#been in ends since ten kicking product round the bend..........

[catholicide]

mr wobbly and flimsy steve

[potter-imagines]

Getting Drunk With Fred Weasley

Prompt: getting drunk w/ your boyfriend Fred would include + mini blurbs

Warning: drinking, swearing, and some suggestive wording

Word Count: 2.2k

Notes: n/a

Parties are not an uncommon event in the Gryffindor common room

Alcohol and drink mixtures of all sorts are being poured left and right every weekend

Most weekend you have a drink or two while catching up with your friends after a busy week of school

Other weekends you choose the path of getting plastered alongside your boyfriend off smuggled liquor and bottle of beer

On these night in particular, 

Fred does not let you out of his sight

At all

Unless of course Lee challenges him to a beer pong match then he’ll carefully usher you over the couch where he can keep an eye on you while he’s playing

Has to pause the match like 20 times to chase after you and lead you over to his side “Y/n! You know you can’t out drink Seamus- he’s Irish! C’mon, come watch me kick George and Lee’s ass. They’re so bad it takes two of them to even manage a winning shot yet somehow they still suck!”

Loves it when you cheer him on

Is constantly glancing over to reassure himself you haven’t run off again

Your distraction is heightened in this state

So he feels the need to be your second set of eyes

Which had come in handy many a times

Like when Ron dared you to touch the burning fire while he was wasted on dragon barrel brandy

“Don’t be a pussy, Y/n. Swipe your hand real fast and you won’t even feel a thing-” “Y/n, pull your hand away from that fire, love. Ron, what the fuck? Are you trying to set my girlfriend up in flames? Angel, Ron is an idiot, you know that, don’t do anything he says again.” “Hey!”

And the time when you all were playing strip poker and Fred quite literally threw himself on top of your body to cover your chest when George teased you to take your bra off and your hands reached back for the clasps

(( he bitched at George for five minutes straight for that suggestion ))

Fred knew you were not one to back down from a challenge, especially when drunk and not considering the consequences or regret that would follow

So he always made sure you never embarrassed yourself too much or did anything you’d be wanting to take back come morning

During any Gryffindor party, Fred is the life of it

When he’s not preoccupied fawning over you, he’s hopping around with George seeking out trouble

The man throws back liquor like its water

Claims he knows his limits, but he really doesn’t

He is a touchy drunk

Hands brushing through your hair as you chat on the couch

Arms wrapped around your shoulder as you laugh along with your friends

Fingers laced in yours whenever you’re near

He craves your touch even more so when the liquor taints his veins

Let’s be real, Fred is not exactly the type of boyfriend to try to get you to stop drinking

He still makes sure you’re safe and not over drinking but,

Most of the times,

He’s the one pouring the shots for you

And mixing the drinks

But he always knows when to stop, and when you’ve had enough to drink

He tries to mentally keep note of how many drinks you've had but loses track once he reaches about five on his own end

Sometimes he’ll silently swap out your glass of whiskey for a glass of pumpkin juice

It’s obvious to Fred that he made the right choice when he watched as you sipped gleefully on the juice, not making a single comment on the dramatic change in taste

In these moments he begins to prepare himself for a night of babysitting you

And he’s so sweet in helping you on the nights when you go an inch- or ten- overboard

Carries you up to your bed and helps you change out of your clothes and into new ones for bed

He gets you wipes to take of your makeup, if you’re wearing any, and he’ll sit you between his legs on your bed while he brushes through your hair

After you’re properly ready for bed, Fred makes sure to set a glass of water on your nightstand incase you get thirsty and a bag of crackers if you get hungry

Stays the night without question when you ask

Other times he stays regardless of if you do or don’t

Your roommates don’t mind seeing as he takes care of you meaning they don’t have to

He’ll lay on his back and usher you over to place you head on his chest

His fingertips will soothingly trail up and down you back, lulling you into a deep sleep with the rhythmic motion

Tries his best to make sure you fall asleep first

Drunk Fred really has no control over his sleep habits and has a tendency to pass out from sudden exhaustion at any moment

One second him and George are fucking around with partygoers, supply them with different products of theirs, and causing pure chaos

The next second Fred was snoozing away while he laid on the couch with his head in your lap

Then he was back up an going again

Like a toddler on a sugar high

He’s such a giggly drunk

Kisses to the tip of your nose

Always smiling over at you and complimenting you  

“Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?” “Only ten times, but I’m okay with elven.” “Let’s make it twelve, you looks absolutely stunning- so pretty, and all mine.”

