Ok, so, here’s the coup. It turns out there is a problem with my umbilical cord. Apparently (I say this as if things will suddenly change), I have a 2 vessel cord, instead of an ordinary 3 vessel cord. What? Well, when I had one of my random scans a few weeks back, my Doctor turns around and explains that I’m “missing a vein in my umbilical cord”.
What did I do? I shit my pants. Telling me this was possibly the worst thing this man ever did, despite him being legally obliged (I should know being an ex-defendant litigation lawyer) to do so. I went home, googled this whole lacking “2 vessel umbilical cord” business and then I started to cry (more than I have been) thanks to friggin hormones.
The umbilical cord usually contains three blood vessels; a single vein and 2 arteries (a 3 vessel cord) . The vein carries blood and nutrients from the placenta to the fetus. The arteries carry oxygen poor blood and waste products from the fetus to the placenta. Occasionally, one artery wastes away or fails to develop leaving only a single umbilical artery. A single umbilical artery (SUA) is seen in approximately 0.3% to 1% of pregnancies. SUA is reported to be more common in twin pregnancies and in placentas where the umbilical cord is at the edge of the placenta. What’s happening with my cord? It is a SUA but that’s all I know so far.
The Captain (Mr It will all be “ok”) annoyed me so much by being reassuring that I slept on the couch the first night. What the hell does this missing vein mean? Did my drinking do some damage? Seriously, I had to ask as (a) I didn’t know I was pregnant and, (b) I may as well be trapped in a grown-up body when really, I feel like I’ve fucked up a situation. I had NO IDEA I was pregnant when I then learnt almost 9 weeks later I was. But, the guilt is killing me. As it turns out, this has nothing to do with anything I had been doing …. I ran every scenario past the Doctor (he was mortified, kinda like he was watching “Teen Moms USA”, but for someone like me, who doesn’t give a shit normally about anything but falling pregnant, I felt like I’d let this baby down. The Doctor reassured me, it wasn’t my fault. My going on with life as normal did not affect this baby.
“What is single umbilical artery? About 1 percent of singleton and about 5 percent of multiple pregnancies (twins, triplets or more) have an umbilical cord that contains only two blood vessels, instead of the normal three. In these cases, one artery is missing (2). The cause of this abnormality, called single umbilical artery, is unknown. Studies suggest that babies with single umbilical artery have an increased risk for birth defects, including heart, central nervous system and urinary-tract defects and chromosomal abnormalities (2, 3). A woman whose baby is diagnosed with single umbilical artery during a routine ultrasound may be offered certain prenatal tests to diagnose or rule out birth defects. These tests may include a detailed ultrasound, amniocentesis (to check for chromosomal abnormalities) and in some cases, echocardiography (a special type of ultrasound to evaluate the fetal heart). The provider also may recommend that the baby have an ultrasound after birth.” (Quoted from – http://www.marchofdimes.com/complications_umbilical.html).
So…. then I began to wonder…why is this baby having issues? Turns out, The Captain and I have no issues, aside from stress, as this baby has come into our lives when I’ve been chilled and not expecting anything. When I was trying to fall pregnant, EVERYONE told me “take it easy, stop worrying” but how can you when you’re checking a fucking monitor daily for ovulation and all the shit that comes with it? Those people, the ones that say “don’t worry”, they have no idea how soul-destroying it is. For a woman, and even as a couple, you are trying to pull your shit together, without blame. Why isn’t it happening?? That’s the first thing that you think? You hate everyone around you for moving on and falling pregnant in a breath. It’s not their fault you’re that bitter either but you DO feel this way. If you don’t? Well, you’re a bigger person than me.
