About 30 minutes ago, I posted a super friendly generic version of my new year's eve post. But since this is the last post I will have in 2012, and I have been fairly nice in all of the rest of them, let me get real in this one.
My one huge wish for 2013 is to become a mom. I want the whole shebang. I want to be pregnant, I want to decorate a nursery and bicker lightly with Ian over the final details of baby names. I want to bawl my eyes out when I hear my baby's heartbeat for the first time, when I see the first ultrasound, when I find out the gender. I even want the hours of grueling labor because that will mean that I HAVE DONE IT. I am a mom, I have done what millions of women before me have done.
I was going through old schoolwork of mine that my mum kept for me and I found my kindergarten stats sheet. Listed under "what I want to be when I grow up?" A mom. (Actually mine says "my mum" but you get the point). So for at least 19 years of my life, this is what I have wanted. That's 19 years of solid dedication to this wish.
What I don't want is useless advice or "funny" anecdotes. What is useless advice you ask? Well let me enlighten you. I don't want to be told that it would take me a while (trust me, no one realizes this more than me), or that I will get pregnant when I stop trying to get pregnant. I don't want to continuously hear about how easy it was for you to get pregnant or how it was a total oops moment, hahahaha! I am happy for those who get pregnant quickly, I really am! There are just a few people on my social media who like to throw it in my face all the time. I hate that. And don't get me wrong. I love people's updates about their pregnancies and their babies. I really do. It's a super exciting time in your life, you're growing a baby! It's when it's multiple times (read 5 or more) a day that it starts to grate on my nerves. Or when they say "If you're not a parent, you don't know what true love is." I hate that saying, I really do. I truly love my husband. Unconditionally. For better or worse.
But the biggest thing I do NOT want to hear from anyone EVER again? "In my personal opinion, because I have been there, I would wait. You never regret waiting." I am sure I don't, but I will never regret having my child either. And I haven't had anyone who is actually in my situation say that to me. My situation is as follows: I am in my mid twenties, I have been married to my high school sweetheart for four years, and we dated for three years before that. That is seven years with the same man. I have a great job that I love doing, and my husband has an awesome job that could support both of us should I decide to be a stay at home mom (which is what both Ian and I want). We both have running vehicles, even if they aren't brand new or gorgeous. Neither of us owes any debt on either of our cars. We own our home, which is not a dump, and we live in a safe and quiet neighborhood that would be great to raise kids in. We are both in stellar health, and the most addictive substance that has me in its vices is Wild Cherry Pepsi. I know, I know, I should attend a Sodaholics Anonymous meeting or something, right?
I don't mean to offend the kind and supportive people in my life at all. And if you're reading this and thinking "I have never-!" Then you probably haven't and this isn't for you. This is for the people who have ever made me feel like I am not a real woman because I am not a mom yet, or that I am doing something wrong if I am not pregnant yet. This is for anyone who has ever uttered the words "Even if you're never a mom..." to me. Don't even go there. Don't put that negativity on me. I don't need it.
And for those of you who read this whole thing and don't think I am the scum of the earth, thank you. Thank you for understanding that sometimes I need to be able to rant about things that upset me.
Now after I get off of work, I am going to go home, get into pjs and park my butt on my couch with a book and season five of Bones. I am not a party girl or even a regular drinker. It's a big deal that I am even contemplating staying up until midnight, and I will do that on my terms. My terms include captain america sleep pants, a doctor who nightshirt, fuzzy socks, and my TARDIS blanket.
Happy New Years my lovely readers!!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
I haven't forgotten you, my lovelies...
I hope everyone had a happy Christmas! I sure did. There was a small drama bloop on the sunday morning before christmas where I ended up in tears because people should be more considerate of the difficulties of other people...but I am not going there because I don't want to end up upset again.
