kayla aimee: only slightly neurotic

The One About Cabbage

I was reading blogs at 3am while Scarlette partied with her bottle and was trying to type out a one-handed comment about mastitis when I realized I probably never told y'all about my awkward cabbage story.

I assume that was because I pretty much lost my sense of humor for 5.5 months but looking back now, it's fairly hilarious. I went up four, yes FOUR cup sizes after giving birth. Seriously, my baby weighed one pound and my chest reacted as though I'd given birth to sextuplets.

And apparently sometimes when there is just no more room for milk in your body and your body doesn't get the memo, it starts backing up under your arms. I had huge lumps under my arms y'all, bigger than golf balls. I was walking around like a scene out of A Christmas Story going "I can't put my arms down! I CAN'T PUT MY ARMS DOWN!"

That sounds funny except I actually couldn't put my arms down and I was in horrendous pain and also? I was bruised like someone had beat me. So I lift my arms and ask Scarlette's nurse if this is normal and she takes one look at me and says "Oh my goodness let me go get the lactation consultant." Who said "Oh Honey. Oh HONEY" and then prescribed me cabbage.

Right. Cabbage. To be held under my arms. Which honestly? I was so desperate I would have stuck a cactus under my arms for relief. And I am here to tell you that it worked and if you are experiencing extreme bewbie pain, skip the drugs and go right for the produce section.

The thing is, the NICU keeps the micro-preemie room super warm so even though it was mid November it was not uncommon for me to strip off my layers until I was just in a tank top. And pants. I did not walk around in my skivvies all the time, just that one time I accidentally stripped down in front of the security cameras. And also that time I flashed the L&D entrance.

(Issues <- I have them.)

So, I couldn't do things like change my baby's diaper and simultaneously hold the cabbage under my arms. So I did what any logical person would do.

I taped the cabbage under my arms.

And that's why our NICU unit was so awesome. Because a) they saved my baby's life and b) didn't make any comments about that crazy mother walking around with cabbage leaves peeking out from under her bra straps.

Unexcused Absence

This morning I took Scarlette to her GI specialist appointment.

It was a two hour drive to Atlanta in rush hour traffic. That was super fun with an infant. Especially one hooked to all sorts of monitors. It's just a little bit unnerving when a loose wire sets an alarm off while you're on the interstate, I'm just saying.

When I got there, they informed me that oops! my appointment was supposed to be at the satellite office.

The satellite office? It's 45 minutes from our house.

I cried in front of many, many people in that waiting room this morning.

Then I drove back to the satellite office, where upon checking out with Scarlette on my hip, the lady at the desk looked at me and asked

"Do you need me to write you a note to excuse you from school today?"

Seriously, y'all. Seriously.

(eta: you know what's even funnier? I totally sacrificed some sleep to put on makeup and wear heels today.)

Confederate Eyes

So it's just been in the last few weeks that I've been able to get out and do things again. I can't tell you how exciting this is for me, not just because I'm around people again but because it means I have things to write about.

I've mentioned before that we live in a fairly small town and the people in it are pretty much country folk. I used to go to this little ma and pop country restaurant for breakfast before work. Today was my first time in since I've been pregnant.

I hesitated a little bit because the line was in a different place. An elderly man with red suspenders over a John Deere shirt clapped a hand on my shoulder and said "Well, get yourself in this here line, big eyes." (In related news, I tried out some new eyeliner this morning. I don't think it's working for me.) The younger guy in front of him turned around and said "Those sure are some eyes you got. Them's confederate eyes."

I know. I was as confused as y'all. Apparently, my eyes are the same color as the uniforms worn by the confederate soliders. I don't know if you know this or not, but where I live the confederacy is held in high esteem, almost as though people aren't quite aware that the south didn't win that war. To further illustrate this point, after enlightening me on the topic, he remarked that with these eyes, I must be a true southern girl.

At this point, the older man asked me if this was my first baby and then proceeded to tell me that I should have waited longer to have kids. As the cashier handed me my drink he said "You better not give her no coke now. Can't have none of that." Then he wagged his finger at me and said "You better not be doin' any smokin' either young lady." I politely informed him that I had ordered water and that I don't smoke and that's when he asked me when I was due. "February" I replied.

He looked at me, looked at my stomach, shook his head and said "Nope, I don't think so. That baby's coming in January, you mark my words."

I so missed this.

The Belly Touch

From the beginning of this pregnancy I've been hearing about The Belly Touch. Magazine, books, friends passing on anecdotal stories...they all talk about how when you're pregnant total strangers will start touching your belly.

I talk about intimate details of my life on the internet, so I figured I was pretty prepared for this. Looking back, I think I wasn't bothered by the idea so much because I pictured a sweet, elderly grandmotherish type figure gently placing a light touch on my stomach in the scrapbooking section of Michael's or something.

That was not my experience. I took the car in for an oil change and when the mechanic came out he wiped his hands on his towel, grabbed each side of my belly with his hands and started shaking it up and down exclaiming "Oh, look at the little baby in there!"

And I was completely taken aback. I was prepared for someone to touch my belly. I was not prepared for someone to grab my belly and then proceed to shake it like a polaroid picture.

He then told me he hoped I'd found the visit satisfactory and asked me to fill out an online survey evaluating my experience with him. 

Upon recounting the story to my father, he told me I should mention on the survey that while the oil change was great, I felt very uncomfortable with the inappropriate touching from the strange man.

(P.S. Some of y'all were worried so I wanted to reassure you that my dad and I were just joking around, I'd never report the guy for being friendly and sweet!)

Dude, where's my car?

So I go to Publix and buy some groceries. Then I go to put said groceries in my car. Except the trunk of the car won't pop with my remote clicker thing. So I try using the key to open the trunk. Only that doesn't work either. So I'm trying to pull up on the trunk while furiously clicking the remote when a sweet woman who is walking up with her buggy full of groceries stops and says to me in a southern drawl "Excuse me baby, I think that's my car."

And that's when I look at the car and realize that this car? It's not my car. It's not even the same TYPE of car that I drive. This car is a Nissan. I've never driven a Nissan. And also, this car? It's not even the the same COLOR as my car. This car is black. My car is grey.

I sheepishly look around and head across the parking lot to my car, parked in the exact same spot one row over.

In my defense, the parking spots looked EXACTLY THE SAME.