The boy can’t help it, you make him feel weightless with happiness sober and the feeling only intensifies when he’s been drinking

There are nights when Fred can’t seem to taste the scorching burn of the liquor anymore after about six shots and it these nights where George and yourself are left dragging him up the stairs

George will beg you to stay the night because he can’t handle Fred’s drunken rambling about how much he misses you

And you agree because, how could you say no to Fred’s adorable puppy dog eyes and grabby hands longing for you to cuddle with him

If you two are both drunk, you’ll stay up talking- or rather whispering- under his comforter

He’ll stumble over his words and jumps from topic to topic in the blink of an eye

Uncontrollable giggles as he whispers- or rather stutters- out the most confusing jokes you’ve ever heard

Like

“Angel, angel…” “Yes, Freddie?” “What happens when a toad’s car breaks down?” “I dunno…” “It gets froged!” “I’m sorry, come again? Isn’t it meant to be the frog’s car that breaks down and it gets ‘toad’...not ‘froged’?”

But he’s out like a light before you can get an explanation

He breathes like darth vader when he’s in his drunken slumber

Yet its somehow comforting in an odd way

Like it reminds you that he’s there holding you

And also that he’s still alive, which is surprising at times with the amount of drinks he consumes in one night

If you think Fred acts reckless sober, he thinks he’s invincible when he’s drunk which is even worse

He’ll agree to almost anything

If Ron were to tell him he bet Fred wouldn’t jump from the Astrology Tower all the way down to the courtyard? Fred would do it just in spite of him

The only time this attitude of his had gotten him into trouble was when Fred, George and Lee came up with the grand idea to go down the boy’s dormitory staircase on mattresses

Fred, being the brilliant man he is, decided to go first

You had been gossiping away in the common room to Hermione about a new Muggle actor the two of you had seen in a film when you heard the loud crashing, followed by the voice you loved so much groaning in agony

By the time you reached the opening to the stairwell, George and Lee were aiding Fred down the stone steps, carefully avoiding his ankle which had been twisted in an inhuman position

Madam Pomfrey surprisingly kept hum about Fred’s intoxication and instead scolded him for hours on end about his reckless, mindless choice to try to slide down, winding, steep, stone steps

Once news reached the professors the nest morning, McGoagall dismissed 40 points from Gryffindor for the incident

Using your mattress to surf down the twirling stairwell has since been prohibited

On a separate occasion Fred had accident lit the edge of the curtain on fire

You can always tell when he’s reached that level by the volume in his tone

It tends to get deeper the more intoxicated he becomes

And his words slowly slur together into a string of blabber

Mostly compliments, sweet words, and sometimes suggestive ones as well

Fred gets a bit more… forward when he’s got that liquid courage soaring through him

His hands will start to roam slowly from around your waist to your lower back, then resting on your bum

He gets turned on watching you play beer pong for some reason

Especially when you win

Maybe it’s the view he’s graced with when you bend to bounce the pin pong ball

Or the feistiness that arises when the match gets hot

It’s more than enticing for him

Fred can feel his frame get stiffer everytime you bend across the table to retrieve the cup and chug the beer from it

When the round has ceased and you’re declared champion yet again, Fred steps forward to pull you in for a hug

As he gives you a kiss on the cheek, he whispers, 

“Good girl! Now if you beat George again I’ll give you a special surprise later tonight, angel.”

Which makes your knees weak like jell-o as your frame pushes into his for support

It doesn’t help that you can feel just how excited he is through the denim of his jeans

Fred dips his head to plant a trail of wet, teasing kisses along the skin of your warm neck until George was groaning and pleading for you to start the match

You practically shook for the entirety of the game, still managing to sink almost every shot into a cup forcing George to drink for the majority of it

He ended up tapping out once you nailed the seventh cup in a row and kept your winning streak alive due to his need to find a trash can immediately

You stopped there to join Fred by his side as he smiled to you, clearly pleased that you won

“Looks like someone is getting rewarded tonight.”

His arm draped around your shoulder as you leaned into his side, your cheeks flaring from the mass of bodies but mostly from Fred’s suggestive promise

He only forced you to suffer through the party for another ten minutes or so before pouring one last shot for the both of you, then nearly pushing you up the winding stairs to his dorm

Lets just say he certainly fulfilled on his promise- more than once that night

Loves it when you sit in his lap when you’re on the couch together

Whispers dirty secrets into your ear

Drunk Fred leaves hickies under the clothes

He’s not the type to care who’s around, he’ll try to slide his hand up your skirt in front of nearly anyone when he’s inebriated

“Fred- you’re brother is sitting right there, stop it!” “Shhhh, angel. He’s not even watching, right George?” “Right, Fred.” “See?”