I was looking at adoption manuals when we finally fell pregnant (karma…probably). People you know, who are afraid to tell you they are expecting, well, that’s when you should become ashamed. They probably fell pregnant in a cloak room one random night. I keep thinking I’ve fucked up, somehow. Yes, I love to be an animal and drink and party until the cows come home (English expression), BUT, when it comes to kids (no matter how annoying) I’m ultra protective, and I’m actually a brilliant, funny & artistic Mum – I doubt I ever mentioned I was asked to paint a “real life portrait” (& accepted despite being asked by my parents “why??”) at the age of 10 years old at the National History Museum in Knightsbridge. I love Art but I hate to wander around looking at it (ask the Captain). I took my then boyfriend (Captain) who to this day will mention a particular French Connection Green dress I wore to an Edward Hopper show at The Tate. Ed Hopper is one of my favourite. You know what his shit actually means. Now, I have to admit that (a) I HATE anything that involves sitting/walking around/discussing/listening to the arts of any kind. I blame Shakespere & The Barbican Theatre. I love English Literature (I do LOVE) BUT, it turns out, when I am forced to do anything (Captain please take note as this is a very important piece of my personal puzzle), I will back off and disappear. If you tell me, “sit through this crap for 2 hours”, I guarantee I will have been to the shitty theatre bar at least 4 times and when I discover I am not drunk enough, I insist we leave. Don’t EVER take me to a show, of ANY kind. If you manage to drag me to a musical (my Father-in-law circa 2009), I will NEVER EVER forgive you. I’d rather staple my clitoris to a wall covered in honey near a beehive. No musicals, no shows, no “art gallery” bullshit (Captain, in all my years of dating, this was the only time. I was clearly deranged & “in love” like a blind spastic fool), no “lets go watch a film” at the cinema. It’s dead time to me. I could be sat on my bed, reading, writing or watching porn (joke? I think not in this climate). Don’t bore me. I hate this shit. Don’t EVER take me to a show. E V E R.
If I can be honest, this is who I really am –
- No shows/theatre. Boring, full of bullshit and I doubt half the audience would be there if they hadn’t got their tickets half price. The oNLY shows I like are at The Camden Roundhouse. Visual/Physical, real shit. Stuff I am sure you normal people like.
- I hate the phone. Stop calling me for a long discussion (The Captain, et famille, love this). I HATE the phone. I can’t express enough how I’m feeling over a 2 minute call. I can’t stand phone conversations as I’m clearly too deep. People stop calling (you prob will after this post anyhow).
- I hate going out. FACT. Why can’t I stay in?? In London, all my friends knew they could turn up and there would be booze, drugs and food on tap (yes, I would fucking love me too). Here, in HK, well….I don’t LOVE everyone. I’ve realised that in the last few weeks being back. Why force myself to be friends with people? I’m lazy enough as it is, and to be honest, if there is one thing I DO live by, its “be true to thyself”.
So since my last piece of shit post (ok it wasn’t shit…but I reckon I’m losing my touch quickly minus booze & drugs to assist my creative juices)…. I’ve been stuck in boring shmoring pregnancy limbo. You girls who have been pregnant and were previously considered “party girls”….you know what I’m talking about?! No booze – tick. No drugs – tick, wimper, tick. No fun – tick. Arguing non-stop with anything that moves (usually The Captain) – triple tick.
I’M PISSED OFF AND BORED!!! What the hell am I supposed to do?! I’ll tell you what. As of today, I started “nesting” (it was either that or fucking crying into a pillow for hours…or until one of the kids found me). I basically re-organised the apartment (ok, one third of it), delegating our Helper to do various chores in the process and even now, considering I LOVE being tidy (yes, its my only geeky thing I promise), I’m still fucking bored out of my mind. I even took photos of all the Captains shoes, printed copies off and stuck them onto the cardboard boxes. Yes, I DID. To be fair, this is also to stop him bitching constantly about not being able to find any of his shoes and then deciding the ONLY way he will locate the pair he desperately needs that day, would be to open every single friggin box until he found it. Does he clean up after he’s made this mess, despite stating to me matter-of-factly “Dont look at me like that, I’ll clean it up!”? Nope.
I’m lucky if the Captain manages to find the kitchen to return a plate. FYI, before The Captain and I joined the joyful institution (funny they call it that eh?) of marriage, I “trained” him (yes, like a dog) to put the toilet seat down (label on lid – “Now shut”), close the cap on the toothpaste that was forever dried out (“Now put lid on”), not burn the apartment down by turning the gas off etc.
