Bless your heart!

Title dedicated to Mr. Jordan.

I get all riled up about all kinds of shit almost hourly and think to myself, hey, that would make a fun blog post on that blog I have about weight loss that isn’t really about weight loss at all. But when a chance comes along to actually sit down in front of a keyboard all I can think is “things and stuff” a la Rick Grimes.

Do you realize I said MAYBE a mere handful of things about the election, and they were usually along the lines of, shit, I’m glad I’m pregnant and can’t even come up with a coherent thought about this damn election.  So I guess I need to just be knocked up constantly and I might behave myself.

OMFG my child just KNOWS when I’m trying to freaking type a thought.  [insert diaper change and feeding here] Moving. On.

So yeah, social media, gay people, lots of hate slinging.

I don’t need to go on about my views, certainly you already know them. The day started out pretty fun. Hey, things are happening that may finally secure some basic human rights for a group of people that last I checked, were indeed very human.  My news feed was flooded in red (what girl can’t get on board with a bloody flow) and people were showing love and support and excitement. It’s neat when these things happen with social media.  We get to experience events in a new collective way that must be akin to the excitement over television back in the day. It’s just fun. Until it isn’t.

Boom.  There it is.  The first little negative Nancy rears their ugly head and creates what feels like an avalanche of bullshit that rains on everyone’s freaking pride parade.

I saw one, I saw two, then several, then it’s everywhere.  Some stupid bottom feeder has made their way into almost every comment thread of support. I really think it would physically hurt these people to have a thought of their own devising. Good thing they seem to be incapable.

And I honestly cannot help myself.

Wish I were a bigger person.  Or hell, maybe I don’t.  It wouldn’t happen if I didn’t enjoy it on some level.

I think part of it is feeling that if I don’t say it, maybe no one will stand up.  On the one hand you have people freaking out about the war on Christianity and how they feel so targeted and hated anymore, while on the other I know people who are afraid to even voice their opinions because of what may happen if they do.  Sounds a little off, no? I’m not gonna get fired or blacklisted or shunned. Come at me, bro.

So maybe it’s childish and maybe I do feel sometimes that I need a shower after stooping particularly low in an “argument” that has spiraled out of control to the point no one is really sure what it started for anyway.

I know where a lot of it is coming from, cause it’s where I started myself. But I moved on from that.  I’d like to say I evolved, but you know… there ain’t no such thang! 

So I’m going to try to focus on the potential good that began yesterday.  If it weren’t for ignorant ass-hats doing their usual thing, we wouldn’t be this far along in a journey towards equality.  That’s right.  Thank all those people for being so damn ignorant and invasive and bigoted.  Without them attempting to use the government to force their religious beliefs into everyone's lives, this opportunity may have taken much longer to present itself.  So there’s that.  I have every bit of confidence that this is going to have a very happy ending, and one day I will tell my child, that's right, people weren't always allowed to marry who they loved. Those were strange days.

Much Anticipated!

"Help me!  They know not what they do!"

Wow.  This is hard.  If you haven't reproduced, take how hard you think it would be then multiply it by some crazy large number.  I'm not trying to be all preachy or anything, it's one of those things you just don't understand until you choose to take the plunge.  I'm told it gets better.  But I'm told a lot of things whether I want to hear them or not!

I love this little joy bundle, but I tell you what... I love sleep too.  At least I think I remember loving sleep.  A stretch of four hours is rare!  I would like to point out that Brad gets a stretch of 6-7 hours most nights, but still complains like he's a jew in the holocaust.  Just saying.

Marital satisfaction.  Yeah, it plummets.  We'll smooch and it'll occur to me I don't remember the last time that happened.  Or hug.  Or speak to each other about something besides "hand me that paci" or "go to hell, I'm tired." 

Many times I've wanted to write a little something on here, get it off my chest (there's a lot on my chesticles these days... literally).  There's never any time.  Even now she stirs, as she must sense my divided attention.  So here is what I hope will be a quick rundown of events.  As quick as Erica can make them anyway.

