Pelvic Prison...It Does Exist

     I had heard of bedrest, but "pelvic rest?"  I found out for myself two weeks ago what exactly that is when I had a minor bleeding incident *scariest incident I had faced in a long time, btw.* Apparently, this is when your pelvis should relax, take a vay-cay, sleep til 10:30 every morning, order roomservice, etc.  Oh yeah, and no sex.  No sex, no orgasms.  Notta.  In guy world, if a doctor were to tell them "no sex," it might bewilder them somewhat, yet they are still left with other means of being "happy."  If a doctor tells a woman, "no sex," we, essentially, are left with nothing.   Our significant others can't go near, and we certainly can't help ourselves out either. That's right, go ahead and take away the only fun that my pelvis has these days.  It's widening because in another four months, I get to pass a watermelon through it. It aches at night as I squirm around in bed with a configuration of pillows behind, in front, and between my legs.  It supports the growing weight of my unborn child, and doesn't even put up a fight when I can't fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.  Virtually the only thing my pelvis has to look forward to is a little love.  I really think what my doctor meant to say was that I was officially on pelvis lockdown.   He sent it and my hoo-ha both to pelvic prison.   Nice.

     Of course, I was more than willing to oblige, given that I want to do everything in my power to make sure this baby stays put and bakes long enough.  I started thinking, what exactly does this little person feel as we're goin' to town?  I have to admit, in the beginning, I found myself thinking....what if  we get a little carried away, and he pokes it's little head and causes brain damage?  *What a gift, this imagination of mine*  But seriously.  I know it's got tons of padding and protection in there, regardless, it's bound to feel a little movin' and shakin.'  My OB explained that the female orgasm is incredibly good for the baby- it increases blood flow to the uterus and as the uterus contracts, it's almost as if it's feeling "hugs."  Great.   When our kid is old enough,  we'll simply tell him/her that they were conceived in love through a hug session. (Hey, that would have been a much nicer visual for me when my parents sat me down to tell me how I got here *gag*)  

     Bottom line: the pelvis is often overlooked and under-appreciated. It doesn't really receive it's due credit until it bears the weight of a growing human.   Perhaps pelvic prison is there to remind us that we don't know how good we have it until we "can't have it" anymore.

The Belly Police

     So let's be honest.  We've all been tempted.  You know the deal- you're driving in a crowded parking lot, it's pouring down rain and 45 degrees outside (we affectionately call it "Winter" here in Richmond), and the only place to park is 32 places down.  All you want is a freakin' gallon of milk, that's it.  Ok, and maybe a cheap bottle of wine to go with dinner.  But seriously, that's it. You wanna be in and out.  And then you see it, a spot only 3 spaces away from the front....yes, YES....wait, nope- compact car.  I hate those.

But there, beside the compact car- and even closer to the store- is, in fact, an open space.  You can't believe it- it's too good to be true- and then you see it.  Not a handicapped sign- no, because you wouldn't dare pull into a handicapped space- that would be wrong on so many levels plus you don't have the little tag to hang from your rearview mirror, which means you could get busted easily.  Instead, this sign says, "For Expectant Mothers and Shoppers with Children." Cute.  You look around innocently and think, "I don't see any pregnant women...?  No toddlers or strollers in plain view...?  I'm only gonna be 5 minutes..."  We've all been there.  Some of us have even cozied right into that parking space and never given it another thought.  

And I can't really blame them.  Seriously, how exactly does this get enforced?  Does the offender get a ticket from the Preggo Police if they're caught?  If I had decided to park there (back in my non-pregger days) and someone had questioned me,  couldn't I have responded that I was only 3 months pregnant?  I mean, do they want me to whip out a pee stained First Response with 2 blaring pink lines on it for proof?   Maybe women could hang that on their rear view mirror- a sort of pregnancy license, if you will, until the proof is showing under the clothes.  Right.  Which brings me to my next point...

