Man to catch the baby and cut the cord, for the baby to be placed on my chest for skin to skin contact and encouraged to latch on right away, for the baby to be exclusively breast-fed if I was able breast feed easily, for the cord to pulsate before being cut, to stamp the afterbirth, to allow the labor to take its course naturally, to have a birthing mirror, to videotape the birth, etc. NONE of those options are available. In. The. Country. Hospitals country-wide follow a certain protocol to keep things going quickly and to avoid lawsuits. They also bully you and traumatize birthing mothers if you don't like it. No option or say for me. Taurus Man says he understands how I feel but I should just accept it and move on, since we can't do anything about the situation and the end result is a healthy baby. WHAT? Nuh-uh. Oh no he didn’t just say what I think he said to this hormonal mama. I cried the whole way home. I am now sitting with a bottle of Chloraseptic at my side because my throat hurts from talking while crying until he distracted me with food. 

This childbirth is special to me. Extremely special. Like rainbows and sparkles and fairies and unicorns kind of special. You’re telling me I’ll be forced to have an enema and possibly Pitocin and/or an epidural and preferably back labor on a hard-ass hospital bed because it’s protocol? That I will have an episiotomy against my will because if the baby doesn't shoot out as soon as he/she is crowning, that means the birth is taking too long? My flesh needs to be sliced the very minute the baby starts making progress out of my womb because of your fucking protocol? After forcing the baby out as quickly as I can (or as quickly as my body can be forced to) according to protocol, my child will be whisked away until you see fit to allow me to bond with my baby? Some unknown type of formula will be shoved in my baby's mouth with no encouragement or effort to help me breastfeed because of fucking protocol? If I do not push when I am told because I am exhausted or scared, you will bully me, quarrel with me, yell in my face, and talk down to me because I'm not following your orders per said timed protocol? If my after birth isn't sliding out of me as soon as the baby is out, you will reach in and yank it out because it will take too long to allow me to deliver it naturally? And then charge me extra for your MANDATORY surgery like performance? Because it makes your job easier Ms. Doctor Lady? Even though I’m paying you $12,000-$13,000 (minimum) to sit there and pull this kid out? You’re going to do the SAME THING the nurses and midwife will do in a public hospital? And I shouldn’t do research or read or ask questions about this stuff? I’m supposed to relax and wait until that day to figure out what’s going on? Because the women who have spoken about having the kind of birth I want, who all EXPERIENCED it and had happy, healthy babies, will mislead me? Because it's a coincidence that the women who have given birth in this country have ALL had episiotomies and left the hospital with at least one "minor" complication? Because spending 5 minutes with my baby after birth is against protocol? I can’t HOLD MY BABY until WHEN? I can’t SEE my baby until WHEN? THE FUCK WOMAN??!?!!?! 

So yeah. The second those words came out of Taurus Man’s mouth, the tears started rolling. Typical Taurus Man. But he thinks I’m being unfair and blah blah blah. Readers, we don’t care about anybody else but me today. Today I’ve been devastated. Today we will all sit and crook our heads to the side and go “awww you poor thing”. I told Taurus Man this is why I didn’t want to have a baby in this STUPID country and I had made all my plans in the first place. I know there’s nothing we can do but go with it. But did you hear me? Today, we will crook our heads to the side and say “awwwwww, you poor thing.” It’s about ME and what I wanted right now. Sure, a lot of the babies born in this country are born this way and are healthy. Not good enough. This country has an extremely high infant/newborn mortality rate and post-partum complications record for all of their fancy advancements (this protocol has probably been in effect since the 80's or before). Countries like the US, Australia, South Africa, Europe, and parts of South America have these options available. Are you saying this third-world country is more advanced than them? So advanced, that every time the public questions the mortality rate or a woman tries to sue for what she believes is mistreatment, or a family tries to sue for the death of a laboring woman or newborn baby, the government covers it up while doctors and nurses alike go on strike as they play the blame game until the public forgets about their cause and allows them to pretend it never happened? So advanced, that THIS is what they do, and stick to the same medieval protocols to get the same results (death, complications, etc) instead of reviewing their protocols to leave room for advances in medicine and scientific research? Give me my time to mourn the death of my right to choose and have options and have a say. Now, repeat after me. “Awww, you poor thing!” Very good. Carry on.