Birth.  Painful.  Yup.  I thought my dead tooth in college was the most painful thing I would ever feel.  I just knew it had to be worse than childbirth.  Wrong.  I barely got an epidural.  It was refused as I was going really super fast, but then this angel walked in and said she could make it happen, even if only a weak epidural that would last me only an hour.  Loved her.  I wanted that hour to last for all eternity. 

But it didn't.

My sister skyped from China and got to hear me screaming and cussing.  Best birth control for a teenager ever?  I think so.  Scared her to death, she wouldn't go to bed until she saw me and Charlotte were both alive and well.

Charlotte came into the world pretty chill.  There were no big screams like in the movies.  I didn't hear her until they pricked her feet and pissed her off real good, lol.  Once she was out, I was hella fine with whatever.  The kool-aid man could have busted throught the wall and slaughtered a goat, I would not have cared.  At least 10 different people had been diving in and out of my hoo-ha the past seven hours, and I couldn't be bothered to care about that either.  Life was good.

Then we were left alone with her.  LOL

We had a brief scare that resulted in a NICU stay.  She was weezing all cute-like, a sign of respiratory distress.  She also had a slight heart murmur, that while typical in the first 48 hours of life, was a concern when coupled with the weezing.  She was the biggest damn baby in the NICU, she could have eaten those other babies for breakfast.  It was a pain in the butt since I had to wake up and scrub in down the hall every time she wanted to eat, but my great aunt Libby is a NICU nurse so I wasn't stressed in the least that she was there.  She was in good hands.

So, the murmur got better, and the weezing went away.  Probably just some fluid in her lungs, most likely from being in that canal for 7 freaking hours (cone head, much?)  In the end we all got to go home at the same time, which was fortunate and I'm pretty sure only happened because my aunt Libby expedited the process.  Bless her!  Those NICU nurses are superheros.

I will never forget the sound of her first "Omigod you assholes come feed me" cry that occured three hours into our first sleep at home.  We'd set an alarm and slept right through it and she was PISSED.  Seriously, I can hear it now... we flew outta that bed and did our jobs.  Three weeks later it's more like... eh... let her scream for a minute, I need to pee. 

My mom flew in from China and more or less stayed with us for two lovely weeks.  I was an irritable brat half the time, but she effectively kept Brad and I from experiencing the painful reality of parenthood for a little bit, and thank GOD for that.  It's been hard without her here, but if I'd had to go through this without her for those first two weeks while I was still in tons of pain... well, a firestation might have found her on their doorstep let's just say.  HA.  Just kidding.  Maybe.

Mom was terribly jet lagged which meant her staying up all night with Charlotte was super easy for her, lol.  One morning we woke up and she'd baked a damn cake in the middle of the night.  She cleaned the house and got all of our baby crap organized in a way that it would have NEVER gotten done otherwise.  I'm sure Charlotte misses that nice lady who was here and played with her and cooed at her constantly without complaint!  Now she's just stuck with two very frazzled parents who would seriously consider cutting off their own fingers if it meant she would sleep just 10 more minutes.

Mom also got me through the shittiness that is starting to breastfeed.  I know I said I was going to formula feed to save my sanity, but there you sit in the hospital and there are your boobs and there is your baby rooting for your boobs and  I just thought... what the hey?  That's what they are for, right?  I'll never get another chance to try it out!  And many times since I've regretted it, but then I look down at her face and she flashes me a nipple smile and I just love her to peices.  Yes.  Nipple smiles.  They are the best.

I pump a LOT and we bottle feed a LOT and it works out.  My child is a nipple afficianado.  If it fits, it ships, at a low flat rate.  No nipple confusion for her, they are all good in her eyes. 

And I gushed about my husband on facebook once already, and while it's still true that I love him times one million, it has also slowly become clear that I did marry a mere mortal man after all.  He's tired.  He's stressed out.  He's had the crud to contend with, sore throat and meds that make him even MORE tired.  His grandpa Jonah passed away Thanksgiving day, things have been really stressful for him.  Plus he works.  Upstairs.  All that separates us all day is a banister, not even a wall.  He is going nuts.  I try my best to see that he gets good sleep, but unlike Brad I have never been mistaken for anything more than mortal and at least once a night I cling to that bed for dear life until he gives in and does a round of baby duty.  I feel terribly guilty afterwards... but he's still getting more sleep than me, so hey!

