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Is it sad that I am now officially qualified to apply for a job as an NBC Olympic Commentator's job? I have literally watched every sport competition aired on DirecTV since about 8 this morning. OBSESSED. With my luck, instead of getting the prime positions like Men's Swimming, or Men's Syncronized Diving, which would allow me to use humorous jaunts like "Kristin Peebles here at the Aquatic Center in London's Olympic Park preparing for the men's 100M. We are on air, Lochte and Loaded"...Please argue with me that that is not the best line you've ever heard.

I've watched men's and women's weight lifting, archery, handball (yes. HANDBALL!), and jujitsu, just to name a few. Not only have I thought to myself "what the hell is this" a thousand times today, I am now an expert in qualifying and scoring, and know way too much about snatches with clean and jerks. Yes. I have no life. On to the reason I have the said 'no life' is I am on bedrest. YES! Unfortunately, bedrest is nowhere near as awesome as I thought it would be. Mainly because it's summer vacation and I was already on "bed rest". Now that it's official, I'm enjoying it not so much. I am on bedrest for no, not an injury, but for yes, another miscarriage. I know, I know. You probably just said "oh that's bullshit" out loud. If you didn't, well, let me assure you those were my exact words when I went to the bathroom Saturday evening and got a nice view of bright red blood after finding out a week earlier that I was about 5 weeks pregnant.

If you haven't been keeping up with this blog, see my first post! I had my first miscarriage in October. As it was considered a fluke, we have been busting balls to conceive since then. This time around, I had many of the crazy pregnant lady symptoms unlike the first go round. Intense boob pain, peeing like every 10 minutes, exhaustion, and a missed period. Mike and I were tight-lipped as we didn't want to jinx ourselves like we felt we did the first time. I even pulled the "pregnancy card" and made Mike go grocery shopping last week. Anyway, we were much more aware of what could happen instead of being blindsided like last time. So when I wiped and saw blood, I just had a moment of pure anger rather than despair. Of course I allowed myself to get really upset for about 10 minutes but it passed. Mike took me to the Johnston Willis ER where I stayed for a few hours on Saturday night not because we were unsure of what was happening, but because I wanted somebody to tell me WHY this was happening during the process. With positive pregnancy blood and urine tests but blank ultrasounds, they told me nothing. I was labeled a "threatened miscarriage". They did give me 2 Tylenols and let me watch the Olympics while we waited. At this point, we were past the grieving, past the anger, and onto the accepting stages of what was happening. Accepting for us is the "can't-be-serious, highly inappropriate, giggly stage". It basically distracts us from the sadness of the situation as it occurs.  I asked my doctor what type of pain reliever I could have and she said, "Tylenol: Extra Strength". Mike said I could be the new spokesperson for "Tylenol: Miscarriage". Bust. We have been playing out fake commercials randomly since Saturday.

So after a full day of abosolutely nothing (blood-wise) I started bleeding again today and took one of my many pregnacy tests. It was a weak negative, which means my Hcg's were dropping, hence, no babies. I should totally invent pregnancy tests that predict miscarriages. The first test I took last week said "YES", which I thought was hilarious, instead of changing colors or pink lines. My invented tests would say, "MAAAYYYYBE", "KINDA, BUT DON'T GET YOUR HOPES UP", or "EPIC FAIL". Sadly, I don't think people would find humor in these situations like we weirdos do.

This post has been short and sweet (like my most recent pregnancy...BAZINGA!) but I wanted to share the reason why I haven't posted about exercising and losing weight like my last post implied I would. We are doing really well, just a little disappointed. I'm on light rest til Friday and then hopefully I'll get back to some sort of normalcy. We do, however, intend to kick miscarriage's ass in the coming months. August-October is prime baby-making time in the Peebles' household. So don't feel sad or sympathetic for us, just pray we can COOK ONE LONGER THAN 6 WEEKS next time. Eventually we'll get one to stay for 9 months :)

I'll leave you with this thought from my last post, "Chubby Girls Can't Have Babies"...
My last visit at the GYN was June 23. Pretty sure I concieved the week after. Chubby Girls Can DEFINITELY make babies, we just have an oven default that needs to be repaired before the next one settles in. In yo face, Dr. Gospenedtic!!!!! On to the next one...

