Perverts

I have been receiving messages from devotees ever since I went public about my life as an amputee woman. Naive at the beginning of this venture, I have come to accept that the unsavory and distasteful messages are par for the course. I can typically spot the devotee message within the first sentence or two and respond by hitting the delete button. I would prefer to invest my time in helping others rather than appeasing some fetish or sexual fantasy offered by an internet troll. Responding to the message only fuels the desire for interaction, and I just don't have time for such nonsense!

Lately I've discovered a disturbing trend when opening my blog email. As I have become more comfortable discussing my pregnancy, the level of pervert I am attracting is deepening. Being attracted to a pregnant amputee is certainly a niche fetish which I've come to believe is held by those with more aggressive communication tendencies.

The emails I have been receiving transcend raunchy and crude. The desires conveyed are downright demeaning! The penis photos, which are often attached, only confirm the low-life mentalities of the authors. Needless to say, I am not impressed by the sentiments written or the visual aspects of the appendages being displayed. Neither, in my opinion, are brag worthy. I suggest the authors would be prudent to keep both under lock and key!

I will continue to delete and block all emails which contain lewd or pornographic images. My only response will be limited to this blog. To all of the perverts who have been sending me photos of their privates, please know that I find your images pathetic. From size and girth to basic cleanliness, you are not helping to build a case for your manhood.

I implore those individuals who feel compelled to contact me with their sexual fantasies to please stop. I am not interested in your advances, your flattery or your dimensions. I am strictly in survival mode at the moment and don't have the energy to deal with your perversions. 

Painting Traditions

After a lot of fretting and more nagging than I care to admit, the baby's room is being finished today. I felt a rush of relief when I realized that we can finally set up the crib. With the way this pregnancy has been going, I worried that the baby would be here before he or she had a place to sleep!

Although I would like to take credit for the room, the majority of the credit goes to my Mom. She drove down here several times (not an easy feat considering that it is nearly 5 hours round trip) to prep and paint the room. Between the weather, my health and the condition of the room, painting was certainly a Herculean effort. 

Despite the time and aggravation involved, I also knew that I wouldn't be able to dissuade my Mom from her appointed task. Prepping and painting each grandchild's bedroom has become her tradition. For reasons which I don't understand but have come to fully appreciate, she enjoys painting, especially when the job is being completed for a grandchild.

In addition to painting, my Mom unintentionally abides by another tradition. She spills paint. I'm not talking a drop or two; she habitually manages to splatter copious amounts of paint. She began this tradition when painting Robby's room (before he was born.) Scott and I came home from our birthing class to be greeted by a neon green glow emanating from under the nursery room door. While we were gone, she thoroughly coated the walls in Shrek green paint but had also managed to tip a quart of the neon hue on the corner of the beige carpet. We toyed with the idea of getting new carpet before we realized that the "memory" could be covered with a couch. 

This time she had a little helper in Robby, who undoubtedly contributed to the mishap.  I wasn't in the room, but I certainly heard the reaction from my Mom. When I entered the room, I saw an entire gallon of white paint, dumped upside down.  I knew that we didn't have enough towels to clean this spill! As luck would have it, the carpet had already been deemed beyond salvage and replacement flooring had already been selected. (Scott utilizing the space as his "man cave" for 9 years certainly took a toll on the carpet and walls!)

Spills aside, I am so thankful for the help that she has provided in prepping the nursery. Just knowing that we will be able to set up the crib tonight has been a huge sense of relief. Although I would prefer this little one stay inside and bake a little longer, at least I know that we will finally be ready.

Water Works

The past 36 hours can only be described as stressful. I was hoping for a few days of rest and relaxation after working the conference over the weekend, but my body and little baby-to-be had different plans.

The problem started at 3:30 in the morning on Monday as I made my way back to bed after another of what has become an endless nightly parade to and from the bathroom. I laid down, tried to find that comfortable sweet spot where nothing hurt, and all of a sudden I realized that my pajama pants were wet. Actually, soaked is a more apt term which could also be used to describe the covers and sheets. I was both mortified and surprised by the sudden waterworks.

I pulled my liner and leg back on, schlepped back to the bathroom and changed my pajamas. I put a towel over the puddle in bed and made my way out to the couch, hoping to be able to put the incident and my wakeful state behind me. An hour later I felt the same unexpected gush, thoroughly soaking yet another pair of pajamas. At this point I began to suspect that something was amiss.

I changed (yet again) and laid on top of two beach towels strewn across the couch. Again, I ended up soaked. Only after I ran out of pajamas and towels did I completely abandon all hopes of falling asleep. I piled a few dishtowels on the seat of my rocker and began to Google my embarrassing and damp situation.