The hardest thing has to be dealing with the constant stream of self-imposed guilt and feelings of failure.  People can say it's normal all they want and they can assure us we are doing a decent job, but the feelings linger.  I finally got on some parenting boards and feel better about all the little things.  We use the paci as a crutch, I even napped with her in bed the other day (uncle charlie's hospital bed... pretty funny sight).  We worry that when she's awake we need to be doing something with her, but there's really nothing to do.  But sit and dread the eventual fussiness... lol.  I sleep with all my clothes on, including my ugg boots, so that I can face getting out from under the warm covers a little more easily. 

So wow, I can't believe she's slept the past 45 minutes so I could actually get a blog out.

Oh yeah, fatpocalypse.  That thing.  I've dropped to just below where I started, at around 189.  Pretty cool.  My stomach looks disgusting, but I'll take it.  After my 6 week check up, it would be nice to go to the gym... not sure how I'll make that happen, maybe I'll take her to grandma's for an hour every afternoon.  It's weird that having her around has actually made me more productive... I clean... sometimes I cook.  I actually do laundry!  And I shower every day cause that is my ME time, LOL.  So unlike me.  I got a Moby Wrap in the mail, just gotta get the guts up to try it out, it's very intimidating.  Oh, and the cloth diapering is going pretty well, too.  The biggest expense is clearly going to be spending money on her adorable pictures, LOL.  Occupational hazard, I suppose.

Stay tuned for more McDavid Parenting Misadventures.

She's in the family way...

"Babies are my business and business is good."

Today I did some junk shopping, looking for some unique things I could use to decorate the nursery with.  I pretty much failed, but I spent $2.00 on a gem of a book entitled "before The Baby Comes" by Dr. Herman N. Bundesen, and while I cannot find a specific publication date, I'm guessing the late 1930's.  I'm equally shocked by what they already knew and what they didn't know yet about pregnancy, but really the best part is the overall delivery of the information to stupid ass women.  lol

It starts with the Author's Preface, the first damn two sentences of the book:

"The GREATEST happiness a woman can have is that of bringing a baby into this world.  And giving birth to a baby is, in addition, the most important function in her entire life."

Lovin'!  It!

At the same time I'm jealous of how very simply pregnancy was "treated".  Here is the list of good habits for the mother-to-be to develop:

1. Get plenty of restful sleep -- at least 8 hours every night.
2. Get fresh air and sunshine every day.
3. Eats a well-balanced diet every day.
4. Drinks from four to six glasses of water every day.
5. Keep in a cheerful and happy frame of mind.
6. Have regular bowel movements every day.

Oh, and for a healthy natural childbirth,

1. A body in good physical condition, with well-formed pelvic bones.
2. Constant care of her health.
3. A cheerful, happy mind, as free as possible from worry, nervousness and care.

I hope my pelvic bones are well formed...

And I love the delivery of this line, very dramatic and mind-blowing, "Normally, the baby BEGINS TO LIVE nine months BEFORE he is born!"  SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

It suggests the woman should bring her husband to her first pregnancy appointment, so he can help explain shit to her.  Hahahahaha.  Oh my god, if I relied on Brad to explain to me what I was going through, I'd be in trouble.  His understanding of genetics leads him to believe that red hair just pops up like a disease in families, after all. 

In fact, the husband is very important, his chapter is covered almost immediately (instead of as an afterthought in the back of the book like you typically see now) and suggests the following todo list:

-Making sure his health is good both before and after marriage, specifically making sure he doesn't have syphilis. 
-Put his wife under the care of a good doctor, and see that she follows his orders.
-See that his wife has proper rest, recreation and amusement.  (If she is interested in music or art, it is absolutely fine for her to continue to take lessons if she so desires)
-Be a cheerful and patient comrade to his wife.
-Arrange with the expectant mother for her confinement and after-care.