Ian, the furbabies and I were very blessed to be into our new house (if not settled all the way) by Christmas. We had taken down the tree at the apartment, and never put it back up, nor did we put up any Christmas decorations, but it was festive nonetheless. We began the day by watching the Queen's christmas message and ended it with the Doctor Who christmas special, and in between was full of little naps, presents, and food! Lots of food!
This is just a short little blip of a post to let you know I am still here and alive, but busy with unpacking and organizing and getting ready for the new year. I hope to post a new year's eve blog of monday, so fingers crossed that I get time!
TTFN! Tata for now!
Ian, the furbabies and I were very blessed to be into our new house (if not settled all the way) by Christmas. We had taken down the tree at the apartment, and never put it back up, nor did we put up any Christmas decorations, but it was festive nonetheless. We began the day by watching the Queen's christmas message and ended it with the Doctor Who christmas special, and in between was full of little naps, presents, and food! Lots of food!
This is just a short little blip of a post to let you know I am still here and alive, but busy with unpacking and organizing and getting ready for the new year. I hope to post a new year's eve blog of monday, so fingers crossed that I get time!
TTFN! Tata for now!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
My tooth has left the union and an equally ridiculous story of oral surgery
When I was 16, I made the trek back to Dodge City to attend my wisdom tooth removal surgery. Unfortunate events occurred (read: stomach flu) and, in fear of me throwing up on my surgeon, my surgery was canceled. This did not appear to be a huge deal because over the next few years, all four of my wisdom teeth grew in miraculously straight and it appeared to be a sign from God that I should never have oral surgery again. More on that in a minute.
Over the past week, my lower right wisdom tooth has been aching a little. Now you need to understand that I am very OCD when it comes to the health of my mouth and teeth. You don't go through surgery and four years of braces and expect to come through without a little PTSD. I brush my teeth twice a day, every day and on days my teeth feel a little grimy, three times a day. I floss, I use mouthwash. I inspect my teeth for possible cavities often. I am very very careful with my teeth. So to have a sore mouth caused by a tooth is a major freak out moment for me. The first day I inspected it, it looked like my gums were a little swollen back there, so I lightly massaged them with my brush a few times that day and for the following day. It got a little better, so I stopped worrying about it. Then yesterday, I woke up with the whole right side of my face lightly swollen and I was again worried. This time when I looked in my mouth, the impossible appeared to have happened. My gums are not swollen, my wisdom tooth is receding! And it's receding crookedly, pushing the side of it into my jawline and cheek. On my lunch break yesterday I called a dental office and asked if this was, indeed, possible. Apparently it is because wisdom teeth are wicked little creatures with minds of their own. So now I have to go get all my wisdom teeth thoroughly examined and quite possibly removed. And if the crazy tooth doesn't come up back up, that will require oral surgery. Which I HATE. And here's why.
When I was preparing to get braces, Dr Ackerman realized that my mouth (much like the rest of my body) was tiny. Too small, in fact, to fit all the teeth that were growing in. So I had to set an appointment to have two bottom teeth removed and two top teeth removed. That would have been no big deal, but my top teeth were indignant. They stood their ground and refused to move, stating "we are too cool to leave this mouth." In normal person speak, this means that the roots of my teeth were actually hooked into my sinus and to merely pull them would resort in more surgeries than needed because then they would need to repair my sinus region. It was ultimately decided that I would need to have surgery to remove these teeth, no big deal, right? Wrong. I was terrified of surgery. What if I never woke up? Nonetheless, mum's final word was law in our house, and she said my teeth were being removed surgically.
The day of the surgery, I got to skip school (yay!) and on the way to the clinic, I asked mum if we could go to the library and sonic afterwards. She kind of did this little half laugh, and said sure, if I felt up to it after the surgery. I took this as a yes, because why wouldn't I feel like it?
Skipping all the boring details of signing in and getting to the good stuff, they hooked me up to all the tubes and a nurse took a nasty looking long needle and inserted it into my IV and asked me to count backwards from 10. The last number I remember was 9, so that was probably a sign of the future issues I had.
