Amazon HATES Me

I figured I'd post this instead of blowing up everyone's FB newsfeed. Let's just say it's a MIRACLE I've even gotten published...because I have proven to God and everybody at Amazon that I don't know what I'm doing. I was over-the-moon excited to see my own Amazon page the other day that I made an author FB page and posted allllll sorts of stuff for my readers to do, then come to find out, I don't even know how to do half the stuff I told y'all to go do. LAWD.

Here's the info you need in a nutshell:

**You can only purchase my blog through Amazon at this time ONLY! ONLY! ONLY! if you have an actual Kindle.

**Even if you have the Kindle App on your phone (like I previously said you could do, putting foot in mouth now) you will NOT be able to buy it. Kindle Publishing doesn't offer a format needed to post blog articles. Which is INSANE, but what do I know? (Apparently, NOTHING.)

**For the many of you wanting to leave reviews, first of all, THANK YOU! Second of all, you can't leave one unless you purchase a subscription first...and remember, you can only buy if you have the actual Kindle device.

**Remember! You can always read my blog for free at www.thekristinconnection.blogspot.com and support me by "liking" by author page.

**I'm so sorry for any confusion I've caused. I obviously was so anxious to blurt out the word 'publish' that I didn't investigate for my people first.

I hope this clears things up for all of you who've sent texts and emailed me about wanting to buy/review. I'm so grateful for ALL of my readers and I'm so appreciative of the Amazon people I've talked to since Friday. Let's just say, a few days ago they had no idea Kristin Tanner Peebles existed...they are QUITE aware of who I am now, bless their hearts.

Road Trip, Episode One

Since I'm possibly taking part in an impromptu road trip at the end of the week, it's ridiculously hard for me to NOT reminisce on all road trips I've taken with the same group of people. Before I get into the actual story, I need to give a little background info so it's easier for you to follow along. My grandparents, Gregory Dean and Carol, or "GD" and "Kurl", aka Mammaw, aka "Mama Carol", aka "Mayor Watson" had three daughters.

 

Oh, you're wondering about the "mayor" in "Mayor Watson"? Yes, she's been the mayor of Victoria (my itty-bitty hometown) for 14 years. Is it an honorable or prestigious role? No. Do I tell people she's the mayor as my claim to fame? Yes. It's been a conversation starter for me for 14 years. "Oh, your Dad's the President of the United States? Well my GRANDMA is the mayor of a town! HOLLA." Does this embarrass her? Probably. Am I concerned about said embarrassment? No. Is she badass? Totally.

 

Moving on. Two of the daughters are twins. One of the twins is my mom. All 3 daughters had daughters first, then sons.  There have been many, many, many road trips (or Griswold-type adventures) when just Kurl, her daughters, and their daughters go off somewhere together for whatever reasons. This particular road trip, and probably the most memorable, took place in 2006 (I think) and included Kurl, my mom, my aunt Lynn, Ryann (who you should know by now if you've read other posts by me--if not, she's Lynn's daughter and my first cousin/BFF) and me. We were heading to Myrtle Beach for a long weekend in November. When we road trip, it's usually me driving, with my navigator (Ryann) sittin' shotgun, yelling at me where to go, turn, stop, etc. We never go to Myrtle Beach the same way twice, so all we knew about how to get there was to make it to the "Battleship" in Wilmington. (This was pre-Garmin, by the way). **Also, I must explain that as offspring of the Watsons, it's our natural behavioral adaptation to speak as loudly as possible in a group of people. AND! for the women in particularly, we have to "out-talk" each other which may involve increasing volume and dramatics while speaking all at one time. Now imagine all of that taking place in one vehicle with 5 Watson females.**

 

After being on the road for a few hours, a few missed turns, and a whole lotta hollerin' later, we knew we had to be close to the Battleship. If you go to MB this way, you know what the top of the ship looks like. It has a bunch of wires and poles and crap that I have no idea what for. As we all said, "we've got to be close!" multiple times, over and over, and still no sign of the thing, Mammaw starts randomly shouting out, "THERE IT IS!" whenever she saw the top of a cell phone tower hovering above the trees. Because this resulted in repeated eruptions of laughter inside the car, we were basically done before we even saw the damn ship. (For Christmas that year, I took a picture of a random cell phone tower and had it framed and captioned "Battleship at Wilmington" for Mammaw. (She was not amused.)

