Fin.

Seventeen days later... My sweet kid is on the outside and I don't think I could love anyone more.

I had a great time writing this blog, but now that I am no longer rounder and wider and weirder (well...) - I don't plan to continue on here.

Who knows, maybe I'll pick it up again when the Android and I decide to add to our family, but for now the memory of pregnancy and childbirth is all too fresh. We'll see in four years or so.

Anyway, thanks for reading and laughing with me. For the non-moms out there - I hope I didn't scare you off of motherhood.

For the pregnant gals - I didn't lie. I may have... expanded some ideas, but the main points are the same. Don't blame me.

And for the other moms - I hope I did you proud.

Keep reading about my adventures in motherhood on The Czar and I.

Here goes.

My water broke at 11:40 pm on July 28. It really broke this time - no foolin'. And damn was it gross. Why is it that no one tells you the little details like this? Pregnant women, take note: When your water breaks it doesn't just gush once and stop. NO. It continues on, it goes while you walk, it collects when you lie down, then it gushes more. When you get to the hospital, make friends with the mesh panties (surprisingly comfortable!) and sneak a huge pile of the mondo pads that the hospital provides. You. Will. Need. Them.

I digress.

I called the hospital and told them that my water broke. The nurse told me to get my stuff together, take a shower if I wanted to (Oh, I wanted to.), and to come in within the hour. Because I had Group B Strep they had to get me on antibiotics pretty much ASAP. And so it began.

We got to the hospital and checked in to PETU. Again. A couple of nurses at the desk recognized us from our visit a mere 72 (!!!) hours earlier. I wasn't really contracting much (Though the last three days had been spent contracting like a mofo in spurts) - maybe every 20-30 minutes or so, but since my water really had broken this time, I wasn't going anywhere. At this point it was baby or bust.

I got an IV. My first ever. Very exciting, and also very cumbersome. We hung out in a teeny room and a cheery nurse checked on us periodically. I was dilated to almost 2cm - not great. I knew I was in for a long night. Android and I watched TV, looped around and around the halls of the maternity ward, and willed my cervix into dilating enough to get us into a Labor & Delivery room so we could really get this party started.

Several hours went by, it was 5am and my cervix had dilated to a whopping 2cm. Better than almost 2cm, but not as good as, say, MORE than 2cm. We continued to hang out and try to sleep. At 6ish we were moved to a L&D room down the hall. I have to say, these rooms are just lovely - spacious, nice view, comfy bed - but none of these things convinced my body that a child should come out of me anytime soon.

At 7 our magical nurse Teresa came in to introduce herself. She was sweet and cheery and had had two kids so she seemed to know what she was doing. She complemented my breathing techniques and sincerely hoped our kid would be born during her 12 hour shift. Ha.

At 10am (Five HOURS since my last check) I was still dilated to 2. TWO. Two centimeters does not make a baby opening. They started the pitocin. Teresa started me on a teeny tiny drip, and the contractions began to get more regular, but I was breathing through them like a champ. I was switching positions, I was getting in the bathtub, I was walking while I could... it was going well. We trucked along until about 1pm when they got baaaad.

Like, BAD. I was on the birthing ball (just a fancy name for the exercise balls that you can do ab work and Pilates and stuff on) and Android was behind me rubbing my back and just generally being awesome, but it didn't help. It hurt like a bitch. It kept hurting like a bitch until Teresa took pity on me and checked me again - 4cm. BINGO. I only had to make it to 4cm before they'd break out the epidural.

The anesthesiologist was a magical man who came, saw, and poked me in the back with what I can only assume was a very large needle. And for that I thanked him. Profusely. Sure, my legs were numb as hell, but the pain was GONE. I got to sleep for the first time in 12 hours. It was lovely, until I woke up to a nagging pain in my left hip.

Pain? That shouldn't happen, right? No, no... it shouldn't have, but it did. Big time. This is where things get fuzzy.

I remember them calling the anesthesiologist again. He adjusted the epidural catheter and gave me a bump of something to bring the pain down faster. It was a little after 7pm, and Teresa's shift was over. She introduced Jen as her replacement. Jen was a cute little blonde with glasses and a baby bump (due October 22). Teresa had lovely things to say about Jen, and promised to come by the next day to meet the baby. Suitably comforted, I slept.