And a special after note:

It is very important not to have sexual relations during the first three months of pregnancy, nor after the seventh month.  It should also be avoided during the time when the regular monthly period would have occurred.  Such relations may cause a miscarriage or help to bring on child-bed fever.  The husband should be guided by his wife's wishes.  He should learn to practice self-control.

Hahahahaha.

It covers early signs of pregnancy, which it admits aren't fool-proof, and keep in mind there were no pregnancy tests.  So it was usually month 3 before pregnancy was monitored by a doctor anyway.  But I must say, this was disturbing to read:

"If there is a doubt as to whether or not pregnancy has occurred, a Friedman test can be made by the doctor.  This test is done by injecting some of the prospective mother's urine into a rabbit and then later examining the rabbit's ovaries (sex glands) for certain changes."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  HOLY SHIT!  THE POOR BUNNIES!  I bet they had to dissect those poor bunnies!  I bet they did!  It's horrible!

So I'm on page 13 of 50 and I cannot wait to see what other gems await my discovery! 

For more fun on this issue and with Dr. Bundesen, follow this link.  It's even funnier.

Every little thing.

I'm so frustrated!  This is long, get the hell over it.

You know how doctors don't like it when you "try to do their job"?  I'm sure it gets annoying, "Well, webmd says I either have syphilis or a head cold, but Granny says it's just a boil so to self medicate I've been taking uncle Jim's old Loritabs from his hip surgery." 

But today I am frustrated about two things that are sort of two sides of the same coin.  First, because it's simpler, I take synthroid for SLIGHT levels indicating hypothyroidism.  Taking synthroid keeps me well in the normal range.  Before getting pregnant, I made sure I had plenty of prescription for a while... and now that it's time to get refilled, it occurred to me, "No one at my OB's office has even mentioned checking my thyroid.  Huh."

I've never had a fucking baby before.  That could have something to do with it.  I figured... if they needed to check that, they would have.  I've told them since day 1 that I'm taking synthroid and how many micrograms.  They've never asked about my levels or who I go to see for that medication.  I mention my medications at almost every visit.  Today I thought maybe I just need to be more in-your-face obvious about it and bring it up yet again.  I say, "Do I need to get my thyroid checked at some point?"  The question was met with a look of utter horror from the PA that I had not taken it upon myself to get this checked by now.  "You haven't done it every trimester??!" "well... no."  I wanted to add that I'm not a damn doctor and that I've mentioned my thyroid on a couple different occasions and that I've never had a damn baby before, so what would I know?!

So I suppose in that instance, I was supposed to already know.  I was supposed to have researched that.  I was supposed to have googled that.  Or something.  For the record, googling a pregnancy question is about the dumbest thing you can possibly do.  Go ahead and do it if you want to end up more confused than you started.

Next issue, and this one is REALLY driving me insane.  Boob or bottle?  Such a simple fucking question.  And it's not really a question of right vs. wrong, it's a question of what is BEST for ME and m'BABY.  So it's a tricky one.  At first, I was on the boob wagon, despite once thinking, "I will never be able to do that."  I'm a very modest person when it comes to my body and people who breastfeed seem to have no qualms with yanking their tit out in situations that make me pretty uneasy.  But my sis-in-law maintains a sense of modesty while also boob feeding and watching her boob feed my niece has made me all gooshy inside, excited to try it with my Charlotte, it just seemed delightful all the sudden.  I had no doubts that I would boob feed. 

So it was settled, I would boob feed.  I was hoping for the benefits of less allergies, less possibility of asthma, they say even less chances of female cancers, losing some weight and tightening my uterus back up faster, not having to get up and prepare a bottle while your child screams, all those good things. 

Meanwhile, once again, I have been VERY upfront about ALL THESE DAMN MEDS I take to keep me sane.  I'm on an SSRI anti-depressant and Buspar for mild anxiety.  I found this particular dream cocktail of meds after YEARS of trying to find what worked best and many failures along the way.  I was thrilled when my Psychiatrist AND later my OB both ok'd their use during pregnancy.  Yay, no problemo. 

