Today is a special day.
It is a day where everything will go my way.
Today is the day that I was born.
It's my birthday...I've got it going on.
And in honor of my birthday, I want to give you a gift.
I made you a very special keyword salad today.
What is keyword salad? It's a very special collection of some of the latest keywords that have led the internets to yours truly. And it is a truly sad display of human ignorance. And it makes me laugh. So there.
Can a girl get pregnant if a sperms lands on the vagina?
They say it's true...but sperms have been landing on this vagina since mid 2007 (because I was a virgin before that) and it never worked for me. I feel pretty confident that if sperms land on your vagina you will get pregnant though.
Can having cool balls help conceive?
Nah. 'Cause I think my husband's balls are totally cool, awesome even, but they don't work worth a damn. It doesn't matter how cool or popular your balls are, even if they were voted most likely to succeed in high school...it won't help conceive.
Cervical position 5dpt
Dude. Get your fingers out of your vag. I learned a long time ago that checking cervical position wasn't going to give me any additional information about my pregnancy possibilities. I have nearly fisted myself trying to know if my cervix was high/low/open/closed. The only thing that will tell you if you are pregnant is a pregnancy test. Go buy a few.
Do boobs get bigger when you hook up consistently?
Oh. Definitely. Everyone knows that. It's practically science. The semen goes straight to your boobs. It builds up over time. Duh.
How to enter semen in overy
Psssst. The semen isn't supposed to go in the ovary. And in case you were wondering, the penis isn't supposed to go in the bellybutton. Please go buy a book about how babies are made. And stop having sex.
Is infertility equal to wet dreams?
Hold on...let me ask my husband....
...
...
No. Infertility is nothing like having wet dreams.
What does it mean when your boyfriend touches your boobs and your butt at the same time?
If he just touches your boobs it means he misses his mother. If he just touches your butt it means he's hungry. If he touches your boobs and your butt at the same time it means he's in love with you forever and ever and wants to marry you and make babies with you.
Which one of these keywords is not like the others:
Why people should eat more salads.
Why should I eat more salad.
Why you should eat salads.
Why you should eat sperm.
Ding ding ding! You win. You got it right.
And finally.....
You can see my boobs and vaginer
...if you are in the delivery room when my baby is born.
VAGINER....it's better than a viagna even.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
So Now That I'm Famous...
Months ago I received an e-mail from a reader that went something like this..."I totally understand if you don't write me back. You probably get more e-mail than Brad Pitt..." Seriously? I'm a nurse. I blog. I have a few hundred 'followers' <--not like in a religious cult kind of way. I first wanted to snicker a bit, but then remembered that I had been there. I too had a blog crush on a writer that was totally famous. She had even been on the cover of a magazine.
I read her blog from cover to cover (well, if it were in print it would have been from cover to cover). I read it from back to front, and from front to back. In reading it I discovered that male factor infertility wasn't a freak rare condition experienced by the terminally unique. I also learned that an IVF failure sucked, but was survivable. And in time I learned that it was possible for people with freaky sperm to get pregnant via IVF/ICSI. She, for a long time, was also the only infertile turned mommy blog that I could stomach without wanting to vomit on my keyboard.
After first finding her blog I think I finally worked up the nerve to comment, and it probably went a little something like this, "I like you. I think you'll like me too. We could be BFFs. Please read my blog. You'll like it. I promise." Well, maybe it wasn't that bad.
I have since learned, having received several 'please please read my blog you'll love it' messages, that leaving a link to your blog under someone else's comment box is the equivalent of linking a Viagra ad to a year old post. It's a turn off. It's unnecessary. If I receive a comment from someone new, I always click over to see who they are. It's a given. That being said, I'm surprised she actually even reads my trashy headlines.
So. Now I'm famous. Today I have a guest post appearing on the fabulous blog "Maybe If You Just Relax". You should go read it. Because I know you want nothing more than to read about my maternity clothing adventures. And if for some freak reason you haven't discovered Jen's blog yet...be advised. You are missing out.
(Oh, and Italy hasn't declared war. My husband wrote a long letter explaining all the many reasons June was a better month to visit (citing everything from germ exposure to post-partum hormones)--and they have been accepted. International negotiations have succeeded and there will be no reason to take up arms) Thank you all for your advice.
I read her blog from cover to cover (well, if it were in print it would have been from cover to cover). I read it from back to front, and from front to back. In reading it I discovered that male factor infertility wasn't a freak rare condition experienced by the terminally unique. I also learned that an IVF failure sucked, but was survivable. And in time I learned that it was possible for people with freaky sperm to get pregnant via IVF/ICSI. She, for a long time, was also the only infertile turned mommy blog that I could stomach without wanting to vomit on my keyboard.
After first finding her blog I think I finally worked up the nerve to comment, and it probably went a little something like this, "I like you. I think you'll like me too. We could be BFFs. Please read my blog. You'll like it. I promise." Well, maybe it wasn't that bad.
