Big Pharma strikes again!

Grab the coffee, friends. This will be a long one.

Might need a few more stamps.

So, though I appreciate the "mend and make do" world of my forebears, I am always appreciative of the wonderful advancements modern science, and especially modern medicine have to offer. Diseases and diagnoses that were death sentences back in the day have become treatable if not curable with modern drugs, technology, and techniques. Knowing several people (and one pet) who would have had their lives shortened considerably without it makes me wonder what the hell those against it are hoping for.

Well, I have an idea.

With that being said, yes, I am trying to go ahead with a pseudo - hippie birth as I did with my son. I may not have wanted interventions, but they were there if I needed them, and goodness knows I am happy about that!

Well with the GDM diagnosis (which was wrong, the doc admitted later), I received the sad news that the hippie birth center no longer worked within a hospital, so I packed up my marbles and picked out the best hospital our insurance would pay for, which is actually a really nice hospital!

The alternative was unthinkable.

Well, after transferring, I realized immediately how good it was I switched to the hospital, for as soon as they did the ultrasound, they knew my little proto-stinker was breech. She had been that way for months, and the same abs that kept me from having the adorable baby belly I have now were holding her in position. It was too late at this point for any sort of baby yoga to work, she was too big for that (right on her weight target though), so we turned to medical science, and the external cephallic version or ECV to give her some help.

I make it a point to read up on medical procedures that I am to undergo, and the related statistics just to know my options and to be a properly informed patient. This is not research, as I don't compile or publish it in any professional capacity, it is just reading. I make this distinction, because I am honestly sick of hearing people bandy about the word "research" as though it gives them legitimacy, while also telling me to "Google it!"

I know too many scientists not to know better.

Well, I knew mostly about the procedure, though I found out more specifics early this week as I asked my medical team about it. I knew I was a good candidate for it, and the doc gave me the go-ahead to attempt and then wait as I reached 38 weeks. Well, he said I had two options, try and wait or turn and induce, so I chose the route that would keep my granola cred as much intact as possible.

Without becoming this.

So yesterday at 6:30 am, we found ourselves checking in to the hospital, statistics and a general knowledge of what was happening in mind. I met Nurse Jennifer, and student nurse Dianne, and they started the dreaded IV! I warned her as I always do that my veins are like teflon paper fire hoses. Hubby was there to back me up, and it resulted in only one stick and a bit of gold digging. They wonder why I hate needles! We did all the vitals, I got a ride back to my doc's offices for another ultrasound, and we returned to meet Dr. McCool, who would perform the proceedure. For those who know, I give my docs nicknames, and since I have trouble with a male OB, most of them are in the Creepy Family. Dr. Creepystein, for instance, has become my main doc, while Dr. Creepy Whitebeard is also there. This guy, however, was go with my desire to maintain hippie cred, so he gets to be Dr. C. McCool.

Maybe not this cool.

Well, Doc informs me that they can first try to turn her using just a smooth muscle relaxer, which used to be an asthma medications, and felt like it should have recreational uses. A shot in the arm, a few minutes, and two attempts later, while not phasing the baby, it was too painful. Years of martial arts and core strengthening made that decision for us. I had not known it was an option to try without an epidural, though I had read that the stats did not favor it. Well, the statistics were trustworthy, and it didn't work. I knew what came next, the needle in the spine. This has been my biggest fear, like being trapped in a maze with a bear made of snakes that hasn't eaten in two days hunting me.

Or this.

Against my fears, and with the knowledge that the epidural would improve our chances for success, I took Student Nurse Diane's hand, sobbed like I was slowly being peeled, and let the very amazingly patient anesthesiologist do his job. Which he did very well, letting us know exactly what was going on, while Bob translated my sobs in responses to questions. They don't tell you what it is like, and I could go into excruciating detail at a later date, but suffice it to say I soon had some powerful narcotics and numbing agents blocking everything from my diaphragm down. They did have to pump me full of epinephrine so my heart rate would remain stable.

Also, it gave me a year's worth of cardio.

Another shot of the muscle relaxer, and I was cool with the world. Though apparently according to my husband, they realized that when I started to babble, my blood pressure was falling, so they had to bump it up. Why is it that every time I take a drug that makes me loopy or woozy, I get more talkative? Well, anyway, I was still scared and upset but like a junkie on four or five Xanax, I no longer had the will to really do anything about it.

So much Xanax!

Also, I was unable to tat. But I tried to keep a good humor when I wasn't sobbing because these nurses go through a lot. Just ask the poor lady who offered me ice chips during my last labor.

No. Ice. Chips.

