Hormonal Wackadoo Moments

Apparently pregnancy this go round is filling me with more hormones than last time. (Oh, yeah…sorry…I hadn’t announced I was pregnant on the blog yet…so…yeah. Almost 27 weeks!)

Last pregnancy I only flew into a hormonal response when someone touched my cupcakes, which, let’s be honest, I would do without the extra human gestating within. This time? Holy crap. I’ve cried because of commercials, I’ve become fixated with cleaning my house/organizing (at least some good is coming from this…), and I’ve been drinking so much milk you’d think I was trying to rebuild bones.

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At my last prenatal appointment I asked my midwife to refill my anxiety meds prescription. He (yes, he, so freaking badass. Btw my male midwife and I made a bet on a football game. I lost. His team beat mine and is in the Super Bowl. SIGH.) ANYWAY, he suggested that since I’ve never seen a shrink for my anxiety that perhaps I should try it out since that’s kind of what they’re there for. So I wholeheartedly agreed (even though my anxiety isn’t that bad anymore, but stepping down while preggo is ill-advised) because a little therapy never killed anyone.

So I show up for my first appointment last week…10 minutes late because I got lost. I’m told by the front desk that it’s “policy” to reschedule because they have no grace period (editor’s note: wtf?). I explained that I could verbally go over my history with the doc & fill out the paperwork after, since the appointment was already open for me…and that I had to get child care to be able to come, and I got lost…yada yada… The secretary denied this request (rather rudely). I don’t know why this triggered tears, but it did. I stood there, silently leaking from my eyeballs, as the secretary rescheduled my appointment. Not once did she say “sorry” or any other empathetic response. It was utterly humiliating to try to hold back tears while a robot rescheduled my appointment.

I was flabbergasted by her response. By the whole thing. I mean, this is a shrink’s office! It’s not like people coming in there are of the thickest skin, ya know? And Matt was leaving that afternoon for 3 weeks, which was haunting my mind to begin with. You’d just expect some damn empathy from people!

Anyway, my second-first-appointment is today, which I will be 45 min early for. Suck it, Robocretary.

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So that was ONE example of how hormones have taken over my body. Here’s part two (and I promise it’s not so sad.)

Two days ago my dad (who is visiting to help while my husband is away, thank the good Lawd because I am EXHAUSTED) & I decided to take Asher to Barnes and Nobles to let him run around in the kids section.

I notice Asher smells like he made a mess in his pantelones, so I excuse us to change him in the restroom. They had one of those plastic changing stations on hinges that you fold down to use. While I was changing him, he was holding his wipes case (skip hop’s wipes case, which is pretty bangarang) and he managed to break off the sliding button on the top. I was a little busy, so I just let it slide at the time. After finishing the changing & putting him on the ground I began cleaning up. I notice the piece missing and begin the search for it. It’s NOT on the table, not in my bag, not in the wet bag, not in my kid’s pants/diaper/shirt/hands(yes, I actually stripped him and checked), not on the floor…it was like freaking magic. It was too big for him to swallow…where the fuck is it?!

Then I see the light blue dot staring at me, mocking me, from it’s hiding place. Asher managed to slide the f&*@#ng thing in the slot of the hinge of the changing table. My hands are rather small, so I tried to slide it in there to retrieve it…no go. I returned Asher to my dad in the play area, swung by the unattended information desk & stole a pen and a pair of scissors, and headed back to the bathroom prepared for battle. The pen pushed it further away from the slit. The scissors were unable to access it. I tried pulling the table from the wall to get to it from the bottom. Then I had the BRIGHT idea of trying to break the table from the wall connected piece to get this thing out.

Imagine walking into a restroom and finding a pregnant lady, without a kid, furiously attempting to rip the bottom of a changing table from the wall while saying profanities at it. Cause guests did appear. And one even had the presence of mind to notice the scissors on the bathroom counter I had put down and walked away without doing her business in the bathroom.

At this point I started to think…it’s probably more cost-effective to just buy a new wipes case instead of paying the bail to get me out of jail for destruction of property AND the damages of repairing the effects of my hormonal rampage…

So I walked away.

But that damn button is still tormenting me. You win today, Asher.

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If you made it this far, congrats. I’m not even going to proof-read this, so I’m sure it’s riddled in crap. But truthfully, I gotta go get ready to leave so I can stare down Robocretary.

Till next post!

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