Home » Is It Swollen? No, But It WAS Nearly Fatal. . .

Is It Swollen? No, But It WAS Nearly Fatal. . .

I HATE the fact that it gets dark at 5PM.

Why do we still move the clocks back?  Can’t we just do away with the whole antiquated practice?

It’s been torturing mothers everywhere for years.

I’ve heard a lot of mothers complain about how it messes with the routine.  Yet, during the past few years, I never really noticed too much of a problem with Mac.  He seemed pretty okay going to bed at a set time give or take the hour. . .

But this time?


Because Mac needs a LOT of exercise these days.  And it’s very difficult to get him the requisite exercise when it’s pitch black outside so early.  And it’s even more difficult to find kid-appropriate indoor activities after 5PM on weekdays in this area.

Pile on the fact that I’m set to pop out another kid any minute plus Chris’ running nights and other after work chores, and I’m about to lose my mind just 3 days into this time change.

I just can’t physically get Mac exhausted in the same way Chris can.  They run fast and far.  I trail behind with my knees clenched hoping to thwart a sudden spurt of urine or amniotic fluid.

Chris throws him around.  They scream at one another and laugh.  Chris lifts him high into the trees to hide acorns for the blue jays and squirrels in the tree trunks.

I can’t do that stuff right now.

I breathlessly plop myself down on a curb and pretend to watch in delight, certain my pelvic floor is about to suffer imminent prolapse.

These past few days, Chris hasn’t gotten home until after dark.  So I’ve been cheating Mac on a full nap and getting us outside before Chris even gets home.  In fact, between vet visits, traffic, and running Chris hasn’t been able to even meet us in the park or at the playground yet this week.


But it’s not Chris’ fault.

I’m certainly glad Chris has a good job.  And I’m thankful he’s working hard to take care of some other stuff we should address before the new baby gets here – vet visits for the pets, insurance issues, a new car for me. . .

I really have tried to be mindful of all that he’s doing.  And keep my typically complaining, bitter, bitch-ass self in check. . .


When we return from the our evening outings, I need to sling dinner on the table as fast as possible, while simultaneously folding a load of laundry, and packing Chris’ lunch for the next day.

A lot of  evenings I sit down for the blessing and then get right back up again scarfing my own “meal” out of whatever not-too-disgusting food Mac elected not to eat while I clean up everything.

Bath nights buy me a little more time because Chris will give Mac a bath while I get dinner on the table.

Last night was running night and bath night.  So things were going okay.  But I had done a lot of walking yesterday and didn’t get my 24 minute meditation (I fall asleep by minute 5 without fail but I try) time in the afternoon so I was feeling it physically.

My stomach hurt.  My hips hurt.  My knees hurt.

A few times I wondered if I wasn’t actually in labor?

Chris popped up from dinner, slid his plate towards me and said he was going upstairs to shower.

“Can you please just wait long enough to help Mac out of his seat and wash his hands and face?” I asked.

Chris agreed, helped clean up dinner for a few minutes, and then headed upstairs.

Mac stood at the bottom of the stairs screaming “Daddy!  Daddy!”

“It’s okay, honey, Daddy’s going to shower and in a few minutes we’ll go upstairs too.  Do you want to help Mommy clean up and get our bedtime snack ready?”  I asked Mac in my best chipper voice.

We got our chores wrapped up and headed upstairs.  Mac was in good spirits.  I was looking forward to plopping down on the bed and reading to him.

My stomach hurt so much.  What the heck?  

Mac brought me “book about trains” and I proceeded to read it to him while shoveling spoonfuls of ice cream into our faces, doing my best to ignore whatever all those horrible stomach pains were.

But then of course, things got off track. . .Mac insisted on jumping on the bed.  And running around like a damned maniac.  And peed on the bathroom floor once.

And I was just not feeling better.

And Chris was futzing around in the bathroom showering, shaving, brushing his teeth.  Jeeeeeeezus this man must have a more elaborate grooming routine than the entire Kardashian family combined. . .and he barely has any hair!

I was propped up on the bed surrounded by books, assembling Legos into a “tunnel” for Mac and attempting to ascertain the source of all my stomach pains when Chris sauntered into the room in a towel.

I braced myself for some ridiculous sexual innuendo.

He dropped the towel so that his groin area is inches from my face.

“Does something look swollen to you?”  He asked.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve EVER heard!” I belch-scream at him, stomach churning, “What are you doing?  Mac’s in the other room.  Put some pants on!”

“I’m not kidding!  Something hurts over here.”  He says as he points to the right side of his abdomen not too far from his hip bone.  “Can you see swelling?”

“No, I don’t see swelling.” I hiss at him.  Admittedly, barely glancing at the allegedly affected area.

“Well, it hurts.”

“Well perhaps you should stop poking your fingers at it?”  I suggested testily.  “Oh my gawd, I’m sitting here up to my eye-balls pregnant, about to barf, there’s a foot poking out beside my belly button, and you have the audacity to complain that something hurts in YOUR abdomen?!  I should totally just put you out of your misery RIGHT NOW!  Don’t make this about you!  I’M THE ONE THAT’S ABOUT TO GO INTO LABOR, DAMNIT!!!!”

“Sheesh. . .all I’m saying is I might have a hernia.” He muttered sheepishly as he put on his shorts.


“You really think it’s my appendix?”  He asked wide-eyed.

“What I honestly think is, you are VERY lucky we haven’t finished our estate planning yet. . .”