So what happens to me the other night while half asleep and off to the loo for my millionth visit because this 3rd child of mine is making me piss non stop? I almost, no joke, fell into the fucking loo. Don’t you just hate sitting on a wet/cold toilet when the seat is missing? Especially in the dark. I, of course, woke him at 3am and told him he was a “selfish wanker” for leaving the seat up. Bless him, he thinks it’s my “hormones” that are making me this angry. I hate messiness. Fact. The Captain LOVES mess. He has had moments where piles upon piles of clothes have built up in the middle of our bedroom and for some reason, assumed, I was the one who was going to tidy this pile of crap up. You would literally have to climb over it to get out of the room. I never did tidy it of course, as, and I have pointed this out to him on numerous occasions, I’m not his Mother. He, being the messy git that he is, got the cleaner to do it instead. Yes, I still love him but I hate mess which makes me want to hurt him on occasion when I see it. If I have just tidied up a room, The Captain, without fail, will walk in and start putting crap down everywhere ie. socks on the floor, underwear in my bathroom sink (we have double sinks so why it’s in mine I dunno), putting his electric toothbrush on the black bathroom counter despite the BIG plastic cup I placed there especially to stop him marking it constantly, packets of chewing gum (not chewed) everywhere and change from a million countries strewn across all countertops so the kids can choke on them.
Anyhow, this week The Captain has left Hong Kong (no mess) for a work trip to New York (FUCKING LOVE NYC) and I’m stuck here with my little monkeys (Itchy & Scratchy) and now, Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum (AKA our Helper & her niece who is here to do a “trial test-run” over the next week). We want to see if she’s any good for the job as we need an extra pair of hands to help out once Baby number 3 makes their appearance. As it turns out, she’s worse that our Helper ie. can’t cook, doesn’t speak English and thinks I’m invisible when I’m talking to her. She’s good with the kids though.
Anyhow, the reason we need this 2nd Helper (aside from the fact i could never afford one back in the UK), is that as all you Mums of Multiples will know, to do anything with Twins under the age of 2 years old, you are usually legally required to have “one adult per child” for all activities.
So the new Toddler/Nursery group I go to (after leaving the shitty, snobby, cliquey, arsholey, “what are we going to do today kids?” one in Repulse Bay) also still requires me and our Helper to go along to everything. Not that I would ever send her on her own in any event as the woman is not fast at anything. The amount of times we have had accidents because she’s forgotten there are TWO children of the exact same age running around, is numerous. I on the other hand, being their mother, am fully aware of where each child is at any given moment. I also rule with an iron fist (kinda like Margaret Thatcher but with better hair) which means I kick their arses (not literally obv) into shape and they don’t misbehave. My son however, when he spots a woman with a weakness for him, will play on it and before you know it, has them carrying him around (& my guess, breastfeeding him), despite him being only 18 months old.
In the past, my Helper has looked at me in shock when I’ve told her time and again “DONT PICK THEM UP! Stop carrying them around! Stop babying them! Let them eat glue, they’ll learn eventually”. Basically, she thinks I’m a mean Mum. I’m not, but I am strict. So, the other day, when the Captain and I took our kids to some massive indoor play area that would be hell if you were hung over but is actually great for toddlers and kids up to approx 5 years old. A boy of approx the same age as my 18 month old, pushed him and kept taking his toys. After about 40 seconds of this little bully pushing and shoving and taking every single toy car my quiet little boy wanted to play with, The Captain heard me state very loudly (I’m apprehensive to use the word shout) “NO PUSHING!! STOP IT NOW!!” (little shit) at someone elses kid. He’s lucky he didn’t see the back of my hand that little arsehole. Anyhow…out of nowhere stomps his mum who towered over me and had AT LEAST 400lbs on her. I actually thought for a minute that she was either (a) going to kick my arse (b) eat me. She was in fact, a total sweetie and swiftly took her son to another play area (probably to get him away from me).