So the whole crew returned as soon as the ceiling became the most interesting thing in the room, and I held a conversation while Dr. McCool pushed as hard as he could, grunting and straining while regularly checking his progress with an ultrasound. My head was tilted down, and Nurse Jennifer was right there holding my hand so, I was totally unaware of anything south of the chest zeppelins. I did realize at some point that I was naked in front of the room, and I had a pang of modesty, but it was more like an errant thought that got bored and wandered off.

Modesty is for chumps.

Suddenly, everyone was happy. I had to ask to confirm because though I had guessed and am rather sensitive to the moods of others normally, I was not my usual sensitive self.

With about as much muscle control.

The baby is headed south! Success! And baby played honey badger the whole time.

Baby don't care. Baby don't give a crap.

Recovery went well, though for a couple of hours, my left toe had a rhythm in it that could not be denied. Soon, Nurse Emily de-borged me and we came home, six new holes in my body, baby still moving well, though with a new set of sensations to get used to. Hubby and I relaxed and enjoyed a quiet evening (the Boy got an extra night of spoiling thanks to a fantastic Granny), and we trundled off to bed.

Blissfully unaware...

At 2am, the last of the muscle relaxer must have left my system and I remembered why she had not turned on her own. Remember when I mentioned my awesome abs? Yeah, I remembered, too. I also remembered that having a "resting" heart rate in the 130 range for a couple of hours should have given me a headache. It did, DOMS style.

Ow.

Headache, back ache, ache from every wound that had something shoved in it, and the lateral abs that had been holding her back. Well, no pain, no gain, right? At least we have the machine that goes "ping!"

Adventures in Housewyfery

There was just too much adventure this morning to do a simple G+ post. This morning requires pictures, so grab your adventure hat, and cup of culturally appropriate beverage of your choice, because it's going to be a day.

I'm going to need a lot more "lemonade" for this.

So my morning started at 12:30 am with some heartburn I cannot even begin to describe. I felt like a bad sword swallower. I hate midnight snacking, but I also know that there is only one thing that will curb it, so I downed a bit of cheese and some milk. My mother does her best to instill healthy habits in me, and midnight snacking flies in the face of it, but then, pregnancy flies in the face of normalcy, mostly because evolution is stupid.

Two words: Laryngial nerve.

So, with heartburn calmed, I get to sleep for another three hours before I have to pee again, because evolution is still stupid.

Squids don't have a blind spot like we do. Jerks.

Well, right about the time I was about to fling back the covers from a hormonal hotflash, hubby's alarm went off and he muttered something about morning and stumbled off to the shower. On Friday, I don't have to make lunch for the boy (pizza day at school) so I relaxed in bed, checking email. Ah, a note from the Boy's teacher. Well, this is starting my Friday off on the wrong foot.

I can see where this is headed.

So, I am laying there, quietly contemplating talking to the Boy about school, again, because he told me everything was fine. But before I really get a chance to go over things in my mind, I hear a thud, a shout, and a scream from the bathroom. I do not know it at this point, but the adventures are about to really begin.

Suit up.

So I rush into the bathroom. Husband informs me that he has just been stung by a wasp. He gets out of the shower, asks me about the stinger--I already know that wasps are the bastard cousins of bees and do not leave the stinger in--and we find our little jerk friend battling the shower water that is still falling. Well, being the brave insect slayer that I am, I look around the bathroom for something deadly, grab the foaming hand soap, turn off the shower, and douse the thing until it is dead.

Something about this does not say "Amazonian Princess" to me.

Well, I'm about to leave as hubby returns to showering, when I make a terrifying discovery. The wasp had a friend.

I will sting your face.

Meet the Carolina Red Wasp. At first it was by the ceiling, but when it got tangled in a spider web, it panicked, and we, being the large, intelligent mammals that we are, did what our species is best at in such a circumstance. We got as low as possible and cried out in terrified shouts to each other.

You rang?

Once our second "Red Baron" had landed on the door jamb and was staring at me in my bright red tank top, hubby returned to showering. My new plan, sneak out for wasp spray. Okay, no pictures for a minute. I want you to read, then close your eyes and imagine what you are about to read:

Our bathroom is a faded blue, and so small it would violate modern codes. It was grandfathered in so that our house would still be habitable. My husband had just finished his shower and was wrapped discretely in a fluffy towel. I was in the small space between our sink and the door, allowing him to step safely out without alarming our guest.

The wasp was perched in the center of the only door out of the room, like an evil version of Poe's Raven. It's wings at rest, it's compound eyes fixed on me. Bob left the shower, very slowly, and began to shave. He did not have his glasses, I did, so I kept my eyes focused on the Baron. Then it hit me. I have wasp spray, just on the other side of that door. Also, my son was awake and could come bursting into the bathroom at any moment.

