Psychosomatic Pains

       I've always been a bit...super-powerful when it comes to channeling emotional frustration, fear, or anxiety into actual physical pain. I don't really know why I do this. There are a few speculations I've come up with, but they're just theories that get replaced with other theories and so forth. I forget I do this when I'm experiencing the actual physical pain I've created. I'm convinced it is real every time.


       Case in point, two nights ago I had a minor cramp in my left leg that progressively got worse to the point of alarm. At first I was sure it was my sciatic nerve (the nerve which runs down the buttocks and back of legs that often is compressed by the growing uterus during pregnancy and causes pain). Of course, I looked it up...on fourteen different websites...and read accounts of those who experienced sciatic nerve pain...and put on my fake nerd glasses, got out the graph paper, and made a statistical chart.  I determined that because of the location and nature of the pain I was in, there was a mere five percent chance that what I was experiencing was related to nerve compression.

Sciatic Nerve

       Most women said pain from their sciatic nerve felt sharp, shooting, and running along their buttock down the back of their leg for a small amount of time. My pain was more constant, dull at first then intense and throbbing and it was mostly in my foot and calf. I went back to the drawing board. Ten minutes later I was all...

Odin's Raven!

       I was sure I had a blood clot. My shoddy little graph backed it up. I had all the symptoms, most of my family members die from blood clots traveling to their brains and hearts, I'd been an inactive lazy ass for the past two weeks, and the fact that I have a mini human hanging out inside me doubled my risk factors. I immediately sent Mars a text saying that I had to go to the hospital...better safe than sorry. Two minutes later I sent him another text saying I was going to have a hot shower and a short walk first to see if my condition improved. He said he'd be home soon either way. It was about 10:30. Two hours later the pain hadn't improved and my foot was beginning to go numb but I was still unsure about going to the hospital. I hate going to the hospital. It's expensive, the doctors belittle me, it's cold, the decor is not my style and it smells like robot urine. Oh, and most of the time, there's nothing seriously wrong with me enough to justify a hospital visit.

       Mars casually strolls in around the time my moral dilemma was causing me to chant little Buddhist hymns  face down into my pillow. He asks me if I'm doing better, I do the little low warning growl that doggies do, he says he guesses not. He asks if he can touch me, I arrr at him like a pirate, so he gives me a foot massage. I tell him I don't know what to do, that the pain isn't unbearable but it's extremely concerning. He tells me he's not concerned. 

EXCUSE ME?!

That it's no big deal.

WHAT???!

That it is because I am mad at him that my leg hurts. 

BO-O-O-O-OY!

That little straw that runs from one side of my mind to the other broke and I could not believe him, I was fed up, I looked at his face and imagined my fist in it for a few moments before I...calmly....explained that this was NOT about him and it was incredulous for him to believe as such. That this could possibly be a life threatening condition for both me and his unborn child and for him not to see that made me question his compassion, sense of duty, ability to father, or that he was even human. He tells me to stop worrying and takes a shower. 

I didn't go to the hospital. Walking hurt and I wanted to stay in bed and not have to talk to Mars anymore. I woke up the next morning and realized that he was right. My leg pain was completely gone. I was unwilling to admit that I was mad at him, that he had that kind of power over me. But the truth was, the first thing he said to me when he got home from work earlier that day was tactless and I didn't want to hear it, so I retorted with something he didn't want to hear and it pissed him off so he left me all alone, shirking the household duties he said he'd complete, and opted instead to spend his night drinking beers with his friends. Well, of course I was mad at him. But for it to make my leg cramp to the point where I thought I had a blood clot, well...I guess it is typical of me and I guess he had a guilty conscience and I guess he really does know me that well. 

I've got to find a better way to deal with people pissing me off.....

Why Hormones, Why?

They have proven to be my biggest complaint thus far.
They are mean, MEAN, meaaaaaan.
They make me no likey my me.
Or my he.
Or....anybody.


       This pregnancy has been relatively easy on every other front thus far. I've only experienced a handful of nausea sessions, there hasn't been any bleeding, I've not fainted, I sleep well and often, my dreams are absolutely spectacular, my abdominal pain has been only so slight, and I finally am back to pooping regularly! (sidenote: that bump in the last post was definitely poo.)


       Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. I just got a bit of heartburn and realized that my nipples do indeed feel like a maddened little sprite took a cheese grater to them in the night. I am also so very lazy....I only got out of bed to drink tea and eat cereal. I then moved to the couch, where I have been for the last couple of hours. Meanwhile, my mom is working her bum off in my garden pulling weeds and battling fire ants.