So….how do you Mums deal with this sort of shit as I can see myself losing it if someone is blatantly bullying my kids? I’ll be one of those crazy mums storming across the playground and having a go at some 4-year-old for being “mean”. Any advice on how to deal with this would be appreciated otherwise I’m sure I will be pulled into many a HeadMasters office pretty soon to curb my big gob.
That’s it for me at the moment. As you can see, my last 2 posts (apparently the last one didn’t go out to all my subscribers so maybe have another look when you get this one), have been waffle.
Why waffle? BECAUSE IVE GOT FUCKING BABY BRAIN AND THIS IS ALL I CAN WRITE ABOUT!!! Where’s a cold glass of white wine/Rose/bottle of Vodka when you need it. I mean, if there’s ever a time you need booze, it’s when you’re pregnant. At least I’d be happily ignorant of my body changing and all the hormones as I’d be blind friggin drunk. Shame I can’t stomach the smell of booze, eh?
So, now I’ve admitted to being pregnant (even to myself), I appear to have lost my ability to write…. anything. It’s like my brain has shut down because it’s pissed off with me for being so careless. Or maybe all the blood is now pumping elsewhere which would explain why I keep forgetting things (can I smell smoke?). So…..who loved, or loves, being pregnant? I mean, its ok to say (or scream) “NOT ME!!!’ Its boring too!! There’s nothing to do!! I can’t friggin drink when I want, take Magic Mushrooms or do any kind of acid. It’s no wonder we need to sit at home “nesting”. We’re bored shitless so we start organising all our cupboards. It’s not because we’re nesting. Its to keep our minds off partying until Baby comes (or is that clearly just me?). What else are you going to do with your time for fucks sake?! Knit!? Give the Husband blow-jobs to whittle away your days? Sod that. I’m going to cry, moan and be a bitch. I can’t help it though…. it’s my hormones.
This time round, not only was I soooo shocked when I found out, I’d been drinking up a storm and trying to set some sort of world record for how many units a woman of my size and teeny weeny stature could get through. When the Doctor told me I was “with child”, my reaction was less than maternal. In fact, I was a little livid and delirious with resentment. How was I going to have a drink & smoke now? What the hell was going on!? We were just starting to get our lives back and feel normal again. The Twins were becoming a little more self-sufficient ie. can eat with their fingers now. Our days of sleepless nights were starting to narrow and we knew Kindergarten was just around the corner (freedom for me!). So…. on hearing that I had to go back to square one and deal with shitty nappies, puking on everything, preparing bottles, sterilizing everything, waking every 3 hours to do night feeds, getting to know my new baby and all that comes with him/her…. I was not impressed. At all.
Also, the first time I was pregnant was through IVF. That pregnancy was not only planned but something we’d dreamed of. This time, I’m like a pissed-off London teenager (without the rioting), desperate for a drink and some party time. Also with twin 1.5 year olds running around the house non-stop, there is no time for rest, ever. The last line was drawn today when our Helper commented to me with a sweet smile on her face, “Maam, you are fat”. I should have fired her on the spot but of course, I can’t live without her at the moment. I mean, who the fuck would watch the kids while I’m napping? That’s the other things which is also pissing me off. I’m in the in-between stage where people don’t know if you’ve suddenly got fat, or are pregnant. It’s really annoying me. I’d rather just have the belly now, or not at all. This stage makes things awkward as everyone’s left wondering why your tummys protruding, plus I’m surrounded by pregnant women (half my apartment block has knocked up angry-looking women in it. I think there’s something in the water) at the moment and this is causing “bump envy”. Most are a few weeks more pregnant than I but look HUGE. I want that bump just so people know I am in fact pregnant and not just had pasta for lunch (which lets face it, I did. And at breakfast. hey, I’m pregnant. fuck off).