Taurus Man is also under the impression that the baby will DIE if he/she is around animals like Hyper Doggy and/or the kittens. Okay, okay. He didn’t say die. He said get sick. Same thing. Anyway, he wants them all out of the room before the baby comes. The fuck did you say bitch? Nuh-uh. Not my babies. But Taurus Man is Taurus Man, and when it comes to things like this, I can whine and protest all I want, but he will get his way. My arguments that hurt my throat more? Grizzly and O’Malley, our first fur babies, were sent to live downstairs. From the garage to a kennel to the back and side of the house, Taurus Man insisted that they would be happy roaming free and playing in the grass. The bitch used PETA quotes to get to me (I’m an avid PETA supporter). Bitch. But I said okay, they did look happier playing and rolling in the grass. What happened? Cancer Grump gave them away to some stranger. Without a word to us. My babies, GONE. Taken by some animal eating, organ selling, abusive CANNIBAL. Taurus Man said I have an active imagination and the guy might be an animal lover and blah blah blah. We don’t care. My sweet canine babies were gone. Stig was the best cat I ever had. He had to go outside because he was greedy. He’s an ANIMAL. Duh. But he’s greedy so he has to leave. Blah blah blah. Less than a month after being outside, he disappeared and we never saw him again. The most human-like, loving, and affectionate cat that ever existed, gone, possibly kidnapped by a cat eating psycho or killed somewhere deep in the bushes. My loving, nose-kissing, face-hugging baby was gone. Jolie was a cute little kitten. Taurus Man was the one that took her in without telling me anything. But she meowed funny and he got a funny vibe and he thought she might be possessed or have some deep rooted problem and he was afraid of her. As quickly as we got her, she was gone, and never heard from again. My sweet, scared little baby was gone. Kitty got curious. She tried to jump out the window numerous times and succeeded numerous times. She brought fleas inside every time she escaped and broke Taurus Man’s internet antenna thingamajig. She had to go outside. She was actually living quite comfortably on the steps and hunted in the grass next to the house and made a few friends. But she was hit by a car just recently and died. Sweet Mama Kitty that just had babies, only wanted love and freedom, gone. Schizo cat is just scary and I stay away from her. I do not mix matters with that she-demon. I see her on one side of the step, I carefully go down the other. Her previous owner encouraged her to scrape and bite and possibly overdosed her on catnip. Not her fault, I know. But she is one scary psycho-cat. She, ironically, the one that I stay away from and cannot bond with, is still here, chilling out in the garage. Any animal that leaves this room is either killed or kidnapped or eaten or somehow or the other GONE. We cannot have outdoor animals roaming free in the grass. They ALL disappear. Hyper Doggy is my favorite and she has to go too? To that place of no return? Nuh-uh. The kittens have just lost their mama and they have to go too? Sigh. I know Taurus Man will get his way and he means well, but today, he’s the bad guy, and we’re all going to feel sorry for me. In unison now, “Awww, you poor thing.” Thank you. He’s all Hyper Doggy will be happier and she can run around more and have more space and get fresh air. Yeah. I’ve heard that before. And then Grizzly and O’Malley were GONE. Plus, Cancer Grump has a habit of leaving the house, garage included, wide open when he leaves to go somewhere. Who’s to say someone won’t see my pretty doggy and steal her? Do you know what criminals do in this country when they want to rob a house and there’s a dog in front of the house? They CHOP THE DOG TO DEATH. Cancer grump ALWAYS leaves the garage open. There was even an instance where a man threatened to come after me when I was home alone and tried to come through the garage but couldn’t figure out how to unhook the hook on the inside of the garage door to open it. And I’m supposed to slap a smile on my face and let my baby girl go down there? Nuh-uh bitch. Nuh-uh. I told Taurus Man that after this, I don’t want any more animals or babies. I can’t take losing anybody else or watching anybody else suffer under Cancer Grump’s wrath.