Until I woke up to searing pain in my lower back. Again, that should not have happened. But it did, and in swept another anesthesiologist with yet another cocktail of druggy deliciousness. Which worked beautifully until the absolutely body-rending pain in my right side.

Y'all, this nearly finished me off. I vividly remember this stage because I was clutching the side of the bed with both hands, gasping for breath through the sobs, hoping that someone would just put me out of my misery in any way they saw fit.

You think I'm kidding.

Also, the pitocin drip was inches away from my face and I could hear its mechanical click every few seconds as it pumped twelve times the pitocin I started out with into my body. It was taunting me. I remember yelling "Will someone just turn off the fucking Pitocin?" No one was in the room other than Android and I, but it felt good to get that out into the universe. When Jen came back I asked her nicely if she could turn it down and she said "Sure, honey. But I don't think it will do any good." At least she didn't sugarcoat it.

I wanted a c-section more than anything at that point. Seriously. I don't think I ever said it out loud, but I think Jen could read my mind. She came in and said "The anesthesiologist will be here soon. He's in surgery. Until then, I'm going to give you some fentanyl and it will calm you down between contractions. I have spoken to the doctor - you are almost fully dilated. You will be giving birth vaginally."

I didn't argue with her. Jen was kind of a badass.

The anesthesiologist did come. The pain went away again for a while, and pretty soon I was feeling like I should push. And push I did. It was me, Android and Jen and we pushed our way though those contractions like you wouldn't believe. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. It was freaking HARD, but it was also the best part of the whole experience because I was doing something.

Now, I was told from the beginning that first time babies can take up to 3 hours to push out, and having an epidural (no matter how shitty it turned out to be) doesn't help matters. So I pushed. And Andrew counted. And Jen continued to be amazing and calm and sweet but vaguely scary.

I pushed. And pushed. I was visited by various doctors (including the teenager from our false alarm! Turns out she's really sweet and good at her job! Hooray!) who told me I was doing well, but I'm sure they say that to all the girls.

It hurt. I'm not gonna lie to ya. The drugs were pretty much a thing of the past. And remember the pain in my left hip the first time the epidural pooped out on me? Yeah, turns out the kid's head was wedged in there and whacked against my hip with every contraction. His head continued to be cocked funny for a while, which made pushing even more difficult and just a titch more painful.

And I pushed. I passed the 2 hour mark and was just about to the end of my tether. I asked Jen how much longer she thought I had and she took a deep breath (because you know they've got to hate questions like that) and said: "Maybe 45 minutes? But don't hold me to that."

Forty-five minutes. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. Naturally, I started crying. Again. She said "Honey, 45 minutes isn't very long! Tell you what: prove me wrong."

25 minutes later he was out. I take challenges seriously.

So, I pushed. I knew something was happening, but this stage is a whole lot of "two steps forward, one step back". I knew I was getting somewhere when it felt like my hips were being split open by his skull. Unfortunately, this is also when I decided I couldn't possibly go on. The various doctors and nurses had assembled pretty quickly as I was pushing like a madwoman.

I expected the quintessential movie line "I can see the baby's head! One more big push!". I've seen too many movies. No one warned me that he would come out as fast as he did. One second he was in there, and the next he just... wasn't. Then the next second he was on my belly.

And he was amazing. And not nearly as gross as I thought he'd be. He just just kind of shiny - not all cottage cheesy like we saw in the childbirth videos. My jaw dropped. I could not believe that something so beautiful and so FREAKING HUGE came out of my nethers.

The Android cut the cord, and the baby was whisked across the room to the warming lamp for cleaning and suctioning (he passed some meconium- probably when he was being smooshed into my hip). I still had some work to do - the pesky placenta had to be delivered. I had been told it could take up to a half hour for that to happen, but I think I had it out in three pushes. A squishy mass of tissue is a piece of cake (have I ruined cake for you?) next to a giant-headed baby.

The Android was beside himself as he bopped between me and the boy, reporting things like "Ten fingers! Ten toes!" and "He's TALL! 22 inches!"

I was blissed out on not being in pain anymore. I think they gave me a local anesthetic in my lady bits as they stitched up the tear my kid made as he came out. The teenage resident did the stitching and an attending watched. I think it went badly, because the attending eventually took over for the resident and redid her work, muttering "...something...something...hamburger."

I swear.

