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The Birth of… (Part Two)

30 Aug

When we left Part One of Bug’s Birth Saga, the nurse was just heading out to fill an order for Pitocin to get things a-moving. The peanut gallery (aka: my mom, dad, sister and best friend) had all arrived at that point and we all waited impatiently to get transferred in to a birthing suite.

I was just chilling out, dealing with mild contractions, and trying not to punch Mr. Bee in his face while he sarcastically encouraged and supported me.

See, when Bee was born, I think Mr. Bee was in a little bit of shock. And I say this with the utmost respect and admiration for my husband, but you seriously could have replaced him with a cardboard cut-out of himself. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hardly uttered two words during the whole experience.

So this time around, I encouraged him to be a little more vocal, with the caveat (of course) that I could tell him to shut the fuck up whenever I choose to. I just didn’t think that time would come before we had even moved in to a birthing suite!

Before we could even get to our suite (or even get hooked up to that lovely Pitocin), my body decided to kick things in to high gear. Suddenly the question of whether or not these were “real” contractions went out the window. Mostly because they fucking huuuuuuuuurt.

Once we got to our birthing suite, contractions had really ramped up and thank God for Sissy, my gold medal birthing coach! It wasn’t too long before the contractions got too painful for me – I ain’t no hero, people – and I asked politely for an epidural (read: I’m pretty sure I screamed at the nurse for drugs of any kind. I mean, come on. I was in Renton, for Christ’s sake. Crack or Meth should have been readily available…).

Now, when I imagine asking for an epidural while in labor, this is what I think the response should be: “Of course, ma lady. Regular or super-sized? We will get you a fuck-ton of pain meds post haste.”

What did I get instead?

“Oh, so the anesthesiologist is in a procedure right now and then he has a C-section and then we’re up. So we’re third on the list.”

What. The. Fuck.

This is where I cried for the second time during my labor (the first was when the contractions started getting really bad and we were still in a tiny triage room). The only way to describe how I felt was if you can imagine the nurse reaching in to my body, grabbing hold of my soul, wrenching it out through my eye sockets and smashing it to smithereens while simultaneously peeing on it.

Needless to say, I was crushed. Also, I thought I was going to die. So that was really fun.

Luckily for me and my sanity, the drug doctor was able to sneak me in between procedures and I soon had a very mild epidural, which really? When I ask for an epidural, I want to be able to shove a fork in to my leg and not even blink an eye. This epidural? Barely took the edge off of the contractions. Grrr.

I probably could have asked for more drugs, but immediately after giving me the epidural, the nurse checked my cervix and guess who was totally dilated and effaced?

Are you fucking shitting me? I just went through that whole painful labor without an epidural but now I can’t tell people proudly that I did it au natural? Jesus Christ.

Even though the doctor, upon checking me, said I was a “sloppy eight”, she let me start pushing anyway because, well, I wanted to. So for the next two hours, I pushed my heart out.

Well, not literally my heart. My pee, poo and god knows what else? Yes.

Did you know that you can pee all over your doctor while in labor? Well, I can apparently. Jealous?

I even asked Sissy at one point if I had pooped (not that I really cared. I poo’d all over the place with Bee; for some reason I just wanted to know if all my bodily fluids were shooting across the room at that point!). Her response was “No, I don’t think so…” Later I found out that Arla-Shay approached Sissy and was all, “Uh, why did you lie about the pooping? She poo’d EVERYWHERE!” Sissy assures me that she hadn’t witnessed said poop at that point but Arla-Shay guarantees that the room looked like a poo-throwing monkey had a fiesta in it. Nice.

So, approximately two hours later, Bug was finally within an inch or two of the world when the doctor noticed that he was sideways.

That’s right, folks.

Not face down. Not sunny-side up.

Fucking SIDEWAYS.

Oh, and guess what else? Every contraction was also paired with Bug kicking the shit out of me. My family could actually see him kicking against my stomach from the outside.

Most painful thing I’ve ever felt.

And I don’t think it will come to a surprise you, but for some reason the doctor was surprised at the nicknames I had for Bug during labor. I think her favorites were “Jerk” and “Asshole”.

So after two hours of literally gut-wrenching pushing and the only thing born was Bug’s hair, the doctor tried reaching in and turning the baby the right way.

Um, ouch.

THEN, she tried the suction cup with a handle method to see if the kid would budge.

Double ouch.

When turning and pulling didn’t work, the doctor educated me on irony. That is, I had been going around for ages telling people that the only way that Bug’s labor and delivery could be worse than Bee’s was if I was forced to have an emergency C-section.