I haven’t done any real cleaning since I was hospitalized in June. I was ill and soon after we found out I was pregnant. Then the pregnancy symptoms from hell took over. Taurus Man told me not to worry about cleaning. Everything has been standstill since. All of the dishes in the kitchen are dirty. I have a hundred loads of laundry to do. 

Before Taurus Man cleared the cobwebs the other day, this place looked like a haunted house. There is A LOT to be done. As much as Taurus Man will tell me not to worry, it’s now December, and there is still A LOT to do. I need all of this stuff taken care of before the baby comes and I still need to plan out what kind of meals I’ll be cooking and freezing before the baby comes.

Cancer Woman has insisted on sending down some baby clothes, supplies, and maternity clothes. We have no say in whatever it is, we don’t know what it is, but we are grateful. There has been no mention of when she will start shopping to send these things, but we will need to go to the other side of the country to clear customs once everything is shipped. Hopefully it will not be too close to the due date or when we bring the baby home so that I'm not waddling around with a dropped baby awaiting labor or a newborn baby and post-partum me trying not to faint in the unsanitary over-heated warehouses these places are headquartered in. HOPEFULLY.

There is A LOT to do and not much time. My pretty spreadsheet gave me the luxury of doing one thing a day, but did not take into account my palpitations, fainting, or constant bouts of weakness. The only exercise my doctor wants me to do is 15 minutes of walking in the morning and night with at least an hour’s sleep during the day. I am not allowed to do anything more. I am not allowed to lift or move more than 10 pounds of anything. I’m starting to not like this doctor. I don’t think she understands what I mean by “I have A LOT to do.” That also means that aside from Taurus Man, who comes home from every other football game with an injury (currently, a dislocated thumb and sprained ankle) I have NO help to do all of these "lots of things". That spreadsheet doesn’t even cover everything. My third trimester starts this month. Half of that list isn’t done yet. I hate the world today. I really, really do. All together now, “awww you poor thing!” Great job guys. Great job.

But Everybody ELSE Has an Opinion!

"You better get as much sleep as you can now, because once that baby comes, you won't have any time for yourself/to do anything."

"So do you know if it's a boy or girl? Why aren't you finding out? When you find out it makes shopping easier and people want to know."

"Are you going to take Lamaze classes? I took them and they didn't help at all. It would have been better if I didn't take them. I don't think you should bother."

"Are you taking any preparation classes? Why haven't you started yet? How will you know what to do?"

"Are you having the baby in a public hospital or health center or privately? Where? What doctor? Privately is better because..../Public is better because..."

"So when are you due? What do you mean the doctor gave you more than one due date? That's so weird. So how will you know when the baby's coming?"

"You want a water birth/hypnobirth? *laughs* How will that work out for you? Does anybody even offer that here? Why can't you just do it like everybody else?"

"Do you have your baby bag packed yet? You need a bag for you and the baby packed in case of an emergency and you need to get it done now. When are you going to do it? Why haven't you done it yet? You can't just not do it. You have to do it."

"So did you buy everything you need for the baby yet? Why not? When are you going to do it? You have to start planning. you can't just wait until the baby comes."

"So did you get kicks yet? Oh Braxton Hicks too? Well that's just weird. You're not supposed to have so many symptoms so early on."

"How far along did you say you were? Oh. You're so small. Are you sure? When such and such was pregnant, by this stage she was huge and had such a nice belly."

"How pregnant did you say you were? As in you're three months today or going to be three months tomorrow? So it's officially three months since the date of conception? So it would be three months ago the baby was conceived exact to this date? What do you mean you're not sure? Which is it then?"

"So do you have names yet? What names are you thinking of. Oh that's a nice name. Oh such and such named her daughter/son that name. That's such and such's son/daughter's middle name/second middle name/nickname/friend's name/neighbor's name. You can't use that. Oh that's a horrible name. What on earth made you think of a name like that? How do you spell it? Okay, I'll tell such and such. She's pregnant too you know."

"Did you hear such and such is pregnant? Did you visit her? She might need help with things. Why haven't you gone to help her out around the house or with the kids? But she's pregnant too, she needs help. Well, you need to get over there and help her."