But whatever.


It's nine days later. I'm feeling pretty awesome. The kid is amazing and thriving and all around perfect.




But I guarantee you he won't have a sibling for another four or five years.

He's here.

Whoa.

I have one long and complicated birth story to share, but I'm not so good with the coherent sentences right now, so it'll have to wait.

For now - the basics:
Ivan Dean was born at 1:16 am on July 30. He weighed 8 pounds, 8 ounces. He's 22 inches long and has looong fingers and toes.

We like him a whole lot.

I'm doing really well (though I'm about due for another dose of ibuprofen...), Android is the proudest Papa ever, and Ivan is a sweet little baby nugget who sometimes shrieks like a raptor.


More later.

This has GOT to end sometime.

It was a hell of a weekend. It began with a "pop" at 10pm on Friday night. I swear I thought my water broke, and I was SURE I hadn't peed on myself, and I was contracting (though they weren't painful. I would find out later what pain REALLY is).

So, anyway, I was under the assumption that my water broke. There was no massive gush of fluid, but I thought that was pretty normal - they tell you that sometimes the baby's head acts as a cork and the amniotic sac can form kind of a slow leak of fluid. This is what it felt like. I called the hospital, the triage nurse said we could hang out at home for a couple of hours, but since I tested positive for Group B Strep I did need to come in, even though my contractions weren't regular.

We rolled up to the hospital at 1am, and they checked us in to PETU (Perinatal Treatment and Evaluation Unit). This, as we learned, is where they separate the REAL laboring women from the big, fat, fakers. Ie: yours truly.

Android and I were led to a quiet little room down the hall from the nurses station, I put on a gown and got into bed, and a nurse came in to strap a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor onto my belly. (These things suck because you cannot freaking MOVE while they are on. You can a little, but you always run the risk of dislodging the fetal monitor and having a nurse come in and readjust it with a vaguely annoyed look on her face.)

They had to verify whether my water had broken or not, which involved a cotton swab for 60 seconds in a place where cotton swabs normally don't go. She dipped it into a solution, waited 10 minutes and came back saying it wasn't amniotic fluid, but it wasn't urine either - and they weren't convinced that I hadn't broken my bag of waters.

This is when the 12 year old resident made her appearance.

Note: I am not the kind of person who judges doctors by their age. I'm really not. But I have reached the age where my doctor really could be younger than me and that terrifies me just the teeniest bit.

She examined me, and the gush of fluid (hey, if you've been reading this blog since the beginning you've read worse things, I think.) that came out made them really believe that my water had broken. They took a sample to send to the lab - apparently amniotic fluid forms a fern pattern on a slide when put under a microscope. Neat, huh?

Alas, no fern for me. At this point I was something of a medical mystery. The best explanation was given by my nurse (we started out a little rocky, but I ended up quite liking her) - it's probably just crazy birth canal lubricating discharge. Not many women get it, but she happened to with her second kid.

Because they were still so confused, I got another exam - this time with speculums! Woo! The best part about that exam is the nurse was missing a critical cotton swab (because they are all different.) and had to leave the room in order to get the right one, all the while I'm sitting on the bed with my knees as far apart as they would go, a speculum up my hooha and a prepubescent resident waiting patiently for the return of the nurse. Talk about awkward.

Then they made me pee in a cup.

The teenager came in a bit later to tell me that there still was no amniotic fluid to be found and that's a good thing because I was still 1 centimeter dilated and labor would have been long and hard if my water had broken at this point. The logical part of my brain knew she was right. The part of me that was wearing a gown that showed my ass if I moved too quickly wanted to wrap her stethoscope round her neck and pull it reeeeeeaaaal tight.

When she left the room I cried. A lot. The horrible quiet trying-not-to-make-too-much-noise/mess-in-case-someone-comes-into-the-room-cry. I couldn't help it. I had been such a trooper though the damn exams and the chilly room and the fetal monitor and the contractions that I couldn't quite believe we were going to be sent home sans baby.

At about 4:30 my doctor (like, my actual doctor - she was on call that night) came by to check on me, which I thought was awfully nice. She explained (more gently than the toddler did) that my lack of amniotic fluid at this point dropped my chances of a unnecessary c-section by a lot. She was the only one who comforted Android and I by saying that false alarms like this are totally normal and par for the course.

