Random junk

Lots of stuff spinning in my head, and I'm headed towards all-out crabby if I don't vent. Although, knowing how today seems to be going, I could end up talking myself into a snit. Who knows.....



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I hate food today-and it just seems to be getting worse. Yesterday morning I got up around 5:30 to go to the bathroom (for the first time all night-hooray!), and was thirsty, so I had a small juice glass of water. I no more than got back to the bedroom, than I had to get out of bed and sprint across the hall to make it to the bathroom to throw it all back up. I've had to fight the same thing off twice today already...once right when I got up, and again at work. I'm 24 weeks people-morning sickness should not be making this marked of an appearance again.



The other part of the problem is that the comfort foods, or at least the ones that actually sound good, are pretty much verboten due to the damn GD, which has been fighting me tooth and nail lately. I just want a damn chocolate malt from the place across the street from work. Malt always calms my stomach, and was a real lifesaver during my first trimester. Yes, I'm whining. Remind me of this when I end up on insulin despite everything.

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My mouth hurts on the left side. I don't have a dentist to speak of, and the last one was so administratively incompetent that I simply couldn't handle going back there. Hopefully its just a fluke.

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Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of ratting out my boss to his boss. My manager isn't really that-it's a line on a org chart, but he really does nothing in regards to "managing" me. For the most part, I don't mind the lack of involvement, since being micro-managed drives me up the wall and through the roof. However, this is the guy who also gives me my reviews, and essentially has my career, at least internally, in his hands. When I got in yesterday morning, I had an extremely vague meeting invite in my email from the head of the department, who is located here (my manager is at a different site in a different time zone-don't ask). Being paranoid, my first instinct was to do a run-through of things in my head that I may have screwed up lately, or any other reason that I may be pulled into the VP's office. After chewing on it for half an hour, I decided that I really was just being paranoid, and that whatever it was, the VP didn't want to document it out in email.



I arrived at his office at the appointed time, ready to talk about the couple of projects that I am working on that may be of interest to him. I knew that something was up when he told me to close the door. Hmmmm. He then started asking me for my read on how my manager is doing. I had a hunch that this may be the topic, so I had thought about it. I was honest, and tried not to make it sound like I was on a crusade to bash my manager. I just told him how things were (I can literally go months without talking to him in any way, shape, or form), provided some past history, and gave basic input. This was all stuff that I had actually wanted to discuss with my manager, D, previously. Back in February, I had told him that I felt that we really needed to have an in-depth discussion, and since he hadn't been to this site in over a year, that maybe he could come here as well. He said that he would. Trip cancelled, several more promises to come, never acted upon. He finally forced me to tell him in an email that I was pregnant, and the issues are still on the table. I suppose that I could have done it all in an email, but since he very rarely responds to even those, I didn't want all of those things sitting there in print.



Apparently one of his other reports has been squawking about the same things, which prompted our VP to look into whether this was an isolated issue, or widespread among all of the direct reports. Apparently D was supposed to talk to all of his reports about how to implement a new administrative initiative at our respective sites. I have never heard about it. I feel bad, but a bit vindicated as well. I used to report directly to the VP-it could be happening again.

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I think my glucose meter is either broken or in dire need of recalibrating. How can I be at 140 one minute, and (literally) one minute later be at 130, from the same finger poke? Ugh. I have to fax my numbers into Dr. Wonderful this afternoon since I spaced out and forgot my little booklet at my appointment on Tuesday.

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Dr. Wonderful has decided to stay with his current practice (yippee!), so I won't have to worry about changing mid-stream. Only downer is that I've now lost access to any type of water birth/labor. Boo.

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24 week appointment went well enough. All of the normal indicators were just fine, and I'm measuring dead on. One more monthly appointment before the every other weeks start. Depending on how agahst Dr. Wonderful is when he looks at my blod sugar numbers, I may even be looking at starting NSTs in a month. Good God, I'm really going to be having a baby. Soon. Disregard the fact that I've caught myself doing the waddle while holding my back for the past couple of days. Holy shit, where has the time gone?

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This morning I had someone ask me if I was due in June. For the record, it's mid September. I may want to avoid public bodies of water for fear of being harpooned. What would they be asking if I had actually gained any weight?

And so it begins....

Guess who is now sick and its the absolute end of the world? Two guesses, and I'll give you the hint that he's over the age of two.

Yep, my non-believing, completely non-sympathetic and generally not on my good times list lately husband is sick. With a sniffle. Oh, wait, let me quote "a little cough," which was directed at me a couple of days ago.

Part of me wants to rejoice in the anticipation of a karmic retaliation of sorts. Husband really wasn't what I would call a stalwart of empathy, consideration, or any other warm fuzzy emotion while I felt as though I was on death's door. As you can tell, I haven't completely let go of my general pissiness of how unsupportive he can be, and his complete lack of any ability to put himself into my position. For example, when he was down for the count with his whole neck spasm thing, and really was of absolutely no help with Son or anything else for a good week, when he knew that I really still wasn't feeling all that hot (morning sickness and general fatigue held on a looooong time with this one), but yet still sucked it up so he could rest and take his mongo painkillers that would knock him out for 10 hours at a time. That type of stuff is just expected out of me. He doesn't have to ask for it, I just do it. It's part of my job as a wife, and as a mom. Son really misses him when he's not around, so I also have to try to distract a little boy who really just tolerates me sometimes.

My husband, on the other hand, does not view his job to encompass any of these duties. It has less to do with gender issues than it does with just looking out for the other person issues. What ticks me off is that he makes a big deal about his in his work-I mean, he does work in the hospitality industry after all. However, why this doesn't transfer over to me once in a great while is a mystery to me. Maybe he suffers from the same thing I do-taking care of everyone else all the time can be draining, and raises this innate desire to be taken care of yourself. I understand that one completely, and quite honestly, this is what is fueling some of my angst. However, the flip side is that in a marriage, especially one that includes parenting of other humans (while the dogs are still the babies, it is a different ballgame), there has to be some of that give and take as well. I've given a hell of a lot lately, and haven't been doing a whole lot of voluntary taking. Pulling teeth, yes, otherwise, it's been pretty slim on the receiving end.

The thing is, I LIKE doing that type of thing for him, I really do. I like taking care of other people. I was pre-med until organic chemistry scared the living bejesus out of me in under grad. I liked working in hotels and catering. Even though I am a social hermit and outlier, I like doing that stuff. However, everyone has that point where they can only give away so much of themselves before they have to get something back to replace it all. I haven't been able to do anything for me in the past year or so that has helped me replace those reserves. I haven't received anything from anyone else in that regard either. All of those factors combined create a person who is just plain burned, and I'm at a loss as to how to remedy that. Coming full circle, that means that when I feel like shit, when I can't even cough without wetting myself enough to be a candidate for a D*pends commercial, you give me something, anything. That can be telling me not to worry about Son, that you'll take care of it and then do it without yelling or being a total ass, going to the store to get my favorite comfort foods even though you may not like them yourself, or, something simple like just putting your arm around me and letting me being able to literally lean on you. I'm pretty easy like that. That's what I do for him all of the time.

OK, so maybe I've crossed the line from pissy to just plain mad. Anyway, my point is that this may be karmic payback, but it won't do me a bit of good if he doesn't get it. Which is highly unlikely. Oh well, I'll enjoy the glow for the rest of the day until I have to go home and face the reality of the grumpy need man that I'll be facing. Oh, and the little boy who also seems to also have contracted the virus from hell. Oh, the fun that will be had this weekend. Oh, and did I mention that my MIL will be involved with all of this? Good times I tell you, good times.

Employee of the day

I made it to work this morning. Hooray for me! All of this despite the fact that Son woke up crying at 3;30, settled down at 3:45, and ended up in bed with us (I know, I know, but.....[insert whine here]) at 4:30, only to be up for the day at 6:00. That's one and a half hours before showtime people. Ugh. Considering that I didn't get to bed until around 12:00 last night, I was really looking forward to my 6:15 alarm. Oh well.

Husband, who I think secretly believes that I was putting everything on for effect, called in to work at 4:30 to say that Son was sick and would be home with him today. Interestingly enough, Son was chipper enough (although not eating, hmmmm....) to go to daycare this morning. So, Husband is at home, lounging. Why? Not real sure. I asked him when he called whether he thought that since I sat home for the past two days whether it was his turn. He didn't find me funny. I wasn't trying to be funny. Seriously. I did ask him that if he endeavored to get off of the couch today that he could wander down to the office and start to sort out his "stuff" in anticipation for our garage sale that is coming up way too soon. Chuck the extra phone cords. Clean up the not compatible past Windows 98 monitors. I'm not holding out much hope. It has to be done, whether he likes it or not. I'm buying baby bedding this weekend pal. Pottery Barn Kids on sale. Denial will get you nowhere.

