I definitely took for granted last time that I didn’t have to go through the waitandsee bullshit of pregnancy. My water broke early and we were off. No, I don’t want that again, but this waiting and seeing is nonsense.

So today I had a midwife appointment and I let her “check me”. I originally said that is something I wouldn’t do. It’s not a reliable means of finding out if or when you are in labor. Or even if it will happen soon. But my situation is different. If my cervix doesn’t get off it’s lazy asshole and do SOMETHING soon, it’s c section time. So we checked.

And I didn’t sleep last night because of it. And I couldn’t eat breakfast. Because holycervixface, this is a big deal. And I was like B, are you nervous? And he’s like, about what? And I’m like, punch in your neck.

The poor midwife is like straight up *nervous* to stick her hand in my vag because I’m in tears and B is staring her down like, you better say something good or my life will be misery for 2 weeks. This was also the very first time her and my vagina met. So there were pleasantries exchanged like, nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you, etc.

So she checks.

And she’s making faces.

And she’s digging around.

And she’s like What’s that?


And she’s like, oh it’s nothing.

And she’s like ok. You’re 80% effaced but not dilated.

And she’s trying desperately to stick a finger in the cervix hole but it’s closed up tight.

So for those of you who don’t know (I didn’t). Effaced means that your cervix is getting thinner and softer. Dilation is when the tiny hole in your cervix starts to open up shop. I read that in pregnant women your cervix looks and feels like lips.

So this is what I picture my cervix to look like now. Warning, this is very graphic and accurate.

You know, like Olsen twin duck face lips. NOT opening.

What we need is this:

So that’s what we’re working on. Visualization of blow up dolls and the like. I read it or something.

The super good news is that worse case scenario, I will be induced on the 19th. But my midwife is confident that I will go into labor before then on my own. But she said “don’t quote me on the blog”. So I’m not quoting her on the blog. I’m just quoting her saying don’t quote me. Which I think is ok and allowed. Also yes, she reads the blog. I know….

But I’m feeling more positive and trying to stay that way for these reasons:

1) My water so far has not spontaneously ruptured. I’m a beaver dam for waters. Literally.

2) Effacement is good. It means stuff is happening and it makes me feel like I’m not broken.

3) I don’t have this looming imminent c-section threat hanging over my head anymore. No I don’t WANT to be induced, but I’ll take it if I have to.

4) I have an Olsen twin in my vag.

It’s getting close and I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m ready. Also a snow storm is coming. So Yoshe was probably waiting for that. Just to make things interesting.

Also my doula muscle tested me for baby names. Oh you don’t know what this is? It’s when you hold stuff and they see how your muscles respond. I held paper with baby names written on them. Apparently she HATES 2 of the names, LOVES 2 and won’t murder us in our sleep over 1 of them. Hippies are the best.

Ok there you go friends.

I will keep you posted. Almost go time.

Love to you and your Olsen.


PS Please start calling your vag an Olsen.




POSTED IN: hippie stuff,Innapropriate,Preg Stuff,Sharing,Vom stuff,You think you know but you have no idea

Hello friends. It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? I however can no longer take responsibility for my body or it’s actions. I declare that this 3rd trimester will somehow, someway get me onto at least the local news, if not Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen. Let me explain.

Lest you not forget (I ALWAYS WANTED TO USE LEST), I have had a baby before. But hear me now women, it doesn’t matter even one tiny shit bit. You’d think I’d know what I was in for. You’d think I would know what I signed up for. But you know what? I didn’t. I just didn’t. And I take 97% responsibility off my shoulders. Because non first babies get into your lady parts and are like, “aw shit, this place is a mess. It’s all  lived in and foul. Guess I can trash the place and it doesn’t matter”. Because baby 2 does.not.give.a.shit. Baby 2 is like I WILL MAKE YOU GAIN 60 LBS. I WILL MAKE YOU FALL ASLEEP AT THE STOVE. I WILL THEN LET THAT BE THE ONLY SLEEP YOU GET FOR 3 DAYS AND NIGHTS. I WILL USE YOUR BLADDER AS A TRAMPOLINE. I WILL OWN YOU.

(my baby also uses one of those lame blue tooth ear pieces.)

And you are totally helpless to their rude behavior. They signed the lease fair and square. They paid first and last month’s rent. All you can do is hold their security deposit when they leave. But they are babies and don’t even have wallets. So what the hell do they care? And this is my point women: THEY DON’T CARE.

So what I’m trying to tell you all, is this: I have a full 6 weeks left (possibly 7). I am definitely bigger than I was at delivery with G. I’m assuming that I’m either growing a mutated watermelon with feet or a 15lb baby inside of me. Both I truly feel are real possibilities. Either way, I’m planning on calling the good people at Guinness (not the beer, the book) and inviting them to my delivery (although the beer people may be more appreciated). But I believe shit will get real in there. I believe that whatever comes out of me will drop jaws.

G says to me daily, “Mommy biiiiig”. Yes, mommy is big. He continues “Belly sooooo big”. Yeah dude, I get it, but way to rub it in. And in yoga class tonight a new girl shows up. I hear her chatting in the back as I pass out on my mat. She says she has only 10 weeks left. I’m like, thank god another big girl in my spot. She walks in and looks like she maaaaybe ate 2 hamburgers. And it looks like I’m actually her surrogate. I said, “hi, I hate you”. And those were the only words that I spoke to her. I need an intervention.

I do not know how I’m psychically, mentally or emotionally going to make it SIX MORE WEEKS. I literally can not cry at one more Honey Boo Boo commercial. And no, I can not explain that. I can’t walk up the stairs one more time and I can not sleep one more night until 4am and then just “hang out” until it’s time to get up. But like I said, we both signed this lease and we’re in this till the end.

I do not know how much I’ll be around here from now until November 11th or 12th or millionth. I don’t know if I can physically hold my body up in this poop chair any longer. But I’ll try and check in so you know I didn’t float myself down a river never to be found again.

And if one single one of you leave me a comment about how ungrateful I am for my pregnancy and baby and I am offending beer drinking babies everywhere, I will literally squeeze a hemorrhoid out of you with my bare hands. I will love the shit out of the baby WHEN IT’S OUT OF MY BODY. For now, we’re just working through our issues.

help me rhonda,

the 3rd MODGmester




POSTED IN: babies,I hate everyone,Innapropriate,Preg Stuff,You think you know but you have no idea

This type of thing is DEFINITELY illegal in like 40 countries. Maternity swimwear glory.

This post is payback. Except it’s payback to myself. Which is like just pay. But  not money pay. Whatever. It’s something. I decided to do some toilet pics in my own swimwear. In all my pregnant glory. And it was surprising. In a lot of ways. Like, Surprise! I am way too lazy to even […]

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This post is really just a means of revenge against B. But it’s also about poop. And cinnamon rolls.

B ate the last cinnamon roll. Do you know what kind of crime that is against pregnancy and the female population as a whole? Do you know the anger and resentment I feel burning inside of my Yoshi? It’s not MY fault that Yoshi NEEDS cinnamon buns to grow. But it’s your fault B for […]

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Teenagers can’t be babysitters. They can’t even drink booze yet.

I have one of those relationships with my child that has a 40% probability of turning into some scene with me waving a gun around a future college campus screaming “NONE OF YOU WHORES ARE GOOD ENOUGH. NONE OF YOU”. Or something equally normal. Yes, I admit it. I’m pretty overprotective. I just sort of […]

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