I have since learned, having received several 'please please read my blog you'll love it' messages, that leaving a link to your blog under someone else's comment box is the equivalent of linking a Viagra ad to a year old post. It's a turn off. It's unnecessary. If I receive a comment from someone new, I always click over to see who they are. It's a given. That being said, I'm surprised she actually even reads my trashy headlines.
So. Now I'm famous. Today I have a guest post appearing on the fabulous blog "Maybe If You Just Relax". You should go read it. Because I know you want nothing more than to read about my maternity clothing adventures. And if for some freak reason you haven't discovered Jen's blog yet...be advised. You are missing out.
(Oh, and Italy hasn't declared war. My husband wrote a long letter explaining all the many reasons June was a better month to visit (citing everything from germ exposure to post-partum hormones)--and they have been accepted. International negotiations have succeeded and there will be no reason to take up arms) Thank you all for your advice.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Italy Declares War...On Me
Today I received an e-mail about this contest...
.
.
I am sorry, and maybe I'm being unreasonable (no, anonymous troll, I don't particularly care to hear from you if you think I am being unreasonable)but I can truly think of nothing worse than winning this contest (apart from the free baby gear and savings bond).
.A 'Welcome Home' party? Really? Maybe I have an unrealistic view of what childbirth and homecoming will be like, but I imagine at this moment the last thing I would want would be to have 10 family members recently offloaded from a germbox airplane waiting for me at home after I just got finished pushing a small human out through my vagina. I don't know, I imagine those first few days, weeks, months will be spent in a sleepy haze as I get to know what this new baby-filled life will be like for me. I am looking forward to this time...with my baby and husband and the occasional family visitor to help out here and there.
10 visitors is pushing it...to the limit.
At the moment we're having trouble deciding what to do about my husband's family. You see, they want to come from Italy. This is the first grandchild from their side of things and their joy brings a smile to my face. But they want to come and be here WHEN the baby is born in May...and his mother wants to stay, like, until Christmas. "Wow, how helpful. How wonderful." I love love love my mother-in-law, but she is almost 80 years old. And frail. And she doesn't drive. And she doesn't speak English. And she thinks she's going to help and keep the baby when I go back to work.
I am so torn between not wanting to offend and understanding that this event is almost as huge for her as it is for us...and also wanting the space that I require for my sanity. All I have asked is that she come at the end of May in order to give us (me, my husband, and the new love of our lives) a few weeks together to learn the basics and bond and have some time to adjust. I also asked that she return in August--though there were several logical reasons to suggest this (not having to deal with government paperwork, my husband can escort her home), although my reason is that I don't want to have to broach the baby-sitting issue. I will never have the heart to tell her that I am terrified to leave my baby with a frail, 75-pound, 80 year old woman.
And gosh, I'm willing to relent on the arrival time for her to be there when the baby is born, I know this is important to her. Only she doesn't want to come alone in the beginning of May, she wants to bring other family with her because she won't fly alone...and they want to stay in our itty bitty house with us...and they don't drive so my husband would have to bring them back and forth to the hospital...and they would be bored and want to do some sight-seeing. Am I so selfish to want a few weeks before more chaos ensues? Am I crazy to think guest entertainment won't be first on my mind after childbirth?
.
.
But I asked for some time alone...
.In doing so, I believe Italy has declared war on me. You'll probably be reading about it on the news soon. They have a Mother-In-Law bomb aimed at my 3 bedroom ranch.
Goodbye, world.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
How Am I?
I is good.
I have a new addiction. Despite my crack-ho frenemy's prediction that I would need to call someone crying when I couldn't find a heartbeat, I have managed to find that little ticker every single day for the last two weeks. Imagine my complete amazement and excitement that I no longer have to listen to my pubic hair to locate fetal heart tones. The uterus? It's movin' on up. That's right. At 12w4d, I can now actually listen to my belly to find my comfort.
While I used to enjoy a nightly glass of red to relax after a long or challenging day, I now snuggle up with a tube of water-based lubricant and....oh, wait, that doesn't sound right. I now snuggle up to my doppler. Hearing that little gallop is like a breath of fresh air.
Am I enjoying my pregnancy. Hell yez I'm enjoying my pregnancy. Did I vomit a few times? Hell yez I vomiked a few times. I also grinned with each vomit. I loved to vomit. I don't mean that in a bulimic freaky weight loss way. I mean that in a 'my-morning-sickness-wasn't-really-that-bad-at-all-and-it-merely-served-as-a-reassurance-to-the-pregnant-state-I'm-in' thing. I think I'm done with the vomiting. That's cool. Now I have a doppler, so it's all good.
Am I telling people? Yes. Now I'm telling. Well, truth be told I'd already told a lot of people, but now I'm telling general people. Well, other people are now telling general people...I just keep my mouth shut because it still feels strange and awkward. I met a new girl at work last week who is 6 months along and after a 30 minute conversation finally worked up the nerve to tell her I was pregnant. I felt like an impostor. I felt like a fake pregnant person trying to inch my way into the world of the preggos.