Other than this mystifying course of events, work is OK today. I can't breathe through my nose, and I sound horrible, but I feel OK considering. Everyone that has called or stopped by has said that "hey, great you're back" but has quickly added "but you sound terrible." At least they are nice enough to refrain from the "look terrible" part. Could be the good hair day going on that's helping there. I was planning on taking tomorrow off in anticipation of the holiday weekend and diving into the home office project (with Son happily at daycare), but this rotten virus has conspired against me on that one. Of course, unless I kick it into gear and get something done this afternoon...but lunch calls first!

Long time

Life around the Chronicle house has not been fun for the last couple of weeks. A knock-down, drag out with Husband that is still bothering me, a uber crappy Mother's Day (like that was going to be a big shock), and the kicker; being out of work sick for the past three days. A cold, combined and complicated by allergies, that the ER doc said last night appeared to be turning into bronchitis. Now working on my third box of Kleenex in 36 hours. Coughing so hard that my bladder, which had previously assured me that it was empty was empty, decides to change it's mind while I'm standing in front of a room full of interns giving a new hire orientation presentation (thank God for dark blue pants). I've now almost surpassed Husband on the amount of prescriptions picked up in a week from our pharmacy.

If yesterday felt like death, today is purgatory. I feel well enough to actually be out of bed, and I've managed to keep the sinus pressure down to the point where I'm no longer involuntarily crying (my eyes watered pretty much non-stop all day). Things have been so horsed up that I haven't checked my sugars since last Friday. Oops. I feel OK on that front, so I think that things are OK.

The very nice ER doc (really, he was by far one of the better ones lately) asked how I'd been eating. Husband piped up that he didn't think that I had been for almost a week. I couldn't dispute him one way or the other. I know that my keytones (a measurement of the chemical that burned fat gives off in your urine) were off the chart earlier last week, but I've been trying to be better. However, at my GP on Monday, I was still down another pound. I know that it's normal for overweight women to lose weight during pregnancy, but this is freakin' ridiculous. My OB was OK with it last time-not so sure if I'm off the hook for my next appointment. It feels strange to be struggling to maintain weight, when I've spent most, if not all of my life, trying to lose it.

If anything, I got a very strong reminder last night in the ER exam room of why I need to get my act together. Not just the cute little boy who, yet again, flirted with the nurses and "helped" the doc with my exam (a doctor in the family would be nice.......), but rather that I could see little girl visibly kicking. So hard that it made my gown and my rapidly expanding belly jump. She's found a way to work around the whole placenta thing, and I've been feeling her consistently for about a week now, which is reassuring since they told me not to worry about any decrease in movement last night when they gave me Tylenol 3 (to try to get my coughing under control). She wiggled pretty much all night, despite the codeine.

I'm not too crazy about all of the stuff that I'm taking right now, but I just couldn't function if I didn't have something. The wheezing and lack of full breath scared me the most, and prompted the ER visit last night. No way I was going to suffer through the Urgent Care wait. We were in and out of our local ER in under two hours. NOW they can send me the patient survey.

Well, now that I've returned to the land of the living, I've got to dig my laptop out of the car, try to find something to eat, and try to get ready for a presentation that I have to give tomorrow. Work may be abbreviated tomorrow, but I need to try to show up. Still sick enough to prove that I wasn't faking, but well enough so my admin doesn't douse me in Lysol when I walk in the door. Knowing her, my office has already been hit.

Hallmark's revenge

Just talked to Husband during his daily check in on my call. He had been awful quiet today, so I was happy to talk to him. Until he mentioned this weekend.

After being gone pretty much all of last week and weekend, he's working both Saturday and Sunday morning. This entails being to work by 6 AM (leaving home by 5:30) and not getting home until 11:00 or later that morning. Which means that he will be so tired that he will be absolutely useless for the rest of the day, or worse, grumpy and cranky.

The thing that really pisses me off is that no one told him about this little departure in schedule. He runs the damn place, but his more useless by the minute assistant has a VERY bad habit of leaving holes in the schedule and not doing a damn thing to fill them until we get the phone call at 11:15 on a Saturday night that no one is on the schedule to do the audit that night. Being a hotel, it is a 24/7 business so SOMEONE has to be there. My vote is brainless assistant-Husband doesn't see it that way. I know that it impresses guests to see the GM there on a weekend morning serving breakfast, but dammit, why this weekend?

Last week was hard-I would have been tired even if I wasn't pregnant and trying to keep everything together. I'm slowly working on catching up on my sleep, and I'm proud to note that I haven't fallen asleep in my chair at work for two whole days in a row. Impressive in light of my previous feeble efforts. He doesn't get that. He doesn't think that it would be hard to do it all for a week. Oh, and grow another human being. I'm happy that he had fun.

He asked me last night what Son could get me for Mother's Day (and a couple of hours later asked me what day that was, exactly...yep, high on his list). It doesn't matter now. I didn't want anything other than to maybe get a couple of hours out in my gardens, or a trip to my favorite nursery to just linger. I had even thought about going home, even though it is the fishing opener-it's a very big deal here; if you don't live in Minnesota, you may not get it-maybe go out on the boat with my dad and just fish in silence. You know, relax. If I want to do that, I'll now have to do it alone. A three hour trip (which, because my parents live "up north" will turn into four because of all of the people going up to fish or open up their cabins for the year) with a toddler that isn't that crazy about his carseat for that long, doesn't sound like much fun. The trip home would just be a repeat.

Just to try to give some context as to why I'm so upset about this, last year, my first Mother's Day with an actual child, he blew it completely-even called me selfish that I wanted some time alone. The kicker was that he didn't even care enough to really know when Mother's Day was-so he completely didn't connect that I was asking for a little leeway that day for a reason. He had mentioned going out to eat that day-I had let myself get excited that maybe he had made reservations for brunch or something. No, didn't get that far. For some stupid reason he thought that it was on a Monday. WHAT?? Now, I know that it is just a day, but after all that we had gone through to have Son, it meant a lot to me. I was finally a mom, had joined the club that I never thought that I could join. Infertility had caused me to dread that day to the point that I couldn't even acknowledge my own mom (rotten I know). I felt so let down, so hurt. On top of the PPD I was dealing with, it wasn't pretty. When I relayed this whole thing to my doctor in a follow up appointment, it was the one and only time that I broke and cried. It had just cut me to the very core. Combine that with a very shaky sense of confidence in my ability to mother in the first place, a thing that endures in me even now, and I couldn't help but feel completely devalued.

I had hoped that it would be different this year-but yet again I'll be left to my own devices, or to him trying to do something, but not because he wants to, but because he thinks that he HAS to. That he will end up thinking he deserves a medal for because he's dealing with his irrational wife. That I should owe him for. I have never wanted to be an obligation to anyone for anything; either you do it out of genuine feeling or you don't do it at all. Guess that it won't be done at all.

At the end of the day, I just want my husband to tell me that I do an OK job at mothering Son, and that I'll be OK with this next child. Should I need this? Shouldn't I be secure enough in myself to know how I'm doing? Probably, but I'm not. I suppose that I should go and try to find something for my own mom. At least I can be a decent kid.

Ok, so maybe I AM old

This morning I was sitting at my desk, and happened to look up at the wall where I have my various degrees and admittances hanging, and made a startling discovery.....

Today is the 10 year anniversary of me graduating from law school. ACK! I still feel like such a newbie sometimes, but yet, according to the calendar, I'm what most would call "seasoned." Hmmm, may be time to actually join a bar association or two. Being an in-house counsel has allowed me to indulge my hermit-like qualities, since I'm not out having to bust it to get clients. There are perks to having a captive audience. However, I may now be forced to be an actual grownup and professional. Geez, all of the demands.

But. Still. Where did the time go?

Ack!

I had my 20 week OB visit today. While I have a tough time getting pregnant, I seem to have incredibly unremarkable pregnancies, other than the GD thing. For me that doesn't strike me as that remarkable; I have PCOS, I'm overweight, and the odds are stacked heavily against me. I manage it, and off we go. I also make sure to order the full sugar Coke with my first post-partum meal.

As I said, unremarkable. Blood pressure is fine, urine looks fine, heartbeat at 142 (from where Dr. Wonderful found it, the stinker is still sitting breach), and I'm measuring right on. That one surprises me, since I feel absolutely huge right now. I need to give myself a pretty stiff reality check on that one, since, well, we have a loooong way to go, and the history of big babies in my family is not on my side. I did manage to lose three pounds, which I attribute to the changes in my diet since I started to notice the diabetic reactions to different foods was wrecking havoc with me. I showed him my sugars, and overall he was happy with them. He's still going to diagnose me with GD, since we know that if I wasn't watching it, I would be blowing them on a regular basis. Keep monitoring things-I need to get better about doing my fasting numbers in the morning. Since I seem to have a pretty good grasp of what does and doesn't work, he doesn't see the need to go back to the dietitian, unless I start to struggle to maintain the numbers that I currently have. I was a little bummed about that, since a refresher would have been nice. I've got to start cleaning out the office anyway, so I hope that I can find my file from last time with the recommended schedule, etc.