 

Once we finally reached the beach, checked in, yada yada yada, we were all standing on our 17th floor balcony gazing down at the beach. Driving for hours in a vehicle with the 5 of us is exhausting and stressful; thus we appreciated the calmness the breeze, sunset, and waves the beach provided. The next few seconds kinda went like this...

 

(The five of us standing side by side at the railing on the balcony, 17 floors up, mind you)

 

Lynn: What is that, in the weeds, near that blue trashcan?

 

Me: Yeah, I see it. What the heck...?

 

(All 5 at the same time)

 

Ryann: I think it's a...

 

Me: OH MY GOD

 

Lynn: Pretty sure it's a...

 

Kurl: What?! What is it! I don't see anything!

 

Lynette: IS THAT A MAN LAYING IN THE WEEDS?!

 

Me: YES! Is it moving?

 

Lynn: I don't think it's moving!!!

Ryann: Oh he's dead!

 

Annnnnd imagine about 5 more minutes of that, the 5 of us squinting down at the weedy part of the sand dunes where what appears to be a man laying down, hunched up, face first, into the sand. We were all watching silently and perfectly still to see if homeboy moved or not. After realizing that we were in fact seeing what we were seeing, we starting moving about, all aflutter, talking at the same time (surprise, surprise), about what we should do. The logical thing, looking back, would have been to call down to the front desk to let them know what we were looking at. But you see, you're dealing with the 5 of us. I mentioned before that Kurl was a badass. I neglected to mention that because we are all directly (and indirectly) the fruit of her loins, we too have the 'badass' gene. Naturally, we did the only thing badasses in this mysterious situation would do. We channeled Benson & Stabler (via Law & Order, SVU) and headed down to investigate. All 5 of us. Mama, Lynn, Ryann, me, and Kurl ('Mayor Watson' if you're nasty.).

 

Please stay tuned for Road Trip, Episode Two coming soon.

 

I'm a Professional

I just got out of the shower from a post-walk. As much as it pains me to admit, I have accepted that I am not going to be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want without doing something to balance out the horrendous calories. I tried the kale diet. That went to kale. I did bootcamp--which WORKS, but I'm restricted to only "light" exercises from my doctors. We don't want to shake up anything that could be potentially growing down under. Basically, that leaves walking or doing nothing but watching my belly grow; not from a baby, but from Pepsi, sweet tea, and anything that has the last name 'Lay', first name 'Frito'.

 

I've been walking quite a bit since I got back from the beach the last week in June. Considering I always gain like 5 pounds while on vaca, I military dieted and walked like a crazy person the first week we got back. I felt like I had lost 15 pounds. Then I started my period. The scale only showed a 2 pound loss. Bitch. Since then, I've moderated what I've been eating and I've been walking everyday for an hour. I finally got courageous yesterday and looked. I'm down another 5 pounds. Too bad I leave for the beach again in 2 more weeks. It's a vicious cycle, I know.

 

Although I'm the biggest whiner and complainer when it comes to exercising, I'm a professional walker. I grew up in Victoria on Main Street that has a sidewalk parallel to it from one end to the other. All during high school and even for a few years after, Ryann and I would walk every night, weather permitting. If you left my house on Third Street, went to Central, turned back around and headed to Wright's, it would be like 4 miles. No wonder I was a size 10 and looked fabulous from the years 2001-2005. (Sidenote: I didn't realize this until I look at pictures from the years 2001-2005. I'm sure I thought I was 'fat' then too. Hey, I'm a girl. It's what we do.)

 

Since I've been walking lately by myself, I've had plenty of trips down memory lane. I also can't help but compare "going walking" now to "going walking" then.

 

This is the Evolution of a Professional Walker.

 

THEN: Ryann and I could carry on a conversation the entire walk, thus enabling us to talk crap about every person that passed us. Which was pretty much the entire population, considering we walked Main Street in VICTORIA.