To which you glare dangerous at him as you place his hand back in his lap, but Fred continues to smirk in amusement

It’s like you’re a preschool teacher constantly having to tell a child to keep their hands to themselves, Fred just refuses to listen

Fred doesn’t necessarily get jealous of other guys

He trusts you and he’s confident enough in your relationship not to feel threatened by other guys

However he is possessive af over you when he’s been drinking

In a sweet way tho

Literally wants all your time and attention when he’s drunk

If you don’t feel like dancing, he’ll ask you to come watch him dance

When you say you need to use the bathroom, he’ll ask a million times if you want him to come with

If George places a bet against Fred in a game of cards, Fred will drag you over to sit next to him as Seamus shuffles the deck and prepares the table

He’ll show you his cards and tell you to pick one

Even though he knows you’re completely unaware of the rules to the game, he loves the smile of excitement that appears on your face when he lets you

And in the rare times that you do say no, he works his magic with those big doe eyes and pouty lip until you say yes

It brings him comfort when you’re by his side

Your nights end the same each day, wrapped in his arms listening to the relaxing thump of his heart as the two of you doze off, both silently dreading the awaiting hangover than would surely greet you first thing in the morning, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

[adhdo5]

Every time that post comes around I just get obsessed again. I been in ends since ten kicking product round the bend my mum died of tuberculosis I'm slipping into psychosis! Oooooh flimsy Steve... where did you go... what have you seen

[tuwam]

from zero.

when they find him, he really, really wished they hadn’t.

hyuntae had a sweet gig going here, well as sweet as any deal operating on the streets could be. it was dirty, tiring and sometimes paid off ten times over or not at all. the streets were loud, never-ending and matched the ongoing static that burned tirelessly in his mind. it smelled and it hurt. from the smoke that would cake in his lungs from the cars, from the back-end of some butcher’s shop and occasionally from the bruises received from unsatisfied customers. they still paid in the end. 

sometimes hyuntae had to pay first.

he’s finishing a transaction and subsequently lying to the customer about having used the product when really, as he’s said a million fucking times - he’s the delivery boy. that’s it. he gets an order, charts his course, finds them according to signatures that separate all mutants from normal folk and delivers. he’s always delivering the heavier ones to people more shrouded in the community, wining and dining with the humans. pretending. they dope themselves on suppressants if their mutations are too hard to masquerade.

his last drop-off had in fact been to a college campus, some poor guy trying to hide the fact that his skin literally shoots needles. fucking idiot. he’s going to be doped up and overdose soon. when that happens, hyuntae’s going to have to call the brass to clean it up. he doesn’t know who does it he just knows that when they call he wants to be as far as fuck when they handle the body and wants his last payment.

they don’t tell him who they are and he doesn’t ask. they send the orders and the shipments and they’ve got big ass guns that can neutralize him, it’s all he needs to know. hyuntae knows, he’s well aware he lives life scraping where he can and licking the boot of the people who order him around. that’s what he gets for attracting the wrong crowd trying to hack into databases not meant for him. now, the only thing his powers were good for was scaring the daylights out of skeptical customers, rowdy customers and well - cheating in every game he played.

anyway, he’s finished the transaction, collected the pay and a busted lip when they show up. his head hurts like a bitch, and the blood is the best taste he’s had in his mouth in three days. it’s how he knows he’s alive despite the constant buzzing in his head. he’s contemplated taking the suppressants to see the hype but he’s been instructed very abruptly not to. the day isn’t anything special, an angry customer who was from the police force and called him cheeky. hyun can laugh now ( though he shouldn’t have laughed then ) because the money is enough to pay rent and then some. when mutant activity spikes and people start carting away mutants and making them disappear the line is usually hot or cold.

it depends. 

right now, he’s finished counting the cash and is ready to cash in - once he finishes this boss. 

he feels something collide into him and his cash and money drop to the concrete.

“son of a- mind watching where you’re going?”

something blooms in his chest and hyuntae shuffles it aside to bend down and pick everything up. the console is last and the stranger picks it up first. when hyuntae stands up and dusts off his jeans he notices that the person is considerably taller ( which isn’t fucking fair ) and is staring - dumbfoundedly so at him and still holding his console.

“mind handing that back while you stare?” that seems to pull him out his stupor but hyuntae is caught by an onslaught of emotion when the other smiles instead. a smile that has his currents buzzing so hard they ache and pull. it takes hyuntae seconds to realize his currents are pulling towards this man - this stranger and

shit.

the currents haven’t done that in a while. well, he’s more used to ignoring the cues, the way they happen seem programmed and it makes him feel puppet-like, dead and for someone else to order and control. it’s not so much a word as it is a collection of movements in his skin that push him toward the action. 