The ACK! part of the whole thing is that Dr. Wonderful told me that he is leaving the practice to join his wife's practice in the Smaller Twin City. Apparently, she is also an OB, and they used to practice together. The opportunity has arisen again, and he really thinks that this is a good move for him. How can I begrudge that? To actually WANT to work with a spouse and have it work? Egads. He will maintain office hours in another 'burb close to me, but he wanted to let me know so I wouldn't be surprised later on, especially since I've been a patient for quite a while.

Since I've been going to this practice, and know how they rotate who is on for delivery, I made an effort when I was pregnant with Son to see everyone. However, when I was diagnosed with GD, Dr. Wonderful claimed me as his own, and I saw him pretty much exclusively for the last 10 weeks of my pregnancy. If I had made it to my due date/inducement date, he would have delivered. I also went to him when the PPD threatened to overtake me. Needless to say, I trust this guy. I'm just a little torn as to what to do-to quote the song-"should I stay or should I go?"

Assuming that my insurance covers this new practice, I would be looking at probably having to go the Smaller Twin City for at least some appointments. This probably isn't that big of a deal, but it is an almost 30 minute hike, without traffic, and then back cross-country to get to work. The current practice is on my way to work. My RE was in the Larger Twin City, so it's not like I'm unused to having to make a trip. Dr. Wonderful will still have privileges at the hospital close to home (less than 15 minutes away), but also at all of the Smaller Twin City hospitals. This is where I get a little excited, actually. Only one hospital in the TC (at least that I know of) has a water birth option, or at least a birthing tub to labor in. This is one where Dr. Wonderful would be able to deliver at. The hospital that I delivered Son at had a stand up shower, but it was so dinky that to have two people in it would have been nearly impossible. (My contractions turned out to be such monsters that I couldn't stand through them-and that was before transition and the epidural). Needless to say, having that option open up was interesting. However, in order to get to that hospital, its at least 30 minutes, and that is assuming so-so traffic. If I would have the audacity to need to make my way to the hospital during morning rush hour (7A-9A), it could take much longer.

So, I'm faced with a decision. I suppose that the first hurdle is to check out if the practice is covered under my insurance. If so, then I just have to suck it up and chose. Husband, being the font of support that he is, says that it's completely up to me. Loose translation: "I don't want to talk about it, since it really doesn't matter that much to me and I can't remember who is who anyway." I have my last appointment with Dr. Wonderful on June 1, his last day, when he will give me his schedule. Here's hoping I don't blow it.

Balance

No, not any deep thought-provoking stuff here, but it did strike me how things work sometimes.

Con: Son woke up at 5AM yesterday, crying in his sleep. He has been doing this lately, and I feel so sad for him-what is upsetting him so much? He's very cognizant of Husband not benig home right now, and I know that he doesn't understand, and is upset about it. Usually, I can sneak into his room, put a blanket over him (they never, ever stay on through the night), he calms down, I get to go back to bed. Needless to say, I like this solution.

However, it didn't work that way yesterday. He just kept crying, but he was still asleep. Since he's still in his crib, and it's on the lowest mattress adjustment, it's tough to be able to reach him to rub his back or anything when he's squashed in the far corner. The extra mound that I'm carrying around in front doesn't help either, especially since I usually have to balance on the front rail of the crib to reach him. Anyway, I woke him up enough that he sat up, grabbed his bear and blanket, and wanted to be picked up.

Pro: realizing that he just needed his mommy. I brought him to bed with me (I had gotten to bed LAAATE that night, and we both needed the sleep). He finally fell asleep, with no tossing or turning, after he crawled on top of me, wiggled to get in a comfortable position (legs hanging around the ever-increasing belly), and positioned BoBo the bear just right. Then he snored.

I had to find a way to prop myself up on some pillows so the whole compressing the vena cava thing didn't cause me to pass out, but still, it was so nice. We never coslept with him as a baby-I just couldn't do it since I was so jumpy about every sound he made, I never would have slept. However, there was something so peaceful about looking over at my angelic-looking blond haired son, feeling him breathe and melt into me with such complete and utter trust, and feeling so much for him that I was on the point of tears. I know that those moments are fleeting, but I'm doing the best that I can to burn them into my brain and be able to remember them forever.

It seems like forever since I last wrote anything of note, but yet I still don't have anything even remotely scintillating, or non-baby related. Even though I still am having issues remembering that I am pregnant sometimes-OK, this morning m protesting hips reminded me, but still-it still seems to be on my mind a lot. So do a lot of other random things. To start this post before I go to bed probably isn't the best idea, but since I am solo mom for the next six, count 'em, six days, I might as well make use of the time that I have.....