"Oh it's a girl, trust me. With the way you've been throwing up, it will definitely be a girl. I better start looking for some pink!"

"Oh it's a boy, trust me. With the stuff you've been craving, it will definitely be a boy. I better start looking for some blue!"

"So what bottles are you going to buy? What pampers? How many blankets will you buy?"

"Back in my day, I only had two cheap bottles and it worked. You should just look for two cheap bottles and use that. You don't need fancy nipples and all that."

"Make sure you get this type of formula. They don't even need to breastfeed. This formula has everything they need."

"Did you buy a crib yet? You'll need a crib. You should look for one now. Check this store or that store and get one there. Did you buy a rocking chair? You don't need a rocking chair. Don't bother with it. If you want to waste your money, sure, buy it, but you don't need it."

"What are you drinking? Oh no, grapefruit juice is bad for the baby. It just is. You shouldn't drink grapefruit juice. You should only be drinking water."

"Are you drinking water? Well water doesn't have much nutrients. If you aren't drinking juice how do you expect to get nutrients? Prenatals and food aren't enough, you need to drink juice too."

"So are you ready for the baby? You know babies can be born early from 7 months, right? And I saw online/read an article/heard someone say that a baby born at 7 months can live when a baby born at 8 months won't live. It's better to have the baby at 7 months if you're having it early, so try to have it then."

"Are you eating? How often are you eating? 2-3 hours isn't enough. You should be eating a lot of food all the time. Pregnant women need a lot of food. What did you eat today? Well sandwiches aren't good enough. You need to eat some homecooked food. Why aren't you cooking? If you're sick then just hire somebody. If you're not eating homecooked food you'll keep getting sick. You need to eat some snacks to pack on some weight too."

"You should eat lots of condensed milk and ice/chocolate/cake/pastries/meat to put on weight. You're too skinny. You need to weigh more. When I was pregnant I weighed such and such."

"It doesn't matter if meat/orange juice/oily foods make you throw up. That's what I wanted when I was pregnant, so that's what you should be eating/drinking."

"So how come I'm not seeing pictures of your belly on facebook? When are you putting them up? You should put full body pictures so I can see how everything changed. Everybody else does it. Such and such did it. When are you just going to do it already?"




BREATHE. Just breathe. Deep breath in, slowly breathe out. Breathe.

These are all things people have said to me. There's a lot more, but this is what I can remember for now. Some aren't so bad, some will make you scratch your head and wonder. Me? Right now I'm on the verge of tears. I have a million voices in my head repeating these things to me day in and day out. What is my problem? A lot of things. My biggest problem? Everybody else has an opinion. Everybody else but me.

I shouldn't have a problem with that, but I do. I am under the impression that as the person carrying this child in my womb and bearing through these hellish symptoms for 40 weeks, as well as the person expected to push a little human grapefruit-sized head out of a very tiny body part, as well as one of the two people expected to parent/raise this child, that I deserve some level of a say. That's all I want. A say.

I know nobody cares what I think or what I have to say, but what makes everybody else's opinions more valuable than mine when I'm the pregnant soon to be birthing and parenting one here? Not a lot of people talk to me, with family and in-laws from hell and just a handful of friends across the world. But that doesn't stop the family and in-laws from saying inappropriate things when they actually do see/talk to me. Add pregnancy to that, and suddenly everybody else has either written expert books while hiding out in Narnia, or want a gory detailed memoir from you for the sole purpose of judging.

Some people have made their little comments and whatnot unknowingly, and I realize they don't know what to say or how to keep a conversation. They want to talk about the pregnancy/baby and that's what they've heard other people say, so they go with it. I know they have good intentions. I can deal with that.

But the outright judging and laughing in my face and scolding? Seriously? Do I not have enough on my plate? The only person I should be taking orders from is my DOCTOR. You know, the one with the degree and a gazillion years of experience? Yeah. That one. Not the aunt/uncle/cousin/family stranger person with an invisible secret degree from Hogwarts.