 

NOW: I can barely listen to myself inside my head because the deafening noise from my heavy breathing echoes against the speakers in my ears.

 

THEN: We'd walk in short booty shorts and tanks.

 

NOW: I walk in too-big-for-me tshirts that cover me up and yoga pants/capris that prevent Chub Rub. Chub Rub is a serious medical condition that causes severe soreness, itching, and lack of important baby-making efforts.

 

THEN: It never failed. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME we walked, we'd get hollered at suggestively from sketchy black guys at Little Bee. Sketchy white guys riding by in sketchy Honda Civics with hubcaps missing. And let's not forgot sketchy rednecks that passed us at least 5 times a night and always hollered something mildly inappropriate.

 

NOW: All sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and rednecks look at me with concern, probably thinking, "Is that girl gonna pass out?" or "Why is she so red?"

 

THEN: We knew basically every person that passed us. We waved at practically every car that passed.

 

NOW: I live in a fairly middle class area but walk where the rich people live. Every car that passes me is a BMW, Mercedes, or is owned by a doctor. Plus, I'm pretty sure if you combined my age with Mike's age, we'd still be under the average age demographic for our area. These people are either too snobby to wave at me or are too old to even see me.

 

THEN: One of us would say, "Do you wanna keep going?" Then the other would say, "Sure, I'm good."

 

NOW: (to myself) "OMFG. Let me make it to the next mailbox. I'm good. Huff. Huff. OMG. What time is it? This is crazy. Huff. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! Is that a car behind me? Gasp. Huff. Huff. Let me suck in so I don't look that terrible in these spandex. (*sucks in*) Huff. Huff. DON'T SUCK IN! DON'T. SUCK. IN! Can barely breathe anyway, much less holding my breathe til the car passes. Huff. Huff. Huff. Okay. Next mailbox. What time is it now? Is that a rain cloud? I need to head back. I don't need frizzy hair on top of this already hot-mess. Huff. Huff. I can't breathe. Huff. Doc...tors say...you real..ly on..ly need..... 30 minutes...of...ex..er...cise a day...anyway. It's...been like...40. Can stop...at...any..time..now. Huff. Huff. Just make it to the next mailbox!

 

As you can see, many things have changed from walking when I was 17 to walking when I'm 27. At least I'm doing it, I guess. In addition to being a Professional Walker, I've also accredited myself with other Professional titles this summer.

 

Professional Paler: When at the beach, I'm a full on Professional Tanner. (I mean Christ on a cracker, that's even my middle name!) However, these cloudy days have been BS. I can literally see the color absorbing into my skin on a daily basis. IT'S JULY! Where is the SUN!?

 

Professional Hair Grower: I've always had pretty fast-growing hair. Not just on my head, but on legs and underarms as well. Since taking additional folic acid, I've discovered the hair on said places grows like freaking weeds. I shaved last night at 5:30pm. When I got in bed at 11:30pm, I already had stubble. Coming from a girl who only shaves her legs like twice a month in the winter, shaving twice a day is becoming a real drag. I'm often concerned that while walking, sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and sketchy rednecks are staring at me with concern because they think I'm wearing boots with the fur...yet it's just my crazy hairy legs sprouting over my Nike's.

 

Professional Reader: Okay, I'm ashamed. I started working on a book several months ago. I'm up to 20,000 words (YAY!) but I need like 90,000 to publish. In the past 3 days, I've read 4 books. Yes, yes. Admitting the problem is always the first step. While my book is good...and I mean GOOD! I keep comparing it to what my favorite books are and I'm psyching myself out. I've also found myself editing my favorite author's books which is a cool learning process for me and it helps me work out the snags I've found in my own story. When I reach 50,000, I have a small group of test-readers that I'm sending it to  to make sure its something people would actually buy. Hopefully, that'll be before the first of August. Which leads me to...

 

UNprofessional Writer: I have so many things in my head that I want to blog about but it literally takes me over an hour to bust out a post. I'm very critical of myself (HA! Bet you didn't know that, loyal blogger-followers!) so I'm constantly reading and rereading what I write before I click "publish". I get asked all the time about posting on a regular basis, like daily or weekly. I'd love to be able to do that, but let's be honest. I'm a total lazy ass. "99 chores but I ain't did one" kinda lazy. Also, I feel guilty for not writing where I SHOULD be writing. AND I feel guilty for not giving my other jobs as Professional Reader and Professional Tanner/Paler my undivided attention on these long summer days.