Then Tuesday, in a class at work, a co-worker shouted out "She's having a baby" for all the room to hear. I was surrounded by congratulations and felt a sudden urge to run down to the ER and grab the doppler. I was simply positive that such a public outcry of my pregnancy was the equivalent of putting a gun to my baby's head. Dare I be so bold as to accept the congratulatory mutterings of mere acquaintances? Ack! No worries. Baby was still alive at the end of the day. Apparently pregnancy announcements don't cause destruction and havoc.
Buying maternity clothes hasn't cursed things yet either. I'm in an awkward in-between stage. I'm too big for my regular clothes (my thighs are pregnant too)...and maternity clothes just look saggy and stupid. When I wear them I can see people looking at me like, 'dude, is she pregnant or just trying to cover her protuberant abdomen?'. I've decided I can wear scrubs and sweat pants for the majority of this bump-growing experience. I bought one or two 'going out in public' outfits...and we'll see where things grow from here.
Am I having a boy or a girl? Well I obviously don't know that yet. I will know in December, which is approaching quickly. I am preference-less. The heart rate is still 162 beats per minute. And I did pee into one of those gender predicting kit games that are probably a crock but are still another fun thing to pee on...and it said I was having a girl. Again. I am preference-less. I want a baby with arms and legs and a face to kiss. That is all.
Oh, and by the way, there will be no bump pictures on this blog. Maybe...maaayyyybe I'll put one up when I'm on the tail end of the third trimester. Till then, sorry. May I recommend you google.image 'baby bump' if you are craving pregnant belly photos. Nothing to see here. Nope. Nothing.
See. Nothing eventful. Just a plain old 'how am I' post...because someone asked. I am so glad there is nothing eventful here.
Hopefully there will be nothing eventful here until December.
Booorrrrring.
I have a new addiction. Despite my crack-ho frenemy's prediction that I would need to call someone crying when I couldn't find a heartbeat, I have managed to find that little ticker every single day for the last two weeks. Imagine my complete amazement and excitement that I no longer have to listen to my pubic hair to locate fetal heart tones. The uterus? It's movin' on up. That's right. At 12w4d, I can now actually listen to my belly to find my comfort.
While I used to enjoy a nightly glass of red to relax after a long or challenging day, I now snuggle up with a tube of water-based lubricant and....oh, wait, that doesn't sound right. I now snuggle up to my doppler. Hearing that little gallop is like a breath of fresh air.
Am I enjoying my pregnancy. Hell yez I'm enjoying my pregnancy. Did I vomit a few times? Hell yez I vomiked a few times. I also grinned with each vomit. I loved to vomit. I don't mean that in a bulimic freaky weight loss way. I mean that in a 'my-morning-sickness-wasn't-really-that-bad-at-all-and-it-merely-served-as-a-reassurance-to-the-pregnant-state-I'm-in' thing. I think I'm done with the vomiting. That's cool. Now I have a doppler, so it's all good.
Am I telling people? Yes. Now I'm telling. Well, truth be told I'd already told a lot of people, but now I'm telling general people. Well, other people are now telling general people...I just keep my mouth shut because it still feels strange and awkward. I met a new girl at work last week who is 6 months along and after a 30 minute conversation finally worked up the nerve to tell her I was pregnant. I felt like an impostor. I felt like a fake pregnant person trying to inch my way into the world of the preggos.
Then Tuesday, in a class at work, a co-worker shouted out "She's having a baby" for all the room to hear. I was surrounded by congratulations and felt a sudden urge to run down to the ER and grab the doppler. I was simply positive that such a public outcry of my pregnancy was the equivalent of putting a gun to my baby's head. Dare I be so bold as to accept the congratulatory mutterings of mere acquaintances? Ack! No worries. Baby was still alive at the end of the day. Apparently pregnancy announcements don't cause destruction and havoc.
Buying maternity clothes hasn't cursed things yet either. I'm in an awkward in-between stage. I'm too big for my regular clothes (my thighs are pregnant too)...and maternity clothes just look saggy and stupid. When I wear them I can see people looking at me like, 'dude, is she pregnant or just trying to cover her protuberant abdomen?'. I've decided I can wear scrubs and sweat pants for the majority of this bump-growing experience. I bought one or two 'going out in public' outfits...and we'll see where things grow from here.
Am I having a boy or a girl? Well I obviously don't know that yet. I will know in December, which is approaching quickly. I am preference-less. The heart rate is still 162 beats per minute. And I did pee into one of those gender predicting kit games that are probably a crock but are still another fun thing to pee on...and it said I was having a girl. Again. I am preference-less. I want a baby with arms and legs and a face to kiss. That is all.
Oh, and by the way, there will be no bump pictures on this blog. Maybe...maaayyyybe I'll put one up when I'm on the tail end of the third trimester. Till then, sorry. May I recommend you google.image 'baby bump' if you are craving pregnant belly photos. Nothing to see here. Nope. Nothing.
See. Nothing eventful. Just a plain old 'how am I' post...because someone asked. I am so glad there is nothing eventful here.
Hopefully there will be nothing eventful here until December.
Booorrrrring.
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