It bugged me when I tried to reach out to everyone and announced my pregnancy to the world. I was terrified that I would lose the baby or something would go wrong. It was just earlier this year I had been diagnosed with endo. This pregnancy was not planned and I had no idea how I was going to take care of my sickly self, a husband with heart problems, an unborn baby in my angry uterus, household responsibilities, and the daily crap from Cancer Grump and any other of my family or the in-laws that bring crap to fill my plate. I reached out looking for comfort and support and words of kindness and happiness or something like that, and got nothing. Conversations were cut short, everyone claimed to be busy and would call back (none did) and the first question was "was this planned?" Uh no, it wasn't, and I haven't tried to hide that from anyone, but what difference does that make? Does my baby not deserve love because he/she wasn't scheduled to happen now? "No it wasn't. It's a really big surprise for us" was my response. I was met with disapproving grunts and scoffs as the other person quickly tried to end the call after wanting to know exactly how pregnant I was. The hell?

I had a couple calls returned from an extended family member that stayed with us after Taurus Man's heart attack due to family problems at home she was facing. We were nowhere near emotionally or financially stable enough to take her in, but after claiming to be ready to commit suicide, we agreed to bring her here. During her stay, I think I was a pretty good hostess despite the world crumbling all around me. I cooked, washed, and cleaned as I normally did, but included doing these things for her as well. Despite her asking and insisting she would help, I refused to allow her to lift a finger, with the exception of one night when I asked her to help me wipe down the stove and counter. If I had been treated that way at anyone's house, I would consider it good treatment and try to stay in touch. However, once she left, she thanked us immensely for letting her stay with us and with the exception of these two-three calls, never looked back. These calls were her way to vent about things at home, which I totally understand, and enquire about the pregnancy. By "enquire" what I really mean is pinpoint exactly when Taurus Man and I...well....fused our egg and sperm together. I kid you not. She was hellbent on getting the exact date down. Not for due date purposes, for CONCEPTION purposes. For the date my husband fertilized my egg. She even asked if I could track my date of conception and if it meant we had sex that day or the day before. O.O Am I the only one weirded out by that? DAFUCK MAN? I'm all for curious minds, and while she was here, she defined curious as she asked about losing my virginity to Taurus Man, how often we had sex, and curiouser and curiouser questions. But for real? That's off the che-zain, yo.

A huge problem I have with whether it's unwary or intentional things like this, is the gender thing. Anyone that knows me will know that I do not support gender stereotyping. I hate the whole blue for boy/pink for girl thing so much it makes my blood boil and threaten to explode my veins. I HATE IT. I fucking hate the fucking stereotyping to ridiculous fucking extents. Don't start with me on that. Just don't. Even if I chose to find out the gender, I still would not purchase a single blue or pink thing for my child. Taurus Man and I decided on a soft green and white color theme early on, and no matter how many times we mention it, it goes in one ear and out the other.

I have a buttload of reasons why I don't want to know the gender. Depending on the severity of the endo, this may be my only baby. My symptoms were so severe that I was planning a hysterectomy before I got pregnant and I may very well get one once I can afford to sometime after this baby is born. That will also mean this may be my only baby. Keeping the gender a surprise for the delivery room is known to give the laboring mother an extra incentive to push when she gets too tired. I don't want my fucking baby to be surrounded by fucking gender stereotyping fucking bigots. I am happier not knowing, and I want to stay that way. Not knowing makes this feel like a special surprise/treasure kind of thing, and so far, I love having that feeling and I want it to last. Especially if this is going to be my only baby, I want that feeling. Even if I can have a million kids after this, I want this one to feel this way. Beyond that, I'm the pregnant one, I will be pushing this kid out, and I will be changing diapers and all that. I say so. Isn't that enough?