At 5am we were released. We gathered our things, walked out of PETU (the nurses waved goodbye and wished us a swift return) and into the deserted corridors of the hospital.

We were sad and exhausted. We went home and crawled into bed and shut off our cell phones and slept (and my contractions had either stopped or I was too tired to acknowledge them).

Saturday was my due date. It was also my sister's birthday. Android and I hung out at home for most of the day in the hope that something, anything, would happen. It didn't. We joined my sister, brother-in-law, and Mom for a picnic out in a very beautiful park in the western 'burbs. We ate, drank (I had a glass of champagne and loved every sip of it) and were generally merry.

By the time we got home I had started contracting again - about every 11 minutes, and let me tell you - those suckers are painful! They're like menstrual cramps on crack. Unfortunately, the regularity died down and the Android and I made an attempt at sleep. He was more successful than I, but bless his heart, he usually woke up just enough during my contractions (about every half hour at this point) to rub my back until I had settled down again.

I managed to get a fair amount of sleep in and woke up relatively refreshed on Sunday morning.

Android and I had a stupidly hopeful Sunday. We went to Target for cat food and toilet paper. We got some breakfast at our local joint. We walked around for an hour hoping that my contractions would steady up again. We had a couple of friends over for pizza and The Simpsons. We continued timing my contractions, but they were sporadic at best. We went to bed.

And here I am. At 4:19 on Monday morning. Still contracting (I'm averaging every 7-8 minutes for the last hour or so... yay!) and pretty tired, but not enough to try to sleep.



The Android had today picked in the warehouse baby pool - I hope he's right. We'll win eight bucks.

Progress! Finally!

Had an utterly lovely doctor's appointment today! I'm dilated to 1cm, I'm good and effaced (thinned out), and the kid's head is engaged. All good things. Then again, my standards have been lowered considerably over the last couple of weeks - 1cm is sorta paltry considering I've got 90% of the way left to go, but whatever.

My bp was a teeny bit high, and my feet were swollen (I know, REALLY? In JULY? At nearly 40 weeks pregnant? INCONCEIVABLE!) - so doc made me pee in a cup. There were trace amounts of protein so she wants me on the alert for headaches, vision changes, and more extremity swelling. I'm going to take it easy tomorrow and see what happens.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

I'm trying to keep my head up. Yes, technically I am not overdue yet. I can count. I can read a calendar. Doesn't change the fact that I am hideously uncomfortable 100% of the time.

You heard me. One. Hundred. Percent.


Surely I exaggerate? Nope. But I won't bore you with the details.


I am not afraid of labor and delivery. Bring that shit ON. I just want my kid. Here. Now.

I'm a big liar.

So, here's my belly at 39 weeks plus a couple days.

Admire the lack of stretch marks. Seems to be the only thing I've got going for me.

No more belly pics.

Tried to take a new belly pic just now.

My sheer mass almost made me burst into tears. Screw this. I'm avoiding mirrors until I'm at least six months postpartum.

Okay. Fun time is over.

I feel like complete and utter shit. I slept so bad last night, and woke up about a thousand times to pee. My body is shutting down, I think. My bones ache when I have to heave myself out of bed, and my feet protest the zillion-pound body they are being forced to transport.

Also, I have a perpetual stomach ache. Everything I eat causes it to be upset. Bob is fine, still kicking away like a champ - I'm not worried about him... I'm worried about ME. Somehow I gotta get him OUT, and how am I supposed to do that when I feel like ten different kinds of horseshit?

How the hell do women nest at the end of their pregnancy? I can barely bend over, much less scrub the damn floor. I did a whole mess of laundry yesterday (which could be the reason I'm so tired today...) and I feel like I got nothing done. Luckily, I just don't give a damn.

Three more days at the deli and I will be free. FREE!





I better have this baby soon - I may be losing my mind.

At least SOMEONE got a little firecracker.

My friend MamaGrouch had her baby girl early on Friday morning! Hooray! That baby was fashionably late by about four days, but she's just gorgeous and all is right with the world.



I had a pretty major uptick in Braxton-Hicks contractions (Android just calls them Bricks - it makes me laugh every time.) last night. Let me tell you - they're not exactly as painless as we are led to believe. I had major back pain, major crampiness (like a million years ago when I last got my period), and my belly was super hard.

