LOOK what poor Noelle went through! It was a refreshing laugh after a hard week

Every once in awhile a gal likes to treat her man real nice. So this gal decided to treat her man to a space on the Netflix Queue (because his choices usually include movies like Team America- which is probably the worst film of all time). I decided to slip The Goods: Live Hard, Sale Hard into our next DVD delivery…. We are watching it    .as.I.type.this.sentence.

L-O-V-E means watching DUMB movies like this. I mean, Jeremy Piven would, I am sure, prefer to get mercury poisoning again than admit that he made this film. This is right up there with Glitter (sorry Mariah). So while I sit here trying to distract myself from this movie I post blog posts like this.

I must really love my husband.

Turns out. I do.

I once had a friend who was so in love with this girl that she was with she went to a StarWars convention dressed as an Ewok. I had another friend who took a month of French to say a couple of sentences to an exchange student. I mean, with Garrett, I didn’t convert to another religion or do anything else extreme- but I DO find myself having to watch mind-numbing movies and listening to way more Creed than I would otherwise listen to. But I love him.

So I sigh and stare at him with goo goo eyes as he laughs like a hyena at Ving Raines attempting to resuscitate an already VERY dead acting career.

What do you do for love?

I had no idea that so many things could happen to a woman’s underparts! I arrived home and promptly sat in my Midwife Herbal Bath. For all who don’t know: the Herbal Bath is a concoction of several herbs, sea salt, and Garlic. Soaking in it after a vaginal delivery expedites healing and is soothing. What they don’t tell you is all that salt and Garlic leave you smelling like a piece of Garlic toast…. and with a sagging belly, well, that just ain’t sexy!

I have wrestled with the idea of what to say concerning the birth of Addison. It was the most ideal experience I could have hoped for. And still, everyone is asking, “Did you get an epidural?” “Did you do it naturally?” A big part of me feels like I owe people a story, since I bitched about all of it so openly on the blog…. the other part of me wants to hold on to the beautiful experience I had and not have it tainted by people’s judgments (because OH! DO THEY JUDGE!).

I think the better questions for people to ask me are: “Jasmine, was it what you wanted?” “Did you feel supported?” “Is Addison here and healthy?” Yes to all of the above!  Garrett was a super labor coach, Sadie was great comedic relief, and I pushed that baby out in two pushes like Zena the Warrior Princess! I am so elated with what I went through. It was lovely. The UTI that followed was NOT lovely. I have never had a urinary tract infection. I would rather give birth to all of the Dugger’s children than experience that again. Um. I am not lying! I would eagerly pop out all of those little Duggers than ever have razor blades come out of my pee hole again! Thank the Lord for Cranberry and Antibiotics. MERCY!

When we are a little farther away from the birth….and I feel less of a need to hold on to this sparkly happiness of a memory, I will recapitulate what I experienced. For now I am still all squishy over what happened. IF it is any indication, half way through Sadie and Garrett and I LAUGHING through one of my contractions Garrett looked at me and said, “Dude! This birth stuff is awesome, we should have another one…” Then a couple of days later he was looking at me with creepy Precious Moments dough eyes and said, “Aw babe! I miss your pregnant belly.” I mean, the experience was awesome, the pregnancy was a breeze… but keep your evil parasite producing penis away from me sir! There will be none of that!

Hope everyone is well. We are all covered in breast milk and happiness around here <3

Like the title? I hope so….

So. Garrett and I went in this morning to have my membranes stripped.

HA! What a joke!!!  You wanna know what happened? My contractions got closer together with no change in intensity. So now my vagina is just all hurty and my back is all crampy and my front is all contraction-y, with no progress.

So. I check in tomorrow for good ole pitocin. I am a little frightened that I won’t be able to handle pitocin induced contractions, but at this point I am so angsty and bitchy that I might just stand up and grunt this baby out all Zena the Warrior Princess style (ew. gross visual!).

Hey remember all that lofty and mature crap I was spouting in the last post about not controlling life… EFF that! I am ready to see this baby and move on to phase two.