• Son has been in an interesting place lately, and I don't know quite what to make of it. One day at daycare he can be all smiles and energy, and the next the teacher is talking to me about three biting attempts. He NEVER does this at home. Every once in a while he will grab my hand and bring it to his mouth, but his mouth is closed. Not quite a kiss, but not aggressive either. The weird thing about the whole deal is that he isn't doing it when he is angry or upset, but during downtime. The one example that I got yesterday was that he was part of a group of kids that were standing by the gate from the play area in the room waiting to go wash their hands and get ready for lunch. He gets upset after he is told not to do it. I'm really at a loss. Nothing has changed at home, although I have a feeling that he knows that something is going on with me-there's no denying that my lap is shrinking and I'm not picking him up as much as I used to. However, there is still book reading, and a lot more playing outside at night with Husband and the dogs, which he loves. I'm actively suppressing my worries about adjustment after Daughter (first time I've typed that one) gets here. Oy.
• Another highlight of my day. Tired and hungry Son and I had to stop at T*rget on the way home for milk and juice, and to pick up one of Husband's myriad of prescriptions. He's just cranky, and making that irritating whining noise (with absolutely no tears, so I know that he's full of it) while we make our way to the checkout. I was playing with his hair when I came across something on the back of his head. I think that it feels like a scab, but I'm not going to go all primate in the express lane to make sure. We get out to the truck, and lo and behold, it's a tick! EWWWWWWWWWWW. (As she feels creepy crawlies all over.) I frantically call my mom since this is what moms are for, and she gives me some suggestions of what to do, and in essence tells me to suck it up and just do what needs to be done. I bribe Son into the highchair as soon as we get home with juice and a Rice Kr*spie treat (don't judge me, he had a real meal later). In the end he had TWO of the nasties. One had attached, but I was able to get it off with nothing more than a dirty look from Son after I swabbed the site with alcohol. The one in his hair didn't like the alcohol wipe that I used, and didn't have to remove any of Son's hair, to the relief of us both. A necessary evil, but....ewwww. They didn't look like deer ticks, the carriers of Lyme disease-it's prevalent enough around here that we have both of the dogs inoculated every year-so we should be OK. The daycare play area backs up to a field, and they have wood mulch under the play equipment. I guess that we are lucky that Son is so fair, so it was really easy to find them on him. For any kid that has darker hair/complexions (over 50%) of the kids in his room, it would have been tougher. I'll ask them to do checks from here on out.
• Husband is on a business trip/boondoggle until Sunday in Washington, D.C., and left to the sounds of me melting down. Either its the Benadr*l that I've been taking whenever I want to spend some time outside (I've pinpointed that it's tree and lilac pollen that is driving me nuts) or I'm losing my mind. Another panic attack this morning, great amounts of sobbing before he even got in the shower this morning to get ready to go to the airport. Again, he still doesn't know what to do with me when I get like this-his tack on it seems to be to downplay it, which makes me feel even worse. The other part of his reaction I attributed to his dramatic tendencies. He kept telling me that me crying and telling him that I didn't want to be alone was telling him that I was scared of losing him forever since something would happen to the plane. Not really what I was getting at, since that never crossed my mind (until now, thank you). His fear of flying took over on that one. I'm the one with issues, and I end up comforting him. Ugh. However, I managed to rein it in before I went to that place where I have totally lost control and there is no recovery. The dry heaves in the shower helped to snap me out of it. If I hate anything in this world, dry heaves when I hadn't eaten in over 12 hours is it. I've shelved my plans to have Yellow Dog sleep with me tonight, at least for now. She is just too restless and it will take her a while to settle each time that I have to get up to pee (yes, same time and channel every night-oh, to get more than four hours in a row!) If I find that I start to melt down later tonight I may relent, and hey, the coverlet is machine washable, so the hair/essence du Yellow Dog won't be a big deal. I would let the cats out to have full dominion over the night, but since Big Boy is such a klutz, it would only cause things to go bump in the night-the last thing that I need.
• I was out sick yesterday-no, really, felt like crap. In hindsight it probably was due to my building anxiety about Husband leaving. I did however, get in about three hours of morning naptime after I prevailed on Husband to take Son to daycare. I could have used three more, but I'll take what I can get. I'm still feeling lousy in the mornings. Not really morning sickness, although the nausea is mixed in the background, but just really weak, like my legs won't hold me. I haven't checked my morning sugars in several days, so I could be spiking high again, but I'm not feeling the way that I normally do when they are over where they should be. It really doesn't make any sense. This morning was better, however, and by the time I get to work it's gone. I haven't been able to handle taking my prenatal lately due to the size of the pill, but I doubt that I'm anemic with my spinach habit.
• I have my 20 week OB appointment with Dr. Wonderful on Friday morning. I've got to make sure that I make up a list of the things that I want to cover. He's one of the few docs that will actually take the time to talk if you have issues. It usually results in him running 30 minutes late on average, but it's worth it. I can't believe that I'm halfway there already.
• I've agreed to participate in the neighborhood garage sale the first week in June. As in have just my stuff in my garage and driveway. Usually, we would ship a couple of things over to our neighbor to add to her sale (we've disposed of a couple of couches, exercise equipment, etc.). However, this time, I think that we will have enough to stand on our own. It's also a good way to have a set date for Husband to get rid of the junk that he's been hording in the office/Daughter's room. Old monitors (2), printers (2), different peripherals, etc. It will also force me to go through all of Son's old clothes and sort out what to keep for Daughter, keep for sentimental reasons, and what can be sold. Get rid of the 20 gallon fish tank that I won't have time to set up any time in the near future. Whatever doesn't get sold over the three days will already have a designated disposition; either donate (Son's clothes can go to the county crisis nursery and good will) or trash. We have two, yes two functioning microwaves in our garage that are just taking up space, TVs from the hotel that we will never use, etc. We HAVE to get moving on cleaning out this office as well. Five months until B-Day seems like a long time, but I've lived the reality of what a pregnancy can do to the time/space continuum. We need to recarpet and paint, and since Husband most likely isn't going to have a lot of time off again this summer (employee issues yet again-I hate his job some days), if I can get the major grunt work done, I can prevail on my parents and brother/SIL to get the rest done. I think that I've come up with a color scheme that won't involve the walls going pink, but should still be nice. Let's just hope that Pottery B*rn doesn't discontinue what I like.
• Oh, and one last thing. We took the boat, you know, the one that Husband has been spending a ton of time on replacing carpeting, re-wiring so the lights and radio work, that boat? Yeah, we have a 21 foot canoe. We tried to take it out on Saturday afternoon, and the damn thing refused to start. Not one of the six cylinders would even cough for us. Because it is an inboard, you can't start it dry (on land without a water source for the intake) and we didn't have the right tool to do it with a hose, we hadn't tried it out yet. However, after spending almost $200 to get it winterized last fall and having it come back with half a tank less of gas than we had dropped it off with, we didn't think that there would be an issue. Wrong. After some trouble shooting, Husband was able to determine there is no spark at all, and we can't figure it out. Great. Oh, and the marital strife that occurred in front of a very busy public launch when I interpreted "get out" to mean pull out of the boat ramp so the boat can float off the trailer and go and park and bring Son to the dock instead of "get out of the truck to hold onto the boat so if it doesn't start we can just pull it back out" was one of the newer low points. In the end, since the behemoth couldn't be moved with an oar even if you tried, some nice guy in a wetsuit waded out to pull the damn thing in to beach her while Husband went and got the Jeep and the trailer to pull the freakin' POS out. Fortunately, the wind was blowing the right way, so when we finally had our turn on the ramp, it wasn't too bad to line it up on the trailer and get it hooked up. Not bad in that Husband had to wade in to thigh high and the water still isn't that warm yet (hence the guy in the wetsuit) and I had to go in midcalf in my BRAND NEW tennis shoes to help winch the damn thing up. Oh, and since I haven't mastered the art of two footed driving (and hence not lurching when the 4x4 that I am pulling the trailer and the now loaded up boat (oh, weighing a combined ton and a half) slips on the sand-covered concrete ramp before it gets traction), I got yelled at yet again. Loudly. So not in love with that. Yet I bawl like, God I don't know what, when he leaves for almost a week. Either its love or, well, something else.

There is probably more to put out there in order to get my head organized, but I am dead tired after getting up 45 minutes early this morning and spending an hour and a half in rush hour traffic-my southern suburb to the airport, all the way across the metro, and south to an outer ring suburb for work. Plus, since I was out on Monday, today was like cramming two Monday's worth of crap into eight hours of time. I still wasn't completely done, but with a late 5:00 meeting, and having to get Son from daycare by six, needing to stop at the store for milk and juice, and all of the other fun of running my house by myself, it's been a long day.

NOW I can get moving

I hate it when Husband is right....he's such a lousy, graceless winner...gloats, just shows off in general. Eash enough when you've got a 50/50 shot of getting it right.. So, yes, you've guessed it.....it's a girl!

OK, so the sonographer said that it was a 90% certainty. She's sitting breech right now, with her feet tucked up under her, and really low, but it basically boiled down to an absence of boy parts. We weren't able to get the classic three lines. She pointed out that since I would most likely get more U/S due to near certainty of GD, once she turns a bit more, there should be a better opportunity to confirm it 100%. So there you have it-we get one of each.

She looks a lot like Son did at this point. I'll have to pull out his ultrasound pics to compare, but looking at the screen, it looked very familiar. She's (!) still measuring about two days ahead, and is estimated to weigh in at 10 oz. All of the structures look good, amniotic volume is right smack dab in the mid-range of normal, and everything in the brain in fine. Since my diagnosis is "advanced maternal age" (ugh, I'm only 35!), they went on to re-calculate our Down's risk-it's now up to something like 1:9000-10,000 from the 1:8400 based on the first trimester screen. Basically, I've got the risk of a teenager. My OB should get a kick out of that when he gets the report.

I also got a little reassurance as to why I'm not feeling a whole lot of movement. My placenta is anterior (in the front) so that is absorbing most of the motion. It's up high, so no worries about previa, and my cerivc is long and tight. So, all in all a good baby appointment...but then again any appointment that doesn't require me to get on a scale is a good appointment!

Bring on the pink! (Which, by the way, I already have. Having a K*hls accessible during a lunch hour is bad...especially when they have things on sale.)

Just a littly antsy

Tomorrow is the BIG ultrasound. I'm nervous. I really have no reason to be. Our first trimester screen came back about as good as can be. No more spotting or scary symptoms. I've recently had a growth spurt, which isn't related to pigging out, since I've been sticking to the whole diabetic restrictions thing.

I'm just a little worried that I may end up being one of those unsuspecting types that has something really bad happen, or be revealed. I haven't really felt this baby move yet, and I'm getting a bit nervous. Little things here and there, but it can be weeks between jabs. I got a small kick or punch on Saturday morning after I brought Son to bed with us, but nothing since then. By this time with Son, the movement was readily identifiable, and somewhat regular. At 19w1d with a second pregnancy, I really thought that I would be feeling more. Everything that I read and hear tells me that I should. The what-ifs are swirling in my head, and I'm doing my best to hold them at bay. After what felt like a never-ending weekend, I'm overly tired, so that isn't helping my defenses too much either. There are days where being a type A analytical type can REALLY work against you.

Part of the paranoia may be self-induced, and I recognize that . It seems as though the worlds of infertility and loss are intertwined, and a lot of the people that I read on a regular basis have struggled with both. I think of Catherine being right about where I was when she lost Travis. I keep telling myself that this type of thing really doesn't happen that often, its just that those have gone through those tragedies are more prevelant in the areas that I tend to frequent online. However, there was one point in their lives where they thought that something like that would never happen to them. Then their lives changed forever.

I'm worried about the gender determination as well. As romantic as it may be not to find out, the practical side of me needs to know, to prepare, from both a physical sense (yes, the purple and pink butterflies instead of the train bedding) and to emotionally bond a bit more. I really haven't done that yet. I would be OK with anything, really. If a boy, how nice for Son to have brother, since those bonds can be pretty special. However, since this is most likely the last time we do this, I will never get a daughter to do all of the girly stuff (which, although extremely out of practice, I can do pretty darn well). If a girl, the fear of creating yet another in the long line of screwed up mother-daughter relationships that run in my family. Sadness that Son won't have a brother. Yep, I'm a real ray of sunshine.

Ultrasound is tomorrow morning at 9am. I've got to drink 16 oz half an hour prior to the appointment. Oh the joy. Please let everything be OK. Please.

Back to your regular programming.....

OK, so my vent yesterday was a bit out of character. I'm not usually that fearless when expressing disdain for the current administration. Put it this way....if actually given a choice, I would rather have a philandering, yet politically savvy and intelligent leader (hey, I recognize that Bill wasn't a saint, but the world was a better place when he had an active role in it. FDR and JFK are in the same boat) than a privileged moron. UGH. I do have a political science degree after all.

