Mrs. Knowitall, R.N.

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     I love my profession and I’m proud of what I do. I can educate you about what your diabetic Daddy needs to be eating for dinner, I can identify early signs of heart attack and stroke, I can even connect you with the resources you need to quit smoking. I have to say, however, that there is something deep down in people who are drawn to nursing that is unfortunatly probably sending a lot of us to an early grave.
     I think we are all guilty of it. It became apparent to me when I was in nursing school, studying about proper eating and sleep habits at 1AM, sucking down a Redbull for a late supper. We are the poster children for “do as I say, not as I do.”
     How many of us would encourage a patient to “keep on working with that bum shoulder you hurt yesterday, it will probably heal in its own.” That “pop” you heard wasn’t anything, skip the doctor visit and keep on truckin’. Of course we wouldn’t! Unless, of course the person in question is ourselves.
     We think there is nothing we can’t fix ourselves without the help of “Dr. Google.”  Nurses make the worst patients because we can’t seem to wrap our minds around the role reversal. Nothing hurts worse than needing help. I don’t honestly know if its “pride” or just that we think we are an invincible Supernurse and any  sign of weakness immediately takes our ability to care for others. Maybe its a mix of the two.
    Let me go ahead and tell on myself. I started back to work after a three month maternity leave this week. I then made the decision to go to exclusively formula feeding my son, and since I have a three day break before I work again, I’ll just knock out this weaning thing now and be good as gold for work. So I just stopped. I’ll just dry up and that will be that. I can just hear all y’all laughing right now, because anyone with any experience with this will know, as I do now,  cold turkey is not the way to go in this situation. I would have known this earlier if I would have called the trusty lactation nurse, but I couldn’t do that because that resource is for… well, PATIENTS, which I am not because I am a NURSE. (See what I’m getting at?) Mind you, I’ve NEVER worked as a women’s health nurse so why I thought I should know everything is beyond me. Basically, I could have skipped a lot of discomfort (although I have to say I was diggin’ the physique) and embarrassment if I would have simply asked how to go about this. When she asked me why I didn’t call right off, I had to be honest. My reply was simply “I’m a nurse and I know everything.” To which she said “Yes, Honey, you sure are.” I could hear the eye roll.
     As a side note, Dr. Google doesn’t know anything about lactation suppression so don’t go that route.

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Nine Months Sober

     Stepping out of the shower I always catch a glimpse of my new “mom bod.” Since my son made his debut three months ago I’ve made a point to not avoid the view but to learn to embrace what I see. After all, these changes came from my beautiful baby boy. I have to laugh, as I often do, at myself as I reminisce on the crazy journey I had getting my firstborn here. To veteran mommas, the beautiful/repulsive quirks of pregnancy are, I’m sure, old hat. But no matter how much you read, study, or in my case, even work closely with antepartum phenomena, nothing touches experiencing it for the first time your own self.
     Sorry I’m not sorry that I just have to add to the plethora of “what-to-honestly-expect-during-pregnancy blogs.” To my friends and family: I’m “fixin’ to get real up in here.” So if you dont want to know some nitty-gritty shit about my body, consider this your official disclaimer. I’ll love you even if you can’t hang. Otherwise, get ready for the lowdown on my pregnancy experience.

Earning my stripes…
     I’ve always been thick with not-so-stretchy skin, so I had made peace with the fact that I was destined to be all marked up way before we even decided to try for a baby.
     Let me just say real quick that I couldn’t see my junk after 4 months nor most of my legs at 6 months due to my ever-growing uterus tenant. Any “landscaping” that I could even reach was done completely from memory.

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    Anyway, the stretch marks, of course came, ignoring my superfluous and obsessive use of cocoa butter. They decorated all of the obvious places: belly, hips, and breasts. What I hadn’t counted on was the one massive one I only  discovered after delivery… exactly midline on my crotch. A centimeter wide, the purple stripe is an everpresent reminder that you really can’t anticipate everything.

Ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?

     If you just found out you are expecting, invest in some pantiliners and wetwipes.

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I didn’t know anything about being hungry…
     Until it was me, I thought pregnant ladies were “snacky” I thought they were “cravey” and I thought I could beat it and stick to the recommended 25-30 pound wieght gain.

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I could kick myself. I kept food by my bed to ward off crippling hunger pangs that attacked me every three to four hours at night. I ate breakfast twice everyday to keep from getting “fainty” or “pukey” at work. All of this made me into a champion weight gainer that I am still trying to recover from. My nursley knowledge of diet and pregancy was no match for the real game. Also if I never have another saltine or granola bar, it will be too soon.

I’m sure you’re sick of me complaining…
     But we have to discuss my “four month hangover.” Granted, many women are horribly sick the entirety of their pregnancy, sometimes even requiring hospitalization. I should be grateful I wasn’t one of them.
     I didn’t puke EVERY day… after I started the wonderful drug, Zofran.
     I refuse to believe any claims that it has adverse effects on the baby because I don’t think I could have made it through the first trimester without it. This “morning sickness” was all day every day.
     Wal-Mart was the absolute worst. Flickering, dim lights, lots of movement, and loud beeps were worse than a roller coaster. The smells were the worst. Who know the yeasty bread aisle, or the sicky-sweet brown sugar smelled so strongly?  Not to mention the deli, yuck. It is quite simply, sensory overload. I once almost puked in a tea pitcher on an endcap. Seriously, I had the lid off and was heaving. I am now acutely aware of the lack wastebaskets throughout the store.

