GAH!!!

Last day of work today. Can't/won't focus...denial plus not being in yesterday plus not really having a chance to do much until 11AM is making today look like a very long day. I'm stressed, and I know that this isn't good. I've been having some serious, "hey pay attention idiot because we're really really serious here" Braxtons since I got into the Jeep this morning to leave for my BPP. I need some way to shut off certain parts of my brain to help me control the parts that I desparately need right now, a la ST:TNG's Data.

Oh, and did I mention that we're having a houseguest ALL WEEKEND? No? I would be completely flipping out if that didn't mean that Husband will have help cleaning out the garage so we can actually part vehicles in there. Since that hasn't been happening all summer. Oh, and they have both promised to not only finish up the molding in BabyA's room, but also plant the parts of our front foundation plantings that I purchased yesterday so that they will be in before Son's party and I won't have to listen to my Dad bitching about it not being done. (In all honesty, only half of the front of the house has had it done for almost four years.)

God, I so don't want to do this...

Just the facts

Dr. Wonderful was a no-show today. Turns out that Tuesdays are his surgery days, and he was on the other side of town, delayed, with great aspirations of getting to my appointment, but short on execution. Oh well. I saw yet another doctor that I had never met before. This is not helping to calm my rather frazzled nerves one bit. Oh, and the NST took forever again. I don't think that I should probably complain too much-BabyA is very active, and it makes it really hard to keep a trace on her. Combine that with the whole anterior placenta, and enough abdominal padding for at least four supermodels, and well, it isn't pretty.

Husband showed up for the tail end of the NST, but wasn't able to stay for the appointment since I was going to have to wait for the next available doc. I really hate that-he peppers me with all sorts of questions that I never thought to ask, and have no reasonable way of answering. Then he gets mad because I'm not telling him everything he wants to know. Grrrr.

Anyway, the induction is still a go. We can't schedule it until a week before (per the hospital's rules), so I'll be doing that next Tuesday. Cue panic attack. OK. Moving on.

She didn't do a cervical check today (I guess that I should take my bonus points where I can get them) since she really didn't see the point. I will get one for sure next week to see if I have to go in the night before and get the Cervidil or whether I can just waltz in the morning of the induction. My stomach is in knots just typing that word. At this point, she's not so worried about size, since while BabyA is around the 85th percentile, she's not alarmingly big. It's more an issue of how well my placenta continues to perform. Apparently, with diabetics, it tends to age a bit more rapidly at this point, and may not do its job of nutrition as well. Hence the 39 week cutoff. So, if anything, the latest that I can push this off is probably the 12th. I'm not planning on it, but it would be nice to actually know who is on call the day I deliver. Call me nuts, but I would like to see a somewhat familiar face on the receiving end.

So, there it is. I'm really trying to push down the panic, but I'm not doing real well right now. Let's hope that I can manage to keep it together for another couple of days.

Well, OK then.

My OB appointment on Tuesday was, in a word, interesting. Informative, long, etc.


It started off with a bang-my manager was in town for the first time in almost a year, and we had sat down to go over the hand-off of my various projects. He was in the mood to chat, and since I actually SEE him so regularly (oh, and they are discussing compensation this week) I ended up sticking around longer than I should have. I look at my watch, panic, and proceed post haste to my appointment.


I took an alternate route, because my usual way is under (naturally) construction, and will be until fall of next year. Lovely. I've figured out an alleged back way, and off I go like a bat out of hell. Well, as much of a bat as my poor Jeep can muster. Oh the joy! More MnDOT crews! Hooray! Single lane with flagmen. Ugh. Needless to say, I ended up screaming into the parking lot a good 20 minutes late. Shit.