‘yunho!’ the moment is broken with the call that turns both hyuntae’s head and the stranger??? yunho, towards the sound. another man is running down the street, headed towards them and the tug hyuntae feels from his currents almost lurches him forward. he holds his ground first, grabs his console next because now he wants to get out of here.

‘joowon.’ jaehyun speaks first as the new arrival gets closer to them. the voice is gentle, still with the surprised stupor from before and as the guy gets closer - joowon??? hyuntae has to physically stop himself from falling into them. it’s like a magnet and it’s tugging him, lifting his feet like someone were picking him by the head, by his very soul. his instinct is to get away from them because he doesn’t like feeling things he doesn’t understand and it’s been a while since the only thing he didn’t understand was his powers.

they’d never done this. and right now, they don’t tell him to run, they just buzz on the edges of his skin, getting as close as possible to the two men before him. hyuntae’s pissed off, feels out of his own skin and his own body betray him.

‘you found him.’ joowon’s looking at him and hyuntae has half a mind to kick him in the shin. he can take yunho, joowon maybe not but yunho is his build, maybe a bit taller, but that’s it. hyuntae can take them, he just needs to will his body.

to move. to listen.

his currents buzz in defiance.

the sound is overtaken quickly by the sound of sirens. the truck rounds the corner, black and familiar and hyuntae’s eyes bulge. figures start to escape to van and he doesn’t need his currents to tell him.

fuck.

he’s moving easy, partially from how quick yunho?? ( jesus fuck it is yunho ) grabs him and yanks him with them, but maybe because of how willingly his currents allow it.

traitors.

it’s too late to ask questions because they’re taking off and holy shitballs he’s fucking fast. hyuntae’s fast but that’s only when he can muster up the energy, this guy is fast on athleticism only. that’s unfair. but they’re running and he can’t catch his breath and everything in him tells him to hold tighter and run faster and he hates it, wants to pull away wants to defy it all.

but the sons of bitches behind him start shooting and hyuntae’s currents are shooting out to block and neutralize all the bullets.

what the----

‘good looking out hyun.’ joowon’s yelling at him and hyuntae can’t even find it in him to flip the bird. he’s trying to catch his breath.

and keep up with speedy here.

when they stop it’s in the form of them tumbling through a door of some back alley place. hyuntae wasn’t paying attention, he’s just glad they’d stop running. hyuntae is toppling over joowon as yunho steadies himself on what appears to be a bar counter. he’s still seeing stars so it takes a second to realize that they’re in a bar. when he does get a chance to breath his first word is towards joowon who is quickly jumping up and off him.

“hope you got the funds to buy me a new console dickhole.” joowon’s eyes widen and his arms move up in defense. in the moment, since they’ve already seen his powers hyuntae would love for his currents to listen and give this guy some motivation to replace his busted console.

that’d be nice. if his currents weren’t busy ripping him in every other direction, six to be precise. when that registers, the pull is unbearable, brings him to his knees. joowon’s on him in seconds.

‘hyun, you okay? what’s wrong?’

hyuntae hears his own voice groaning, downright screaming at the pain of his mind trying to be in several places, the emotions that start to hit him. it’s like a damn overflowing.

‘i told you it’d be too much to bring him here at once.’ well, hyuntae recognizes that voice. jaehyun. ‘hyun can you stand?’ he recognizes that one too. taewoon. he groans again but this time it’s frustration, pure frustration. he was doing just fine!

‘i thought i told you dipshits to leave me alone.’ is what he says when the headache subsides and everyone’s given him space to stand and breathe. joowon hasn’t quite left his side but taewoon is holding him. jaehyun is behind the bar counter with two more beside him and yunho is of course right beside joowon. hyuntae lets out a sigh, runs a hand through his hair as the currents dance, of course they’re excited as hell.

hyuntae hasn’t seen any of them in years.

‘that’s not what your friends are saying.’ “fuck off yunho.” is hyuntae’s response to that. “what do you guys want?”

taewoon steps up first, the currents sing and dance. taewoon taewoon taewoon!!! they practically scream in the shrill-like buzz they often use. hyuntae scowls.

‘come home.’

