A Horse is A Horse

Of Course, Of Course

Unless that horse is a Charlie Horse.

Of which, I had one just last night, and YEOW! Do those things HURT!

***

For all you young women, unmarried women, or unwomen types, let me just help you with this little anecdote regarding pregnancy: leg cramps are a pain in the neck!

Errr....LEG, that is.

It is a common occurance in the gestational months. For some reason, if your calcium levels get a little low, the muscles in your legs---specifically the calf muscles---pitch a fit. And this seems to happen a lot at night. You'll be sleeping, finally, and not getting up to go to the bathroom for the 5th time, and not tossing and turning, and the baby-to-be has finally ended their gymnastics routine, and all of a sudden......

WHAM!

That leg just starts screaming. And YOU start screaming. And your husband runs for his gun.

OK, well, SOME husbands might...

***

I had been suffering with leg cramps yesterday evening. They were "pre-charlie horse" leg cramps. Like, you could tell it was coming, but it wasn't that bad. Just real tight, and I felt as though "Restless Leg Syndrome" must feel just like this. I couldn't keep still. My calves just ached.

The night wore on, and the aching eased a bit as I continued to change positions. I pretty much forgot about it. The legs felt fine.

Until 5 am.

Can't tell you what I was dreaming about. I was pretty much slammed out of sleep to the awful reality that my calf muscles had set off a bomb in the subway system of my lower leg.

But my husband, my sweet sweet husband, awoke at the first "AAAAAAA!!" and proceeded to rescue me from my painful predicament. Actually, he didn't exactly wake up, because he's done this so many times in our 9+ years of marriage. He more or less determined the leg of offense and quickly and precisely slammed his fist into a pressure point on the bottom of my foot. This stopped the pain immediately. To which I fell back down on the pillow, panting, grateful for a husband who uses his fist for something other than anger.

I'm not quite sure how he did it, but he figured out this little maneuver back when I was pregnant the first time, with Michaela. Back then, I got these "bombs" every night. And Chris is now a pro, 6 kids later. He can perform this in his sleep. To which, I'm thankful, because MAN! those suckers HURT!

So ladies, if you find your pregnant self plagued by visits from a horse named Charlie, be sure to have YOUR husband ask MY husband about that little trick.

Oh, and don't forget to drink your milk.

Felbamate Drinks Straight From the Jug

So, I told Chief today at our routine appointment, that Chris and I feel as though the Honeymoon is over.

The Felbamate honeymoon, that is.

That period of time after starting a new drug where everything just works, and life is going great again.

Where we, as parents, tend to think, "Maybe we finally found it...." The Super Drug. The trump card. The Holy Grail of pharmacology.

The one.

And then.....real life hits, and Felbamate is starting to leave the seat up on the commode.

***

You see, with that new beginning, that special time, that wonderful bliss called a honeymoon, no one sees the problem areas. No one minds the little nuances and irritations that accompany a new relationship. You're too much in love. Enjoying a whole new concept in life. Focusing in on all the really awesome things that is your "better half."

And really, sometimes those problem areas really aren't there to begin with.

But time moves on, and both parties relax.

And true colors come out.

Such is life with Felbamate.

***

We have since discovered, in the 8 months that Michaela has been "married" to this drug, that Felbamate has it's annoying habits like "everyone" else:

The smelly socks in the middle of the living room floor.
Squeezing the tube from the middle.
Leaving lights on in every room.
Drinking straight from the milk jug.

Granted, it was the longest honeymoon we think she's ever enjoyed. Probably about 6 months or so. 6 months of pure bliss. It was just awesome. Felbamate was what you would call a perfect gentleman.

But, as time went on, those little irritations became more prevalent. More noticeable. And they wouldn't go away as quickly as they once had. I guess you could say it was a matter of predictability. Where we once could understand what was going on with her, and even almost "time it", we're now in the dark most every day. Wondering how she's going to respond that day. Function that day. Need that day.

Her condition will even tend to change from hour to hour. At one point in the day, she'll be playing with some blocks, chatting with her sister. Come back an hour later, and she's a zombie; drooling profusely, non-vocal, mindless.

Felbamate is just not the partner we thought it was.

***

Don't worry, though. We're not getting all bent out of shape over the Slob that is Michaela's latest beau. As you may have already guessed--we're used to it. I guess the problem in the past revolved around how to handle it in a practical way. She would slump, and we didn't know how to adapt to this newly minted handicapped child. One day she's fine, and the next she's an invalid? It really rocked our world. But now, it's not like that. We have most anything we would need at our fingertips: all the medical equipment and prescriptions (like special formula) and home help one could ask for. And if we find that something else is needed (like the shower chair I needed the other day), help is only a phone call away (or email, right Chief?).

Yet, we suspect, that in the near future, Michaela will end up dropping Felbamate like a celebrity marriage. Here today, gone tomorrow. And take on another suitor. Not that I'm pro-divorce. Let's make that clear. But it's not my life, and it's not my brain. It's Michaela's. And her brain can't handle super drugs with bad habits. Or so it seems.

(But if you ask me, and I believe Chief would concur, I think Michaela's brain is the unfaithful party in this relationship...)

Ahhh, well, Felbamate. It was a great honeymoon just the same. You'll make a perfect match for someone someday.

Sure wish it were Michaela.

It's All in The Torso

Things are coming along these days in the gestating department. To see me, you'd think that there was a baby due any day now. But that's just the way things are with me. What I lack in stature, I make up for in area:

As in "Woman of Som-aria"

That would be me.

I've got the whole basketball thing going. The heartburn's here to stay. The back is permanently out of whack. My favorite sleeping position has moved to China and won't be back until after the holidays. My "friend" Dub L. Chin is an annoying and unwanted guest, but how can you kick him out when he supplies the chocolate for my every craving??

Cletus the Fetus, meanwhile, is having a swimmingly good time. She/he is perfecting their backstroke. Literally. My sciatic nerve tells me so.

And I am convinced that these new (yet unquestionably familiar) symptoms are mainly a byproduct of the fact that I'm short. Under 5'4", to be exact. There's simply no place for the baby to go but out, and up on occasion. The same goes for the excess chunk I seem to pack on whenever there's a new Morris cooking. It's all par for the course.

But sometimes I just wish I were taller.

Something makes me think that if I were only a tad bit more endowed in the height department, then perhaps the whole "pregnancy thing" would be a bit easier on me.

For starters, I wouldn't get asked if I'm overdue when I'm only 6 months along.

And I'm thinking no one would think me pregnant when my baby is 6 months old.

That would be a nice perk.

Yet, I'm a short, chunky kinda gal, and we short chunky gals just kinda carry babies like this. (which totally avoids the point that many of us are only "like this" because we've carried babies!) When your torso is only 12 inches long, where else are you going to stuff a 20 inch baby??

Do the math. It ain't pretty.

***

So, I'm am hanging in there though. Thanks for asking. I AM ready for this to all be over with. I still have about 3 months to go, unfortunately. On one hand, I'm thinking that the holiday season falling during my third tri-mester is going to be a good thing. A mind distracting event. Always good for getting through pregnancy. But, on the other hand, it's not terribly easy to engage in such festivities when the "barge-factor" is in effect.

Sigh.

I just gotta get through this ONE more time. Just one. more. time.