My Cervix is named Hodor

WARNING: The post below contains a Game of Thrones spoiler alert! 

Did I ever tell you guys how my cervix is nicknamed Hodor? 

I know. I basically have no shame. For those of you who have never seen Game of Thrones, let me explain. Hodor is the name of a brave and incredibly sweet giant, who only says "Hodor" and dies valiantly "holding the door" against the evil forces of ice zombies who are trying to murder his companions.

Hodor.

Similarly, when we first got the news that I was pregnant, one of the biggest risks factors was preterm birth.  It was up to my cervix to "hold the door" and prevent this from happening, and for the past 4 months, Sean has been feeding my Hodor liquid courage in the form of weekly progesterone shots that would help my cervix stay closed. 

Recently, the progesterone shots have stopped, and Hodor's herculean strength is finally running out.  This bring us to our current state.  I'm now 38 weeks pregnant and officially miserable.  According to my doctor, that's because I've been walking around 3 centimeters dilated.

*Side note: I'm not exactly a secretive person, and basically everyone in town knows about my dilation. Last Friday, I went to a party where multiple city council members approached me to discuss my recent cervical measurements, proving once again that city council is the last remaining unit of government that is still responsive to the concerns of their constituents.

Anyways, I'm officially done being pregnant.  This baby is strong, and healthy and I'm ready for him to be born already.  That's why today I was in my office looking up exercises to induce labor on pinterest, and I found this picture.

Look at this lady.

My first reaction to this photo is to hate on this woman for wearing white spandex. (What if her water breaks? What if she falls down in that field? Speaking of that field, isn't is probably full of ticks?) But, to be honest, I would never confident enough to wear white spandex even when NOT PREGNANT, so I think in this case I'm probably just unworthy to be in the presence of her Lycra wrapped suavity.

When I look at this lady, I'm consumed by jealousy. She definitely looks a lot more comfortable than I feel right now, and she gets to frolic around in a field, hopefully with the foresight to bug-spray her ankles first. Meanwhile, I'm in my living room, doing lunges and other pinterest exercises in the hopes of inducing labor.  The only consolation for my envy? I guess I still have something she doesn't: Hodor.

Pregnant Ladies Have to Pee, and Other Truths

Lately, I've been walking around enormously pregnant.  Honestly "walking" is a generous term here, it's probably more like waddling.  And the world- faced with the enormity of my equatorial expansion is completely losing its shit.  So- in this blog post, I'm going to lay down some truths about pregnant ladies, and tips for how you can interact with us.
_______________________________________________
1. We all have to pee.  This is a universal truth.  If you are talking to a pregnant lady, you can rest assured that she has to pee at this very moment. If we, the pregnant ladies, seem in a hurry to get somewhere, then please sweet Jesus LET US GO. We are on our way to the bathroom, where we are either going to pee, or cry because someone just told us how huge we are, but probably both.

Every time I go to my OB appointments, they have me pee in a cup.  Each time, the receptionist asks me politely "Are you able to provide a urine sample today?" Then we both laugh, because she knows damn well I'm able to provide a urine sample, even though I literally just peed downstairs in the lobby. My OB receptionist is awesome.

2. Remove the word HUGE from your vocabulary.   This is pretty standard stuff really. In our house, Sean has wisely avoided saying the word "huge" for the last 6 months at least.  When we watched the NCAA men's basketball tournament this year, he would say "Hey baby-- come watch this replay-- the Tarheels just came up with a glowing and voluptuous rebound against Gonzaga!"

Here's some solid advice: Before you open your mouth to comment on a pregnant woman's body, ask yourself-- Would it be socially acceptable for me to say this about a non-pregnant person's body?  The answer is probably no.

The truth is, the pregnant ladies of the world do not need your reminders.  We know our bodies are changing. We already receive reminders of this every morning when we are dressing ourselves with clothes the size of industrial table cloths.  Each time we have to pee (which--as we've covered--is quite frequently,) we are also reminded by our belly buttons, which have become fleshy, swirling nebulons of pain.

So, as a public service, I've created a few substitute clauses you can use when interacting with the pregnant ladies in your life!

• Oh my god! You're Huge! (substitute: Oh my God! You're a dead ringer for Kate Hudson!)
• Whoa-- look at that enormous belly! (Substitute: Whoa-- look at that detailed transition plan you've left for your colleagues during your maternity leave!)
• You look like you're about to pop! (Substitute: You look like you're about to propagate another human life using only your uterus and a steady supply of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, like a boss!)