[llycaons]

[ID: a screenshot of a tweet made by Big Bitch for All Weather @fixyourheartsor that reads

"guest rapper on gorillaz song: i been in ends since ten kicking product round the bend, my mum died of tuberculosis i'm slipping into psychosis Damon Albarn on the chorus: ooooooh flimsy steve, where did you go, what have you seen"

the tweet is timestamped 7:06 PM on Aug 26, 2021]

been so long since a tweet got me hooting like this

[gunnygazette-blog]

DIVISIONAL ROUND GAME BY GAME

Now the Big Boys get to come off the bench…  In one Conference we have 3 South teams and 1 East team while in the other we have 3 West Teams and 1 North… Maybe it’ll cover up the noise coming from the League Administration…  The origianl FFA was “the League that Delivers”...apparently 2.0 is the pirated version...”Putting the Ghetto back in Semi-Pro”…  Whether it is 1) the 30k walkin’ out the back door because the normal business safeguards were not put in place...or 2) allowing blatantly ineligible players to play...or 3) bending the rules so a player who was tossed...and thus SHOULD BY THE RULES be suspended for two games...for kicking an opponent on the ground doesn’t “hurt his team” in the Conference Championship… So much for integrity and professionalism...and ta Hell with “Delivering”...may have to focus on “Keep One’s Word”… So apparently socks and leg skin is more important than kicking a player…  Hopefully great games on the field will cover-up the embarrassment off of it...

  GAME OF THE WEEK

#3 (5) Gardens Crew (6-4, 1-0) @ #2(3) Wild Weasels (9-1)

Why?:  First game was close nail-biter...decided at the end...

Week nine was a great game that saw the Waskily-ones pull off the comeback 13-12...

So the Chefs made it through the Wild Card...without having to play… Some BS given about finding a field...but it ended up being that the Sparkies Owner was ducking out of having to explain what happen to the league’s money…  They may have the 7th best offense and 3rd best defense...but I was promised a 1st rate ass woopin’ of Aletha…  Well no matter how it is...the Chefs have yet to play their first FFA play-off game…  

Waskily Weasels enter their 4th FFA post season by earning their 3rd Divisional Title...making that three straight...and their 3rd season of having only one loss… Though they have a lot in common with the Chefs...they do everything a lil’ better…  A 3rd ranked offense has averaged 28.3ppg…  Defensively their ranked 2nd in the league averaging 9.2ppg…  I expect another close game...but with a lil’ more scoring...

Prediction:  Waskily Weasels...22-8...

My pick:  ...much closer...

Game #2

#5 (9) Mee-Ah-mee Raid (4-6, 1-0) @ #1(2) Aud-i-Bulls (9-1)

Why?:  Split the regular season...but this is the post season...

The only match-up that split the regular season…  Week two saw the Quot-a-Bulls jump ahead and take the 27-0 win while week ten was the Raidahs jumping out to a lead and hold on for the 20-16 upset...

The Raid make the 2nd Round with a come from behind win on the road…  Down 28-6 at half...roared back to win 32-28…  Those cold starts have been a problem all season...and if you counted only the first half they would have one of the worst offenses in the league…  But relying on comebacks has doomed some of their games… How Jeckle and Hyde?  They are the only play-off team to lose to a two or less win team…and they did it twice...  

Quot-a-Bulls enter their 17th post season by winning their 15th Divisional Title...and secured their 11th top seed in the conference...but just missed their 9th undefeated season by a game…  What they get this week is a chance to get revenge against the team that knocked them out of the play-offs in 2018 and started their 4yr slide of not being in the big game… This is not the Aud-i-Bulls of championship runs...as this year’s addition roll in with the 8th ranked offense that average 22.2ppg...their worst production since their first season way back 2004 (not counting 2020, as they only actually played 4 games…) Alot of this is up front...that looks old and slow...and injuries… Defensively they have historically been in the top three...and this year is no exception…  Ranked #1 at only 7.3ppg…they have been the strength of the team...and have carried the team while the offense has struggled with an identity…  This game will be who ever can jump out early and hold on for the win...

Prediction: Horned-ones...32-0...

My pick:  ...much...much...closer...as the Raid will score...but will come up short on the come back…

Game #3

#4 (4) A.R.M.Y. (8-2, 0-0) @ #2 (6) Runnin’ Naked (7-3*)

Why?:  The only game where the Visiting team will be favored...

These two teams met back in week twelve as the A.R.M.Y. outlasted the home team for a 28-14...this yecould this be Deja Vu?

The Uniformed-ones won a slugfest last week against the other North Division team...just grinding on them until they had outpaced a team with size but limited explosiveness…  They dominated the Grizzleds on special teams and a passing attack that took chunks of turf… They outrank the Nekkids in every aspect of the game...

Runnin’ Nekkid enter their 4th FFA post season by earning their 3rd Divisional Title...making that three straight…   Never one & done...but this years #2 seed is not favored at home…  Their 4th ranked offense has put up 24.6ppg and they will probably need every point if they want to advance…  Defensively their ranked 7th at 10.9ppg…  I think there best chance for a win may be an 8-6 score...where this defense scratches and claws all game...

Prediction: Uniformed-ones make the Conference Championship an All-West affair...23-18...

My pick:  ...about right...

