Saturday, February 27, 2010

Put one foot in front of the other...

So it's been a few days since the big blow up with Derek's oh so darling family... And it feels amazing to not have to hear any of their voicesor see their terrible grammar, horrid spelling, and over use of exclamation points spewed onto my social networking sites. I mean, I love his mother, but she definitely showed her true colors. I'm not one to enjoy people that use passive aggression as a technique or that try to play the victim when they are told "no." I like meeting the bull at the horns, and I like people that do the same. It gets things done much quicker. Plus, if you disagree on something, two peoplle that actually address their problems rather than hiding them and being little shits about it, usually resolve things much quicker or simply agree to disagree. Whereas with a passive aggressive victim type, you may feel so frustrated with them that you are inclined to junk punch them into another universe. And then you make yourself look like an ass. And we don't want that, now do we? So it's definitely been a nice little break -- a break that will last a lifetime for some members of his family, which I personally have no problem with. Better to protect my child from horrendous people than to allow them the possibility and opportunity to whisper lies into my little girl's ears about how mommy corrupted daddy and made him her slave and tore their family apart. Yes, seriously. I wouldn't put it past them.

Moving along now. I am now 30ish weeks along in my pregnancy and I cannot wait for it to be over. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy getting first dibs on bathrooms, having people offer their seats/spot in line to me when at a restaurant or store. I enjoy the feeling I get when I feel baby kicking or how funny it feels when I feel the rhythm of her hiccups. But I am tired of the gross parts. You know... Gas, rib pain, nerve pain, vomiting, heartburn that doesn't seem to have an end, constantly changing sleep schedules, always having to pee, Braxton hicks, you know... The works. I know that once baby is here I will have to deal with poop, crying, screams, feedings, and a complete lack of a sleep schedule altogether, but at least those are things I can accept and that are, for the most part, tangible and to be expected. Not to mention I have just begun to have stretch marks... I am so not okay with this. I have gone 6+ months without them, why are they showing up now? I still have a bit of pudge that baby can use when she grows, why stretch the skin and leave the fat? Jesus.
Today I asked Derek is I could just trade stomachs with him and he could carry baby the rest of the term... And I could deal with the weigh-ins at his job. He declined, though I am not sure why. I thought it sounded like a pretty sweet deal. He said, "But you're almost done! Just ten more weeks. You'll be fine." Ugh. Ten more weeks seems like forever, though. It's funny, the longer I am pregnant, the faster it seems that time had flown by. But the closer I get to the due date, the longer it feels like it will take. Ten weeks, Chloe. Just ten more weeks. Six, if she really wants to come early.

And since we're talking about pregnancy, I am terrified of giving birth at a base, seriously. I've had a pretty good experience with my mid-wife so far, but base medical, not so much. Especially not at the ER. I know I won't be going through the ER when I go into labor, but the simple fact that "doctors" and nurses like that actually exist at this hospital freaks me out. Like... What if they somehow end up working in Labor and Delivery when I have to go through there? I don't want a some incompetent corpsman that can't seem to find an already protruding vein or a power-tripping officer with medical "training" that calls himself a doctor touching me or even talking to me. I'll be stressed out enough as it is. I don't want a bunch of corpsman walking in and out of the delivery room or the place they have me beforehand just so they can say they did their rounds or get trained. I want a professional. Not them. No one needs to see me like that, anyway. Seriously. I especially don't feel comfortable with it if I am going to be on the table/bed thing spread eagle with my cooch out for all to see. Not okay with me. Maybe I can express this to my mid-wife and the nurses on-call and mybe they'll ignore all of their military medical training and actually listen to the wishes of the screaming, hormonal pregnant woman who is about to pop out a watermelon out of a hole that shouldn't even ever be the size of a lemon in the first place. Here's to hoping.

I am extremely glad, though, that in order to get on base you have to have an I.D. Or a damn good reason to be there. And even if they get on base and have never been there before but are there to crash the time baby is at the hospital, they are not sure where to go or even how to get to the hospital. This means no unwanted visitors. I mean, I'll still be telling the hospital that I want to register as a private patient and to ask me before allowing anyone in to see me, but the fact that Pendleton is a bitch to navigate through is seriously appealing.
However, I am torn when it comes to guests once I actually leave the hospital. Who will I allow into the apartment? Who will actually listen to our requests? Who, of all the people we allow inside, will actually help out around the house rather than sitting on their asses playing 'Pass the Baby'? Who will stress us out and who won't? And how long do they expect to be able to stay versus what I am willing to stand? Who will pitch a fit when I tell them they will need to find a hotel? All this terrifies me. And just like with the guidelines Derek and I set out on the Facebook page that seemed to put his family's panties in a twist, I know people will think I am being inconsiderate for not wanting that many people around and not wanting people to stick around for too long, let alone not letting them stay at our already small one bedroom apartment overnight. I figure, I just when through a pretty big life-changing experience, not to mention a huge medical procedure, I can say what I want or don't want to allow. I figure that it is time for Derek and I to bond with our baby... We shouldn't have to worry about stepping on anyone's toes. Right?
I mean, of course I want people to see our child. I don't want to pull a Brangelina or a creepy Scientology thing by keeping my child in hiding for six months to a year... But Jesus Christ. I am simply terrified of having to go through upon having a child when it comes to having guests soon thereafter.
I have had friends that invited everyone and their dog to come visit them and the baby, and I've had friends that limited visitation to a few close relatives. In both groups, I have heard more stories about how their guests just sat around, held the baby, interrupted feedings and nap times, made messes, and expected the new mother and father to cater to them and clean up after them. This is a situation I want to avoid entirely. Basically, I need to figure out who will help Derek and I out, and who will feel entitled to sitting on their ass just to hold the baby and make more of a mess for the woman who is recovering from childbirth to clean up. Is that so wrong? I hope not. The easy part will probably be pissing off the people I don't want around to the point that they leave. The hard part, however, will be actually figuring out who will be on which part of the list.

Below this post is the link to the Lemon Clot Essay, just to make my point. :)

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