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     There had to be a catch to my newfound friend, Zofran, I suppose, because regardless of my daily overdose on stool softeners, the antinausea pill turned my poo into 5 lb boulders, fully capable of cracking the porcelain on contact. Crapping at work was out of the question because they fire you if you leave your patients for two hours. Go figure.

As if managing your insides weren’t stressfull enough…
     Lets talk about what happens when you combine pregnancy, constipation,  and a genetic predisposition. Imagine hot coals and razer blades spilling out of your tail end and exploding everytime you cough, sneeze, or shift your weight. They always compare hemorrhoids to fruit (kind of like tumors) the fruits I were assigned were grapes and plumbs.

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    I intimately know all about “rhoid rage” and struggled with it off and on for nine months. Its funny, the more pain you have, the less pride you have. I had,  in some of my most desperate moments fantasized about everything from blind self-surgery to stealing lidocaine from my place of work.
     Eventually, the week of my due date, after spending three nights upright with my feet in the floor screaming into a pillow. I had to do what seemed to me more extreme and horrifying than anything else. I contacted my doctor… who is also my friend and coworker… afterhours… in a crying fit of agony… (I’m a nurse so I should have been able to handle this and not bother anyone else about my broken butthole, right?) I was fixed up with a surgeon up the interstate who gave me miracle butt surgery and kept me from going insane with pain. I will also shout out to my husband who drove me there and had to see me cry everytime I saw a bumpy bridge ahead. He was a total rock, God bless that man. God bless everyone who had to deal with or hear about my massvie hemorrhoids including whomever is reading this.

    Well, I’ve discussed the “bad and ugly” that I’ll NEVER forget even though everyone says I will. But I’ll also never forget the “good.” Things like laying in bed talking to my son via morse code through my belly skin, or discussing names for hours with my husband, or savoring every little pirouette and cartwheel he did from the first little flicker of movement until right before he entered the outside world. That stuff is solid gold and worth every bit of the journey.

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Dear Sitter…

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     Tomorrow I will be leaving my two month old with a non-relative babysitter for the very first time. I’m kind of feeling a little weird about it, and want to make sure she is adequately prepped to take care of the fruit of our loins and sole purpose for living. Therefore, I’ve compiled a list of things for her to know before she gets started.

1. I’m going to take advantage of our friendship by giving you daschund-sitting instructions last minute and I’m not paying you extra for it. By the way, there are two of them.

2. Please don’t clean anything. I know the house is filthy and smells a little. We like it that way.

3. You are welcome to any food or beverage you can find. I think there is even some 8 day old spaghetti in the back of the fridge.  I was out of beef, so it has hotdog slices in it. Bon appitite!

4. My son is super fun and intelligent. He might teach you some Vietnamese or calculus. You’re welcome.

5. I’m leaving my unpaid bills on the counter. You may pay them if you like. My checkbook is lost, so you will have to use your own.

6. If the child does anything you feel is spectacularly dangerous, you must thoroughly document and post to social media. Don’t forget to tag me. #littleevelknieval
#makesmommaproud

7. His favorite movie is Freddie vs Jason. Puts him right to sleep. You may also try playing him some Korn or Tupac.

8. Nutrition is very important to us. I’ve left some pizza rolls and Mt. Dew for his lunch. Please see that he eats his fill.

9. If you are going to drink while babysitting, I’d really rather you stay in the city limits. Safety first.

10. Use caution when sitting on our toilet. It bucks like a mechanical bull. We’ve installed an airhorn that goes off when you stay on for 8 seconds. Eventually we will get it anchored down properly.

Thank you so much for helping out. I’m glad we have such a caring and responsible friend to hang out with our son while we are gone.

Four Sexy Men To Hold On To

   

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  “Sexy” can be interpreted in as many ways as there are people on Earth. It is one of those concepts that is completely reliant on the percievers preferences. (Try saying that five times fast.) Anyway, I like to consider myself a lover of fine things, and would like to share with you four men who definitely get the “Sexy Stamp” in my book

1. The Workin’ Man

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     He may not make time for a regular haircut or shave, but he’s getting up every morning to bust his back to make a living. He seldom complains, and every dollar he’s ever made was made honestly. No, he can’t devote every moment of each day to entertaining your every whim, but its quality time you share rather than quantity. Also, his stained fingernails and busted knuckles are never embarassed to hold your hand wherever you may be.

2. The Joker

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     If he doesn’t make you laugh, he’s a waste of time. The years that pass may take a toll on a body, but they can’t touch a good sense of humor. Laughter is a tool he uses to make you feel better and a glue that keeps you closer.  He’s farting on you because he cares.

3. Mr. Pensive

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     I’m far from a believer that everyone must be formally educated. I also don’t believe dramatic nor melancholic types are attractive.  However, a thinking man can come in many forms and I believe, is desirable. Problem solving, daydreaming, investigating, and empathizing are all thinking skills I want in a man. He doesn’t have to be “complicated” but a little deeper than a saucer is good.

4. The Servant

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     Backrubs. Breakfast in bed. Housecleaning. All the time. No, totally kidding.
     You know that saying about watch how he treats his Mother before you get serious? I say watch how he treats everyone! Strangers, family, friends and enemies alike. If he exhibits a giving nature and an even temperment, he’s a keeper. Selfishness and tantrum throwing are for children. You want a man. A man doesn’t compete with the Jones’s to feed his own vanity. He isn’t too proud to ask The Good Lord for help when he needs. He sees that everyone is taken care of before tending to his own needs. And, most importantly, he makes you want to be that kind of WOMAN.

     As an aside, I’ll say that I’m not talking about any particular person and my tastes aren’t biased at all.

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