Check back in a couple of days, when I am sure to be all squishy and happy and in love with my little girl and this annoyance only a tiny blip on my maternal radar.

My contractions started up the other day. They were every 20 mins and uneven. I was having intense back labor and thinking that maybe this baby was coming. After being checked by OB and Midwife, they both  agreed that I was dilating. Janessa (my Midwife) suggested I take something to stop my labor so that it would kick start again stronger and more even. (I eventually took the option and stopped my labor, the back labor was awful and I was getting super tired). Before I made the choice to take the drugs I had this conversation with Sadie:

Me: My contractions are still uneven. Every twenty or thirty mins. with intense back cramping. Dr. Crownover said I am dilating, I am at 1- almost two…

Sadie: OMG! I am SOOOO excited! How are you doing?

Me: My back is hurty! Janessa asked me if I wanted to take something to stop labor.

Sadie! WHAT!? Why would she ask you that!

Me: SO that my labor will stop and then start back on its own evenly.

Sadie: Well, I guess that makes sense, but what did you say?

Me: I told her yes.

Sadie: What!?

Me: Just kidding… I said I would wait it out to see if it is real labor for awhile.

Sadie: Oh God good! I thought I was going to have to come over there and punch you in your cervix!

So I have this issue with coffee. I love coffee. I love thinking about coffee, smelling coffee, reading about coffee, and drinking coffee. The problem with all this is, I am terrible at actually making coffee. I just cannot seem to get the ratio of water to coffee work out. You can try all you want to give me your formula, like my Aunt Nancy did (1 1/2 teaspoons of coffee for 2 cups of water) but I promise you it won’t be right. So I spend all this time thinking about how lovely a cup of coffee would be, I can taste it in my mouth and imagine its reviving power coursing through my veins, but then when I get up and make myself a cup, I am met with a foul liquid that tastes like crunched up garden mulch and sugar.

Jasmine does not make this any easier on me, as she has the ability to make amazingly good coffee with cinnamon and just the right composition of coffee, milk, and sugar. Sure sure, I could ask her to bring me a cup every morning, and she would maybe do it. But something in me feels bad about saying “Hey. I know you are all 9 months pregnant and about to have a human come crashing out between your legs, but would you mind driving over to my house with a steaming cup of joe? Mm’Kay thanks.”

Through my pregnancy I have had some relief from the cruel juxtaposition of my dreams about coffee and what I actually make at home. In the beginning I was all “Blahhhajchuir! Death liquid! The urine of Satan!” and then in the middle I was all “Mmmm…I just really love some tea. I am not a frail enough human to need coffee” but now I am 31 weeks along and find myself indeed a frail human who has an incredibly vicious want of the drink. The want is bad enough that I have been willing to drink the coffee I make and just pretend it is as good as I have dreamed.

This was all good and fine except that something like 20 minutes after the desire for coffee kicked in, Norah broke my coffee pot. Its my own fault really, because I am the dummy that lets her play inside the cabinet where my coffee pot lives. That was a little over a week ago, and I have been surviving on coffee from the cafe downtown, Jasmine’s house, an amazing cup of vanilla nut coffee from Atlanta Bread Company, and yesterday, some wretched tar from Sonic.

This morning Norah and I woke at a leisurely 9:30am, and after taking a shower, the coffee craving hit me. But I really didn’t want to drive to the cafe, nor did I want to pester Jasmine. So in a moment of desperation, I rigged my coffee pot to work again. I measured out some haphazard amount of grounds and used my Pyrex measuring cup to measure out some haphazard amount of water. Then I put the Pyrex where the pot should go and used a spoon to depress the thingy at the spout where the coffee comes out. I was rewarded with a half-decent cup of coffee.

There was much rejoicing in the land of Sadie. And I don’t really know why I felt compelled to tell this story, except to point out the fact that in the face of adversity I don’t just roll over and give up. No no! I am industrious and unconventional! I also have an unhealthy love of coffee.

Have a good day, friends.