So, to take control of the situation, I opened the door, beneath the Baron, as slowly as I could. I crouched down, low as I could, not crawling--pregnancy has prevented that, but crouched, almost a caper. I edged towards the door, like a ninja, my eyes never leaving the source of danger. I reached the threshold and edged under. SAFE!

As I slowly closed the door, a small, terrified voice comes from inside the bathroom. "Don't leave me alone with it!" Well, when you are a ninja, you must make choices. I let the dog out, made sure my son was secure, and got the spray. Husband was as far out of the way as he could get. It had taken wing again and landed on the wall.

I was at the door, as low as possible. Husband mutters low, "Hold on, I'm going to get into the shower."

To protect himself from ricochet spray, he slipped behind the curtain. My family line has a history of ranged accuracy that dates back to medieval times. I may not have the eyesight of my ancestors, but I drew on that strength and pulled the trigger.

Like an amateur ground gunner, the Baron fell from its perch and landed on the rug. As it struggled to its feet, I opened the door like a conquering hero for a second shot. BLAST. Dead.

Obligatory eye candy.

If the first encounter was a 4-camera sitcom, this was a dramatic superhero drama. (See above.)

So with that done, I returned to the mommying side of things. This will take some consideration. I feel as though I am standing where my mother stood 25 years ago, watching myself. Hubby feels the same thing, at the branching of two paths. I know, now, what my mother went through, I know how the world has changed and not changed, and I feel as powerless as I know she felt. Yet I am not doing this alone. I have the chance to change the past by changing the future.

Well, Mr. Frost, what now?

Apply self topically.

You know, it's hard sometimes to have a blog for which I need topics without becoming bogged down in the topical items of the day. Is Rocket Raccoon a better hero that Nolan's Superman? What side should I fall on in Gamergate? Should our focus be on Syria or ISIS?

Boxers or briefs?

But as with my chosen propaganda posters, I have chosen to keep this blog free of the usual polarizing rhetoric on the radio and focus more on internal struggles. Does my husband have clothes for tomorrow? Did I remember to pack an apple in my son's lunch? How do I remove THAT stain?

Boxers or briefs?

Okay, okay, focus! So the house has seen better days of late. As the sole house keeper, when you are feeling under the weather, the raccoons (aka, my son and husband) learn to adapt. Obviously washing laundry is a skill that they teach us in housewyf school and folding is something my husband refuses to do because of what he claims are my "Exacting standards."

I don't demand much.

My El Guapo has been clutter. I spent the summer trying to rid us of this dreaded disease of a modern consumerist culture and that has basically resulted in it creeping out of hidden corners to lay about my house and trip us in the dark. Now on top of that, my dear sweet beloved husband who I would not murder because I have no where else to go (and also blah blah, something about love), is collecting cans for the boy scouts. That's right. So all those tin cans I usually rinse out and toss into the recycling bin, he wants to keep. So for some reason this means that they don't get washed and must be stacked on counters, laying in bags around the kitchen, oh, and roaming free.

Just because I like to WATCH Hoarders,

does not mean I want to be ON the show.

I know what I have to do. It's not really an easy thing, but then, when do you have to resolve to do something when that something is NOT difficult?

I resolve to eat this.

I'm thinking that the first thing I need to conquer is the laundry. I'm so behind that the pile is nearly as tall as I am and I, er, haven't changed the sheets in a bit. Next will be drifts of clutter in the kitchen. I realize that my husband recently reduced his number of jobs to one that actually both pays the bills and gives us health insurance, but this also does not give him permission to decorate my car or my kitchen with his old papers.

Has anyone seen my casserole pan?

As for the books double stacked on the floor behind my mops, as a guy told his marriage counselor, "We're here to discuss THEIR problems not MINE!"

(Real actual picture of my house.)

Okay, the books belong to ALL of us.

Keeping busy.

It's been a roller coaster couple of weeks here at the Homefront. Some good things have happened, though they have been somewhat overshadowed by rendering unto Caesar, and we've had a lot of rendering to do as we move from five separate paychecks to one decent one.

Close enough.

This being said, we're crawling out from under a debt rock, and this is actually a good thing. I will be thrilled when the only thing we owe money on is the house.

Maybe one or two other small things.

Anyway, I'm getting used to packing lunches for everyone in the mornings, though I admit to getting in a bit of a rut, as it can be hard to plan creativity ahead. More importantly, Thursdays lunches have to be special: for Mr. Smith, extra cute, for Junior, extra sturdy. Mr. Smith eats lunch with other professors, and loves to show off adorable bento lunches, because inside he's still a high schooler, and this is what we get for watching too much high school romance anime. I'm still looking for pickled plums though.

The world needs more hot dog octopi.