I'm late enough that they have put my file away. They go and retrieve it, and I do the shuffle of shame off to the waiting room chairs. I ended up waiting a while, since, well, now I was at their mercy. I finally get called back, and they do all of the lab stuff first before I get settled into the recliner from hell for my NST. I least I catch a break there-BabyA is wiggling quite happily after the buffalo chicken sandwich for lunch. Problem is that the wiggling is also entailing a great deal of rolling side to side, which makes it tough to keep a heartbeat trace. Much to my credit, I've done enough of these things to be able to chase it down without a great deal of nurse intervention. However, since I was late, I had screwed up the flow of things, so instead of being on the monitor for 20 minutes like I have in the past, it was almost 45. While it felt good to have my feet up, they were actually a little tingly by the time I was released from the pink Velcro straps.


The OB came in, not Dr. Wonderful, but another one of the practice docs that I have grown to like quite a bit. I was grumping about my aches and pains (hey, I'm entitled here) and she said that "you know that we're inducing you at 39 weeks, right?" Um, no. Insert deer in the headlights look. In the back of my mind, I recalled that I had read that in some cases of GD, early induction was recommended to try to head off any issues regarding size during delivery. However, I had assumed that since I had had GD with Son, and they let me go to term (I was scheduled for an induction on my due date-he came the day before) that the same protocol would be in line here. The main difference is that this time around, even though I have controlled it really well with no weight gain and very few sporadic BG spikes, is that I'm on insulin, and that shifts me into a different category. Great.

On the one hand, this could be a good thing. No panicking by the delivery staff due to a big head and shoulders, although it could still happen due to the decreasing accuracy of ultrasound at this point. I will end up with set date; plans can be made and finalized (a big bonus in my book-I tend to be a bit anal about this kind of stuff), animals dropped off at the kennel with the proper instructions in place, Son's care can be coordinated between my brother and the neighbors, Husband can get things in order to maybe really be able to take a week off.

The down side? Well, since I had been planning on working up until the 7th, and then taking a week off before, this throws a large wrench into the works. Huge. I suppose that I could stick to the plan; work until the 7th, birthday party for Son on the 8th, get induced on the 9th (39 weeks on the nose) and go home on the 11th. Just doesn't sound like a lot of fun, or very smart for me.

Soooo, I've moved up my last day to the 30th, and am cramming madly to try to get it all done. I suspect that I'll end up here over the weekend. I don't want to, but it may be a necessity if I want to have any time of the my time at home to really be a vacation, and not spent on email and reviewing responses. I probably should be doing that right now. BabyA has been making her presence known all afternoon, and I'm hideously sore, my back hurts, and I have a sneaking suspicion that dinner may be off for me, since I've been fighting to keep lunch down all afternoon.

I'll know a whole lot more after our appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Wonderful. Dr. OtherDoc said that they will do a cervical check then, and we'll talk about stripping membranes in the near future to try to get things rolling naturally. Guys, I'm not ready for this. I'm really not ready. However, they may get their wish. On top of BabyA doing her squirms all afternoon, I've been having a decent amount of low back pain and shooting pain down through my pubic bone. I'll also whisper this part: I think I may have even had a contraction or two. Shhhhhh.....

I'll continue to soldier on though, and try to gather it all up. I did manage to schedule a little me time this weekend between umpteen loads of laundry; a very-needed haircut and wax (I don't want that, but the brows are more than out of control and the lovely PCO 'stache has got to go). Just four more days of having to sit in this lousy office chair. Four...more...days....

Not all gloom and doom

I'm still not the world's happiest camper, especially after today. Oh dear God, not after today. This goes way past a "case of the Mondays." I'm not going there though. I want and need to, but I've got to remember some of the good things.

Last night Son walked up to Husband grabbing at the back of his pants and saying what sounded like "hoopy," but Husband had a hunch that the h was really a p. Hmmm.....I was running Son's bathwater, and he marched into the bathroom and repeated his statement. OK. I asked him if he wanted to use the big potty or his small potty. He left and got his "royal" potty (and remembered the bottom part-a small necessity) and plunked it down in the bathroom. We read a book and chatted. I thought that maybe he had done something, but since the royal fanfare didn't play, I thought that it was a bust, but was happy the Son was willing to try, and that he had recognized the sensation that he may have to go.