Throughout this pregnancy I have been in the unfortunate position that NO ONE can figure out my due date. I have had several different ultrasounds by several different OB’s and none of them can actually give me a good estimate. It isn’t an exact science, I know that much… but I would still like to know when I SHOULD expect our bundle of screaming joy to arrive. Here are the dates I have been given:  March 17th, March 23rd, March 27th, April 1st.   So Dr. Crownover, my OB, went with April 1st because that gives us more time before the state of Arkansas forces a C-section. Even so, all fetal measurements have been a week or two larger than they were “supposed” to be… so I was under the strong suspicion that April 1st was the wrong date.

The other day I was nesting like a psycho womancleaning out a couple of drawers and I found our old calendar. Turns out that I wrote down that Garrett and I had sex (I wrote it down because I had previously been taking fertility meds) on June 30th. For all you conception gurus out there, it means that IF I conceived on or around that date, then Addison should be born on or around the 23rd of March! Hooray! At least some kind of direction and clarity, right?!

In the mean time, my body is telling me it is full term and I am getting anxious. In a week in a half Addison will be considered medically viable (no complications if she was born)… which is a really bad thing. It is a bad thing because I am notoriously BAD about delaying gratification, especially when I have planned and scheduled and worked so hard for it. Last year I picked tomatoes too early (knowingly) because I decided that I waited long enough for them to do their damn job! Silly aren’t I! I am very patient with children (unless they live inside me) and family and friends (for the most part)… but any projects I have initiated better get themselves DONE by golly or there will be some issues.

So my little in-utero project, Addison, is quickly wearing out her welcome. Janessa, my midwife, is doing the smart thing, reminding me: “Jasmine… all things come in season- she won’t stay in their forever, but let her grow as long as she needs to.” Excuse me Janessa! Do you KNOW who you are talking to…. I want her! I want her NOW!  My OB knows this about me. He told me I could be induced when I wanted. I think this is a dangerous idea and I turned it down, but its appeal grows everyday that my hip pops out of place and I almost pee on myself when I sneeze.

Help me friends. Remind me it is okay to wait, that I will make it, and that all things come in season (even though I will most likely ignore you and drink and ungodly amount of Castor oil).

Yesterday I wrote a note to my two best friends from high school. Neither of them have had a baby yet, and since I am working on Number 2 over here, I like to terrorize them with stories of vomiting and heartburn that singes your nostril hairs and all that horrific tearing of your lady parts. Its a super fun pasttime, and I love being evil.

Yesterday I wanted to share with them the peril of the pregnant pants. The note went a little something like this.

So I just got back from buying another pair of maternity jeans. Don’t ever get pregnant. I mean seriously. Because if you get pregnant like I do then you will go through three completely different sizes of clothing in just nine months. What fits in the beginning is unbearable by 29 weeks and what fit you at 29 weeks laughable at 40 weeks when it takes all your strength just to roll your self out of bed in the morning. And then you will have another nine months after the baby is born to go through three more sizes before you end up somewhere near where you were before you got pregnant. Except that, you will actually be a totally different shape than when before you were pregnant, with parts of your body that are totally foreign and nothing like what you used to call “your hips”. And then, when you get pregnant again, you will realize that while you thought you had lost all the baby weight from the first baby, you are actually a whopping 15 pounds heavier than you were at this time 2 years ago.

You will just never fit into the clothes you used to wear before the babies came and ruined you (and totally stole your heart away and gave your life a bigger meaning, but whatever, none of that has anything to do with your butt, which you accidentally saw naked in the Old Navy fitting room. You might want to just gouge that memory out with a plastic hanger).

I mean sure, maybe you will be the kind of woman who only gains weight in your belly and the rest of stays all fit and firm and glowy. But not me. I gain weight everywhere and especially like to pack the pounds into my neck and JOWLS!

Anyway, I’ve got to go now. I’m going to eat a bean burrito. I want to make sure that the pants I just bought don’t fit me in three weeks.

Loves you!

HAHA! I am an evil, evil person.

To the individual who googled, “mamma wants a golden shower” and arrived at our site. SORRY to disappoint you.