Anyway, on Thursdays, the boy goes hiking around the forest with his teachers. So for him, lunch has to be full of yummy things and sturdy enough to hold together as he treks through the forest with his backpack. I wish I had pictures.

I'm pretty sure it looks like this.

In other news, we are gearing up for fall yard work. Pruning is going to be the name of the game for the most part, at least here at the beginning of autumn. Once the snakes are definitely hiding down nice warm holes, it will be time to cut back the growth around the walnut trees. I'd very much like them to put their energy into making walnuts and not new sprigs and sprouts, but they are stubborn.

And a little mean.

I do have to admit that I've fallen a bit behind in my usual house cleaning. I'm the first to admit that I'm no Suzie Homemaker, but all those little things I do that aren't cleaning the pee from under the toilet are, I'm sorry to say, a bit more in need of my attention right at the moment.

I swear this isn't all I do.

Working hard or hardly working?

Okay, let's be fair, I plumb forgot to post last week. With the boy in school, I have a lot on my mind, he's out there in the world, and I am unable to hover. Being a helicopter mom of a school aged child is tough.

Not enough protection of his hands.

Also, he needs a coat... and a scarf.

So mornings have been busy, I have to make two lunches and a breakfast on most days. When I did this before, I had to get up at 5:30 am to start the rice in order to have it done, and I wouldn't eat breakfast until after the boys were away. Now, I don't have to start until 6:30, and I usually have time for breakfast, too.

Coffee is very important in the house of a Professor's wife.

I'm settling into the rhythm of things, and the long, quiet days of housewyfery, with my neurotic dog Bruce by my side.

Moves like a ninja, farts like a...well, not a ninja.

Recently, I have been looking at the piles of clutter around the Home Front. The fact is that since Junior started Home Schooling, I sorta just let my brain melt into my butt. But with my time being my own again, and the ability to concentrate for extended periods back to me, I have found a lot of things falling back into place. Without worrying about getting him a drink or making lunch on demand, or a snack, or trying to stimulate his brain. I leave this to the pros.

Just another day at school.

It's going to be a busy fall, this year. Junior has Scouts, I have volunteer work for the new school, Mr. Jones has scout stuff AND work, and I need him to help me with the yard. As grocery prices go up and everyone is shouting about GMOs and E. Coli in lettuce from human fecal matter, and all of the horrible things that happen to our vegetables between seed and table, not to mention the fact that it is right and proper, we have a five year plan beginning this year to fill up our little 1/2 acre of land with our own produce.

Nothing we eat is safe anymore.

That's right, time to plant a Victory Garden! Our current plan includes herbs, veggies, and plenty of fruits, including blackberries, blueberries, peaches, apples, and possibly grapes. I dream of having a little shady grape arbor where I can sit with my tea during the summer and watch the chickens and work on my tatting and needlepoint.

This is my moment, don't ruin it for me.

This year, we will be planting fruit trees, since they will take the longest to bear, and this will give me a little more time before I need the standing freezers and all of that. Luckily, I will be snagging a second hand food processor from my husband's grandmother who passed away, and though my kitchen is small, expert organization means that everything is right at hand.

Still bigger than my kitchen,

however, I'd kill for this set-up.

But today, at long last, I must do something I have not done in a while (which, as with any cleaning task, makes it that much worse). Today I clean out the fridge. I have some containers that need reclaiming, not to mention the space. Let me tell you, it's bad.

Maybe not that bad.

How this Housewyf got her groove back.

Okay, I'm going to admit it, the bush still lives. What's worse, fall is approaching and I have it and a couple of friends that need to meet the business end of my axe.

Obligatory Gimli. (That is, plural of a gimlet.)

I've been a little busy with a couple of home things, first and foremost, I have been returning to a cleaning schedule. I'm still a little bit on the crazy hippy side of things, but things ARE getting done. So, for those of you playing the home game:

Monday: Bathroom.
Tuesday: Bedrooms.
Wednesday: Living room, office.
Thursday: Kitchen, shopping.
Friday: Dusting and floors.

Find joy in your work.

In between, I have hobbies and, as most housewyfs, I have a whole lot of social media and online series binge-watching to do. To be fair, for the first couple of days of the Boy's new school, I spent most of the time scrubbing the grout, which is to say, I was doing nothing but cleaning things that don't need to clean in order to pass the dragging seconds until he got out of school. Of course, I'm cleaning the grout about other things as well.

It helps to pass the time.

In other news, I have to get either a new dryer or a permanent line. The current dryer situation is not working, as my dryer has decided that actually drying the clothes is for losers. Of course, with the weather the way it's been recently, the outside is not a good solution either.

We've had a bit of rain.

Well, it's back to work. Hubby is finishing the mowing, and I still need to cut down the monster bush.

O hai, I made some friends.

Maybe....