Well, guess what?

Stay tuned for Part Three of the Bug Birth Saga which includes freezing to death, being cut open while making porno jokes, and my weird palsy hand.

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

Blow Out

28 Jul

FYI: If you’d like to follow the “blow-by-blow” action that is my impending labor and delivery of Cletus the Fetus, you should “like” the Official Mom to Bee Facebook Fan page.

Join My Facebook Page!

Updates including, but not limited to, me cussing out anyone around me and blaming Mr. Bee for “doing this to me”.

Song title: Blow Out by Vell Rob

Doctor Doctor (Have Mercy on Me)

15 Jul

On Tuesday, the OB/GYN (otherwise known as the “baby doctor” in my house) took a gander up my va-jay-jay to check on the status of my Cervix of Doom.

I only call it the Cervix of Doom because the Cervix of Rainbows and Puppy Dogs just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

I haven’t had an “exam” by the doctor since my very first visit and I’m pretty sure that this is going to be the only one unless I want more down the line. I was excited, but not really for the appointment since (1) it takes a lot of friggin’ effort to prepare for that kind of exam, and (2) I was pretty sure I would cry if told that I’m locked up tight down there.

The preparation process for this type of appointment (aka: spread your legs and cough) is long and frightful. First of all, it takes me forever to shave my legs when I’m NOT pregnant, so add in a belly the size of Pluto and the balance of a drunken, one-legged ally cat and, as you’d imagine, it takes considerably longer.

And don’t even get me started on “the nether regions”. I mean, shit, I’m like Helen Keller trying to feel around down there. I have NO idea what it looks like anymore (I’m guessing some sort of overgrown jungle/70’s porno film) and the poor thing probably doesn’t look any better once I’m done trying to tame it. My strategy consists of just going full-throttle with the razor, hoping to hit anything shave-able. I’m sure now it’s looks like I’ve got some sort of weird patchy chemo hair “down there”.

Side Note: For those of you women who are going to suggest I get waxed down there: For shame. Like I’m not uncomfortable enough, people?! I feel no need to be subjected to that kind of pain unless there is going to be a baby out of my womb at the end of it. Kthnxbei.

By the morning of my appointment, I finally just decided that my doctor surely has seen things more fucked up than my butt-gina. If not, then she can thank me later for the story to tell her co-workers.

To thoroughly prepare for the appointment, I chugged my normal 50 gallons of liquid to only get shy bladder and squeeze out a few drops for their precious test (which sometimes just feels like a psychological test for pregnant woman: What won’t a pregnant woman do for her doctor? I guess preparing her vagina for surgery just to pee in a cup isn’t on that list…).

Due to my history of butt issues, I even skipped the morning coffee in fear of getting, for lack of a better phrase, the shits. You see, this week I not only got the va-jay-jay check, but also got the “Strep B swab”. Which is the doctor’s butt-friendly way of saying, “I’m going to shove a Q-tip up your ass now.”

And let me tell you, she wasn’t lying. I think I felt that Q-tip in my throat, she went so far in my bum hole.

Luckily the lack of coffee didn’t interfere with the swabbing. My nervous farting, however, had me convinced that the minute I put my feet in to the stirrups, I was going to fart directly in my doctor’s face.

I swear you have never seen a woman, or anyone for that matter, squeeze their ass cheeks together so tight while spreading their legs where the sun don’t shine. It took some finesse, ladies and gentlemen. But in the end (rim shot! [another rim shot for saying RIM shot!]), my doctor got to see up my vag and swab out my butt in peace.

You know, as much peace as one can have staring at my butt-gina.

The rest of the appointment, post poke and swab, made up for the intestinal issues. First of all, the doc told me that even though second-borns are usually bigger than their older siblings AND boys are usually bigger than girls, she predicts that Cletus will be about 8 pounds if I go full term. Since Bee was 7 pounds, 14 ounces, at least I feel like I can handle that again. You know, if by “handle” I mean “let my body be ripped in two by another human being in the not fun kind of way.”

Also, I’m already 1 meter dilated!! Or maybe 1 centimeter. I didn’t really pay that much attention. All I know is that my cervix is no longer being all closed off and distant. While I know I could stay 1 cm dilated for weeks, I’m hoping that walking my ass off, jumping on trampolines and shoving whatever I can find that is 10 cm up my hooey will get the process going soon.

Okay, I’m not really going to do any of that. Mostly because I’m lazy and not very ambitious. Not because it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Duh.

Song title: Doctor Doctor (Have Mercy on Me) by Ray Stevens


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