He gets up and well, he had, um, well, done his thing. I felt like I was going to hear Bill Cosby come around the corner and do his poo-poo bit, but still, the praise and rejoicing! He had done it. Son had this self-satisfied grin on his face too. If I have learned anything, this kid will do what he wants on his own time table. In the end, he will most likely just do the whole training himself; on his timeline. My only job will be to be there to make sure the potty is ready.

Last good thing. I went into my endocrinologist appointment this morning with more than a little trepidation. While my numbers have looked good, I have been throwing keytones all week. Part of it was stress related. I've been so busy and preoccupied that I've been forgetting to eat. No real excuse, but it was just a bad week. I expected to get a admittedly-deserved lecture. Instead, she was really happy-my numbers were good and I haven't gained any weight, which she was really happy with. She still returned to what I need to do after BabyA shows up. I know that she is right, but right now that seems very far away. Anyway, I don't have to go back until six weeks post-partum. I need to get a bit of clarification as far as a testing schedule for after BabyA arrives. I've read that it really is pointless to test for the first two weeks, because all of my systems will be in massive adjustment mode and that will throw any numbers all out of whack. Regardless, it looks like I will have a chance to actually get this right this time, and not blow this chance to keep the weight off and maybe even make progress in the right direction.

I was going to ask about my Group B strep results this morning when I was at my OBs office, but was so out of it/tired that I forgot. I've been toying with trying to labor without an epidural (maybe with the one-time shot, but that's it) this time. However, that was all contingent to a great degree on how the Strep B test came back. If I had to be essentially tied to a bed with an IV, all bets were off.

Yep, you guessed it-it's positive. Again. Shit.

I had sort of come to the conclusion that I would end up with an epidural again, although I was more than a little disappointed in myself that I couldn't find the wherewithal to just suck it up and do it without drugs. I admit it; I'm scared of the pain. Even more so this time because I know what I am up against.

With Son, my labor was not one of those where you notice a contraction, start timing, and watch them ramp up over a period of hours. I woke up from a rather nice night of Ambien-induced sleep (due to my trip to L&D the night before for some breathing issues), in full blown, every three to four minutes for a minute contractions. No time to find a rhythm to get through them. Just blinding and searing pain that left me with no control over anything. My legs would buckle under me-I couldn't stand or speak through them. I peed. More than once (and hence the mountain of towels that Husband put on the seat of the Caddie when we left for the hospital). Once we got to the hospital, I started throwing up-which only stopped after they put something into my IV to help with the nausea. Any illusion that I had about this peaceful, fulfilling experience left right about the same time as the Subway from the night before.

I was Group B Strep positive that time too, so I knew in advance that I would end up with the IV, but I had held onto the hope that maybe I would be able to walk, use the birthing ball, pace, whatever, to go as long as I could before I would have to be stuck in the bed. My thought was that maybe I could drag things out long enough that viola! I would be at 9 or so and I wouldn't be able to get the epidural anyway. Basically, tricking myself. I thought that this theory had legs, since I was at 4 cm and 90% effaced at my OB appointment three days before and things would most certainly be further along once I was admitted. At least I got that part right-I was at 5 cm and almost completely effaced once I was admitted. As we all know, the rest of it went to hell not too long afterwards, and I caved and got the epidural.

To some degree, I feel like the epidural robbed me of a lot of things that I had always thought that I had wanted. I hadn't wanted to subject Son to those types of drugs at the point where he was most vulnerable. I wanted to give my body a chance to FINALLY do something right, something that it had staunchly refused to do during our years of infertility. Maybe even give me a little bit of respect for myself to making it through it.

Instead, I had to have the epidural upped after about half an hour because it quite simply wasn't working that well. However, once they did that, I couldn't feel or move my legs. Which, at the time, didn't seem like a big deal. I had stalled somewhere between six and seven, and Pitocin had been added to the mix, and I knew that Pitocin fueled contractions were nothing to mess around with.