Game #4

#6 (7) Pee-Rats (5-5, 1-0) @ #1(1) Glads (10*-0)

Why?:  Pee-Rats scored 13pts in two games against the Glads...not enough offense to complete...

Week #5 was a 54-6 thrashing by the Glads while just seven days later...in Week #6...the score was closer...24-7...but the same result…  

The Pee-Rats enter round two with a big 2nd half push against the third-seeded Stanky Feet...who had their usual second half implode…  But they were their normal physical, sloppy, penalty filled selves. Though it was high scoring game, it was the defense and their ability to dominate the Feet’s undesized o-line that was the difference… Their Offense was gifted great field position..from both their defense...and special teams...where kick returns and the Feet’s refusal to punt were key...

The Sorry-ass Champs earned their 5th undefeated regular season on their way to their 12th Division Title…and are home of the longest current winning streak at 11 games...as well as an active 6 game post season streak… Offensively the Glads might be ranked number one...at 27.9ppg… But their offense has been pretty unimaginative…just line up and try to bash people on the ground 1st & 2nd down...maybe throw it on third and long…  With 5 Qbs rotated in…we’ve not seen what this offense can do when hitting on all cylinders…  Defensively they’ve ranked a surprisingly low 5th in the rankings...allowing 8.9ppg…  Usually they’ve been top three...but this year a lot of bonehead scores where players were just lost has tarnished that reputation…  That shouldn’t hurt them too much in this game as the Eye-patch crew are not that prolific...

  Prediction: ...Glads...29-3...

My pick:  ...Pee-Rats will probably get that token TD...

SPENDING THE WEEKEND AT THE STATE FAIR

(10) Reaps (5-5, 0-1)    

(11) Sparkies (4-6, 0-1)

(12) Stanky Feet (4-5, 0-1)

(13) Duu-vowel Raid (3-6)

(14) Flat Fish (2-8)

(15) Cow Puppies (1-9)

(16) Rust Curtains (2-8)

(17) Sea Ponies (0-10)

[brainsinmyheadfeetinmyshoes]

Celia’s Birth Story.

Welcome, Celia Fe! Born 08.05.17, surprising everyone 23 days before her due date. 

*****

At my 36wk mark on Monday, I had a funny inkling that the baby would be here soon. I called to make a hair appointment and thought, "Wouldn't it be ironic if she's born before then?" The inkling kept tickling my mind and emotions and I wrote it off as a sense of preparedness. I was prepared for labor and delivery, and it was just me, ready to get to the other side.

By Wednesday, the inkling grew frenetic. I just KNEW she would be here soon. I was filled with strange new energy to get ready, quick. Pack the hospital bag. Take maternity photos with the boys NOW because the weekend might be too late. Get out the carseat and wash the cover. Just totally overwhelmed by this sense that she was coming SOON. And after I ate a hearty yogurt-apple salad at 3pm, I wasn't hungry again. Strange, I'm always hungry...

At 7pm, I tweaked an abdominal muscle somehow. It felt like the baby kicked or elbowed me and it triggered a sharp round ligament pain... except the pain spread to the other side, and lasted for hours. I couldn't roll over in bed or walk to the bathroom without assistance. After five hours, I phoned Labor and Delivery and they suggested I come in for monitoring. The jostling car ride over was terrrrrrible, but it was kind of nice to have a practice run since we hadn't delivered at this hospital before.

They kept us in triage for about six hours, then sent us home. Contractions started while there, and were regular, but I only dilated 1cm. The doctor credits the abdominal pain to carrying very low with very weak muscles. She said she could tell that the musculature was stretched thin because she could see baby's movements clearly without even palpating. She recommended a support belt, even if I only used it a few days, and sent me to labor at home.

We got home soon after 8am Thursday, and I proceeded to sleep most of the day while Erik took on the boys. I had the genius idea to try using our jersey-knit-fabric baby carrier to help support my belly once I dared to stand up and it made a huge difference. I had found a pelvic tuck-and-lift exercise that I intended to try anyway with my low belly, so this made it very easy to do. It entails manually lifting the belly during a contraction while tucking the pelvis in and bending the knees, for ten consecutive contractions. This presumably gets baby over the pubic bone and into the pelvic cavity, also coercing her to rotate into an optimal position if necessary. Contractions had continued most of the day at regular intervals and were around 5min apart at this point, so it was a straightforward activity. I think ultimately, it worked magic, because my pain went from a 7-8 at the hospital, to a 5 late Thursday, and ultimately, was nonexistent when active labor began. My belly felt and appeared higher than it had been as well, reducing that abdominal strain, with much less overhang over my pubic bone and a much more heartburny, cut-off-air-supply feeling at my breastbone.