From what I've researched, no birth is ever exactly like any other. I have the understanding that birth, and everything surrounding it, is very unpredictable. I am the type of person that worries excessively for everything. A pain in the ass Type A personality. I am also a perfectionist, a planner, and someone with all kinds of issues that gets down and discouraged very easily. I am aware that I cannot make a pretty little chart and walk into the delivery room and say "okay, this is how this birth is going to happen. At 2:30, this will happen. That will happen by 3:00 and this will happen by 4:30." I've been researching birth for a long time. I have an idea of how unpredictable this stuff can be. Instead of doing that, I can work on ways to keep myself relaxed throughout this pregnancy and if I can apply any of these methods on the day I deliver, I will. If there are alternatives to epidurals offered to me and I don't have to have back labor, I want those options. I believe that educating myself is the best way to be prepared. I don't want to be in there and the nurses injecting me with things and twisting me into positions I've never heard of and don't understand in a cold, sterile hospital room. You want me to freak out? That's one way to do it. Freaking out will stress me out, which will make me tense up, which according to endo and my Braxton Hicks, makes me feel more pain. So laugh at water births and hypnobirths all you want, but do it when I'm not around. I have enough on my plate to worry about and I'm grasping at straws right now to keep myself together and not freak out about what's happening to my body and what will or may happen during and after delivery.

Whatever my doctor says, I'm cool with it. If I'm not, I tell her that and we work around it. I'm grateful for positive remarks and anyone that wants to help or be helpful, but I don't need to be ordered to do anything I'm not comfortable with. I shouldn't have to worry about if what I say makes people uncomfortable. Nobody seems to be the least bit concerned about what I'm comfortable with. If my doctor says something is okay, as far as I'm concerned, it's okay. If she says something isn't right, then as far as I'm concerned, it isn't right. What you or your friend or your mother or your aunt or your sister did may not be what's right for me. Everyone is different. Bitch.

The reason we haven't gotten baby things yet is because both Taurus Man and I are unemployed. His mother, Cancer Woman, tries to send some money every month for us to buy our medication (we are both on daily prescription meds), go to my doc, and buy a few groceries to last as long as we can stretch it. Not ideal, but we make do. Despite Cancer Grump's wood-workshop downstairs, if Taurus Man wants to build a crib or anything we need, he has to take a lot of verbal abuse and sift through refused termite ridden scrap wood or pay his father for actual wood or order wood from a hardware. Cancer Bitch and her husband get special treatment (whatever they want, whenever they want, always free), but with the way Cancer Grump treats Taurus Man, you'd think Taurus Man was a stray dog and not his own son. Still, we deal.  We can't rearrange the room because the bed that was breaking down got broken down (see one of those previous posts for an explanation...let me know if there's none) and the closet Cancer Woman paid Cancer Grump to build for Taurus Man years and years ago that was built quite crappily needs to be built over so that we can actually store clothes in it (not two pieces of clothes per drawer) and USE it so that we have actual room for things and not heaps of clothes all over the place. We need to build/buy furniture before we move things out to make room for the baby (we basically live in our bedroom) and those things aren't happening right now. I've made back-up plans in case none of these things are done by the time Superbaby is born, so we'll deal with however things go. Right now, though, there's not a lot we're permitted to do. At the end of the day, we still live under Cancer Grump's roof, and that means we live under his rule. He can do things like make messes where I've just cleaned and start a fight with Taurus Man about how I'm not cleaning and I'm making the house look dirty. He can make a mess and use dishes, the stove, microwave, the table, trek muddy footprints in, dust cigarette ashes, dump his prayer ashes in the shower and sink after I've cleaned etc. and sit around bullying me to clean up after him while blaming me and my marriage to Taurus Man for Taurus Man's heart attack. Yes, I've been to counseling and I've been advised to bring social workers to sit down and talk to him, which will make him worse. No he shouldn't treat his sickly, pregnant daughter-in-law and son who had a stress-related heart attack and two operations just months ago this way, but he is the way he is and he's only this way to us. Still, we deal. This is why I was on antidepressants in the first place. For now, I'm doing everything I can to find ways to relax like meditation and water. So hahaha at my interest in water births and hypnobirths and my desire to do things as naturally as I'm allowed, but you know what, it's working for me right now, and I'm not in a mental asylum. As far as I see, these "ridiculously naive" ideas are doing a damned good job at keeping me together. The complications I've had so far are not my fault and I shouldn't be blamed for it. I didn't intend to have the symptoms I've had so far and if my doctor is okay with it, then I'm okay with it. There are things I'm just not comfortable with and I shouldn't be forced to just because someone else did it or someone wants it done that way. I do not treat anyone with such disregard and I deserve at least that much back.