ANYWAY......

Son has been in prime form lately. He's covering new ground almost daily, and how this kid loves to be outside! On Sunday afternoon, after his nap, he happily chased around Yellow Dog for a good half hour. Now, the fact that she really had no idea that he was doing it was inconsequential. He just loves watching her, hearing her bark with her mouth full (she only really barks when she has a toy in her mouth-usually a very effective mute), and just saying her name, over and over. She wandered off to our neighbor's yard to investigate something that caught her nose, and Son followed, yelling her name like he wanted her to come back. Good luck kid, she doesn't listen to me when the nose gets involved. Ah the joys of a hunting dog. He still likes to observe from afar, since the front end of Yellow Dog involves that big, wet, pink thing (get your minds out from wherever they are!!) that gets all over his face and it usually almost knocks him over. When she gets too close, he just raises up his hands to protect his face. Not the best thing to do, but I can't get him to stop. He will go and pet her if I can manage to keep her head busy. I hope that they can find a way to hang out together without him being scared. She'll be seven this fall. We probably only have 3-4 years left with her. One of the sucky things about having larger dogs.

He's also trying to string together 2-3 words at a time, although not all of it is comprehensible. He's babbling almost constantly, and pointing out just about everything. He's so much fun to try to talk to now. I just have to remember to keep a straight face when he's explaining something in his own language. It's sure important to him. He's pointing out "airpanes" on our way home at night, and pointed out a school bus to me this morning. The cat has a new name which is along the lines of "reow." C the psycho cat has always been VERY vocal, and she doesn't have a polite meow, so Son's "reow" covers it. However, we can't quite get him to say cat or kitty-all pictures or images of cats are "reow." Oh, and cows? They're dogs. Hopefully my SIL in Iowa will have a calf this year so he can meet a proper cow. He's town kid, that's all I can say.

As he is out exploring, I try to commit as much as I can to memory, since I never seem to have a camera with me. When we were outside last weekend, Son was very intrigued by the lattice that we have around our deck. The deck is about five feet off the ground, so in order to conceal the junk, er, yard supplies and tools that are chucked under there, we put up some lattice so our poor neighbors wouldn't have to look at it any more. He got up on his tiptoes, and peered through the holes just to see what was under there. It would have been such a cute picture! I guess that it is high time that I wrest the uber-expensive camera that we just bought from Husband's hands and start to use it myself. Husband has this rather high opinion of himself that he is some great photographer, and that I just can't handle the new camera. Puh-leeze. He also forgets that I helped to finance the acquisition of the beast, so he may need some reminding. I just want to catch the candid moments when Son the ham doesn't know that I have a camera.

I've prattled on long enough-I really need to get it in gear and get some work done. I've been very de-motivated lately, and it's going to come and smack me soon if I don't get a hold of it. Sometimes having to be a grownup sucks.

There are no words

An unconfirmed 33 dead at Virginia Tech, and our president releases this statement:

"The president believes that there is a right for people to bear arms, but that all laws must be followed," spokeswoman Dana Perino said

You have GOT to be FUCKING KIDDING ME. Kids, I have a locked, large gun safe in my home. My husband hunts. He follows the law. George the brilliant figured out that maybe, just maybe, shooting up a dorm and then two hours (!!) later a classroom might be against the law. Gee, ya think? C'mon George, after what Cheney did, do you think that you could come up with something a bit more compassionate, a bit more thoughtful? Oh, I forgot, your advisors (you know, the ones that have brain activity) didn't get to scrub this for you before you stuck your foot so far into your mouth that it is emerging from your ass.

Parents are having to face their worst nightmare today-the children that they sent off to college, that they had to let go of to grow up-won't get to finish growing up. Won't get to walk across the stage and get that diploma, or even go to the cafeteria tonight. And all that George can say is that there is a "right for people to bear arms." For once my bleeding heart liberal self won't be quiet. It's time for the conservative, left-wing, NRA nutjobs to recognize that this society cannot handle open access to firearms, particularly of an automatic variety. No matter what you tell me, automatic weapons have no place in in recreational use. Law enforcement, the military. You know, people who may come under fire from those hostile to what they stand for. Unless the deer or ducks can start shooting back, no way that you should be able to buy one of these things at Joe's Ammo World. This section of the constitution is an anachronism, and needs to be exposed for what it is. Will guns be obtained illegally? Yep, as long as there is a criminal and violent element of our society, they will be. However, how about reducing the opportunity. Get them out of the gun shops so they don't get stolen. Nail the arms dealers, even the black ops ones. How much more do we have to suffer through before it sinks in that the current rules just aren't working?

I can't imagine what those parents, brother, sisters, friends, and teachers are going through tonight. OK, for all of you conservatives and other gun rights types, please put yourself into the shoes of the 99 people that have been impacted today. The 66 parents, the 33 victims. Hold your kids and lock up your guns. Say a prayer that your absolute refusal to acknowledge this alleged "right" to bear arms is a historical throwback and not applicable to the society that we currently inhabit doesn't ever impact your children, your community, your very sense of safety and security.

Please God, help them through the nights and days to come. This cross just seems a bit too big.

I think that I finally get it

This pregnancy has been vastly different from my first with Son. With Son, I measured every day along I was, and there never was a question of where I was. With this one, as I've documented, I actually forgot and was over a week off!!

With this one, I've been struggling since the beginning to really understand that "hey stupid" you're pregnant. There's going to be a newborn in your house again. It just didn't seem to sink in. This fact strikes me as so strange. This baby is as wanted as Son was, but since it didn't entail the seemingly endless, desperate, highly emotional years of cycles, including ultrasound after ultrasound, and multiple, expensive trips to the pharmacy in Minneapolis, it just didn't seem real. The other part that makes my denial even more non-sensical is that the physical symptoms with this one have been more in the forefront. I was a lot more sick, and the nausea hung on until almost 14 weeks. While it still rears its ugly head when I get too hungry or tired, for the most part it is gone. The on-going insomnia, the relentless fatigue. While I had them with Son, neither were at the level that they have been with this one (gee, I really need to come up with a nickname here....).

Maybe its just the infertile in me saying that this shouldn't have happened so easy this time, that I didn't suffer enough. Or maybe its just that I have so much more going on in my life that I just don't have the time to be as introspective and observant as I was with Son. So, being a good Catholic, I tend to feel guilty that I'm not giving this baby his/her due. Like I'm not as engaged.

However, lately things seem to have changed a little. I'm feeling a lot better (wow, never thought that I would get to that point even a few weeks ago) so maybe I have some more emotional resources to bring to bear on this. I'm sleeping again, although Black Dog has been banished out to the garage in his crate at night. I hate to do it, but everyone in the Chronicle household has been sleeping better because of it. The other piece is that I'm finally feeling pregnant. My maternity pants fit. I've got some of the familiar aches and pains. I'm hungry again (hooray! or uh-oh...). I think that I felt movement a couple of days ago. Oh, and well, things are popping out everywhere. I don't have a bump, this is a full blown belly (mostly still jelly, but the dimensions look right). I've outgrown my biggest bras. Yep, there's something going on in there.

So, here I sit, with the realization that we have another baby coming. I'm actually getting antsy for our level II that is in less than two weeks. I'm even looking forward to September. Maybe I'm finally getting it.

OK, no more cheetos before bed...I mean it

Weird, weird dream last night/early this morning/sometime after potty break #2.

I'm in a place that I recognize as home, but it's not where I grew up. My mom is there, and for some reason when I get there, I'm told by dream extras that my baby is waiting for me, and that it's probably time to nurse. At some level, I do understand that I'm still pregnant.

I'm walking into the room where this baby is, and I look at my mom and ask her how this could be my baby, since I wasn't aware that the one that I am currently carrying is #3. She avoids the question (at least that part is true to life), and hands me a baby. Usually in my dreams I don't see distinct faces, but I usually sense who I am dealing with. In this instance, I can see the face of a six month old baby, that is a dead-ringer for Son, but that I also recognize as a girl. At that point, I accept that this is my child, but still question why I don't remember any of it.

We then flash to walking through the sacristy of the church on my college campus, and my mom confesses that the baby is hers (for some reason, she is in her mid 40s in this dream, even though she is now in her mid 50s now, but I'm the same age...oy). She was afraid to tell me that she had another baby. I ask her how, since I know that she had her tubes tied when I was a kid. No answer, then I woke up.

OK, now what the hell did that all mean? The gender issue doesn't surprise me-Husband has been insisting that this one is a girl, because, I kid you not, "you've been crazier with this one, and that's only possible if two women are involved." But the whole issue with my mom? You got me.