3. We haven't shaved our legs. Not really.  I mean-- we've tried, but we're basically flying blind.  Personally, I haven't seen my thighs in two months. So, I want to apologize to anyone else who may be seeing them, namely Sean.

4. We are all Bad-asses.  Growing up, I sort of considered myself to be well supplied in the bad-assery department.  I was a small town karate star who--in my prime--could flip across my dojo like Simone Biles, and jump-front kick someone twice my size in the teeth.  It wasn't until after Millie was born that I realized the hard truth.  I was not special.  ALL WOMEN, everywhere, even ones who work at perfume counters at department stores,* ** are incredible bad-asses. After experiencing labor, I looked around the pews at the elderly ladies in my church, and was shaken to the core by the pantsuited empresses of Badasserwald that surrounded me, and overflowed out into the Narthex.

*Women who work at perfume counters are actually my biggest fear.
**One time, I tried to buy a summer fragrance in the autumn season, and was rightfully shamed for my ignorance.  I've never recovered.

So remember friends, pregnancy is bonkers. Basically all the moms you know are formidable and deserve your respect.
_____________________________________________

I hope this list gave you some convenient insight into the psyche of pregnant ladies-- or at least of this one. As for me, I think it's time that I waddled to the bathroom again.  Maybe while I'm there I'll try and shave my legs, like a bad-ass.

The Six Needs of A Laboring Woman

I have some very, very, good news.  I'M PREGNANT.  I know! You're probably thinking HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?  For those of you following what Sean and I have been through, you know that after the events of the last two years---my uterus was left as uninhabitable as the frozen ice-planet of Hoth.* Then, last August, a fancy doctor in Cleveland did an experimental surgery on me to repair "The Ole Gal." When he described the procedure to us, only 9 other women had gone through with it, and of those, 3 of them had gone on to have babies. ** Sean and I knew the odds were against us, but we decided to give it a try anyways. We were frankly shocked when I became pregnant almost immediately.

____________________________________________
*If you are reading this blog to seek actual medical information and not Star Wars references, the medical term for what was wrong with me was Asherman's syndrome, caused by multiple D&C's following a placenta accreta. The hospital I went to was University Hospital- MacDonald Women's Hospital.
** Pro-tip-  If you nearly die 3 times from pregnancy complications and then conceive a baby who is an ACTUAL medical miracle,  the hospital will feature you in their annual development campaign and you can get some free family photography out of it! Woot Woot!
____________________________________________

I won't lie to y'all-- this pregnancy has been hard.  If I had to pick one word to describe it, it would be "vulnerability," although a close second would be "Cramps," then followed by "salt-and-vinegar-potato-chips." I found myself jealously thinking of my relaxed mental state with my previous two pregnancies.  Remember when the biggest concerns I had were axe-body spray and cabbage related office smells? This time around, I've been scared basically the whole time.  That's probably why I waited until I was 33 weeks along to type this blog post.

The good news is, Millie's sense of optimism is unhindered, and she recently made me this drawing, which is my new all-time favorite work of art:

Lately, I've been letting the exciting reality sink in: Oh my god! I'm really going to have this baby! But unfortunately, the other reality has started to sink in too: OH MY GOD, I'M REALLY GOING TO HAVE THIS BABY.

Shit. Shit. Double Shit.  Childbirth is not the funnest thing I've ever done. So, I broke out my trusty book on "The Bradley Method," to brush up on my skills. For those of you unfamiliar, the Bradley method is a tried and tested natural childbirth technique, which for nearly 30 years has helped expectant mothers see graphic pictures of other women's vaginas.

Now that I'm reading it with the trained eye, I can see that parts of this book are total bullshit.

For example, it contains these reassurances:
"Natural Childbirth can be painless."
(Throws head back and laughs.) Please. 


"Partners-- don't let your wife sit on a comfortable couch while she is pregnant. She will secretly appreciate that you make her sit on the hard floor! Even if you overhear her complaining to her friends about you, she's actually just low key bragging that you're such a good birth coach!"
Partners-- don't be fooled by this lying book. I know it seems medically legit because there are so many pictures of vaginas in it, but this is BAD ADVICE.  

"Many women actually have orgasms when giving birth."
Yeah, so I'm not buying this one.  I get that every labor and delivery is different. Some women like aroma therapy--I preferred for my hospital room NOT to smell like a cheap head shop where teenagers buy bongs. Some women are meaner than snakes-- the meanest thing I told Sean during labor was "don't sing," as he tried to comfort me by crooning along with the playlist. 