Throw in the atrocious heat and the sound of fireworks ALL NIGHT and it adds up to not a great night's rest.

However, it does mean the end may be in sight, so I'm going with it. I imagine my nurse practitioner will check my cervix when I go in on Wednesday... here's hoping there was some progress on that front.



On another note - does the fact that the word "cervix" still weirds me out make me twelve years old? Probably. Whatever.

Time marches on.

As of tomorrow, Bob will be considered full-term. His little lungs are probably fully developed by now, and if he happened to be born, you know... NOW, he would be a-okay.

Hear that, buddy? C'mon out!




Seriously, though - since I found out he had flipped I've been sending labor vibes to my midsection. I've been massaging my belly in a downward motion, and I've been trying to think up ways to annoy the shit out of him so he gives up the ghost and comes out already.

All this and I still have three weeks til my "due date". I will be a bundle of fun for the next month or so, no? Apparently my mom thinks I'm irritable. NO SHIT. I'm utterly miserable, and having her tell me that labor is "not that bad" really doesn't help much.

BUT, I have come up with an all-purpose answer for people who believe they are being helpful/informative:
"Every pregnancy is different."

I shall say that with a smile on my face, even if I want to claw someone's eyes out.

Every pregnancy is different.

Bob is a team player.

He flipped! My little butthead is no longer a butthead!

He's in a lovely head-down position and looks like he wants to come out and play SOON (right, buddy? Play along, will ya?).

All in all a good appointment today - my blood pressure was great, his heartbeat is strong - and the doctor said he's cute (we got a little peek at him on a portable ultrasound thingy). I think he may have the Android's nose, and for that I am eternally grateful. My nose took 20 years to grow into.

I do have Group B Strep, but if they get the antibiotics into me as soon as I get to the hospital, everything should be just fine. And if I already have an IV, then putting narcotics into it should be no problem at all! Woo!

Sometime THIS MONTH (unless Bob is NOT a team player) I will give birth to a baby. And the fools at the hospital will actually let me take him home and like, raise him.

I'm not sure if I can take the pressure... but I'm sure as hell ready to try!

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being pregnant.

I'm tired of being HUGE.

I'm tired of other people's opinions, whether they meant well or not.

I'm tired of WAITING.

I'm tired of my back hurting.



Other than that, life is good. The weather has been nice, and I've been able to sleep relatively well. I really am ready to meet Bob, but he's making it difficult.

He hasn't turned yet, and if he doesn't turn soon he will be a breech baby. If he does indeed decide he's perfectly happy right smack where he is, we have two options - the doc can perform and External Cephalic Version on my poor, unsuspecting belly and try to get the kid to MOVE ALREADY! Or, we can schedule a c-section and get the uncooperative bugger out. They won't do vaginal breech births at my hospital, and for that I am grateful. It seems like an unnecessary risk for the baby and a whole lot more difficult delivery for the mom.

I have officially stopped talking about it. I get entirely too many unsolicited opinions, and I'm DONE.

I have a doc appointment tomorrow and we'll see what's up and progress from there. One way or another, I'm having a BABY sometime in the next month! DUDE!

For the record -

The more people suggest baby names to me, the more insecure I get that they will hate the name we ultimately choose.

Choosing your child's name is a personal and important thing. No one else gets a say.

Thirty Four weeks, three days.

Life continues to be good. Bob is a squirmy little guy, and as uncomfortable as his gymnastics can be, I like to know he's seemingly healthy and active.

I have a little less than six weeks til my due date, and I am READY. For the last few weeks I've been dealing with what I believe is a pinched nerve problem. Suddenly and completely without warning, my entire right side will go all hot and tingly and numb-ish, and it feels like I'm breathing in hot air,but only on the right side of my mouth - the whole things lasts about two minutes, then goes away as quickly as it came on. Really unpleasant.

I believe the kid is sitting on something he shouldn't, and my suspicions are unfortunately being confirmed almost daily (and several times daily) as he gets bigger. So, the logical conclusion is that this will happen way more often over the next six weeks. Awesome.

I'm going to talk to my doc again (the first time I mentioned it, she kind of looked at me like I was crazy) and see what can be done about this, if anything.

Anyway, I'm ready for Bob's arrival.







Maybe I'll take a belly pic today. We'll see.

Uffda.

I told you my belly was taking over the world.