Researching only intensified my anxieties, forcing me to call my doctor before 7:00. I was instructed to proceed directly to my Fetal Maternal Specialist as soon as I dropped Robby off at school.  A quick scan, which included measuring the amniotic fluid, confirmed my worries. The baby had managed to pop a small hole in the amniotic sac causing me to slowly leak fluid. 

It turns out that a small rupture, or break, in the amniotic sac is relatively common for pregnancies in which the baby is transverse, but knowing that I am not alone in this experience has been of little solace!  I have been put on bed rest for the next few days in hopes that the tear will repair itself. I am also being monitored daily to measure the amount of fluid and the health of the baby. 

I know that I am receiving great medical care, but bed rest simply stinks!  I am abiding by the order, but my mind is spinning with projects and lists of things that need to be done. I'm not good at relinquishing control or asking for help, but I know that I must in order to protect the baby. The next few days will yield a lot of information and hopefully good news. Fingers crossed!

Bump Rubbing

I had to work Friday night and Saturday which meant that Scott was on full-time Daddy duty. I knew that the pair would be fine and have fun while I was working, but I always feel a sense of anxiety leaving them alone for long periods of time. Over the past few years I've come to accept that the house operates under a different set of rules in my absence, and I have tried to adjust my expectations accordingly. As long as nobody ends up in the hospital, I consider my time away to be a success.

Robby was delighted about the prospect of his "Daddy and Me" weekend. He excitedly informed both his Principal and his teachers that his Daddy, not his Momom, would be picking him up from school. Unfortunately he continued to explain that "Momom is working tonight so that means me and Dad will go to Sheetz for dinner. Then we are going to play Xbox all night in our underwear." There is no adequate way that I can explain the zeal with which Robby disclosed this information. For some reason which I will probably never understand, playing Xbox while wearing only underwear is a premium treat in this house. 

While Scott and Robby were reveling in their "Momom free" bacheloresque ways, I was working at a local conference for children with disabilities. I typically enjoy working conferences because I find meeting and talking with new people to be fascinating. My conference experience was different this time. Being eight months pregnant and uncomfortable certainly hindered my enjoyment of the event. I quickly grew weary of standing, smiling and making small talk.

I understand the compulsion to touch a pregnant woman's belly. While I have never acted on this urge, I know that it is well-intended and isn't meant to be rude. Typically I just smile and opt not to make a scene out of the physical intrusion on my personal space. However, by the time we were packing up the table on Saturday evening, I was ready to kick the next stranger who felt it appropriate to rub my belly.  During our down time I found myself fantasizing about returning the affection by rubbing the offender in the belly, or on their bald spot should they be a male. While I would never do it, primarily because I was trying to remain professional, I was able to conjure some wonderful scenarios which made me smile!

Lesson From My Mom

Although I didn't do the labor, I have to admit that I felt victorious when I turned on the sinks to discover running water. Even though the water was brown and mucky, a temporary result of the well being disturbed, I felt as if I had overcome an obstacle which initially rendered me defeated. Unfortunately, my water vindication was short lived when I realized that our toilet tank was not filling with water.

It was not difficult to diagnosis the problem: the muddy water had obviously clogged something inside the tank. Not knowing anything about toilet repair, I acquiesced the responsibility for fixing the defunct toilet to Scooter. He worked on the tank for about five minutes on Wednesday evening before declaring complete defeat, turning off the water and instructing us to never use that toilet again because it was broken.

I learned many lessons from my mom when I was growing up. For much of my childhood she was a single mom with limited resources. Giving up was simply never an option because calling and paying for a repair was not financially feasible. I remember watching her toil, problem-solve and try to fix just about everything in our house. I remember witnessing tears of frustration as she squeezed herself into small, cramped and dirty crawlspaces in order to try to stop a leak or fix a problem. Even when she didn't know what she was doing, she always tried. Giving up was never an option!

As I have grown older, I've come to appreciate the must try attitude demonstrated by my mom. Although I don't always know how something is going to be fixed, I am not one to simply give up and walk away. Like her, I feel compelled to exhaust all of my options and calling an expert repairman is always the last resort. Refusing to accept Scott's white flag of defeat, I woke up Thursday morning determined to fix the toilet.

Logically, I reasoned that the intake mechanism was probably clogged with grit. I had no idea how to go about unclogging it, but I had faith that I would eventually figure it out. My adventures in toilet repair began with my learning a paramount lesson: it is prudent to turn off the water supply to the toilet before beginning any repairs. I skipped this step, and ended up thoroughly washing my bathroom walls, floor, fixtures and myself before I managed to get the valve completely shut off. You would be amazed how quickly the water will spray out of such a small little hose! Needless to say, I was not off to a good start.