I remember thinking as a kid that my parent were still young even after my brother was born, so why didn't they have more? (My brother and I are six years apart, and after all of the begging that I did to get a sibling, I got a brother, when I specifically asked for a girl.) I also distinctly remember when I presume that my mom had her tubes tied. I was probably around 9, and everyone was rushing around cleaning up in preparation for mom to be out of commission. I knew that something big was up, but no one would tell me what was going on. I was scared, and sat in my room and cried. I also remember driving to the town where the hospital was to pick her up, and not being able to bring her home. I think that she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia, and bursting into tears, yelling at my Dad that yes, there was something very wrong, and why wouldn't he tell me anything?

I've been doing a lot of thinking about sibling relationships lately, so maybe that is the trigger. Maybe it was the snack of apple juice and Cheetos-I don't want to hear it, at least I ate something. Just very, very strange.

What a difference a couple of hours makes

My usual disdain for anitbiotics (mainly the size of the pills and what they end up doing to my digestive tract) has been obliterated. After just two days of the Z-pack, I feel a ton better. Almost makes me think that I haven't had allergies after all, just recurrent sinus infections. Hmmmmm.

Anyway, while the insomnia is still rearing it's head, I did manage to piece together two stints of over two hours last night. The amount of improvement that I feel today is tantamount to that first time that a newborn goes for more three hours at a pop at night. Still a little bleary, but more seems right with the world. Even though we had snow last night. Yes, in April. I do live in Minnesota after all. Winter doesn't give up entirely until at least the end of May. It ended up to just be a dusting, which is less than the 2 inches that were predicted. However, my parents, who live about 200 miles north of us, had 8 inches on the ground at 4PM yesterday. Dad jinxed it I'm sure, since he's been fiddling with the boats for the past couple of weeks.

Regardless, I'm hoping that tonight will even be better. Let's see if I can put together three or more hours. Sure would be nice.

hack, hack, and hack

All I have to say is that with the way this pregnancy has been going, I had better have a kid that sleeps through the night before 11 months. That's all I'm asking. The basis for my demand? I am now 16w2d, and I think I can count the number of good days on one hand. I am so ready to be done with this. C'mon, where is that second trimester rebound?

Just to be clear, I am about to gripe. A lot. I suppose that I should add in the normal disclaimer that seems to be required by all infertiles, you know, that I do appreciate this pregnancy, blah, blah. I do, but right now, I'm not enjoying the ride a whole lot.

For the past couple of weeks, sleep has been a very scare commodity for me, and I know that it is adversely affecting just about everything. I'm overly tired, stressed out that I am so damn tired, which in turn causes my morning sickness/overall disdain for food to skyrocket. This probably isn't as big of a deal was would be for a non-fat person, but Husband is now getting on my case that I'm not eating enough, with the strong undertone that he thinks that I'm hurting the baby. What he fails to understand is that I'm eating as much as I can handle, which I have to admit, isn't all that much. In my defense, I haven't lost weight (except for the same pound that I keep bouncing up and down). I don't have any of those keytone strips that are still good, so I don't know if I'm burning any fat or not. My hunch is no. I have my OB appointment on Friday, so we'll see what she says. I know that Husband is going to raise the issue. I really don't think that it is a big deal. Clinically, I'm obese, and no weight movement at 16 weeks really is no big deal. Now, if we're at 28 weeks and nothing has moved, then maybe we'll have to talk.

Another factor that isn't helping with the whole lack of sleep is that I've been nursing this nagging cough for the past couple of weeks. It gets worse at night, and I wake up with coughing fits that I can't get under control. A couple of times they have gotten so bad that I've vomited, which is no fun either. (Damn, I need those calories!) So, combine the coughing fits with the fact that I'm still getting up 2-3 times a night to go to the bathroom, and I'm lucky if I can string together more than an hour or two at a pop. Oh, and the kicker? Once I go back to bed, I can't fall back asleep. Yes folks, insomnia! Usually after 1-2 hours of this, with my mind running a million miles a minute, I get up and promptly fall asleep on the couch. Husband, well, he's pretty much oblivious to this. He keeps trying to get me to bed earlier, but I've almost developed a "thing" about our bed. That I almost dread going to bed because it just causes more agony. It might be time to rearrange the bedroom and see where that gets us.

Ok, so I've covered sick and tired. Next stop, and pardon me Mr. Osbourne, but everyone on the crazy train! OK, so in my misguided belief that the cough and congestion was allergy related, I finally caved in after a horrible night to try to take some Benadr*l. I thought that hey, it should knock me out, and I'll actually be able to function in the morning. The first night, I just took one, and while it helped with the cough, the improvement wasn't that great. Being ever the scientist, I decided that I would try two and see what happened. The first night-only up once. A miracle cure! Second night, not as good, but tolerable. Third night, I was considering whether Husband should take me to a psych ward. I would sleep for 30 minutes, wake up with a pounding heart and breathing fast, and with such undirected anxiety that I had to get up out of bed and pace. My mind was racing, and no matter what I did, I couldn't shut it off. Finally, around 3:30 I fell asleep in the chair out in the living room, only to be woke up by Husband going downstairs to let the dogs out. He commands me to bed.

I try to sleep, but I wake up scared again. I simply couldn't be alone. I went down to watch TV with him while he got ready for work. I finally calm down (some), go back upstairs, and try to go to sleep. I wake up 45 minutes later, and am absolutely, irrationally, afraid that Husband has left for work, and that I was alone, and that I was having some sort of psychotic break. I ran downstairs, and caught him before he left. I begged him to stay. In all of our years together, him being gone at weird times and me being alone in the house has been a semi-regular event. I usually don't mind, since I can take up all of a king sized bed if allowed. It's one of the curses of him being in an industry that is 24/7/365. However, on that day I just simply could not let him out of the house. I was sure that I wouldn't be able to bear it.

He wasn't too happy with me, and I really don't think that he understood/understands the sheer depth of the fear and anxiety that I had. He stayed home and was able to get one of the major things done that he needed to and emailed in. I tried to stay on the love seat while he worked from the couch, but that was too far for me. I ended up on the couch with him, and finally slept. It was only another 45 minutes, but if I hadn't had that, the day would have been shot. I finally calmed down enough to get ready for work, get Son ready, and be on time for my first meeting of the day. Quite an accomplishment considering that I was in such a state that the thought of sitting alone in my glorified cube/office was scaring me an hour before. After I got to work, the whole night felt like I had literally been in the twilight zone, or a dream.

At the height of everything, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I had finally lost it. That I wasn't just a little depressed, but rather that I had some sort of psychosis happening. The type that changes people forever. That, of course, wound me up even more. What really bothers me is that I was able to see and grasp the idea that there was really something wrong with me. Something that might change me irretrievably.

Husband was convinced that I was just having a reaction to the allergy medication, and made me promise to call my OB to see if this was normal. I think that he may have even thought that I was really losing it. Later on that morning, I was able to get hold of my OB's office, and Dr. Wonderful agreed that while a little on the extreme side, the possibility of the whole episode being caused by the medication was high. Add that to being extremely tired and my other history, he didn't feel like I needed to do anything other than not take it again. I was also instructed to go to my GP and get checked to see if the whole reason behind my taking the medication in the first place was indeed allergies, or a sinus infection run amok. (Which ultimately was the conclusion. Zithromax for the next five days. Yea.)

Unfortunately, my next OB appointment isn't with Dr. Wonderful, so the person that I'm seeing won't really have much insight into who I am and what is going on with me. I've been having mild anxiety attacks in the past couple of weeks, and I'm a little worried that they aren't going to get better. I'm really anxious about giving birth again since I failed so miserable last time, and having to go through the first six weeks with a newborn, a toddler, and a husband that isn't going to do much in way of helping on either front. I'm worried about how this second baby is going to hit our financial bottom line (heavily) and how we're going to manage it, especially if one of the cars gives up the ghost in the next year. I've pretty much given up on the idea of us moving any time soon, but I still have a lot of work to do to get ready for this one. Five months doesn't' seem long enough to save what we need to outfit a room (Son has a convertible crib and a changing table/dresser that he needs to keep), somehow organize and move our home office to somewhere else in the house, recarpet the bedroom (my adopted stray cat and her kittens destroyed it), and save enough to survive on maternity leave where the second six weeks isn't paid. Add that on top of the fact that I haven't had anything resembling "me time" or a break in at least a couple of months, and it may just be that I'm burned out, and being tired is just what is pushing me over the edge. However, I look around me, and lots of people are in the same boat and are doing fine. Why am I such a fragile creature right now?

I also worry that I'm penalizing myself yet again in that I have so much running through my head that I'm not taking the time to appreciate and enjoy what will most likely be my last pregnancy. After I had Son, I made a promise to myself that the next time I would just slow down and try to soak it in, appreciate it for the wonder of it all. Basically, take enough time to be able to remember it. At this point, almost halfway done, and I haven't done any of that. Maybe once I feel a little movement, but I don't think that I have yet. With Son, I was around 18 weeks when I felt the first popcorn pop, so hopefully soon. I'm just struggling to remember that this is real. If I could still fit in my regular clothes, I probably would forget that I'm pregnant.