 

But like all true professionals I know, we eventually get the job done. It may kill me, but at least I'll be a richer, skinnier, and hairier Kristin who will probably be pushing a honkin' stroller on my walking route with a kid I can't talk to because I'll be out of breath. Also, because I know you still have your lips turned up in disgust--I shave *maybe* twice a week in the winter. I exaggerate for dramatic purposes if you didn't already know that.

 

 

 

Fifty Shades of Cray!

I should've titled this post basically the one word that personifies the morning I had today: EW. I just re-read my last post and I saw where I called the uterus-dye-test "uber awesome". Obviously, I had not done my homework.

 

We left home this morning at 5:50 in order to make it to Johnston-Willis by 7:30. It should be against the dang law for a TEACHER on SUMMER BREAK to have to wake up BEFORE 10:00. The person who scheduled my appointment should be buried under the jail for waking me up at 5:15 for no reason other than to shove my cookie into a man's face for the first time, for medical purposes, of course.

 

If I wasn't postive before, I was reassured today that I am emtionally invested with Dr. Edelstein.

 

**Side note: My new phrase of the week is "emotionally invested". Definition: to develop feelings (not necessarily romantic ones) for a person, place, thing, or idea. Used in a sentence: "As a teenager, I was emotionally invested in Justin Timeberlake. I cried when I heard he dated Britney Spears. CRIED." Used in another sentence: "Before I see Florida-Georgia Line in concert, I feel like I should be emtionally invested in the group". Used one more time in a sentence: "Now that I've seen pictures of Florida-Georgia Line, I am emotionally invested".**

 

Back to Dr. Edelstein. I love him. More than I love Dr. Gospodnetic. He also has insanely white teeth that are perfectly symmetrical. Those who know me know that teeth are a deal-breaker. He may have studied my file five minutes before I walked in, but he made me feel like he remembered everything about me. He walked me through E-VER-Y step of the procedure and now I feel like I should do the same for you. And don't even act like you aren't curious--you were emotionally invested when you opened this post and saw I mentioned "fifty shades" and "crazy" in the same sentence. You just didn't know I was referring to the procedure.

 

So, here I am in 2 hospital gowns. One on like a night gown, the other on like a robe so nothing "popped" out at an inappropriate time. I go in this large, open room that has what looks like a mammouth-sized baking mixer sitting in the middle of the floor. Instead of where the bowl would go, there is a table. With NO stirrups. I'm laying flat on the table and he tells me to sit my legs up like I'm about to do a sit-up. In my mind I'm all like, "what's that?" Then I have to scoot myself to the very end of the table and scrunch my torso until my bent legs have no option but to open the doors to the show--if ya know what I'm sayin'. Then he says, "Okay, I'm going to stretch you a little bit and then I'll sterilze the area. Once I do that, I'm going to give you a numbing shot and you'll feel a little pinch. Once I squirt the dye in, you'll start cramping but remember to breathe and it'll be over in less than 20 seconds."

 

All I heard from those few sentences was "stretch", "shot", and "cramping". Um, what? Who. The. Hell. signed me up for that? 

 

Ladies, I won't get into graphics but I will give you some tidbits that come from direct experience from yours truly.

 

1. Never EVER let a man get a needle that close to THAT area, no matter how wonderful his teeth are.

 

2. Never trust when a MAN tells you "okay, you'll feel a little pressure". Bu!!$3!*t. He can't be the judge of what constitutes as "a little" anything. Pressure is pressure and NO measure of it is good. Or little.

 

3. 20 seconds is actually measureable to 3 hours and 45 minutes and 56 seconds.

 

4. When looking at an ultrasound screen, it's OKAY to ask them what you are looking at. While I'm looking at the screen and analyzing what I'm seeing, turns out, what I thought was my uterus was the instrument the doc was using to move stuff around.