When I had Millie I actually BROKE MY TAILBONE, and was so preoccupied that I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE. So, all I'm saying is that if some women get to have ORGASMS-- that's not fair, and I hope all of those women have colicky babies, or, at the least-- really out of tune xylophones. 

So, as a public service announcement, I've decided to improve on the Bradley Method's "Six needs of a laboring woman."  


The Bradley Method's List:

1. Deep, complete relaxation
2. Abdominal breathing
3. Darkness and solitude
4. Physical comfort
5. Closed eyes
6. The appearance of sleep

Katie's List:

1. Deep, warm Hot tub
2. Husband, Stop Singing 
3. Die Aroma Therapy, Die
4. Delivery Room Ban on Axe body spray
5. Open bag of Salt and Vinegar Chips 
6. Silence from woman one room over, who's painless childbirth is climaxing in a loud orgasm. 

If you're a first time mom, the Bradley Method book CAN actually be immensely helpful. However, for those of us who are doing this for a second time, I'd like to recommend Dave Barry's Book, Babies and other Hazards of Sex,  as alternate reading.  This book, which is subtitled, How to make a tiny person in just 9 months with tools you probably have around the house, will not prepare you in any way for childbirth, but it contains far fewer graphic pictures of vaginas and makes for much more pleasant reading while you are sitting on your coach, enjoying your salt and vinegar potato chips. 

I'm a secret pregnant lady.

March, 2015

 I'm pregnant.

(I KNOW!!!)  I'm so excited.  Sean is excited too-- mostly because my boobs are going to get crazy big, but also because of propagating our bloodlines, the joys of parenthood, blah blah, blah- blah....

Now SHHH.  It's a secret.  I'm a secret pregnant lady. You can't tell anyone.

It always really confuses me when I think about the taboos of announcing pregnancies in our society. For those of you out of the loop, when a woman like me gets pregnant, there is a 15% chance that I will loose the baby (have a miscarriage) in the first three months.  For this reason, many expectant parents wait until after this period to tell friends, family, and employers about their future little snot-rocket.  Now here's where the irony comes in, the first three months are when women are in the need of most sympathy.

Here are some actual symptoms, which pregnant ladies like me experience in our first trimester. I am not making these up.

Vomiting
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you have an empty stomach
Felling like you are going to vomit because you have a full stomach
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you smell axe body spray
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you smell cabbage
Feeling mad at your partner because they don't constantly nearly vomit
Insomnia
Extreme Exhaustion
Emotional mood swings
Dissatisfaction with your throw pillows
Acne
Knockers that make you look like Jessica-Rabbit
Inability to go jogging because of your Jessica-Rabbit knockers
Feeling guilty about not jogging
Inability to drink wine with your girlfriends
Inability to be honest with your girlfriends about why you won't drink wine with them.
Inability to convince your neighbor, Bill, that you stopped drinking wine because you are going on a cleanse.

Now, from looking at this list, you can see how much I am in need of pity and understanding-- especially at work, but alas, I can't tell anyone about what I'm going through, and instead am forced to let them believe that instead, I am randomly recalling an errand which requires me to leave the building each time they are reheating leftover cabbage!

Now, I'm not going to get into the complexities of why women like me choose to keep their pregnancies secret.  If you've ever made or received a phone call about the loss of a child, you have reason enough for silence, and if you're a woman who cares about her career, you know your pregnancy could affect your professional goals.

What I AM going to request, is a little consideration from all you bystanders out there.  Next time you are at the office or at a public event, have a little consideration for the secret pregnant ladies out there.

Ask yourself these questions:

Is someone who I KNOW to be fond of wine, suddenly going on a "cleanse?"
Is there a person who is clearly struggling not to vomit when sitting in a staff meeting about data reporting?
Is there a person who is physically recoiling in the presence of Axe body spray?*
Is there a person who, though normally slight of frame, is beginning to resemble Dolly Parton in a Wonderbra?
*may not indicate pregnancy, could just be any adult.

You may have a secretly pregnant lady in your midst.  In order to be inclusive, I would immediately enact these policies, which will enable your friend/college to cloak her pregnancy until the appropriate time.

1. office wide ban on all cabbage-related leftovers
2. staff happy-hours should only be at establishments with sympathetic bartenders who are willing to serve "mocktails."
3. All-office nap time is preferred. 
4.  No one talks to Bill.
5. All lunch-time jogging initiatives should be ceased immediately. 

There.  Now you are prepared to support and nurture the secret pregnant lady in your midst. I congratulate you on your support and inclusivity.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I just recalled an errand which requires me to leave the building and is in no way related to your leftover enchiladas.