Jake and I were going to a certain grocery store to grab a quick dinner several weeks ago, and as I weaved the car through the crowded parking lot, I noticed THE parking space.  It was mine, I tell you.  I was about 15 weeks pregnant at the time, and I have to admit, I felt a little excited to be rightfully parking in a space that someone (a woman, no doubt) was sensitive enough to designate.  It was mid-December, cold, rainy, and I was ravenous.  As I started to pull in, my ever empathetic, supportive husband says, "You're not going to park there!"  Uh, watch me dude.  I told him, yes I was going to park there and why not??  And he says (as if he was one of the parking space designator people), "because that's for women who are big and uncomfortable."  First, let me say that I recognize there's a compliment in there.  Thank you, babe, for not putting me in the "big" category.  I appreciate it.  But having a living, growing, nausea-inducing, hormone-surging human being in your belly will start making you uncomfortable the day you pee on a stick.  It's true.  I told him I will determine when I'm uncomfortable and I'm taking this parking space.  So I did.  Perhaps, he would have had a better argument had the sign read, "For Expectant Mother's Who Are Big and Uncomfortable," (because that would go over really well at a grocery chain).  Or "For Expectant Mother's Who Are In Their Third Trimester" and underneath that "be prepared to show proper due date identification."   

     But for now, it's the honor code.  No Belly Police or ugly yellow tickets slapped onto windshields of offending parkers.  The punishment in fact, is probably just bad karma...meaning if you're not pregnant and you take a space that belongs to us preggo's, look out...much morning sickness will be upon you...  

Frogs, Spiders, and My Imagination...

"When the master is absent, frogs hop into the house."

     That's according to a Ugandan Proverb, and by the sounds of it, frogs aren't looked too highly upon in that culture.  Since I have always thought frogs were pretty cute (meaning, I want to admire them from a distance), may I just replace it with a few things I don't look too highly upon: Let's start with spiders. Like the one I found crawling in the tub this morning.  My first instinct was to yell for Jake.  I hate killing spiders for three reasons: 1) I always seems to miss (oversized shoe, dime-sized arachnid- figure that one out)  2) I believe in Karma so if I miss the 8-legged freak, I figure it's just a matter of time before it comes after me for revenge, and 3) the "popping" sound it makes when you squish it in the toilet paper.  You know what I'm talking about- it's nasty.  Almost makes me want to let them run free in my house just so I don't have to hear it and gag...  So back to the tub.  I instinctively yell for Jake.  Oh yeah, that's right.  He's not here- the master is absent this weekend.  Thus, the spiders will run free.  

      That's just one tiny example of what happens when the "master" is gone. Other things tend to run free as well.  Like my imagination.  Let me talk briefly about my paranoia at being alone this weekend: turning on every light in the house at night, looking behind closed doors and shower curtains (yes, it's true), I even made a crazy mad dash tonight from the car to my back door when I realized I had forgotten to leave the back porch light on.  Oh, I could easily blame this on the pregnancy hormones, but I think its because I've seen one too many grade B scary movies.  I think I'd rather deal with spiders.

     I have never had a problem being left alone for periods of time.  In fact, I used to quite enjoy having the random day or two to myself.  But when Jake left for Michigan on Friday night, one might have thought he was being deported to Iraq.  I sobbed and blubbered and even though I knew how pathetic I was being, the tears kept coming and I just didn't want him to go.  What if something happened to him?  What if he were in a car accident?  What if...?  There was an endless list of things in my head that could potentially go wrong.  This, I know I can blame on the hormones.  Don't get me wrong- I always miss him when he goes somewhere, but it has never before approached a level of "meltdown."   Rewind to last week, when he told me he was going to the dump to unload some things and would be back in a little while.  Two hours later, when he was not home, and I had unsuccessfully tried to reach him on his phone 4 times, there I was- sprawled out on my bed in near hysterics, my life flashing before me as the next Lifetime Original Movie: a widow, 6 months pregnant, then raising our little boy or girl who had his blue eyes and he/she *hiccup* would never know their Daddy...because *hiccup* he had been killed in a car accident on the way to the dump!!!!!  The phone rings and it's him and I can barely speak.  He immediately thinks something is wrong with me or the baby and is trying to calm me down, and all I can say is "I th-th-thought you were d-dead!!!!"  To which he says, "Don't you remember I told you I was going by the McBride's after I went to the dump??"  Oh.  Right.  Totally forgot he said that.  (Preggo brain: I'm a living, breathing example that not only is it real, it's full throttle now).  Needless to say, I've had a harder time being without him this weekend than I want to admit.  

     And it's not about the frogs, the spiders, or an overworked imagination...it's the more sober realization that nothing in this life is ever guaranteed.  The time spent apart is what shapes the time spent together, so if that's true, I believe I've earned some good snuggling time...