Posted on

In which I rant about birth control pills.

Between the two of us, Jenny and I have been on five different kinds of birth control pills in the last year, and all five of them have been horrible. Do you know why? Because BIRTH CONTROL PILLS SUCK.

Until a week ago, I was on Yaz. However, it turns out Yaz has a special kind of hormone that tends to kill women. So call me crazy, but I went to the doc and asked for something else.

So I’ve been on Loestrin 24 for four days now, and call me crazy, but it is making me CRAZY. I am sure you’ll concur by the time you finish reading this post. Or this sentence. Whatever.

Anyway. Pumping hormones into our bodies? It makes no sense.

The feminist in me will always be thankful for the fact that we have any options at all, but why is it that decades after the initial invention we’re ok with the fact that in order to prevent pregnancy, we have to risk blood clots and strokes and general insanity?

This is 2010, for the love of God. We can make sure all 84-year-old men can have erections, but we can’t come up with any options for birth control that don’t have the potential to kill us? Seriously?

I can only imagine what kind of magical prophylactic pills and potions and fruit smoothies would be available if men were the ones who got knocked up.

All I want is to find something that won’t kill me, make me crazy, or make me fat. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently.

The worst symptom of this current hormonal cocktail I’m ingesting on a daily basis is that it’s making me angry. Can you tell?

Post to Twitter

Posted on

The Big Six

newbrnjoshua

Six years ago today, I was 40 weeks pregnant, one day shy of my due date, miserable, giant, ready to give birth, but not ready at all. I had no idea what I was in for, as far as giving birth or as far as being a parent. All I knew was that I was ready to hold my baby in my arms. Ready to not waddle, lumber, pant, ache, hurt. Ready to not just be a mother but to mother.

I would have to wait three more days to hold my baby in my arms. When my due date came and went without any action, I was discouraged, to say the least. But by the next evening I was in the hospital, and finally the morning after that I held my sweet boy in my arms.

When he was a baby, I would say to him many, many, many times, “Oh, Joshua, I hope you always love me as much as you do now.” I knew I would love him, though I couldn’t imagine how much. But what surprised me, what I hadn’t expected, was how much he loved me. He has taught me so much about unconditional love. And he still does. When I mess up, when I speak too harshly to him, get mad over little things, he is so quick to forgive.

And now he will be six. He is thriving in kindergarten. He is excited about Hot Wheels, Lego Racers, and Super Mario Brothers. He has a best friend.

And in many ways, I still don’t know what I’m in for. But I get to be Joshua’s mom, so it doesn’t really matter.

Post to Twitter

Posted on

These Dreams Go On

For years and years, I have had a recurring dream. I guess you could call it a nightmare, because it’s emotionally upsetting, but it’s not filled with zombies or monsters or decapitation.

It’s about not finishing college.

I graduated from college a semester early. I tested out of nine credits, and took six in summer school, and – voila! – early graduation. This was especially exciting to me because Bobby and I were engaged and I really wanted to get married. But I wasn’t going to get married until I got my degree. So, graduating early allowed us to get married a few months earlier. It also saved my parents a bunch of money, and allowed me to take out less student loans. Yippeee!

And of course, opened the door for my subconscious to forever torture me with dreams about not finishing college.

In some of the dreams, I can’t find a particular class. It’s the day of the final and I realize I haven’t been to class all semester. I dash all over campus trying to find a textbook. I spend the dream searching, searching, running, never finding.

In some of them, I can’t find my school mail box at the campus post office, or CPO (read: see-po) as we called it. And of course, in said mailbox is critical info I need to graduate.

This dream I had last night was even weirder and more elaborate. It involved going to church at said college…and church was held in a swimming pool. And apparently it was taking me a real long time to graduate, because I already had Joshua, and somehow he was attending preschool at said college. And, I couldn’t find either one of our mailboxes at the CPO! Then, I got trapped in a class taught by Casey of Moosh in Indy (who was nowhere near my college, I am pretty sure she was still in high school then, the young whippersnapper) which involved her handing out a lot of Shabby Apple dresses to everyone but me, I got a mismatched top and skirt, and the class went over and I was late to pick Joshua up from his college-preschool and I had to leave Casey’s class early which prevented me from…you guessed it…graduating. (Dangit Casey! Cut a girl a BREAK!)

So.

(Quick congrats to Casey Mullins for making my my recurring nightmare!)

I didn’t sleep very well and woke up emotionally distressed. I hate it how dreams feel so real. My emotions were wrenched, my blood pressure high.

Maybe I should dig my diploma out of whatever box it’s buried in and sleep with it under my pillow?

Post to Twitter