 

5. If you've never been pregnant and had your water break, I imagine after having THIS procedure, you'll know what to expect when that time comes. The dye is RED. The table I was on looked like somebody had been shot. And now I'm officially done with grossing you out.

 

After all was said and done, everything was normal! This was my last test. All my bloodwork came back fine with the exception of a blood mutation that showed up. It's called the MTHFR gene mutation. I can't make this stuff up. You know what those letters looked like to Mike...Anyway, basically the cause of this mutation is a folic acid deficiency or something like that (when I googled it, I couldn't even begin to understand it so I say it like this and hope that I sound like I know what I'm talking about). I now take my prenatal vitamin, an additional folic acid supplement, a baby aspirin, and an antibiotic daily. I even have one of those old-lady pill caddies that all pills go in. We call it the "Baby Cocktail".

 

We have a deadline. If I'm not pregnant by September, then we go back to look into what's next. With the rest of the summer, two beach trips, and several strawberritas in my future, I'm thinking we'll get lucky. At least, I know Mike will ;)

Here's a little uterus humor for you. 

The reason we get cramps every month...
 

 

 

Feeding the Cullens

Okay y'all. I've had 3 boys tell me they made it into 2 paragraphs of my blog and had to stop reading. I politely tried to warn you in my last post that while I'm an equal opportunity blogger, some of the population isn't going to stomach reading my posts. 'Some of the population' meaning: all males in general. This is my official disclaimer: Please don't read any further if reading the words "period" or "uterus" makes you giggle or queasy.

 

Yesterday was our first visit to a fertility specialist. One of the coolest things I learned was they are going to do a test the next time I get my period in which they dye my uterus neon-blue to see if it's working properly. Sorry I threw that out there...but I wanted to make sure my stubborn readers who disregarded my disclaimer were paying attention. With that being said, I'll give you a second to close out the screen.

 

For you braver souls who can handle my female parts lingo, I'll continue. Mike & I had no idea what to expect from this visit. When you hear "fertility", we think of people who are having issues becoming pregnant. Since that isn't our case, we weren't sure what the deal would be. Let me just say this: if you love to people watch, ditch the malls and Wal-Mart and hit up your local fertility clinic. Those who know us KNOW that Team Peebles can't do anything seriously. We are sitting in the waiting room and the only other couple there is an older black couple. And by older I mean like early 50s. Obviously, I'm no genius. However, it doesn't take one to realize that hey, if you're approaching menopause, it may be the reason you can't get pregnant. If you can't get off the sofa in the waiting room without the help of a cane, you may be too old to get pregnant. What do I know, though. Abraham and Sarah had a kid when she was like 90. There may still be hope. (Um, was her name Sarah? Probably shouldn't be spitting out Jesus references until I verify.) Every person who walked through the door while we were waiting we...snickered like little kids. (Which could be the reason why we don't have one yet.) Not because we were making fun of them, because we totally weren't. We were just making up funny, fake scenarios for why they were visiting a fertility office. We especially had a field day for a sort of bum- looking guy who brought in a mini-cooler...like the ones the fat kids take on field trips...I mean, there's only so many things one could bring in a COOLER. To a FERTILITY specialist.

 

Anyway, I really like our doctor, who is very mild-mannered and sympathetic, extremely knowledgeable and accomplished, and also Jewish, which is super cool because I've never met an official one before. (Other than Seth Meyers from SNL Weekend Update and the most famous Jew of all, Jerry Seinfeld.) He basically got a sheet of white paper and listed all the possible medically known causes for miscarriages. There are 10. I won't bore you with them all. Bless his heart, he was trying to "dumb it down" for us, yet he didn't know he was dealing with the Google Master of "recurrent miscarriage" searches. I was totally impressed with myself because I had read about all the things he listed! Not to toot my own horn or anything. Toot toot.

 

All of the reasons could be tested by blood with the exception of one. That's the uber awesome procedure where he's going to light up my uterus with glow-in-the-dark dye to check for working parts. He showed me pictures of this. When I first sat down at his desk, I thought to myself, "why does he have children's books in that basket?" Then half-way through his chat he whipped out the 'children's books' and opened them up to the diagram section--of vaginas and glow-in-the-dark uteruses. (or is it 'uterii'??) Side note: Really?! Girl parts look like bulls. What sick joker was in charge of choosing the University of Texas' mascot? The Longhorn was all I could see while trying to keep a straight face during this sweet, Jewish man's presenation of glow-stick cookahs. See the image below for reference.