So, there it is, nutjob and all. I feel a little cleansed to get all of it written down. Hopefully my brain will shut down and let me sleep tonight. I know that everyone around me is hoping that I can.

The wonders of a little boy

Son has discovered a slew of new tricks to add to his cuteness quotient. God knows, after the toddler screaming/tantrum demerits, he needs the help.

Regardless, this kid never fails to surprise us. A couple of nights ago we were putting Son to bed. Pajamas (the "cahr" ones), Bobo the bear was in hand, and it was time to try to cajole a kiss or two out of him. He has this routine where I pull up his pajama bottoms where he is standing on the changing table. I tell him "all done" and then he just falls into me. I don't know when we started it, but routine it is. Husband was doing the dressing for some reason (oh yea, tired, pregnant mommy hadn't eaten since lunch and it was 8PM), and Son did the fall thing with Husband. He then....drumrolll....wrapped his little arms around Husband's neck and hugged. He hugged! He's never done that before. He would pat your back or shoulder while someone was holding him, but that was it. This was a bona fide hug!

Last night, Husband was conked out on a muscle relaxant (his neck is still bugging him a little), and I was going through the routine. Son fell, I caught, he hugged. He then demanded that we do it again. I moved away from the changing table and was moving towards his crib. He then would open his arms wide, let out a happy little scream and then wrap his arms and squeeze. Heaven!

He's also started to blow kisses. Again, not something that he had ever done before. However, his aim on his hand is still a little goofy-sometimes I think that he's signing thank you, and others a kiss. Regardless, he does it with such glee that I'll take either version. He's also using "pease", but not voluntarily yet. I gotta say, he can take his time with some of those vowel sounds.

I can say, that he's way more entertainment than I ever thought he could be. I was singing "Twinkle Twinkle" last night, and he actually chimed in for a couple of lines-melody and everything! The words, well, they were ad-libbed, but still, what a sweet little voice. He's been singing for a while, but it just sounded like random tests of the noises he could make. Now it's becoming more organized. Damn, now I'll actually have to start reading the newsletters and figure out what they are focusing on. It's fun to see how his face registers that he knows what comes next, and gee, Mom, you can do it too!

OK, so I guess that we'll keep him.

Why can't time just stand still for a little while?

Just one of those days...again. God, I hate hormones, I hate lurking depression, hate.it.all.

It was one of those days where it took all that I had to leave Son at daycare and walk out the door. He had been in a horrible mood this morning, and everything was sending him into tears. (I guess that we that in common). He's been fighting a cold for over two weeks now, he's tired, his nose is literally raw from all of the wiping, to the point that it bled last night. The only thing that seemed to make him feel better was when I picked him up, wrapped him up in a blanket, gave him his bear, and we stood and looked out the window. I so didn't want to let him go-I feel like time is this relentless force, and that our chance moments of quiet like that are slipping through my fingers, never to be recaptured.

My little boy needed me, and I had to walk out the door.

It felt like the first day when I had to leave him. Will he get the cuddles that he needs, the hugs? Will they know that he just needs/wants to crawl into their lap and look at a book, or just lean back into them while holding his blanket? Will they know? Will they care?

I'm probably being overly dramatic about all of this. I carried him in this morning, and by the time we got his blanket put away, and his coat off, he was looking with great interest at the play area. All of his friends were there. I gave him another hug, and set him down on the other side of the wall. His friend M, who is like a sister (they are six weeks apart and have been together since he started at the center) offered him a toy, and he didn't look back for me. To see the two of them together is actually comforting. They are a pair of contrasts; for as big and blond as he is, she is dark and petite. They seek each other out for comfort, and he is her protector.

I know that he's in a good place, but I still have those days where I hate the fact that I can't be with him more. There's no way that I can ever stay home. I'm the primary income for us. Working in the corporate area, the likelihood of me every swinging part-time is so low that I don't even consider it. There are times that I resent it so much. Today is one of those days.

In the end, I don't know if I could do it as a stay at home. I'm not that social, and Son would be stuck with me all day. All the enrichment activities in the world are no substitute for being around other kids. He's social, and he is learning new things every day. I just hate that other people get so much of him. Before I know it, he won't want to be held with a blanket and a bear. Then what? I won't get that time back. I think that's what is hitting me the most. I want to burn that picture of my beautiful blond boy running to me with the biggest smile in my mind so I never lose it. I'm just so terrified of missing something.

The thought of having to do this again with another child is really eating at me right now. I feel as though I lose a piece of me each day that I have to leave them. What I look forward to is having to do it again. Leaving a newborn. It's the hardest thing to do. And the kicker is, the U.S. wants to reduce our benefits even more. It's hard enough to have to take six of the twelve weeks unpaid. We don't live beyond our means, but to take any more time than that is not financially possible.

So, here I sit in my office crying, stifling the urge to leave with my keys, and take my son home. I just miss him so much. Why can't time just stand still for a little while?

Thar she blows!

There are certain types of things that I think only happen in a house with a small child (or children). I used to think that the dogs, in all their glory, were two of the most destructive forces in the universe. Oh no. Two 75lb dogs have nothing on a 28 lb toddler. Nothing.

So, last night, I actually made a meal (with help from our friendly neighborhood SuperTarget, but never you mind), and I'm getting Son's plate ready. Husband is corralling said Son to get into his highchair, when Son notices that the 7Up fridge pack is on the dining room chair. Hooray! One of Son's favorite things is to take cans out and put them back in. Screw the meal, let me play.

Son then proceeds to start to pull out one can....and the thing erupts, spewing pop up and onto the ceiling, the wall, and just about every other surface within five feet. Son, meanwhile, is crying. He's scared, and soaked in the full-sugar version of pop. Husband grabs the offending container and throws it in the sink, and I guide the toddler down the hall to the bathroom to strip him off and clean him up. Good thing it was bath night. He walks into the bathroom stiff legged, since his pants are soaked from waistband down to his shoes. He's still crying. We strip off his shirt, and I wipe him off with a washcloth, give him a hug, and the tears stop. We were on our way to his room to get off his pants and get a new diaper when I look down the hall to see Husband watering the floor of the kitchen and dining room with the sprayer from the sink. I guess it worked, because the main areas affected are pretty stick free.

The rest of the two rooms...well, lets just say that me and my Floormate are going to be spending some time together this weekend. And that the dining room wall might need to get repainted too. The thing is, unlike the last time this happened (yes, there was a last time), Son had actually dropped the can of pop. This time, we can't figure out what happened. I looked at the can later, and the seam along the top of the can just seems to have split. Don't think that Son will be messing with those cans again.

Ask and ye shall receive

OK, so I made some smartass comment in my last post about "unforeseen calamity." Duh. When will I learn?

Unforeseen Calamity (Sort of) #1: Wednesday morning I wake up with one of those headaches. The ones that I wake up crying it hurts so much. I don't know if this qualifies as a migraine, or just an extremely painful headache. I wander downstairs (in the dark because I take on vampire qualities when these hit) and beg Husband to come up and help me. The headache is radiating from a severely screwed up neck and shoulders. Stress hasn't been absent from my life, and it builds up to equal trapezious muscles of stone. He works on me for about 30 minutes, and I start to feel human. Damn Tylenol doesn't work at all.

Husband calls my OB to see if there is anything else that I can take to try to deal with this. I then to proceed to exchange several calls with the triage nurse. I stupidly had mentioned that I had pain in my neck, and there is a freak out about meningitis. Ugh. No. I dutifully take my temperature (after having to tear about the house to try to find a thermometer that hasn't been used rectally) to find that I am normal. Sigh. I have a family history of migraine. I'm not sure if what I have are migraines, but I do usually manage to have some light sensitivity, and if I don't get to my A*vil in time, I do get a bit sick to my stomach. Regardless, all I wanted to know was whether I needed to suck it up, or if I could enjoy better living through chemistry.

In the end a chiropractic appointment and a good clunk and pop out of the right side of my neck later, the headache pretty much disappears. The day is shot anyway, so I took advantage of the child-free time to nap. I got up around 4:00, and we decided that we would go and fetch Son from daycare around 5:00, which leads to......

Unforeseen Calamity #2: As we pull ourselves together to go get Son, Husband sits down on the couch and lets out a scream. What the....? His neck is in excruciating pain, he can't turn it, and he wants me to hold it up to take the pressure off. Great, just great.

We know that we have to get to Son's daycare, which is about 20 minutes away from home. Due to the calamity, it is now 5:30ish, and daycare closes at 6:00. There really isn't time to drop Husband off at the nearest Urgent Care/Emergency room. What follows is the car ride from hell. We take the Caddie, since it rides somewhat smoothly. Husband cries, curses at me for taking curves too fast, and lets me have it in general. I refrain from making the reference to his total lack of empathy with my contractions on the way to the hospital. This takes a great deal of restraint, let me tell you.