Chubby Girls Can't Have Babies

You'd think someone who likes to write as much as I do would keep up with her blog and not skip months at a time. I come from a long line of procrastinators. It's only natural. Hopefully you haven't keeled over and died anxiously awaiting my next blurb and are still willing to catch up on my latest happenings. Let's begin with the obvious: it's July now and it's suffocating to go outside. I despise sweating, period. I can deal with the sheen that develops from just walking onto my front porch. I call this "glistening". If I have sweat between my fat rolls when I sit down and I can feel it dripping down my back from just walking up the stairs to the pool, I immediately tap out and head for the nearest A/C asap. I call this "unattractive". I can't imagine being pregnant during the summer. Perhaps God knows how annoying I would be to him if I were pregnant now with all the "OH MY GOD IT'S HOT" rants so he hasn't let it happen yet...

We are leaving in the morning for our annual Myrtle Beach (partial) family vacation. I can't count on my hands how many summers I've spent at the beach. I can't remember what happened each year and who went with us, where we stayed, etc. but I can usually remember bits and pieces from every trip. Time has certainly changed things though and it's uncanny to me how it changes in just short periods of time. I remember being at the beach different summers and thinking "I start my senior year in high school in a few months" or "where will I be working when school starts in a few months" or "maybe next year I'll have my future husband here with me". Just last year, Ryann and I were walking in from the surf and this little girl, maybe 1 or 2, was playing in a small puddle with her mom. Ryann was like, "Maybe that'll be you next year". I remember, specifically, bursting out with laughter saying "BAHAHA YEAH RIGHT!" Here it is almost a year later and the thought of taking a baby to the beach isn't so foreign to me. Funny how perspectives change so quickly.

I think I started writing about my miscarriage because it is therapeutic, or at least that's what my mom thinks. It does help me sort my feelings and gives me an outlet. It also helps in the sense that I've had so many people respond to my posts and email me personally with their own stories of pregnancies, miscarriages, and other encouraging words. Mike and I are doing so well and honestly don't have that many "issues" over our mishap. One of the reasons we are so made for each other is that we find humor in EVERY situation, regardless of how morbid or depressing it can be. My school send me a dish garden when I miscarried and while it was so incredibly thoughtful, both of us busted out laughing and said, "what makes them think we'll be able to keep this plant alive?" See. So immature. Sidenote: the plant is still thriving today and I make it a point to keep it alive, even almost 9 months later!

I visited Dr. G (not because I call him a cool name but because I honestly can't remember how to spell it right now) (oh, and he's my OB-GYN) in late June. This was my 6 month post mishap appointment. Everything checked out perfectly and there is nothing physically wrong with me that would cause me not to get pregnant again. Obviously Mike isn't the problem; the swimmers can get there, but my oven just burnt out before they were cooked. Probably not the best analogy, but you get the point. I had like an hour talk with the doc before he examined me and I told him about all my period issues. Keep in mind, I love this man and trust him whole-heartedly. However, he thinks the reason my cycles are insane and possible issues with conceiving are because I have gained weight. Yes. His medical advice for me NOT getting pregnant is because I'm fat. At least, this is all my brain was processing while I was listening to him explain how the body reacts due to weight gain. He's showing me diagrams and doing a wonderful presentation about what foods and exercise I should be doing...and I have a glazed-over look on my face because I am mentally listing EVERY SINGLE FAT PERSON I KNOW THAT HAS EVER HAD A KID! What the hell, doc.

When I weighed in at his office in November, I weighed 150. When I weighed in last month, I was 170. That's 20 pounds in 8 months. For those of you who know me very personally, you know I had a hellacious school year. So, between my personal and professional life this past year, it's apparent that Number One: I survived. Number Two: I ate enough food to feed the entire population of Turkmenistan. This brings me to the newest topic I shall be blogging about...losing. freaking. 20. pounds. (at least...but shooting for 35!)

Obviously, this endeavor will not begin until AFTER I return from the beach. At said beach, I will try not to eat my current weight in steak, seafood, and ice cream. However, it is very possible that I will eat that amount but burn it off by walking to the ice cream stand every night at 11. Let's face it, I can't walk up and down the beach for exercise because I will get chub-rub between my thighs and just be Debby Downer for the rest of the trip. Now do you see what I'm up against?

Please join me in my newest adventure. I've set aside the baby crazy thoughts and now have my sights on Skinny Kristin. Because let's be honest people, it's a known fact that 5'3 chubby girls can't have babies until they lose 20 pounds. Eek!