 

In a nut shell, this is an analogy of my situation...

 

Think of high school. There is always that nerdy, crazy smart person who is almost on another level of intelligence. He's a big fish in a little pond. Then he goes to a highly acclaimed college where there are hundreds of crazy smart people just like him. Now he's the small fish in a big pond. This is how I am now...at my ob-gyn's office (high school), I was "special" because of my MCs. Now, I'm at a "college" where everybody is pretty much like me. My new doctor thinks that even with 3, there's probably not anything wrong with me and that they happened by chance. He even classified my first 2 as "chemical pregnancies" because they ended so quickly into the pregnancy. My third is actually a "miscarriage" because we easily identified the pregnancy on an ultrasound. He said 1 out of every 3 women experience miscarriages at some point and they just don't realize it. Think about every late period you've had. It could've been stress causing the delay or it could've been a pregnancy. I'm just a lucky person because I'm able to tell when my body is late and can therefore take a test to detect the pregnancy.

 

They sent me to Labcorp for bloodwork with an order of 9 tests! They took 7 (yes, SE-VEN) tubes of blood. I convinced myself the lady taking it was feeding a family of nice vampires so I felt like I was doing my good deed for the day. The tests should either detect or rule out lupus, diabetes, chromosome issues, abnormal thyroid, infection, etc. Mike did bloodwork as well to check for chromosome problems, yet that is a ridiculously slim chance of being the problem, according to Adam Sandler's jewish uncle, my doctor. We have the all-clear to keep trying as much as we want, unprotected. We're shooting for pregnancy by the end of summer, so cross your fingers, toes, arms, elbows, legs, ankles, and eyes for us. Team Peebles is staying positive, encouraged, and most definitely, staying BUSY ;)

We're taking a test...

I'd like to start tonight's post by reminding my readers that I'm a girl...therefore, most things I post are girly and may not be suitable for boys' eyes. You've been warned.

 

As a follow-up, I'd like to report the the Jergen's Express lotion did NOT in fact turn me tangerine. I put it on consecutively for 3 days, then skipped a day and resumed. My arms and legs are actually a decent color considering I don't think I've seen the sun in fifty-leven days. I wish I'd have taken before/after pictures so I could share, but you'll just have to take my word for it. I'd show you my midsection in comparison to my limbs but I'll spare you the nauseum.

 

Speaking of nauseum, I'm trying very hard not to be 'hyper-aware Kristin' this week. For the past 5 months, I've been able to track my period and temperatures like clockwork. Since the latest miscarriage last month and considering I bled for like 2 weeks (which is a total exaggeration but hey, who's counting?) I have no idea when I'm supposed to start. If I count days since the first day of my last period, it should be anytime now. Usually, I dread my period like the plague because I know that in addition to the physical pain, it's also just a representation of another month gone by that I'm not pregnant. This time, yes, I admit, I'm actually looking forward to it. I know I spoke major crap about it and call me a giant hypocrit...but I totally miss my reliable relationship with my basal thermometer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I stopped taking my temps when I found out I was pregnant last month so I have to wait until the first day of my period to start again for it to be accurate. Even though I'm a total expert at reading mucus (now THAT is just sad, seeing that in print) and knew when I was ovulating each month, I like the dependability of checking my temperature and logging it into my trusty app on a daily basis. Call me psycho, but it made me feel like I was accomplishing something or working towards a goal. I mean, let's face facts. I started the thermometer in January and was pregnant at the end of March. Don't forget that we get the "BADASS" award for GETTING pregnant. As I posted last week, I am doing a stellar job at NOT thinking about pregnancy/miscarriages/babies/etc. I'm even handling the fact that I've gotten invited to not one, not two, but FOUR. FOUR! baby showers in the month of May. The baby-making water around here is as rare as peach-cobbler moonshine for me, apparently. Our appointment is still for Monday after next and people have been asking me "what will they do?" Here is my answer: I have no idea. It's the first time I've been to a fertility doc so I'm assuming it'll be questions and questions and more questions. If anything, they'll take my blood. It's all just a "hurry up and wait" sitch. Story of my life!