The problem was that once I was complete, and they had turned the epidural off, I still couldn't feel my legs, or anything resembling an urge to push. Absolutely nothing. Through the haze, I could feel that I was contracting, but between this being my first baby, a nurse wigging out because she couldn't convince a doctor to come (apparently sevenish hours of labor wasn't enough), and just being flat out scared, I had no idea of what to do. No one would tell me when to push, or give me the rules. When you feel the contraction hit this point, you do this. None of that. Instead, I was chastised by the nurse for not helping to move around-remember, legs are logs and I have NO control over them, a Husband yelling at me that I wasn't listening, and feeling completely, and totally helpless and alone, I just didn't know what to do. Oh, and one I started to push in earnest, I started throwing up on every. single. push. I had nothing left in my stomach, so it was nothing but bile. That really helped.

I guess what this ramble gets down to is that there wasn't very much that was positive about the whole experience, other than getting a healthy baby in the end-which is something that I know that not all people get. To add insult to injury, I was left by myself in the stirrups, episiotomy unstitched, for about 10 minutes. No one was even remotely paying attention to the fact that I was even there. We watched the video afterwards, and Husband apologized, since he didn't realize that no one was with me. I had told him to go to Son, since they were a little concerned about how his shoulders were, and making sure his airways were OK. Son had to be suctioned pretty well after he was born, since while my water had been clear when it was broken, there was a lot of mucenium present when he was actually delivered. Knowing what I know now, I know that we were lucky that he was fine.

The whole thing was rushed and chaotic-my doctor only stayed long enough to stitch me up (which took a good 20 minutes) and had to run to another delivery. On labor day, fittingly enough, five of us delivered within a three hour span. I understand that it was busy, but I felt like a bystander, no control, and robbed of what should have been one of those defining moments. Instead, I ended up feeling like a complete and utter failure, since Son had a huge hemotoma from the suction from the vacuum and I had been such a lousy pusher that I couldn't just deliver my baby. The bruising was so bad that in the end, part of it ended up calcifying. Every time I run my hand over Son's head, I can feel that bump. It's not obvious to anyone other than me I suppose, but I want to cry all the same. Because I couldn't do my job as a mother, as a woman, he will carry this for the rest of his life.

I suppose that this is a lot of baggage to attach to one lousy test result, but the worry has been sitting there since I first found out that I was pregnant. Getting this result makes it all the more clear that this is going to happen, and soon. I don't feel ready, and I don't know if I will be able to have any more control than last time. Considering where my mind set has been lately, I just don't know if I have the emotional resources to do this again without messing it up again. I don't trust myself, and I don't have a lot of faith in Husband, or anyone else, to be able to help me find the strength and belief to do it.

I knew I should've made that bet!

All along, my primary OB has insisted that since we caught the GD earlier, and have been aggressively managing it, with a great deal of success, that BabyA wouldn't be a big baby. Read: not a 9lb moose like Son. As I've discussed before, Son was also almost 23 inches, so in reality 9lbs was actually pretty good for him. He's stayed in that 95th+ percentile for height, 75th for weight since birth.

After my NST on Tuesday, we saw Dr. Wonderful, who actually does a full OB visit for me after the NST. Most of the other docs see how much monitoring I'm having, and sort of blow me off to some degree. A couple haven't even measured, which with my fears over another huge baby and subsequent episiotomy, isn't good. Dr. Wonderful, however, does. checks position, the whole deal. Husband asked him to give him a guesstimate on weight, and Dr. Wonderful said that he was sticking my his guns that we won't hit 9lbs.

Remind me to smack him later. Or better yet, make a bet with him before he reads my BPP/growth report from today. I don't often win bets, so I will take a gimmee any time that I can get one.

According to the growth estimate today, BabyA is 6lbs, 11 oz.

I have four weeks left.

