Prison Sentence

I’m officially no longer allowed to work. I made it 39w4d through the pregnancy before finally my doctors won and said “no mas!”

In hind sight, I should have stopped sooner. The commute was starting to get to me, the walking through the buildings was not fun, and the complications that were beginning to arise made me hate life. 

But I’m bored. 

I can only handle hearing “You ARE NOT the father” so many times before even Maury can’t help. 

Yesterday was a different story though. 

I woke up and I couldn’t stand up straight. The pressure I was feeling, I thought for sure something was going on. Of course I had no idea because this is my first baby and the midwife I had seen prior to refused to look to see what was going on “because I wasn’t having contractions”. 

After crawling through our apartment and sobbing, I made it to my doctor’s appt. Very little progress (read: NONE!) but one thing that was concerning to the midwife was the Little Lady’s heart rate kept dropping. So over the L&D we went. 

 All was well, she looks fantastic, heart rate is strong, and fluid levels look good.

But she’s not making it easy for us. She’s showing no signs of vacating. With a due date of 9.22, I’m thinking that date is going to come and go — with no debut…

So Close — Yet So Far Away

37 Weeks

38 Weeks

39 Weeks – Will this be the last one?

So 3 more weeks have passed here in Pregnancy Land but guess what? Well, you already know. I’m still pregnant. Still.
And now I’m to the point where, whenever I call well, pretty much anyone, the conversation starts with “OMG, Are you ok?!” So before they get a chance to speak, I have to yell “I’m Ok!” and then continue the conversation.
Not much else going on other than I’ve finally been told not to come back to work and E is working 12+ hours a day, Ladybug’s room is nearly complete, and that’s about it.
We lead a pretty boring life as of late.
Although I did get a picture message from E with his latest purchase: 


What a good man 🙂

Just Do It — It won’t kill you

E’s finding it harder and harder to argue with his wife who is 39 weeks pregnant (that would be me, in case you’re wondering… Yes, I’m still pregnant. Still.)

A conversation from last night:

Him: I may or may not have eaten one of your chocolate bunt cakes that you got from the Farmer’s Market.

Me: Are you f**king kidding me?

Him: umm….

Me: I will seriously kill you in your sleep.

Him: I’ll eat the other one, if that’s how this is going to go down.

Me: {{{staring daggers in his direction}}}

To my knowledge, my chocolate bunt cake is still there and E woke up, all parts in tact, this morning so all in all, it’s a success.

But what kills me, I’m massive. Like, I’m talking, I can’t see my toes, don’t bother asking when the last time I shaved my legs were (hello, there are arteries down there, I don’t want to die, smooth legs or not). Yet he seems to point out the obvious when it comes to doing things. The other night he was in the bathroom was in the other room and I asked him to turn the fan on. He comes into the bedroom and looks at me, point blank and says “why can’t you do it?” Umm, jackhole, it took me 30 mins to hoist myself into bed, the bed YOU refuse to lower. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

He did it because he wanted to live to meet his daughter.

He won’t, however, look for the hairy, scary spider that is residing in my SUV that made me almost hit a shopping cart at Target the other day. He’s convinced that it won’t bite me, kill me, and then eat me.

Apparently he doesn’t know “women and children go first”. Ass.

9/11 – a Decade Later

I know this is a “family driven” blog but I’m going to veer away from the “family” aspect of it all for a moment.

Among the many things that I am, one of the biggest is anxiety ridden. If there was ever a poster child for Prozac, next to Lindsay Lohan, I’d be it.

September 11 is one of my most angsty days ever. This year was no different, except it was. 10 years have past since that horrid day. That, combined with the fact that I’m due any minute with this little ladybug (hello, hormones!), I think I managed to hold myself together, although I’m sure E wishes I was able to take Prozac.

I manage to make it through the days with only crying once. Yesterday was no different. One of my shipmates from the Boat Days had posted a video that I had seen before but wanted to share with with more than just my FB friends and family.

I know it sounds heartless but I get so tired of seeing “I was on my way to my {insert year that I was in college} algebra class” or “I was sleeping”. If you were on your way to your sophmore algebra class and you heard, from a friend, that a plane hit the tower, ok fine. But I can guarantee you that hearing the statements didn’t impact your entire life. Yes, I’m assuming but my PTSD gets the best of me and I turn into a raging bitch.

For some of us, it did.

The ship in this video is the ship I was stationed on from 2000 to 2004. It was my home, my family, what I was standing for. I guess you could say, at that stage in my life, I was “hard for the Guard”. (go ahead and make fun of me. I make fun of myself)

This pic was taken on 5.14.2001.
I was in NYC for their Annual Fleet Week. No one realized that just 4 months from then, we’d be living down in NYC, cleaning up one of the worst disasters to ever have happened on American Soil




These are the anti-missle diversion mechs when they’re activated


Probably one of the most iconic pictures of 9.11.01.
It’s not hard to find this pic and I was able to see this and snap this when I got into the city to survey Ground Zero


Govenor’s Island and Manhattan, as seen Post 9/11, from a helo


Taken from a small boat, as we were headed back to the Ship from Staten Island



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