No problemo turned into... "Well.." now that you actually ARE preggers and all... we might want to try weaning you off your meds so that there is no "risk of serotonin withdrawal".  Ok, so here's the game plan: month prior to my due date, I will attempt to taper my dose.  As for during the rest of the pregnancy, all I hear people say is "class C drug" so, "no known harm" and, "Do the benefits outweigh the risks" and blah blah blah. 

It did not occur to me, nor did anyone discuss with me, that DUH, it might also be an issue with the boob milk.  Until my recent Psychiatrist appointment: You make your own decision, it's class C so we don't know, it DOES get passed in the breast milk, but we don't know if it has negative effects on baby or not, in TWO cases (out of how many I do not know) certain side effects were reported.  Psychiatrist's opinion?  "I would just bottle feed.  Better safe than sorry.  We know you can't just not take your medicine for 6-12 months.  You want to enjoy your child's infancy."  He also encouraged me to ask my doc and pharmacist.

So I ask my pharmacist Aunt :)  She looks into it and finds some numbers, percentages of doses that end up in breast milk and baby's blood serum.  We know it gets transmitted, only about 4%, but this number fluctuates of course depending on feeding time and intensity, whether it's hind-milk or a quick feed, what time of day, the list goes on.  Baby isn't getting some steady level of the drug but a fluctuation.  You could theoretically create one cranky unstable baby.  Or it might not matter.  Is it worth the risk?  Do you really want to take that chance just so you can say you went with the cultural flow of "breast is best!"  You didn't want to appear to be a failure mom, so you said, by golly, I will breastfeed, and 20 years from now, my kid might have some serious emotional problems, but dammit I kept up with the Jones'!  My aunt put it in a way I appreciated, "if something comes up that is a problem down the road, you will always question if you did the right thing by insisting on breastfeeding while on questionable medications.  or you could bottle feed and not worry about it, cause there's nothing wrong with that either."

What did my OB say?  "Knock yourself out, breastfeed!  We prescribe ssri's to breastfeeding women on the reg.  This book says "no known harm done except in these two cases" (once again... 2 out of what?  3?  1 million?  It matters, people.  It matters.)  In the end, we support whatever the pediatrician you choose supports.  (Um... I don't even have a pediatrician yet to ask.  This seems like something I need to get ironed out).  But boob feeding, YAY! 

How do I choose a pediatrician?  Should I call around and ask about openings?  Yes.  Ok.  So by golly, on my way home from my appointment, I STOP at a pediatrician's office.  Well, it's an office of many pediatricians.  They look at me like I'm crazy cause "all you need to do is tell them at delivery where you want your child to be seen and whoever is on call will come see you."  Oh.  Didn't need to stress about that after all.  Am I the only first time mom in the world who asks these questions?!

So I ask, well, is there a doc available that I can run a question through?  I'm on these meds (hand slip of paper to lady) can I breast feed?  What do they recommend?  I wait.  Lady comes back (she's being very accommodating, bless her).  "Dr. X looked them up, they are class C, meaning there is no evidence of harm, so they are fine."

Can I be a doctor so I can just look shit up rather than drawing on professional experience?  Sounds like a damn good gig.

So here's where I'm leaning: I'm gonna bottle feed.  Why?  Because my psychiatrist gives a shit about me and doesn't want to see me end up back in the hospital.  My aunt gives a shit about me and wants me to succeed at this.  The OB wants me to have this baby then be gone until I'm knocked again.  The pediatrician... who the hell knows what their angle is, but they don't really know me, they just looked in a book.  A book I can find online.  How can doctors so confidently recommend and support something that isn't proven safe and still sleep at night?

They all love sharing their opinion on this shit.  But by god I should have known I needed my thyroid checked once a trimester!  Why can't I just be some stupid back-woods hick who is still just confused how she got pregnant since she's only done it standin' up?

This is MADNESS!

Where has she been?