I know nobody will listen to what I have to say and the comments will keep on coming. But if you're reading this, try to have a little understanding the next time you talk to a pregnant woman. Try doing some research or asking other people questions to get an idea what it's like. You think puberty was bad, with your body changing before your very eyes and everybody, dirty old men and nosy ladies alike all staring at your boobs and hips and legs and trying to poke or touch you or ask questions they shouldn't? That's NOTHING compared to pregnancy, but use that as an example of how it feels. You didn't like every aunt and uncle and everyone wanting to know when your period started or what size bra you were wearing or if your hips were coming in or how your legs were shaping up or if you got acne, did you? Remember that when you approach a pregnant woman please. I know some women drink it all up and some will encourage little scandals or give snarky, shocking remarks and so on, but some of us just sit there feeling awkward, not sure how to respond because we don't want to hurt anyone's feelings and we were raised not to.

Operation: Baby Preparations (Day 23)

I would really like to cheat and tell you this is day two or three of my cleaning preparations, but I told you I would keep you updated however long it takes to get this stuff done. Taurus Man was the one to actually take the initiative and get the ball rolling. He cleaned that first day and another day last week. I cleaned one day last week or the week before and yesterday. Technically, it's been four days of cleaning, but honestly, it's taken us 23 days of procrastination and distractions and what-have-yous to get this far.

So how many things have we checked off our lists? EIGHTEEN. Eight-fucking-teen. Seriously. How awesome do I feel right now? Rockstar awesome, that's how much. Not much for my plan to do one thing a day when you look at the big ol' Day 23 up there, but four actual days of productivity? Rockstar fucking awesome. Have a look-see:

I have an innate force that drives me to give credit where credit is due, and the man of the century right now is Taurus Man. I procrastinate because I'm a perfectionist and I have problems with depression and self-worth and I get discouraged easily and I get distracted easily and blah, blah, blah. Taurus Man procrastinates because - well - I'm not sure exactly. But usually, Taurus Man is the King of Procrastinatopia and has every excuse in the book ready. Surprisingly, he got up and going of his own accord. Even more surprising, he got the ball rolling while I was still sitting in bed, admiring my pretty spreadsheet, telling myself and Taurus Man and the kittens and Hyper Doggy that I would definitely do it tomorrow or the day after. I have a nagging feeling that if Taurus Man hadn't started things, I would still be sitting in bed admiring my pretty spreadsheet. To top that off, he did a bunch of stuff that I had allocated to do myself and thus, has done way more than his fair share. I am so proud of my lover man. SO PROUD. 

Also, since I'm the Queen of Neediness these days, I'd like to give myself a round of applause and universal recognition. Not only did I get stuff done, but I got it done with the energy of an invalid, the awake-ness of an overdosed druggie, the movements of a zombie, distractions from the kittens and hyper doggy, and the usual stresses of PTSD, anxiety, depression, and freaking out about the future, etc. The near constant rain for the past 48 hours that cut off my internet connection may have also helped. Just a little. Hee. So I (and by I, I mean myself and everybody reading this) am immensely proud of myself. Go Self!

I've also done stuff that I hadn't put on my list, so even more proud-ness for me. Yay! Gosh, my hormones have made me so needy. I need attention from Taurus Man at all times. By all times, I mean constantly. Think of the neediest person you know and amplify that by about a million. Okay, maybe not a million. Try a hundred. After taking care of the kittens and hearing meows in my sleep and the shower (speaking of which, I do need a shower) and everywhere I go, and playing with Hyper Doggy (who also needs a shower), and wasting time on the internet, I still need Taurus Man to stop what he's doing and hug me, or talk to me, or look at me, or sit next to me, or do something to acknowledge my existence. All. The. Time.

In other news, I can't focus on what I'm writing because I'm beyond exhausted and the kittens are crying and the bed is calling and my back is about to break in two and my brain is about to stop working and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz............................