I am assuming (and would not like to hear otherwise) that the surgery itself went fine. It was the waking me afterwards that caused problems. As in, I wouldn't wake up. They went out and got my mum, and from what I am told, it even took her some time to get me conscious.
The first thing I remember was the clouds on the ceiling, with the cowboys and indians chasing each other. I tried to tell my mum about them, but there was so much gauze in my mouth, and it just kind of hung upen and wouldn't close and the drugs were definitely prohibiting any real human speak. Also I might mention there were no cowboys or indians on the ceiling. Or clouds. I am pretty sure it was just a plain white ceiling when I was put under and I seriously doubted they painted all of that in the hour I was down for the count.
Me: Mum, look, the cowboys are chasing the indians in the sky
Mum: umm...un huh, sweetie, you need to wake up. Can you open your eyes a little more?
Me: No, my eyes are fine. Do you see the cowboys?
Mum: That's nice, honey. Now we are going to get you home, okay? I have to leave for a second. I am going to get the car. I will be right back. (my drug addled brain did not recognize this sentence as actual words so I had no idea what my mum was doing)
Me: But the indians! And the clouds!
At this point, my mother had left the room to pull the van around to the side of the building so that I didn't freak out the rest of the patients in the waiting room with my crazy mouth face. The two nice male dental assistants helped me walk (read: basically carried me) to the side door, where my mother was waiting. Unfortunately for them, they also had a supplies van waiting there as well, and I couldn't see my mum's van at first, so I freaked out on them as much as a ninety pound pre-teen girl could freak out on two physically fit mid twenties men. I was sure they were kidnapping me for ransom and I just couldn't allow that. My mum hurried over to calm me down and with a little bit of struggle, we got me safely loaded into the waiting vehicle and on my way home.
Everything was fine until we passed the library.
Me: Mum! Where are you going? The library, you said, I feel fine!
Mum: No, Angie, you don't. You don't make any sense, your entire face is swollen and you can't even walk on your own. We are just going home.
Me: But you said! You said, you said you said you said..." (This was like a whine sob word mix)
Mum: No.
And again, mum's final word was law, so I shut up except for some halfhearted sniffles. She did, however, take me to Sonic and get me a sprite and also a chocolate shake with fries so I could mush them around in my mouth. Later we would find out that they gave me too much anethesia for my weight, which is why I was so unfunctional and hard to wake up, but the whole experience traumatized me.
And this has been the long winded reason why I do NOT want to have another surgery, yet I am afraid I will have to. Stupid teeth.
Over the past week, my lower right wisdom tooth has been aching a little. Now you need to understand that I am very OCD when it comes to the health of my mouth and teeth. You don't go through surgery and four years of braces and expect to come through without a little PTSD. I brush my teeth twice a day, every day and on days my teeth feel a little grimy, three times a day. I floss, I use mouthwash. I inspect my teeth for possible cavities often. I am very very careful with my teeth. So to have a sore mouth caused by a tooth is a major freak out moment for me. The first day I inspected it, it looked like my gums were a little swollen back there, so I lightly massaged them with my brush a few times that day and for the following day. It got a little better, so I stopped worrying about it. Then yesterday, I woke up with the whole right side of my face lightly swollen and I was again worried. This time when I looked in my mouth, the impossible appeared to have happened. My gums are not swollen, my wisdom tooth is receding! And it's receding crookedly, pushing the side of it into my jawline and cheek. On my lunch break yesterday I called a dental office and asked if this was, indeed, possible. Apparently it is because wisdom teeth are wicked little creatures with minds of their own. So now I have to go get all my wisdom teeth thoroughly examined and quite possibly removed. And if the crazy tooth doesn't come up back up, that will require oral surgery. Which I HATE. And here's why.