 

This morning during class, one of my students came to me and whispered in my ear, "Mrs. Peebles-I gotta go. I started my period". I gave her a hug and sent her on her merry way to the nurse. I wanted to cry for her. I checked on her a little while later and the nurse told me that she was the 5th child to come to her this morning with the same issue! All 5 started their periods for the first time today. Please take a moment of silence at this moment to pray for them. Dear God, bless their hearts, ovaries, and uteruses. May they not have the shit-show my girly bits have turned out to be in their menstrual futures!

 

Keep in mind that I teach 10 year-olds. The other 4 students were in 4th grade!!!!!!! Holy hormones. I started my glorious womanhood at the end of the 6th grade, so I was twelvish. As did most of my girlfriends, I think. I remember it was a Friday and I had a friend come home with me for a sleepover. We were at my Mammaw's house (she had a daycare there) so we were playing/watching the kids in her backyard. I had to go to the little girls' room so I slipped into the kids' bathroom. I wiped...and I went, "Ew. Ahh?? EWAUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". I had basically the same reaction to sex for the first time. Lisa (my friend) already had hers so she was basically like, "MAN UP! DEAL WITH IT". Then the cramps started and it was a total raging bitch every month until the precious words "ortho-tri-cyclen" came into my vocabulary four years later...

 

I was 16. April 22, 2002 was when I turned in my V-card. I recently had that anniversary and I shared that fact with Mike who at this point, just accepts the crazy that I am. I had the same partner until I was 20. (If only he had kept the same partner during that time!!!!!! Bust.) I had picked out my wedding colors and I also had my children's names picked out. Don't judge me for my loss-of-virginity-age. I feel very strongly that it all depends on the situation, the people involved, and who you have to talk to about it. Luckily for me, I have a mama that I can talk to and who will tell me straight-up how something is. I am a responsible person and I knew that hey, boys don't get pregnant: girls do. If something like that happened, it was totally on me. I knew and understood the consequences. Unfortunately, nowadays so many young girls don't realize that and end up getting pregnant (and inadvertently making me miserable by doing so).

 

I was a religious pill-popper back then and would freak the flip out if I was even a day late. I prayed til my knees hurt that I wasn't pregnant. One time, I even confused my PMS symptoms with pregnancy and took a test in the faculty bathroom at SVCC in Keysville. When only one pink line showed up, I cried tears of joy. CRI-ED. Especially since I had found out the week before that my long-time boyfriend of 4 years had only been dating me for 1. It has been eleven years since then and it is insanely amazing how much of a U-turn my thoughts have taken towards that subject. My knees are hurting now from praying for the complete opposite of my prayer that day in the SVCC bathroom. If it worked for me then, I'm pretty positive it will work for me now.

 

I've shared with you before that since I've been blogging, I've had so many people (strangers, old friends, new friends, etc.) share with me their similar stories or stories of people they know that have gone through the same thing I'm going through (and they ended with success!). These stories and experiences keep me going! I'd like to think we are in a cool new club or sisterhood or something. I'm on Pinterest and my favorite thing to do on it is pin quotes. The following are for all the women who have shared their stories with me! Thank you for reading. Thank you for praying. Thank you for supporting!

 

 

 

 