Going crazy.  No surprise there!

I'm an absolute wreck right now.  Have been for... days?  Weeks?  I dunno.  I lose track of days not having to work.  Oh, you don't have that problem?  Are ya jealous? 

Things are getting overwhelming.  The fetal movement is pretty nuts.  We know we are having a girl now.  And I'm stuck there.  I have moments where I want nothing but the best for this baby, to the point of bankrupting our savings for top of the line bullshit, and I have moments where I seriously wonder if it would be so wrong to just line a box with blankets and make do with that. 

People have been doing this since there were people.  They didn't need Pack N'Plays, wipe warmers, scary breast pumps, or baby einstein dvds... so why does it all suddenly sound so necessary?  Like it is abusive neglect if you dare not purchase a bathtub thermometer? 

And I've been wondering about EVERY LITTLE THING.  If my baby cries, am I going to go pick her up?  Am I going to wait for her to soothe herself?  If I wait, how long should I wait?  How long is too long?  Will I need 12 cloth newborn diapers a day or 24?  What kind of cloth diapers?  Velcro?  Snap?  2-in-1's?  All-in-1's?  Contour?  Or say FUCK THAT and do disposables cause that time would be better spent staring at my child while she breathes?  Do babies really benefit from listening to classical music or memorizing their multiplication tables by age 4?  Is my child gonna grow up to be socially retarded like her parents?  How do I simply avoid raising a serial killer?  How long should breastfeed in order to avoid pissing off America? 

After finding out we are having a Charlotte and not a Jonah, Brad and I went to Lexington for the day.  The task was to discover our nursery scheme.  Because step one will be painting that extremely blue room upstairs.  It's "East Carter blue" to hear Brad tell it.  We agreed we would go for green, nice and neutral so that it can easily be a boy nursery down the road if it comes to that.  Green is calming.  But in order to pick the green, we needed to know what bedding we liked.  So the task of the day was to find this bedding.  I had an idea of what I liked in nursery decor, but in personI  ended up going for something completely different.  Mainly purple, some light pink, green accents... purple and green.  Just like my wedding.  I must really like that or something.  So there is a deal, and while we are there we purchase sheet, bumper (useless), skirt (useless), blanket, hanging diaper bag (probably useless).  They came as a set.  Now, to envision the rest of the nursery based on that.  To the bat cave!

All was well.  I was pleased.  Brad was pleased.  A step closer on this seemingly million step journey. 

Until we get home and show off our cute-as-a-button crib bedding.  Apparently we've broken some cardinal rule I wasn't aware of.  How dare we get it so soon?  Before the shower?  Someone could have just bought us that!  Why would you go and do that?  I mean, I've been pretty much laughed at for being... I dunno, overly eager?  And I'm calling you out Megan and Jilda.  Because now I look at this bag of bedding and I wonder if I've already completely ruined my daughter.  Looking at it LITERALLY makes me sick to my stomach.  I'm full of so much anxiety over it, that I'm close to taking it back before it does make me vomit.  Is this unreasonable on my part?  Yes.  But I feel like I've screwed up royally just out of the gate... it's eating at my sanity!  And if you think this makes me crazy, please just don't tell me to my face, cause then I'll feel even WORSE!

And I think the anxiety is also because I realize... this is how it is going to be from now on.  My family, other parents, society... everything I do will be scrutinized. Down to the shit that doesn't even matter.  I mean, it doesn't matter if I bought Charlotte's crib bedding already.  It doesn't matter if I cloth diaper or if I'm just one more person throwing their baby's shit in a landfill.  It doesn't matter if I am able to breastfeed or not.  It doesn't matter if baby listens to Mozart or goes to day care or if my dog licks her face, or if my baby licks the dog's face. 

But I'm also very fragile right now, and I've decided it's all this bedding's fault.

I mean, I'm really unhinged.  Please say it's pregnancy hormones and that I'm not really losing my mind, cause I've been there before, and that shit is just plain scary. 