Thursday night, contractions all but disappeared, so everyone got pretty solid sleep. Friday, I craved oatmeal for breakfast, despite it being an unfriendly gestational diabetic breakfast, but I needn't have worried about that--my appetite remained nearly nonexistent. It was extremely hard to choke down food these two days, made worse by the guilt that I should keep my energy up for active labor. I learned that I was likely experiencing "prodromal labor," which is essentially when early labor comes in fits and starts. It features very real contractions, at regular intervals, with real pain, that are productive at effacing and dilating the cervix, but never seem to amount to much. It can last up to a month before active labor begins. After a quiet morning, mine started up again in the afternoon at 15min apart, then progressed to 10min apart, and disappeared at bedtime. I resigned myself to this pattern for days on end. On the one hand, prodromal labor often shortens active labor which is nice, and gives you a chance to practice relaxation and breathing techniques, but on the other, it's total crap for morale and is physically taxing. Plus, who wants to be in limbo?! Either baby is coming or she's not...!

Around 1am Saturday, an extra hard, long contraction woke me up, and it was followed by three more before I finally got out the timer. They were between 60-90 seconds long, every 5-6 minutes. (Everything prior had been a minute or less long, with less intensity.) I got up to shower and move around, figuring they would stop if it was more prodromal labor. But they didn't. So then I thought, maybe they'll stop when I lay back down. But they didn't. After a few that required serious concentration, I was ready to hit the hospital. I could only take so much solo. Our sweet neighbor came over at 3:30am to stay with the boys, and off we went, with contractions every 3-4min.

I was admitted at 4:15am, at about 4cm dilated. I had been waffling about an epidural--I had one with Lucian, with a bad experience, and had no choice but to skip it with Lionel. So having a choice now was tough. The thought of getting hooked up to an IV, waiting for labs to come back, talk with the anesthesiologist, sit very still while they hooked it up to my back, the chance that I would be a passive agent at delivery... the hassle hardly seemed worth the (sheer bliss of) numbness. On the other hand, being a hero for hours upon hours as I slooooowly dilated was not something I had the morale to do. So a rock and a hard place. I got the IV drip just in case (extra fluids never hurt), but the conversation pretty much ended after that, because things moved quickly, thank heavens.

Within an hour I was at 6cm, which is rapid progress. It was the same every contraction: Erik would put his hands on my shoulders and apply pressure, and I begged him to give me a pep talk (even though I hate pep talks and he hates giving pep talks and also, he sucks at giving pep talks), while I inhaled, then moaned deeply, 5-8 times. Breathing was the thing I did poorly with Lionel and I didn't want to make the same mistake this time. The very sweet nurse, who stayed with us the whole time, constantly said, "Good job, you're doing great" about my breathing. At some point, I told her, "Tell me I'm one of the best you've ever seen," (Again, seeking that pep talky validation, haha) and she said, "You're really doing everything so well! Your Blah-Blah Breathing Technique is perfect. Do you do yoga?" And I almost laughed, because me, do yoga? Maybe four times in my life. I suck at breathing, that's why I DON'T do yoga. Ha! But maybe this will initiate me to a yoga practice since I apparently am capable of being a pro breather.

I had the urge to pee around this point, but the act of squatting on the toilet squared up the pressure way too much, so my grand plans of walking and moving during labor went right out the window then, and I just stayed in the bed. But it was really great to feel like that was 100% my choice, which was not an autonomy I felt I had with Lucian and Lionel.

Things got pretty dire at 7.5-8cm. It was totally textbook. That's when women tend to want to give up. To think they can't do it. They really need to gather themselves between contractions so aren't chatty or cheerful. The sounds of labor follow a certain pitch and scale. But damn, it was really hard. During the car ride, I had explained to Erik that the pain during a contraction was like changing gears in a car, with identifiable levels requiring deep breathes, then faster deep breathes, then a low moan with each breathe, then a louder moan, etc. You can physically feel the uterus kind of inch upward, like drawing up a curtain, bunching at the top to dilate at the bottom. Each time it bunches, the pain amps up. And from 8-10cm, that curtain was totally being yanked into place within me. And I couldn't find the corresponding response, since I was already moaning and groaning up a storm and had nowhere else to go. Especially when the urge to push kicked in, when it felt like my uterus was squeezing so tightly, I had no choice but to join it.

The one thing that got me through that last 10 minutes before pushing was a cherry popsicle. I was drenched in sweat, and couldn't open my eyes, and the contractions came every 1min, and I was so tired and just wanted to rest, and the thought of that icy sweet relief got me through each contraction because I couldn't wait for another taste. It was a perfect gift. 