       "Hey Mom, I brought you some water."
       "Thanks."
       "Does it count that I intended to work out here with you today?"
       "Don't worry, just do what your body tells you to do. In a few months, it won't matter what your body wants....you'll wish you could store all the rest you're getting now."
       "Hm....I'll be on the couch."


       But I digress. Honestly, all the discomforts and fatigue absolutely pale in comparison to the demon hormones. I was on birth control for about 6 months once but had to quit it because it made me insane, like...well, a combination of these guys.

Whoa, Sandworms...

ARRRRAUGHHHH!!!!

       It was not something I was willing to live with. Come to find out, one of the reasons why birth control works is because it essentially tricks your body into believing it is pregnant. So fast forward six years, and here I am, BeetleBull again. Nothing escapes my wrath. No comment, disorder, misbehavior, stench, bad habit, bamboo stick, paint color speculation, gluten free cookie, speck of dirt on my toenail, tupperware, or misplaced item is safe from my irrational anger. Basically I can find something to hate about EVERYTHING, which is extremely annoying when I think of how counter-intuitive and pathetic it really is. I usually end up apologizing to anything in my distance with a mind and huddling in a little ball of shame. That is, until the next stitch of rage tears. 

       I've got to learn to calm down and not let things get to me. I want to be cool and have joy. To be productive and kind instead of an isolated ole meany head. It's truly not my real personality. I'm surprised Mars affords me as much patience as he does, granted most of it entails him avoiding me in the garage while I'm on the rampage....I guess it's better than running away though. 

       Seriously, I hear the hormonal shifts tone down after the first trimester, which will be over in 5 days (thank god!) But what if they don't? If there are any other mamas or preggos reading this, did you experience hormonal BeetleBullness? What happened? Did it calm down? What did you do? 

Week 10 Grumbles

       Currently I am ten and a half weeks along. Surprisingly, I am already starting to show.

       This could be due to the fact that previously I was a wacko size two. It could also be due to the fact that I've never been more constipated in my life and my once flat stomach is not so much emulating a baby bump from gestation, but a poop bump from non-digestion. 

       Seriously, no poo had emerged from me for 6 days when this shot was taken. I notoriously go on veggie binges and eat a slews of porridge and grains and get foodgasms from particularly juicy fruits, so I don't know WHAT to do about this. In any case, my wee baibai has a nice firm shit shield to lean against...I just wish its limbs were stronger so it would do me a favor and kick it on out. 

       I've not yet told Mars that the "baby" he so lovingly holds on to while he sleeps is in fact more likely to be my own backed up fecal matter. After all, he still likes to pretend that I fart dainty bubbles of giggle gas or something silly and prude like that. Good thing he doesn't sleep with his head under the covers. 

Pregnacite

       My close friend equated pregnancy to having a parasite.

Definition of parasite: An organism that lives in or on another organism (its host) and benefits by deriving nutrients at the host's expense.

       And the whole time we've been thinking of pregnancy as a baked good, a "bump", an archaic being to be "with."

       Nope little fetus, you're a parasite. 

       And see, even House thinks so. That makes it official. So my little fetuscite, I'm going to trick you! I'm eating this apple, but I'm not really hungry, see...so when you steal it, it won't matter. HA! 

Our Little Bundle of Crazy

Lets kick this off with the facts.

I made a baby with this man

Henceforth he shall be known as "Mars."

       His Best Traits: charming, dynamic, goofy, bright, good looking, passionate, and driven.

       His Worst Traits: obsessive, forgetful, dismissive, demeaning, suspicious, and blundering....also, has bipolar disorder.

       My Best Traits: engaging, creative, loving, compassionate, well-read, good looking, and witty.

       My Worst Traits: dramatic, emotional, irrational, lazy, disorganized, awkward, and accident prone....also, hears voices in head.

       From observing the children of my friends and family I have come to realize that best traits are sadly recessive while worst traits are dominant. Therefore, as sure as our child is to have the ability to roll their tongue, they are likely to end up like this:

Awww. Let's name it Skitzie.

       I mean, the baby will probably be good looking (as long as it isn't busy peeling it's face skin off because "there's something under there"), and it's certain to be intelligent (which it will probably use against us to prove why it's our fault that it constantly trips over the rug and gives itself multiple concussions).

       I can't wait! I'm going to love it no matter what. The more insane the better! That's how this family rolls. Now please excuse me while I have a staring contest with my cat. I have to prove to her that I'm in charge.