I just want us to have our baby and be left alone to enjoy her for as long as possible... until I want a damn break.  So that would be for what... an hour?  A good hour just for the three of us... :) 

Grayson. Ew.

Grayson. This town. Is so trashtastic.

I would be lying if I said I wouldn't take a chance to get the hell out of here.

Which makes me sad because my family is here... and those parts are nice. But overall? Gag me with a tobacco stick.

I suppose a person would have to... I dunno... get involved in a church or something... to increase their likelihood of not running into scum on a regular basis. But in my opinion, those places are full of their own kind of crazy that I can't seem to stomach either. And supposedly, those places also have an open door policy for scum, which ain't cool with me, LOL. Call me a bitch. I don't care.

Socially, we hang out with like-minded people, and that gives our corners of the world some sense of stability, whether real or not. SO WHERE ARE ALL MY LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE!?

Admittedly, my facebook friends list is chock-full of decent people. I know they exist, and I do enjoy them. But how do we ban together? How would we? Maybe a club called "No Bullshit Allowed." The NBA. Yes, no one is using that right now, right?

Overall, there are two types of people in Grayson. The disgusting pill-heads who blame the world for their own damn problems and call you "friend" if they think they can use you as an occasional ATM or lift shit from your home to take to the pawn shop. And snobs who think their shit doesn't stink. I fit into neither of these groups, thank god. And every family here has their share of both ends of the spectrum.

So I ask you, why would anyone want to live here? Either my kids are gonna grow up incapable of identifying their own shit by smell, or they are gonna grow up and rob me blind to support their pill habit while I say, "Oh, that's okay, sniff sniff, they just need to be loved. Of course you can borrow my car, if that's what you need to get better."

And I do understand that addiction becomes a disease. I've suffered at length from my own disease that people like to laugh at a lot, depression, so I'm not completely void of compassion here. But the decent people I know are the ones who finally said, "SHIIIIIIT, I am sooooo fucked, someone help me, I can't do this by myself, here are my problems, here's everything I've done, just help me." You cannot get help, you are NOT getting help, if you are still afraid to come clean, if you are still hiding shit. You have to live transparently. Both snobs and pill heads seem to have a big problem with that.

I'm upset tonight because a friend of mine gave her heart to one of these douchebags who tonight wiped his ass with it for what I hope is the last time. This jerk is something of a Grayson rockstar when it comes to being a fuck-up. If I named him, not a one of you would be surprised. And my friend is a young, sweet, talented, beautiful and amazing girl who deserves a lot better. But thanks to this asshole, she will probably be leaving this town, and a part of me envies her beyond words. Go, be free. lol A lot of good people have left this town for the same damn reasons. I want to be one of them.

So I'm really hating this place right now. I invite any of you to comment below with any of Grayson's redeeming qualities. Try to cheer me up. And having a plethora of Mexican restaurants to choose from does not count. Dig deeper.

Surprises!

I know, I know, I know. Bad luck and all that. Had a miscarriage last year, never got to hear a heartbeat. But I just can't help myself...

I've been impregnated!

**gasps and applause**

'Atta boy, Brad. Grandpa can stop threatening to come live with us to make sure we are regularly doing the deed.

I'm only 7 weeks. Our first appointment is set for April 23rd. I cried pretty hard at my first ever ultra-sound last year in February. And I'm betting I will at this one too, no matter which way it goes. I'm hoping it's a good, ugly faced, happy cry, though!

So this blog is going to temporarily become a place where instead of talking about inappropriate random shit, I'm going to talk about inappropriate preggers shit. Just for a while. Mainly cause this is my place, and I don't want to be one of those facebookers that drives the entire world crazy with their uterine parasite's development.

Awkward terribly over-share things about being knocked up:

BOOBIES. They sagged before, and holy shit, I didn't think they could sag any worse, but they can. I was losing all my weight in my boobs, too. And now they are back with a vengeance. They are sore beyond belief. My nips could cut glass AT ALL TIMES. Yes, even now. No, Brad, you can't touch them. I have never woken up to boob pain, and had to manually lift my breast out from under me and position it more comfortably... until now. Stupid boobs.