The team assembled quickly as I escalated. My waters hadn't ruptured throughout ALL of this, and I felt enormous pressure. I just wanted to push, if only to force that pressure away. Two residents managed the delivery and through my last 1-3 contractions as I begged them to let me push, they said they wanted to wait for the attending physician. F*** that, man. I know there are protocols that they need to follow, but I feel like they had enough notice to get themselves organized. I recall mention of baby's heart rate slowing down and I think that was the main motivator for them to let me push. Apparently the attending physician WAS present, but I never registered her entrance. They poked that amniotic sac, and oh, the relief as the clear fluid poured out. Only not. I recall pushing being a welcomed reprieve from contractions with Lionel, something I bore cheerfully, but I wanted this baby OUT. I didn't pay any attention to riding the waves or pausing between contractions, I just inhaled and pushed, inhaled and pushed. Erik thinks it lasted for three contractions. I think it was for maybe 6-8 counts of 10, which didn't necessarily correspond with contractions. Who cares. At some point I was positive her head was out, but when I asked, they said she was only just crowning. Which made me push harder, damn it. 

Within probably five minutes though, she slithered out, 1hr 45min after I set foot in the delivery room, and they put her right on me. She gurgled and cried right away so the neonatal team didn't have to sweep her off, though they did assess her right away and she passed with flying colors. Delivering the placenta, an unpleasant memory from my other two births entailing much unceremonious yanking of the umbilical cord, was no big deal this time, requiring only two small pushes. As they rinsed me off, someone (maybe it was the attending physician) said, "Does it make it better to know you had zero tearing?!" So no stitches for me. A nice reward I suppose, though things are so messed up from the waist down postpartum, it doesn't seem like such a huge perk. Maybe I'll be grateful in a few days, when the swelling has gone down and I'm not using sitz baths. I don't know. Tearing was never one of my big hangups.

They brought her right back for skin to skin contact. She was so peaceful, though alert, and had no trouble starting to nurse. In fact, she's a champ breastfeeder with a hearty appetite and thank goodness--they have to check her blood sugar at least six times, and get good readings before we're discharged because of the gestational diabetes. But go me for managing my sugar well enough for her not to tank. Also, because she's considered preterm (by only two days but still), all the usual concerns about weight gain and jaundice are especially heightened. Despite being only 5lb 15oz, all the medical staff assess her to be very healthy, appearing more advanced than her gestational age. So it was just time for baby girl to come out!

Erik says he was really impressed by me throughout. I seemed calm and in control, did a great job breathing, managed the pain well, and did everything like a champ. It feels good to hear, of course. But despite having that same sense myself--I knew what was going on and what to do this third time around--coming out of labor and delivery, all I've felt is relief, with a slight tinge of negativity. It was a hard battle won. Such a hard battle. The pregnancy wore on me. The gestational diabetes wore on me. The prodromal labor and abdominal pain wore on me. So my feelings of, "Whoa, that was really something, can I try it again and do better?" after Lucian, and "Whoa, I delivered a baby in an hour with no epidural, I'm a rockstar!" after Lionel, are in sharp contrast to a feeling of not wanting to do this again for a long, long time. If ever.

Another way I know labor impacted me differently this time, is that when they gave me Pitocin to control the bleeding immediately after delivery, each tiny little cramp I felt entered my psyche as, "Oh God no, not another contraction," and I braced myself. It took quite awhile to mentally accept that it was over. So it caused a little emotional trauma I think.

Finally, I was so excited to write out Lucian and Lionel's birth stories. It was cathartic. A processing mechanism. Something I had to do before I could get any sleep. This time, while I've still written all this out in less than 12 hours following her birth, it came from a place of, "I guess I gotta document this one too," despite the strong desire to just leave it in my memory. Perhaps that means I did a proper job of emotionally processing in the moment. Or perhaps I'm just so bone-weary from these hard years of childbirth and child-rearing, it feels like an excessive mental exercise. Regardless, I've written the thing now, and I know I won't regret it!

Erik is bringing the boys now with cupcakes to celebrate Celia's birthday. I can't wait for them to meet her. And I can't wait to eat a cupcake.

[draculovemp3]

ID: A tweet by @ fixyourheartsor that reads:

guest rapper on gorillaz song: i been in ends since ten kicking product round the bend, my mum died of tuberculosis i’m slipping into psychosis

Damon Albarn on the chorus: ooooooh flimsy steve, where did you go, what have you seen. End ID.

[mushroomjar]

[Image Description: A screenshot of a tweet by the user @/fixyourheartsor. It reads: guest rapper on gorillaz song: i been in ends since ten kicking product round the bend, my mom died of tuberculosis i’m slipping into psychosis / Damon Albarn on the chorus: ooooooh flimsy steve, where did you go, what have you seen. End Image Description]

been so long since a tweet got me hooting like this