Well, here we are at two months. The pros: she's sleeping fantastic at night, nursing is going well, and she's become more interactive and the smiles are getting more frequent.
The cons: she still struggles with naps that aren't begun in the carseat, although today she conked out for almost three hours after a marathon nursing session (she must have been very pooped, since the blankets stayed on for almost the entire nap). She's still really difficult to soothe at times, although I just may be missing her tired cues and not getting it. However, I can deal with the nap issues-we'll just keep trying, and she'll eventually get it. Now if I could get her to go to bed before 10 PM, life would be just about perfect.
I know, I know, there is no making me happy. I complained about Son's lousy night sleep at this age, but now that I have what I think is a pretty good sleeper, I've got something else to complain about-the reticence to nap. Son is still a fantastic napper, at least here at home. They practically have to sit on him to get him to stay put at daycare, since they don't have the cage, er, crib to rely on. He's just too busy there. Either that or we're just incredibly boring. Hmmm....
She has her two month appointment tomorrow, so it should be interesting to see how big she is. I'm thinking 11ish pounds and 22 inches at this point. She's almost too long for the 0-3 month sleepers that she was swimming in when we brought her home. Either way, things seem to be going pretty well.
There are other things that I need to hash out-some big changes at work that may have me looking for another position, how I think that that Husband is in for a shock when I go back to work, etc. However, princess is calling.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Maybe Earl is right about that Karma thing
Another good night last night-10:45 (my fault, I let her snooze in her rocker seat for about 45 minutes after wrestling Son to bed after Husband had to go into work...grrrr) to 6:00, and then back down by 7:00 until we had to leave for daycare at 8:30. She's still asleep in her carrier now that we're back from daycare and a relatively quick trip to the store. I should be doing laundry, but I just don't want to. As for the Karma, maybe I'm getting cut a break considering the tough time that we had with Son. Whatever the hook, I'm grateful for what I've got. Oh, and the other upside? I actually slept through myself adn didn't wake up all night either. Hooray!
I'm finding that this time around during my maternity leave I'm finding my self a bit bored-just the same routine day after day. I hate laundry, but there never seems to be an end. I worry a bit about how I'm going to be able to keep up with all of this when I go back (can you tell that I'm beginning to think about the return to real life a bit much?).
In order to try to combat this a bit, I've set a goal for my weight before I go back. If I hit it, I've set a budget for some serious clothes and shoe shopping. Maybe I've been watching a too much of "what not to wear", but I've also been digging through what I have, and I really haven't done much in the past couple of years. Not too surprising, since I've been pregnant, or recovering from being pregnant, with a different shape for the past almost three years. No more plastic shoes, and maybe find some stuff that fits. If I can hit my goal, I should be almost a size smaller (I'm right between sizes right now) and I'll be close to being able to actually wear some of the petite things, which I need on the top. My sleeves are always too long, and I look dorky as a result. It's not a huge goal, but it's something to keep my head occupied.
Enough stalling-time to go a sort some laundry and treat some lovely baby stains. Oh the joy...
I'm finding that this time around during my maternity leave I'm finding my self a bit bored-just the same routine day after day. I hate laundry, but there never seems to be an end. I worry a bit about how I'm going to be able to keep up with all of this when I go back (can you tell that I'm beginning to think about the return to real life a bit much?).
In order to try to combat this a bit, I've set a goal for my weight before I go back. If I hit it, I've set a budget for some serious clothes and shoe shopping. Maybe I've been watching a too much of "what not to wear", but I've also been digging through what I have, and I really haven't done much in the past couple of years. Not too surprising, since I've been pregnant, or recovering from being pregnant, with a different shape for the past almost three years. No more plastic shoes, and maybe find some stuff that fits. If I can hit my goal, I should be almost a size smaller (I'm right between sizes right now) and I'll be close to being able to actually wear some of the petite things, which I need on the top. My sleeves are always too long, and I look dorky as a result. It's not a huge goal, but it's something to keep my head occupied.
Enough stalling-time to go a sort some laundry and treat some lovely baby stains. Oh the joy...
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Could it be? (Part II)
Well, that night that I wrote my last post, she made it until almost 4:30..that's over six hours people!! Now, I've been so trained to be up anytime between 2:00 and 3:30 that I ended up waking up more than she did-but that too will pass (I hope, please dear God.)
While I know that she will still have ups and downs, last night was a complete shock for me. Down at 10:00 without nearly as much fussing, and she made it until...drumroll...6:00 am. And went back down at 7:00 for another couple of hours.
