Morning Sickness Turned Me Into A Charlatan

I love Western medicine.

I am descended from a line of doctors, and while freshman Organic Chemistry slammed shut my misplaced dream of carrying the torch onward, it did not extinguish my love and respect for the modern medical community.

I want to see a doctor; not a nurse and definitely not a PA. Community college and some two year extension school doesn't give one the right to wield a prescription pad or wear a white coat.

I want prescription drugs prescribed and and lab work run.

I want to see the giant diploma in Latin with the initials "M.D" or "O.B" engraved on thick, indulgent cardstock.

I want to know in the event of an emergency, knowledge is being pulled from The New England Journal of Medicine, not the internet or Chinese folklore.

I want to be admitted, I want my vitals taken, and I want my baby birthed in a sterile room with lots of sharp, sterile tools nearby. And for the love of God, I want the epidural.

Now, those who feel just as strongly the other way will understand that one's position is not something that changes. It's not right or wrong; although I don't know how Harvard, Georgetown or Einstein Medical School could ever be wrong, it's just what you believe and part of your DNA.

Recently, however, I've become a ginger-consuming, Vitamin B6 taking charlatan. Last week, in the middle of a meeting, I took out a bag of gingersnaps and had a moveable feast that followed me to every other meeting. Last night, I stowed ginger-ale in my purse lest I not be able to rummage some up at our destination. Today, I started Vitamin B6 to contain this low-level nausea to its lowest point.

The only reason I can do this with any shred of self-respect is because the doctor told me to try these things before we whip out some good old-fashioned prescription drugs.

Ginger snaps, you've got six days left before you get replaced with something less tasty but more effective. Best of luck. I'm pretty sure I know how this ends.

34 & Pregnant.

During high school, college, my early 20s, my late 20s, and well into the first year of my third decade, I knew getting pregnant was a first class ticket to ruin. "16 & Pregnant" may not yet have been a glimmer in MTV's prescient eye, but I knew young motherhood didn't lead to a house on a hill overlooking the ocean.

Realistically, "ruin" was too strong a term to use for pregnancy after I graduated from college, joined the working world, and wed. I owned a home, a car, a dog, a husband, a graduate degree, and a nice little corporate marketing job and still believed  pregnancy would have the same dire effects as it would were I 18.

When I promptly changed my mind, it took the universe almost a year to get the memo about my change in position. My dusty uterus, shut down by management for 15 or so years, quickly let me know that taking direction was not her strong suit and brought my son into the world on her own timetable.

Fairly certain that with a second child, the old dustbag will give me the same run-around, her timetable is being taken into consideration.

Well, isn't the universe a bitch.

Several weeks ago, I walked into the breakroom at my new office where the product we sell covered every square inch of counter space.

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed loudly to fellow employees I don't know, "it smells awful in here!"

No one agreed.

A few days later, walking through the grocery store I was struck by a hunger I hadn't felt in over two years. My grumbling stomach fell to the floor as I headed to the pregnancy test aisle.

Perhaps it is because she is a bit of a control freak who still has something to prove or perhaps it's her way of apologizing for the past shenanigans; either way, she has proven once again she is in charge.

In less than 10 minutes, not the YEAR I'd planned for, I got pregnant.

The past 11 weeks have been a discomfiting mixture of nausea and shock. Don't get me wrong; I am thrilled there will be no second round against my uterus, but I hear her laughing and wryly reminding me to adjust to her calendar and erase mine.

In the meantime, I am drafting a pitch for the next hit MTV show, "34 & Pregnant." This unique, true-life series will star moms on the brink of "mature" maternal age who don't understand the consequences of unprotected sex.

Half-Assed Book Giveaway

Well where the hell have I been, you ask, sorely missing my somewhat entertaining posts. I have been on a summer travel adventure trying to disconnect from the world. Ok, that's a lie. My hard drive, on the 50lb laptop my new employer gave me completely crashed mid summer travels, so I've only been connected via phone and an ipad that is best suited to play Elmo's World and run the Fisher-Price "shapes" app 20+ times a day.

Speaking of travel adventures, my little guide is up on Amazon and I'm (self) published!

The Cape Doesn't Work; How To Fly With Your Baby, Supermom

I've read and re-read this damn thing so many times that I can't tell anymore if it's any good, but I do think it's quite helpful and entertaining. Soooo, if you've been missing my posts out here, go get a 100 page fill of me here! Were I tech-savvy enough to understand rafflecopter, which I see on blogs about makeup and fashion, I would do a giveaway and give out some copies.

That's a lie, too. I don't read makeup or fashion blogs. The quest for the perfect shade of lipgloss or the best way to rock a fedora is not high on my problems list.

So, what can we do. Got it! If anyone is interested in writing a review of the book on their blog email me and I'll send a complimentary copy to the first 20 people. Please understand the scope of the assignment: you must read it and then write an honest review for your millions of followers.

Got it? Ok, I'm waiting: annie025@gmail.com.