When I was preparing to get braces, Dr Ackerman realized that my mouth (much like the rest of my body) was tiny. Too small, in fact, to fit all the teeth that were growing in. So I had to set an appointment to have two bottom teeth removed and two top teeth removed. That would have been no big deal, but my top teeth were indignant. They stood their ground and refused to move, stating "we are too cool to leave this mouth." In normal person speak, this means that the roots of my teeth were actually hooked into my sinus and to merely pull them would resort in more surgeries than needed because then they would need to repair my sinus region. It was ultimately decided that I would need to have surgery to remove these teeth, no big deal, right? Wrong. I was terrified of surgery. What if I never woke up? Nonetheless, mum's final word was law in our house, and she said my teeth were being removed surgically.
The day of the surgery, I got to skip school (yay!) and on the way to the clinic, I asked mum if we could go to the library and sonic afterwards. She kind of did this little half laugh, and said sure, if I felt up to it after the surgery. I took this as a yes, because why wouldn't I feel like it?
Skipping all the boring details of signing in and getting to the good stuff, they hooked me up to all the tubes and a nurse took a nasty looking long needle and inserted it into my IV and asked me to count backwards from 10. The last number I remember was 9, so that was probably a sign of the future issues I had.
I am assuming (and would not like to hear otherwise) that the surgery itself went fine. It was the waking me afterwards that caused problems. As in, I wouldn't wake up. They went out and got my mum, and from what I am told, it even took her some time to get me conscious.
The first thing I remember was the clouds on the ceiling, with the cowboys and indians chasing each other. I tried to tell my mum about them, but there was so much gauze in my mouth, and it just kind of hung upen and wouldn't close and the drugs were definitely prohibiting any real human speak. Also I might mention there were no cowboys or indians on the ceiling. Or clouds. I am pretty sure it was just a plain white ceiling when I was put under and I seriously doubted they painted all of that in the hour I was down for the count.
Me: Mum, look, the cowboys are chasing the indians in the sky
Mum: umm...un huh, sweetie, you need to wake up. Can you open your eyes a little more?
Me: No, my eyes are fine. Do you see the cowboys?
Mum: That's nice, honey. Now we are going to get you home, okay? I have to leave for a second. I am going to get the car. I will be right back. (my drug addled brain did not recognize this sentence as actual words so I had no idea what my mum was doing)
Me: But the indians! And the clouds!
At this point, my mother had left the room to pull the van around to the side of the building so that I didn't freak out the rest of the patients in the waiting room with my crazy mouth face. The two nice male dental assistants helped me walk (read: basically carried me) to the side door, where my mother was waiting. Unfortunately for them, they also had a supplies van waiting there as well, and I couldn't see my mum's van at first, so I freaked out on them as much as a ninety pound pre-teen girl could freak out on two physically fit mid twenties men. I was sure they were kidnapping me for ransom and I just couldn't allow that. My mum hurried over to calm me down and with a little bit of struggle, we got me safely loaded into the waiting vehicle and on my way home.
Everything was fine until we passed the library.
Me: Mum! Where are you going? The library, you said, I feel fine!
Mum: No, Angie, you don't. You don't make any sense, your entire face is swollen and you can't even walk on your own. We are just going home.
Me: But you said! You said, you said you said you said..." (This was like a whine sob word mix)
Mum: No.
And again, mum's final word was law, so I shut up except for some halfhearted sniffles. She did, however, take me to Sonic and get me a sprite and also a chocolate shake with fries so I could mush them around in my mouth. Later we would find out that they gave me too much anethesia for my weight, which is why I was so unfunctional and hard to wake up, but the whole experience traumatized me.
And this has been the long winded reason why I do NOT want to have another surgery, yet I am afraid I will have to. Stupid teeth.
Friday, December 7, 2012
My mother is a thief of joy- The tale of a poor sick girl.
