Its that time of pregnancy again!

Well, kids, I’m here.  I’ve reached the point where I need to start wearing the ever so stylish and equally comfortable compression stockings.  Again.  I did this once before with Lilly, and lucky you, I”m going to repost that experience for you here.

Lucky, lucky you.

This pregnancy is uber fun, because not only do I get to break out these babies again, I also have carpal tunnel in my hands that makes me wake up with claws instead of human hands.  To allieviate this, I’ve taken to wearing hand splints.

Move over, Lindsay Wagner, there’s a new bionic woman in town.

via

So.  For your reading pleasure, I leave you with a post I put on my blog three-ish years ago, because I’m a little low on material, believe it or not. 

Then again, Ben’s trying to do duck calls with a straw right now.  He sounds more like a dying goose.

 

Would Compression Stockings By Any Other Name Be As Uncomfortable?

 
Looks like I finally became one of “those moms”.

The last time I went to the OB for a checkup, the good Dr. took a good look at my once best feature and handed me a slip of paper instructing me where I can purchase a pair of compression stockings for the, um, let’s be honest here, disgusting bulging veins in my leg.

I am consoling myself with the fact that this is completely hereditary.  I’d divulge, but I don’t want to embarrass anyone who might be reading this who I’m related to.  Besides, I’ve noticed that some of those in my immediate family who can’t bear children because, well, they’re MEN, have the same problem.  But I’m not naming names.

After sitting on the scrip for a couple of weeks, I finally went into the pharmacy at the nearest hospital to be fitted for this wonderful medical device.

Can I just throw in a WTF caveat here?  They’re not covered by insurance!  Believe me, I’m never spending over $130 for a pair of hose again in my life, but one would think that if a doctor said, “if you don’t start wearing these, you’re going to get blood clots” and you have to go to a particular place with a scrip in hand to acquire said torture devices, that insurance might cover it.  You know, so they don’t have to cover a hospital stay and another scrip for blood thinners. 

Just a thought.

So.  The “nice lady at the pharmacy” led me to a little room and after a little chit chat about what this will entail and what my doctor wanted me to get, and did I just say this was my fifth or sixth baby, and being told flat out that I am CRAZY for having that many children at least three or four times, I was instructed to, and I quote, “drop my britches” so that she could do all the necessary measuring.

And she never even offered to buy me a drink.

Much like the nursing bra episode.  But once again, I digress…..

Now, for the mommies out there who have done this before, and have actually worn real compression stockings, I humbly bow before you.  But not too far, because I’ll fall over.  Seriously. 

I can barely get socks on at this stage of the game (which concerns me, seeing in that we’re getting toward sock season here and I’m. still. pregnant.

(Last month, The Hubs and I took The Fam to The Fair and at one point my sneaker came untied and I had to ask The Hubs to tie it for me because I just couldn’t reach.)

That’s when the “nice lady who worked at the pharmacy” suggested that instead of getting regular stockings, I get “chaps.”  You see, if you haven’t had the pleasure of wearing these things before, there’s a science (and apparently, a tool as well??) to get these things on.  You have to put them on inside out and yank them up little by little.  Think ace bandage on your legs, because that’s just what they are.

So, “nice lady who thinks I”m crazy for having so many kids” suggested the chaps, so that I can put them on one at a time, instead of finding myself getting stuck with stockings on up to my ankles, red faced and out of breath,  finally falling over in a heap off the bed because I just can’t bend that far over “the babe.”

These things saved me.

Now, keep in mind, that, as I told my friend (who took my kids for me as I went on this errand because she saw the error that I missed that if I brought all five kids with me seriously bad things would happen), if I run into someone with a fetish for both pregnant women and cowgirls, I’m in BIG trouble.

Big.  Trouble.

The good news is, they work.  My legs feel good, and I suppose they’re doing their job.  Unfortunately for me, this means no more shorts because, really, toe less stockings in “Suntan” (the color your grandmother used to wear) under shorts are damn ugly.

I hide under jeans and very long blue maternity skirts.

The bad news is, they are very difficult to get off.  Like, trying to tie your shoelaces difficult. 

This is where The Hubs comes in.

Nothing, I mean, NOTHING is sexier than trying to help a very pregnant woman take off a pair of pregnancy compression stockings.

Nothing.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself so I don’t cry every night.

Picture this.  I get the stupid things started.  Then, The Hubs gets to sit on the bed and pull with all his strength  as I try to pull my leg out with my crazy counter balance and not fall into his dresser.  They have to be inside out so that I can put them back on again tomorrow, of course.

Then, repeat with the other leg.

That, my friends, is love.

So, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the past few weeks, there you go.  I’ve been trying to get dressed in under 40 minutes and trying not to work up a sweat just before bedtime, trying to get undressed again.  Only to do it again in the morning.

And I’m gettin’ my legs done like nobody’s business when this little one comes along!

 

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About Anne McD @ourlittlenthouse

Hey! I'm a stay at home, Catholic mom of 7, former homeschooler, now public schooler. Welcome to our crazy. Please excuse the noise.
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2 Responses to Its that time of pregnancy again!

  1. Kathryn Biel says:

    I know it is not funny, but I just had a flashback to getting stuck in a dressing room trying on a similar compression garment (to keep my midsection and rear end from bulging, not my veins). I was stuck in the thing, half up, half down, and Could. Not. Move. All my bits and pieces were hanging out and my arms were stuck overhead. And I had to pee. And I started laughing because it was so ridiculous, which did not help the pee situation.

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