Willy Wonka and the Express Tanning Factory

We are coming up on one month now since we found out we were pregnant for the third time! It is utterly amazing to me that four weeks ago tonight, every single thought that was in my brain was about pregnancy, being pregnant, possibly losing it, having the perfect excuse for being fat, etc. For three and a half weeks, I could literally NOT go five minutes without having the P word in my mind (and by "P" I mean the letter, not "pee", even though I was doing that every five minutes, too). I'm assuming that all pregnant women must feel that way the entire nine months. Technically, counting all three pregnancies, I've been pregnant for almost 4 months...HOLLA. Anyway, yes, this time was particually devasting, moreso than the other two, yet I have a totally different approach to it this time around: I'm doing everything in my power to NOT think about it. I find that when I do, I get a little teary and that's just not acceptable because God knows girls are super ugly with streaky, mascara tracks on their faces. I, for one, am a completely hideous crier. Big, red splotches on my cheeks. Puffy marshmallow
eyes that make my already-Chinese eyes even squintier. Ugh. So I find it best to avoid the situation entirely. I'm even dreading our fertility appointment because I'm still in the mindset that I'm in the "other fifty" percent of women who will never find out what the problem is. Okay, I must apologize. Apparently, I'm guessing--because I'm not really sure--because I'm avoiding any and all things involving "pregnancy" or "periods"--that I'm pre-menstrual which means 3 things:

 

1. I'm super whiny/bitchy.

2. I'm feeling like I weigh 458 pounds because nothing looks right on me except a 10-year-old white v-neck t-shirt that I stole from Daddy and my fat yoga pants that wouldn't know what yoga or excercise was if it hit them in the face.

3. I'm eating what.ever.I.freaking.want.

 

Moving on! I'm feeling particularly reminiscent tonight, hence the reason for this post! I have to go to a wedding Saturday night. The groom could be named as my true male BFF from literally pre-K. You all know from my previous post, Big Ben, Parliament, that my childhood, high school, and mostly college career consisted of a clique that included me and five guys that I had been tight with since the beginning of time--plus a permanent girlfriend of one of the guys. Said clique has since somewhat drifted apart, yet when we all get together, it seems like only a few days have separated us instead of years. Like I said, the groom is getting hitched which means the clique will be reunited!! I'm strangely nervous about this reunion, for several reasons. One of them is how I don't look much like my smoking hot seventeen year old self anymore. Not that I was smoking hot, because even then I thought I was chubby, but still. Ten years changes girls much moreso than it changes guys. Those bastards. All of us were platonic (most of the time) yet I felt like I was attractive enough to hang with them and know they if a random person asked them if they thought I was attractive, they said "yes". Or at least an "uh huh".  If you watched "That 70's Show", that is a prime example of our relationships. I was Donna--the relatively attractive girl who hung out with guys in a strictly-friendly manner--yet we could all openly joke about each of us being "hot".

In preparation for Saturday, several things had to be taken care of. While completing these errands, I went back in time and compared what I would have done ten years ago in preparation for an even such as this--which was basically our prom. Here are my thoughts:

*TAN.
-THEN: I would've been laying in a tanning bed everyday since February and been super, ridiculously dark by now. Think...Kim Kardashian.
-NOW: I just got back from Wal-mart from purchasing $3.00 Jergens Express "Natural Glow" lotion that's supposed to make me look tan in 2 days. I have no extra money to spend on a tanning package and even if I did, who the hell would want to undress after work, lather up lotion all over this gross, pasty white body, and lay in my own sweat for 20, long, hot minutes. So basically when you see me in the next two days, contain the "OOMPA LOOMPA" jokes. Think...Snooki. But don't say it to my face.
*OUTFIT.
-THEN: Short, tight, revealing. Underwear: optional (not cuz I was a slut, but cuz of underwear lines)
-NOW: Anything that covers up the cottage cheese. Underwear: one of those old lady Spanx one-pieces that sucks it all in for me so I don't have to.
*ALCOHOL.
-THEN: Made sure I was friends with somebody (older) there who would slip me drinks unbeknownst to nosey adults.
-NOW: Make sure I'm friends with somebody there who will slip me 3-5 Ibruprofens with every drink because the thought of a hangover makes me want to vomit, much less the alcohol itself.

Clearly, I'm stressing about this. I know once I get there, all will be okay and it'll be super fun and I won't even think these ridiculous thoughts. Chalk it up to the crazy roller coaster ride my hormones recently vacated! To give you some visuals, I've shared some pictures below. Hope you enjoy this quick walk down Memory Lane as much as I have tonight!

Prom 2003

Most of us...wedding in 2007

 

The Clique...wedding 2006

The upcoming groom and I...2006

Cookout 2008

 

What I'm praying I DON'T look like in 2 days...