Sorry I haven't posted in a bit! Ian and I have just purchased a home, and it's requiring a bit of TLC, plus packing, and getting ready for Christmas, I just haven't had time to breathe. Then yesterday, I had an evil stomach bug and so I laid on the couch and read and moaned of how I was on my deathbed, but no one would take of me. This, of course, was a complete lie as Ian was a very good caretaker but it reminded me of a conversation I had with my mum on the phone a week ago.
She called for some odd and random reason (read: Taylor's christmas box so no details will be provided here) and then I teased her about being a negligent mother for not remembering his birthday.
Mum: I know! I know! All my children tell me I am a terrible mother. I'm the worst. Over it. Moving on.
Me: Well, not the worst...but you know...you haven't exactly been attentive to my needs lately.
Mum: What do you mean?
Me: I didn't want to mention it, bbuutt for, like, the past four years, you haven't been at my beck and call when I was sick...
Mum: ...oh Lord...
Me: (continuing on throughout mum's mumblings) ...and so I haven't had anyone to bring me orange juice and cold rags for my head or make me couch nests to lay in and read, sleep, and watch Harry Potter...
Mum:...might I mention that you're married...
Me:...and so I really don't think that I have been getting as well as quickly as I used to.
Mum: Does Ian not take care of you?
Me: He does, but that's besides the point. You're my mum. You're supposed to take of me forever, especially when I am sick.
Mum: This entire conversation has taken a turn for the ridiculous.
Me: You just wait. I am probably going to be ill soon, and you won't take care of me.
Mum: You're right. Because your husband will and you're being a child.
Me: *blows raspberry in her ear*
AND what would you know, I was sick yesterday, and Ian did take care of me. But I had to make my own couch nest, and I didn't get to watch any Harry Potter, there was no orange juice or cold rags for my head. Not that I was that sick, just a little tummy bug probably caused my dinner the night before, and I have already packed away my Harry Potter movies to be moved over to the new house. I am also not a huge fan of orange juice. But this is all besides the point. The point is when I am sick, I need a certain routine followed, and I don't care that I am in my mid-twenties, if I don't feel well, my body thinks its five again. And when you're five, you need your mum.
And also probably some "Soft Kitty."
She called for some odd and random reason (read: Taylor's christmas box so no details will be provided here) and then I teased her about being a negligent mother for not remembering his birthday.
Mum: I know! I know! All my children tell me I am a terrible mother. I'm the worst. Over it. Moving on.
Me: Well, not the worst...but you know...you haven't exactly been attentive to my needs lately.
Mum: What do you mean?
Me: I didn't want to mention it, bbuutt for, like, the past four years, you haven't been at my beck and call when I was sick...
Mum: ...oh Lord...
Me: (continuing on throughout mum's mumblings) ...and so I haven't had anyone to bring me orange juice and cold rags for my head or make me couch nests to lay in and read, sleep, and watch Harry Potter...
Mum:...might I mention that you're married...
Me:...and so I really don't think that I have been getting as well as quickly as I used to.
Mum: Does Ian not take care of you?
Me: He does, but that's besides the point. You're my mum. You're supposed to take of me forever, especially when I am sick.
Mum: This entire conversation has taken a turn for the ridiculous.
Me: You just wait. I am probably going to be ill soon, and you won't take care of me.
Mum: You're right. Because your husband will and you're being a child.
Me: *blows raspberry in her ear*
AND what would you know, I was sick yesterday, and Ian did take care of me. But I had to make my own couch nest, and I didn't get to watch any Harry Potter, there was no orange juice or cold rags for my head. Not that I was that sick, just a little tummy bug probably caused my dinner the night before, and I have already packed away my Harry Potter movies to be moved over to the new house. I am also not a huge fan of orange juice. But this is all besides the point. The point is when I am sick, I need a certain routine followed, and I don't care that I am in my mid-twenties, if I don't feel well, my body thinks its five again. And when you're five, you need your mum.
And also probably some "Soft Kitty."
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