We get to daycare, I grab Son, who is in one of the best moods he has been in for a while. To see his face crumple when he sees Da-Da in pain breaks my heart. He was so concerned, and scared. Husband decides that he can't tolerate the return trip to the ER closest to our house (which was prudent in that he called the Urgent Care attached to the same ER and the wait was over 1 1/2 hours), so we go to the ER in the same town as daycare. My GP is out of this hospital, and I know that it is pretty good.

Fortunately, when we get there, the waiting room is empty, and Husband is put in a neck brace and taken back to an ER room immediately. This hospital is different in that the triage nurse decides how gets urgent care and who gets the ER. Anyway, they take his history (for the third freakin' time), and after a quick chat with the doc (who was in with Husband less than 10 minutes after he got a bed), he gets an IV of morphine and is able to breathe again. His blood pressure was really high too.

In the end, after an MRI, two doses of M*rphine, it is determined that things aren't dire, but he's got a way to go before he feels better. He had been doing a lot work using his right side. One day he spent the entire morning chipping ice off of the sidewalk, and a couple of days later, pumping over six inches of water off of the flat roof of the hotel, since the center drains don't work. All of that overuse, plus the chiropractic appointment, caused a pretty severe muscle spasm, which they are considering a muscle injury. The MRI also showed that he has a slightly bulging disc a little higher in his neck, but they were pretty certain that the disc isn't causing the problem. We were discharged with prescriptions for V*alium, Pe*coset, and high dosage Advil.

Through all of this, Son did pretty well. We did leave for a while to get him some supper. He ate probably the best he has all week. I was so upset that I fought throwing up the entire time I was feeding him his chicken strips and fruit. My morning sickness turns on a dime when I get tired and/or stressed, but I managed to choke down half a shake just so my stomach wouldn't be empty. I was stressed because I didn't know what they were going to find with Husband, I knew that Son was going to get to bed late and thus be one fun toddler the next morning. and mad (not pretty) at Husband for yet again not doing what he should and having to spend time in an emergency room. This always happens immediately, if not soon after, something happens to me. Example. I'm in labor, he breaks a tooth. I'm recovering from having a baby, and he's more concerned about getting to the dentist than taking care of me. He brings a lot of this on himself. He DOES NOT TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AT ALL. However, he has the guts to give me grief about what I do. It makes me so damn mad, because he really does have time to work out, eat decently. I mean, he really is only responsible for himself. He has a fitness club that is free for him (through the hotel) right across the street. He usually leaves work between 3 and 4; even with a 30 minute commute, Son and I are lucky to cross the threshold before 6 each night. He has the time. Something that I have fight tooth and nail for.

I guess what scared me, and continues to scare me, is that I see Husband going down the same path medically as his father. His father's last 15 years were hell, both on him and everyone around him. From a selfish point of view, I don't want to have to live that life. He had strokes, Alzheimer's, and struggled with thyroid problems. He had two fused vertebrae in his neck, his shoulders had been rebuilt twice. He was senile the last few years, irritable, angry, controlling, violent, and just awful. Due to a previous CAT scan, we know that Husband has calcification in his brain, which are a pretty solid marker for Alzheimer's. We haven't talked about it much, but in the back of my mind, I don't think that it is a question of if he develops it, but when. And how badly. The thought of him not knowing me or our children terrifies me. I know that he thinks about it, but still lives in this fantasy that he is in his 20s and he's bulletproof. When is he going to figure out that he can't live that way anymore? When?

Needless to say, it wasn't a fun day.

Insurance Workout

The past week or so has truly given my insurance a workout. Let's see, Husband refilled four prescriptions, my OB appointment, and Son's 18 month checkup. If we were one of the many that didn't have coverage, our financial life would really stink right now. As it is, five copays later, it's not so bad. Now I just have to remember to submit everything to our FSA.

My 12 week OB appointment with Dr. Wonderful was on Friday. Husband couldn't come, which was OK, since he can't stand to wait (for anything) and just generally annoys me. He's worse than Son when it comes to sitting still. All of the normal stuff, was, well, normal. I even have a fundal height! Trust me, it was a tough one to get too-I'm still not big enough to easily find the top of the uterus, and all of my extra padding doesn't help. I love that Dr. Wonderful doesn't get on my case about this since, really, there's not much I can do about it now.

The real excitement came when he pulled out the doppler. As with Son, radio silence. This happened after he had to leave the room to take a call after I was already gooped up. Ah, the dignity of holding one's pants down to be left on the table goopy and under the air vent. He dug around for a while, and still couldn't find anything.

I was somewhat impressed that I didn't freak out about it, at least initially. Son had done this at this same appointment. Just active. Right? The longer he dug around, the more I could feel the anxiety lapping up around my ankles. He finally gave up after a couple of minutes, told me that he was pretty sure that there were heart tones, but that he was going to go check with the sonographer to see what her schedule looked like. (Insert anxiety up to my shins.) I mention that this is probably just an active baby, and that my padding didn't help. He agreed that it didn't help, but that it wasn't a barrier either. Out to the waiting room I go to wait for Wendy the sonographer.

About 15 minutes of waiting (all the while trying to distract myself reading an article about Sandra Bullock and Jesse James) and I was in with the sonographer. As suspected, all is well. Heartbeat at 161. The funny thing was that the baby looked like it had its hands behind its head, and was doing the bicycle with its legs against the uterine wall. Son was active, but he never really hurt with the kicking once I could feel it. I'm a little afraid that this one might not be so gentle. However, it was good to see all of that activity, and I'm beginning to look forward to our Level II in April.

It was Son's turn at the doctor on Monday for his 18 month appointment. We went over basic things like where he was developmentally, and he was even kind enough to point out a car to doctor that was on one of the books that he was trying to destroy. Everything checked out fine, and he still is in the upper percentiles for everything. I keep waiting for everything to slow down, but so far, not happening. He's now 34.5" tall (95th percentile), and 27.6 pounds (75th percentile), which follows where he has been since birth. He just needed one shot, and we were done. He didn't cry for the shot, but was waaaay more interested in the Spiderman band aid. One interesting thing was that the doctor brought up that the American Academy of Pediatrics is now recommending a Hepatitis A shot as well. I guess that they have given them routinely in the southern border states for years. Hep A is prevalent in developing countries that suffer from less than ideal sanitation. We didn't get it this time, and I need to do some more research on it. I know that at least child in his daycare room routinely visits India each year, so it may not be a bad idea. I just want to be sure that there isn't any negatives that I'm not aware of.

Barring any unforeseen calamity, we are now officially out of any doctor's offices for a good month. However, that leave me with no excuse why I've been cruising into work a bit later than normal. Sigh. Time to respect the alarm again....

OK, so maybe I'm not THAT old

On Monday the fetal center got around to calling me with my bloodwork results from the first trimester scan. Apparently, at least according to my blood, I'm not that old. The Downs risk was 1:3900, and the other two were in the neighborhood of 1:8500. In the end, the probability of us having a genetically abnormal child is that of a 20 year old, at least statistically. Ha! Old my eye.....

I have to say that I'm happy that we got the results back, that there isn't anything lurking, and off we go. I understand how lucky we really are-we haven't had to deal with a loss, and other than my spotting freak out a month or so ago, no real issues to speak of. I'm beginning to feel better on a regular basis. I still feel sick if I get too tired or stressed out, but I expect that will continue on for a while. Son is adapting well to his new daycare room, and the screaming fits as we leave, usually because I required him to surrender a daycare-owned toy, are ending as soon as we roll out the driveway. He's talking so much more, and it seems as though he is adding words daily. He's not stringing anything together yet that is decipherable-I still get a lot of very serious stories in his own little language. I bet that they would be entertaining and informative if I just knew what he was saying.

The worry still lurks in the back of my mind as to how Son is going to handle all of the changes that are headed his way in the next months. He is going to get a new room, whether in a new house or in the downstairs, and will probably be moving into a toddler bed then. He's nearing 36 inches tall, and for safety's sake, he might have to leave his crib. He never tries to climb out, but I think that it is a matter of time before the thought moves him to try. How will I be able to give him the same hugs and kisses and attention? Will he resent me or his new sibling for changing his world? How am I going to be able to do it all, especially in the mornings when I am on my own? I'm going to be old, darn it!

I know that none of these worries are unique to a second time parent. It's just new to me. I look at that little man and don't think that I can love him any more than I do now. I want to give him everything, make sure that he is safe, makes good decisions, doesn't become a news story someday. How can I do that when I have to have the same responsibility for another child? Argh. It can be overwhelming if I think about it too much.

OK, so maybe I'm getting old.