SMELLS. Not me, thank god. lol. No, the smells I smell with my smeller. The worst, by far, and this is weird... cleaning product. Air fresheners. Hair sprays, aerosols, perfumes. Basically things that are clean smelling. Which Brad isn't surprised to hear at all... LOL. We had a funk coming from our garage because of the cat we keep captive out there, so Brad hooked up an air freshener called "linen". I walked in to what was a wall of this odor. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" "Oh, it's cat shit, so I plugged in this air..." "YES! THAT! GET IT THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I'd rather smell cat shit ANY day. Newly laundered sheets... can't stand them. Today at work someone was spraying hairspray all over the damn place. I wanted to hurl.

GENERAL RETARDATION. People really do get STUPID when they get pregnant. I've always suspected, honestly, but you know, thought I was so damn smart that if anything, I would still be pretty smart even if the baby eats a good portion of my brain. The other day, I LITERALLY got into the backseat of my car to go home from work, and sat there, CONFUSED, for like 5 minutes. Like a cat, when I realized the stupid thing I had done, I tried to pretend like I had meant to... started rooting around for things in the backseat... but there really was no saving face in that situation. I don't easily embarrass, but that killed me.

THE FURY. I am one angry bitch. I always have been, to be fair, things are always pissing me off that really have nothing to do with me. But now I'm dangerous. I might actually say something... TO YOUR FACE! I try to read my Eckhart Tolle every night... but it's no use. My ego is in full control. If you see me, ask me what I'm mad about. I have a list in my head at all times. I've come dangerously close to crossing the line of respect with customers at work on several occasions now. I almost told a woman the other day that my pictures weren't bad, her baby was just ugly as hell. And I would have sincerely meant it. The plunger was not kind to this kid on the way out of the birth canal. Not my fault. No wonder I had the balls to write a "shame-on-you-for-making-us-work-Easter" e-mail to my boss's boss. I'd do just about anything right now and think it was a SWELL idea. I'm thisclose to demanding a raise for myself and my manager, and also demanding that a pill-snorting co-worker of mine get her ass fired for being a lazy stupid bitch. It's just the kind of spit-fire mood I'm in. Keep your distance. Unless you've ever been curious as to how I truly feel about you or some issue, then ask away, you'll get as true a response now as you are ever gonna get.

My TEETH. This is so freaking random, or so I thought. Last time around, my teeth hurt. Had some pretty awful problems, no fun. Then for the next 2 months, while I was preggers, my teeth hurt, every damn day. Every day. So guess what they are doing now all the sudden? Hurting. I haven't slept a full night in weeks, what with the pissing and anbesol breaks. I wake up crying and confused, and Brad will be like, "ERICA! Go get your anbesol." And I'm all like, Oh... yeah, okay, thanks. Apparently when you are pregnant, your blood vessels enlarge, or dilate, to get extra oxygen everywhere, especially in your soft tissue areas: vagina, sinuses, gums. So, there ya go. Vaginal discharge, a CONSTANT runny/stopped up nose, bleeding gums, and sore teeth. Life is so beautiful.

ZOMBIE-ISM. Oh, yeah, and when I do wake up from sleep, I'm brain dead for at least 5 minutes before I remember where I am and why I've woken up. Like, "Oh, I needed to pee." Or "Shit, my teeth are hurting, that's why I'm up." Or "Oh... I have to go to work today... that's why I'm up." I'm just so confused all the time. The other night, I woke up, but not really, had already started to get up out of bed, not knowing really why (turns out I had to piss really bad), got my feet tangled in the sheets, and just hit the damn floor. All I knew was that my head hurt like HELL, I just laid in the floor screaming until Brad finally got to me and was like, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? I think I was still sleeping, but I had busted my head on the nightstand, and there was blood, and my head only recently stopped throbbing from it. I've lost my damn mind.

And I think it's completely hilarious.

Oh yeah, Brad's going through some shit too, something about his back hurting all the time and going to the chiropractor, but no one really cares. That jealous diva just needs some attention.