There is absolutely nothing going on down there are far as dilation, etc. He checked. Ouch. It was one of those deals that "...as long as we have to do the Group B swab..." Gah. Did I ever mention that this guy has huge hands? Yes, he does. Husband told me afterwards that he could understand how much it hurt. Oh, and the thing with me grabbing onto his shirt with a clenched fist didn't hurt in aiding his appreciation for my discomfort.

Sigh. OK. I know that my pelvis is perfectly capable of handling a large baby. I'm built like my Mom, and she had two 10lb babies. She never told me about any tearing or anything (and I don't think that I want to ask), but never had any issues. My brother was born before the use of vacuum, so he was helped out with forceps, but no other side effects other than looking like a conehead for the first 48 hours of his life. (Well, of course there are other issues, but I think that his general personality is a genetic issue....)

I know that ultrasound measurements can be off, especially the further on down the line that you go. However, I was getting attached to those 0-3 month clothes that I have been washing and folding. Maybe I will have to have the 3-6 month stuff done early this time too. Goody, more up and down the stairs this weekend. Glorious, just glorious.

And the beat goes on

To follow up on Son's expanding musical tastes, I told Husband about the whole "Pinball Wizard" incident, and he told me that the last time he picked Son up from daycare, he did the same thing to Metallica and, oh God, Pithy I have to admit this, Megadeath. I've been known to tune into the true hard rock station in town too, so its not ALL Husband's fault. But still, interesting kid.

Oh, two more tidbits and I'll drop this topic. Yesterday, it was "Heart of Glass." It was on as we parked at daycare, so I stayed in the car with him until it was done. I got him out, and as we were walking in, he looked up at me and said "I yiked it." Could only be referring to the song. He also just hits the music button on his sit and spin (sounds like 80s video game music) and dances around. What would he do if I hooked up the old Atari and played Pacman?

I can't complain about him getting into music-honestly, I'm thrilled. On the one hand, I've read the research on how music appreciation and involvement tends to flow over into other areas of academics and development. I would tend to agree with it based on my experiences as a kid. Most of the kids that were involved in music at some level, to any degree of seriousness (which means more than taking choir because study hall wasn't available) did pretty well academically. While Husband doesn't really get and/or appreciate that about me, I've always been into music. I used to be able to play piano, trombone, and an baritone passably. (While I can still handle all three now, the chops just aren't there any more. The last time I hauled out my trombone, the dogs howled-everyone is a critic, sheesh- and my upper lip swelled up so badly I looked like a botched Botox patient.) Did show choir in high school. I was in band in college for chrissakes.

So, I like to think that he gets some of this from me. I might have to push up trying to find a place for my piano a little earlier than planned. It's currently languishing in my parents lower level, untuned and unplayed since I left home. My brother never played, and my mom is too intimidated to take lessons, even though she wants to. While we are seriously space challenged right now, I would still love to have it with me. Mom and dad don't have an issue with me taking it-at least it would get used. However, they insist that I have a decent spot for it, and right now, I really don't. Just one more tally on my list of needing to upgrade our housing!

Where did that come from?

On the drive in to work/daycare this morning, I had the radio turned up a little. Since I had to take Husband's car today due to a brake job being done on my Jeep, I was stuck with his radio presets. Now, this car has so many gadgets that I can't figure out how to set me own radio stations (as Driver 1 according to Cadillac). I left it on the "classic" rock station that Husband is always listening too. I tolerate it, but I'm not a huge fan. Put it this way, I worked for the on-campus food service in college-I've heard enough Led Zepplin, etc. for a lifetime.

Regardless, the opening riff for "Pinball Wizard" comes on. I look into the rear view mirror to see Son's blond head bobbing all over the place (right on the beat, may I add) and he catches my eye in the mirror and beams: "I yike it! I yike it!" Continues to bob on, making his stuffed bear dance with him. This continues on through "Take it Easy" by the Eagles as well.

Sigh. All those trips with MPR on, and he turns out to be a metal head. Who knew?