My three lovely friends (Jenn, Barb and Corina) threw me a shower yesterday. It was my first shower ever, and I have to say - cake and presents and sniffing chocolate bars in diapers? My idea of a good time.

I'll post pictures and more details later. Until then, THANK YOU, GIRLS!

32 weeks.

How the time flies.

Had a doctor appointment yesterday and learned something very interesting. Apparently, if one has fat arms, one should not have the nurse use the regular blood pressure cuff because that causes one's blood pressure to skyrocket.

Had I known this a month ago I would have been able to avoid my 24 hour pee adventure. But whatever. Bygones.

So, yeah - BP is perfectly fine, weigh gain seems to be okay as well... 24 lbs in 7 months ain't too bad. Bob was showing off for the doc and kicked up a storm, and his heartbeat was strong.

We start Childbirth Education classes this coming Monday, and because I am a total nerd, I'm excited. Perhaps I will change my mind once we start getting videos to watch.

I have GOT to post a belly picture sometime today. It is beginning to take over the world.

Here's the thing:

This baby is going to be the biggest adventure of my life so far. I am ridiculously excited about it. I'm happy, in fact. SO, it would be great if asshole people would stop pointing out that my baby will cry and poop and probably not sleep through the night for a couple of months (or, according to one dipshit non-father, my baby won't sleep through the night for 18 months or so.) Do you think I'm an idiot? That I've been in a bubble? Explain it to me. Does it make you feel good to see my face drop?

Blaming my hormones on my attitude toward you is unacceptable. If you are being an asshole, I will call you on it. Me calling you on it is not a byproduct of my hormones. I am not some crazy irrational girl because I want to be treated like a human being.

I'm going to be a mother and I cannot wait. If you can't be happy and supportive, shut the fuck up. I am TIRED of laughing off the hormone jokes, and the pointing out that I waddle when I walk. YOU try carrying a few extra (um... 20.) pounds across your pelvis and see how YOU walk.

I'm also tired of people being astonished that I am still working. Pregnancy is not terminal. I have two months to go and odds are I'll be working for the majority of that.

Know what's really funny? All the comments that piss me off the most are from men who have no children. In fact, they come from men without a wife or girlfriend. And at this rate, no woman will put up with them.



I am lucky that my pregnancy has gone off without a hitch so far. I am blessed that I wasn't put on bed rest for the last two months of my pregnancy like someone I know. That doesn't mean it's not hard as hell and getting harder. I am roughly the size of a VW bus and I'm constantly amazed that I don't keel forward when I walk.


Please be kind to the pregnant women in your life. Their brains are working overtime on sixty billion things that may have never even floated across the transom of your mind ("Hey! You kicked! Good. You're still alive." "Is this bathwater too hot? Am I boiling you?" "What is that and why is it digging into my spleen?") Be kind to them because no matter how cute you think they look, more than likely they feel the size of form of public transportation. Don't share horrible childbirth stories unless they ask, and even then... maybe cushion the blow a little bit.

I'm not saying you should coddle a pregnant woman - we can sniff out condescension a mile away (must be the hormones.) - all I'm saying is... be kind.







I'm going to go take a bath and hope against hope I don't boil my kid like a Maine lobster.

You mean he's not shaped like a basketball?

Bob has a new trick. It includes wedging himself up in the upper right hand corner of my torso and jabbing me with his sharp little knee. At least I think it's a knee.

I'm only just realizing that my kid is indeed not shaped like a basketball. He's pointy and jabby and freaking squirmy as all hell.

I like him, though - and I can't wait to meet him. But we're going to have to discuss this shoving-body-parts-into-Mom's-internal-organs thing.


Another new development: I can no longer bend at the waist. This make sitting awkward, much less picking something up off the ground.

Not being able to bend at the waist is the unfortunate side effect of no longer having a waist. I've always been a biggish girl, but I always had some defined narrowing between the boobs and the junk in the trunk. This no longer exists. I feel more like a tank than ever. My lovely turquoise polo shirt makes me look like the Adriatic Sea.

I think I'll wear black for the rest of the pregnancy.

It was worth it.

The epic peeing in a jug was worth it - "No evidence of preeclampsia"

Hooray!


Now, that's not to say I won't ever get it, but I don't have it now. So Bob can stay in there safe and sound for a while longer without killing me.