So what joys have I experienced thus far? Here’s a little list of complaints (those of you who are expecting may recognise some of them):-
My Husband, “The Captain”, is pissing me off constantly. In fact, I’m sooo angry with him that I apparently woke him in the middle of the night last week and told him (I have to quote this) “I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS”, before going back to sleep. I don’t remember any of it (for all I know he could be lying) but it sure does sound like me at the moment. Why am I soo angry with him? Hormones? I don’t think so. i think my subconscious is pissed off with his sperm for impregnating me at the worst possible time. Plus it’s his fucking fault we are now in this position! If he hadn’t insisted on marital sex (we had been doing Vodka Jelly shots the night of the immaculate conception BTW), we would be living a quiet happy alcoholic life with toddlers growing into little kindergarteners and I could focus on drinking in peace, while writing.
Everyone is pissing me off. Everyone. Everything. Argh…..I saw a ladybird yesterday and screamed at it for landing on my windscreen. I then burst into tears because I’m a fucking nutbag pregnant bird.
Farting. Non stop stinky farting. It’s actually becoming a problem in small spaces, and while queuing at the supermarket. If you ever see me in a lift, I suggest you wait for the next one unless you want to die by fume inhalation. The Captain, a professional Farter, is actually sooo disgusted, he sometimes cries before leaving the room (from the stench, not emotion).
Headaches that are constant. These headaches are actually the worst part of being pregnant (aside from gradually turning into a mini elephant). I had them last time and they’re getting worse. This makes me even angrier and more of a bitch than normal. Plus, you can’t take ANY fucking drugs that actually work, to sort these damn headaches out. What am I left with? PARACETEMOL (pointless if you ask a hardcore pill taker like myself) and cold patches for my forehead. I may as well strap ice to my head with a tea towel, sing to the moon and dance around a fire to make the pain go. God is definitely a Man. Bastard.
Nothing fits me and I don’t have enough maternity wear. It’s really winding me up when I open my cupboard and nothing fits anymore. If I have to borrow the Captain’s jeans again this pregnancy, I think I will kill myself. I’m determined to keep the weight gain to a normal amount this time. No more eating for 4 excuses and no more triples dinners and snacks. I’m not talking about pregorexia but seriously, how the fuck did that stylist Rachel Zoe stay soooo skinny while pregnant?! her arms were like sticks for crying out loud. As for Victoria Beckham…. well, I like her actually, so I’m not going to bad mouth her. Aside from saying, how the fuck did she stay sooo well maintained during her pregnancy (ok, yes, aside from the millions, private chef and personal preener to keep her looking good at all times). I currently feel like shit. When my skinny jeans don’t fit me. this makes me feel worse and then I decide the only thing to do is scream obscenities at the Captain. Everythings his fault anyhow (I blamed the weather on him yesterday).
I want to moan non-stop about anything. What the fuck’s that all about? I was soo chilled and happy last time I was pregnant. This time, I’m like a stereotypical hormonal crazy pregnant woman. Oh, and I cry about everything. Everything. The toothpaste ran out this morning and I blubbered away for about 20 minutes. I then cried some more in the car when I saw an advert for Pampers on the back of a van. I think I threw a can of beans at it while driving. I’m angry clearly.
Pro’s of pregnancy:
1. As a lifelong sufferer of insomnia, I’m actually tired by 9pm every night. Another reason why I can’t write for shit as this was my sacred time to crack open some wine bottles (unless I’d had an all day drinking session) and write. Now, I can’t keep my eyelids open long enough to watch E! Hollywood (I’m missing vital story lines for the Kardashians).
2. Oh and I’m creating a life. Yes, I do know this and I’m not being an ungrateful bitch. I’m having a moan (read above complaints if you’ve forgotten or already switched off with boredom).
Therefore my apologies in advance for any shitty scripture that is thrown your way over the next few months. I’m clearly not high on anything at the moment which has challenged my fantastic writing abilities (I’m also wanking non-stop which is making me go blind. joke), although that will all change once I pop this sprog out. In the meantime, I will have to deal with the shame of writing about crap until then.
It’s all the Captains fault. Him and his damn happy Penis.
* Photo above taken of The Grand Canyon, USA, while in a Helicopter…trying not to be air sick.