Saturday night was fun.
I had some lovely pain and pressure, with a side of Braxton-Hicks.
When it wouldn't get better from laying down and drinking water, I went to the hospital's OB department to get checked out.
After a couple of hours hooked up to monitors in a room the size of my closet, they set me free after a shot of Toradol to relax me muss-kells and told me to take it easy.
Good advice.
However.
Have you met The Destructo Twins?
And their father, the leader of the Darkness Squad?Their sole mission is to bring down chaos and mayhem upon my head.
In their arsenal of No-Good Tools they have such dastardly methods as Leave Garbage on Floor Everywhere, Eat Chips for Breakfast, Remove Every Book and Toy from Shelf Then Leave Room in Chaos Forevermore! Bwah ha ha!
Not to mention MY personal favorites, Dirty Dishes are Best Stashed Under My Bed and I Don't Even Remember When I Took One Bite of That Banana and Left it Under the Couch to Die.
Their father is also a master of All Bathroom Reading Materials are Best Stored in a Pile on the Floor and Why Shouldn't These Dirty Socks Mingle With the Clean Ones?
Gah!
No no. Relaxing is to invite the Devil himself in to play.
We can not do "relaxing"
Instead, I had four separate nervous breakdowns over the course of two days. Yay!
Efficiency!
I was indeed so crazed with insanity and overwhelmed with craposity that my mom was seriously considering coming out to my house just for the weekend to fold laundry and make me take a nap. No lie.
T'would be hard to do both though, since all the laundry is piled on my bed. But I digress...
After my fourth nervous breakdown last night, I washed a whole sink load of dishes and felt better and accomplished.
Of course, the Darkness Squad quickly assembled a dizzying array of plates, bowls, spoons and cups all in varying levels of filth to replace the dwindling pile I was working through. Love you guys!
It's really no surprise then that at midnight I woke up with stabbing, aching, ripping me in two pains in my lower back and belly.
I tried to go back to sleep, but HA! Pain would not yield to Exhaustion. Pain wins!
At 3:30 am I drove myself to the hospital, again, after three hours of pacing the floor, hoping for the pains to go away. False labor pains go AWAY when you walk around. The BOOKS say so.
Well, Pain does not yield to Books. Pain wins!
I got hooked up to some monitors. Told to drink a huge jug of water and left to writhe. Oh agony!
At least I got to play a game. It was called "Guess When You're Having a Contraction!"
I even got a little buzzer to push every time I thought I was having a contraction. I pushed the button seven times in 45 minutes. Remarkable!
My accuracy was not great, however, since I only had THREE contractions during that time. Boo.
My lovely parting gift...well, first, I didn't get to "part" AND I got 2 lovely liters of intravenous fluids AND a shot of terbutaline to kill the contractions.
It's not a trip to Hawaii, but it'll do.
I also got a fantastic invasive pelvic exam. Whoo ha, hoo ha! Cervix is remaining and I quote the nurse "high, thick and closed" kind of like Snoop Dogg's eyes. Boo yah!
I also apparently have a wonderful consolation prize of bladder infection which they attempted to blast away with some equally wonderful IV antibiotics. Bladder infection??!?! Who gets those!? I thought only swamp rats and homeless people and people who don't change out of their bathing suits fast enough after a swim. Eh, what do I know!
At around 8:30 am they discharged me and I came home on about 3 hours sleep to watch the children (tear apart the house) all day.
Yay!
It's not fair really. The other moms at the OB department get to take home a cute powdery baby after all that grief. All I got was a paper admonishing me to drink more fluids.
Bah.
I'm TIRED.
I swear, if Dylan tries to jump out the window today, I might just let him.
11 comments:
And Amy's "Should I Have Children" meter dips back to the 95% "No" category.
You could always use a surrogate and skip all this crap.
Just think how much chaos your household will be in 2 years from now!
Amy, I have it on good authority that having one child won't kill you. It's the second one that does you in.
Ack!
It's true. The first child lulls you into thinking "This isn't so bad he/she is actually cute, charming and funny! I wouldn't mind another one of these!!!"
And then, blam! Bait and Switch! You get the devil spawn and he/she turns the first one evil too!
It's not me talking, it's the UTI pain. egad.
Okay, first, I get bladder infections, and I'm pretty clean, I think. So nyah. And welcome to the club. Your card is in the mail.
Second, my first child is the evil one. My second one is just amazingly handsome and smiles a lot. He also likes to play with flashcards and only throws things when his sister throws them first.
Third, Amy... after a bajillion days in Italy, you had better be joining the club soon. Or I'll have to start not liking you. And I really like you too much to not like you. Misery loves company, man!
Oh, it's what comes after the surrogate part as well that dips it back. I do not want devil children. People judge.
And I can assure you Elizabeth that no baby will be coming from my bajillion day trip to Italy. I will say that, a long, long time ago, that was the plan. But we changed our minds and postponed the date. Maybe the next bajillion day trip we take. . .
egads, jessey! next time, beg them to let you take a nap in the ER... let them know that it's more restful than at home. then knock yourself out.
as for the bladder issue, it happens. drink lots of cranberry juice, don't hold it, and increase the water. I bet you're holding it. Stop *doing* that! the dishes and mayhem shall wait for you to use the facilities.
Elizabeth - You must have had a hospital mixup or some sort of ovarian fluke, because EVERYONE knows that FIRST born children are angels and it's only their later siblings that make them crazy. And I say this with confidence as a first born child. :)
Also I should add here, for the record, that Miss Debbie has no children and doesn't know that although pain beats sleep and pain beats books, uncontrolled mayhem beats pain every time.
Ask me the next time I sprint across the house to retrieve my child from his windowsill perch when I'm 8 months pregnant. That's called Mayhem beats Pain!
Actually, I believe that's called "comedy gold." Unless, of course, you are you. :-)
So true.
Nothing like a big fat waddler.
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