Soaking wet and trying to squeeze my pregnant belly further into the odoriferous spot between the commode and the tub, I began to feel that my battle with the toilet was becoming personal. I was determined to get the water flowing again, and I knew that I was not going to give up regardless of how long it took me.

After a lot of experimentation, some phone consultations with my mom and research on YouTube, I had managed to remove the inner workings of the tank. It took me three hours, but I managed to get the grime removed and everything put back into place. I felt such a surge of adrenaline when I turned the water on and the tank began to fill. The first flush was one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard!

Well Pump Problems

Yesterday morning I woke up and went about my normal routine. I made Robby breakfast, watched another riveting episode of SpongeBob and prepared myself to tackle another day. I took our little neighbor up the street to catch the bus and returned home ready, albeit not terribly enthusiastic, about tackling the sink full of dishes I was too tired to clean the previous night.  I turned on the sink and- BAM- the entire tone of my day took an irrevocable turn.

The faucet was completely dry. Confused, I tried the faucets in our bathrooms. None of them were working. Before I entered full panic mode, I waddled downstairs (something that lately I try to avoid doing at all costs) and checked the circuit breakers. When I realized that none of them had been tripped and finally surmised that the culprit was most likely the well pump, I had a full blown meltdown. 

Between the unexpected hospitalization and baby scare over the weekend, Scott's dental procedure and the ensuing stressful recovery, and my looming work and prenatal anxieties, the last thing I needed to tackle was a failed well pump. Of course home repairs never come at an optimal time, but this one seemed to develop simply to push me to a breaking point. With no running water and unsure of who to call, I felt totally defeated.

Of course, defeat is not part of my DNA. I was raised by a single mom who demonstrated both the necessity of invention and must try attitude which carried our family through a myriad of home repairs. After dropping off Robby at school, I cried on the couch for about 30 minutes. When my head hurt to the point where I couldn't cry anymore, I ventured downstairs and began to investigate.  I managed to find a sticker for a well pump repair company on a blue tank in the utility room. I was elated, buoyed by the fact that this company has at least been to our house before and might be able to help. I called, and they managed to fit me in for an afternoon appointment.

Typically, being without water would be an inconvenience. When pregnant, the lack of a working toilet took the frustrations to a whole new level. I think I wore a path between my house and Mr. Bill's because of my constant need to use his facilities. I never realized how frequently I had to empty my bladder until I had to cross two yards to achieve this goal!  He laughed each time he answered his door, and I have no doubt he will be able to spin today's events into a plethora of stories to be recounted for years to come. 

By 7:00 in the evening we finally had water restored to the house. My educated guess was correct and the well pump had indeed burned out.  It makes me appreciate running water.  I would not have liked schlepping buckets of water to the house from the stream, which had become plan B.

April Fool's Day Recap

Yesterday was April Fool's Day, a holiday which must have been designed with young children in mind. Robby and his classmates have been planning their "pranks" for weeks, counting down the days until they were able to execute their mischief. Of course, most of the students were not able to keep their plans to themselves, summarily ruining the surprise factor for each prank with their excited chatter. I understand this compulsion because, as a child, I was completely unable to keep a secret. 

It seems that Robby does not take after me when it comes to secret keeping. He devised his April Fool's Day prank more than a week ago and managed to fill in a few select accomplices on his plans. Since the majority of the work for his prank landed on my shoulders, I was one of the first to know of his idea. Have no doubt that Robby is indeed my son however, because his elaborate "prank" involved cupcakes.

While his Daddy was convalescing from his periodontal work, Robby and I were working in the kitchen on Monday night. We made a batch of ice cream cone cupcakes and carefully frosted each one to resemble the frozen treat. Robby was all giggles as he anticipated the surprise and shock of his classmates biting into what they thought to be ice cream only to discover a cupcake. He was sure that his prank would be the best one of the day!

Yesterday morning we carefully packed up our disguised cupcakes before heading to school.  Robby told his teacher and Principal about our deception, but only after both agreed to keep the secret. In order to make the prank more plausible, the cones were stowed in the school refrigerator until lunch time. 

When I picked up Robby from school he was full of himself for pulling one over on his classmates. Apparently one student was confused why there was cake in her ice cream, while another tried to figure out how we managed to get the cake to fit so perfectly inside the cone. After the first lick, all of the kids were confused about why their ice cream was not frozen, and why it tasted like frosting. At this point Robby stood up and screamed "Happy April Fool's Day. Consider yourselves pranked, Robby style."

Although I had doubts that his ploy would work, it turns out that none of the students have ever seen the ice cream cone cupcake. I found this surprising because I consider the treat to be a childhood staple. I guess this staple is now considered nostalgic?  Regardless, I'm glad that Robby was able to adequately surprise his friends with a friendly April Fool's Day prank, and I was happy to be part of his master plan.