The down side to all of this nighttime bliss? Incredible screaming fits and general grumpiness starting at around 6:00, with a lot of feeding. She had me so drained last night after nursing four times in four hours that I had to resort to a couple of ounces of pumped breast milk that I had stashed in the refrigerator for just this purpose. Seemed to do the trick though.
I know that this may not be an ongoing trend, but she is doing so much better than Son was at this age. At this point with him, we were struggling to get him to sleep in his crib for more than an hour at a time (yes, at night), and not the big swing in his room. That one was a lot of fun. BabyA will tolerate the swing for only so long-usually around 15 minutes, max- and then pitches a fit until you retrieve her. She's fallen asleep in the big swing once, the portable one twice, and neither time for very long. Needless to say, not the surefire bet that it was for Son. But then again, nothing is really surefire with her, which has been really frustrating. She's proven to be really hard to figure out that way. Anyway, Husband has an employee who is due in April, and if she is still there by the time she has the baby, we may just donate both of the swings to her since I doubt if we will have any use for them by then. BabyA seems to like her crib in her room (thank God for black out curtain lining) or her bassinet in the pack-n-play in our bedroom (more blackout shades-it's like a cave during the day). I'm already worrying about how her going into daycare may screw up this good thing that we've got going, but if I can get her into good habits now, hopefully it won't be too much of an adjustment.
Well, for the time being, both of my children are taking naps (cue the happy dance...quietly!) and I'm going to try to enjoy a little down time before Husband gets home from working what we hope is his last weekend for a while. Next weekend we are trekking up to my parents so Husband can go deer hunting with my dad, so we'll see how the first time of traveling with two under the age of three will go. The past couple of months of weekends has been tough on all of us. Husband's sleep schedule is all screwed up, equally a cranky creature, Son has more meltdowns because he misses daddy, and I get the two of them on my own all day. I don't get that hour or so to sneak off to Target by myself, or to go outside and finish up the last of my garden work before it snows, since they have been rather adept at alternating who is up. Nice in that I usually can manage to only have to deal with one at a time, and I get some good time in with Son, but not so great in that I can't get anything really done or just get some down time to do something fun for me. I feel guilty about doing that, since there always seems to be something else that should be done-laundry, dishes, cleaning up after Son, trying to get things organized, etc. It just can be wearing, and on top of being short on the sleep side since I was about 28 weeks pregnant, it's been a while since I've been able to just recharge. It may just be a part of my reality now, but I'd like to be able to at least try.
Sorry so scattered-just a lot of things moving through my head. Husband just called and is on his way home, so looks like I won't get my magazine time after all. Oh well. Oh, and the dual naps? Yep, that's history too. See, I knew it would come back to bite me!
While I know that she will still have ups and downs, last night was a complete shock for me. Down at 10:00 without nearly as much fussing, and she made it until...drumroll...6:00 am. And went back down at 7:00 for another couple of hours.
The down side to all of this nighttime bliss? Incredible screaming fits and general grumpiness starting at around 6:00, with a lot of feeding. She had me so drained last night after nursing four times in four hours that I had to resort to a couple of ounces of pumped breast milk that I had stashed in the refrigerator for just this purpose. Seemed to do the trick though.
I know that this may not be an ongoing trend, but she is doing so much better than Son was at this age. At this point with him, we were struggling to get him to sleep in his crib for more than an hour at a time (yes, at night), and not the big swing in his room. That one was a lot of fun. BabyA will tolerate the swing for only so long-usually around 15 minutes, max- and then pitches a fit until you retrieve her. She's fallen asleep in the big swing once, the portable one twice, and neither time for very long. Needless to say, not the surefire bet that it was for Son. But then again, nothing is really surefire with her, which has been really frustrating. She's proven to be really hard to figure out that way. Anyway, Husband has an employee who is due in April, and if she is still there by the time she has the baby, we may just donate both of the swings to her since I doubt if we will have any use for them by then. BabyA seems to like her crib in her room (thank God for black out curtain lining) or her bassinet in the pack-n-play in our bedroom (more blackout shades-it's like a cave during the day). I'm already worrying about how her going into daycare may screw up this good thing that we've got going, but if I can get her into good habits now, hopefully it won't be too much of an adjustment.
Well, for the time being, both of my children are taking naps (cue the happy dance...quietly!) and I'm going to try to enjoy a little down time before Husband gets home from working what we hope is his last weekend for a while. Next weekend we are trekking up to my parents so Husband can go deer hunting with my dad, so we'll see how the first time of traveling with two under the age of three will go. The past couple of months of weekends has been tough on all of us. Husband's sleep schedule is all screwed up, equally a cranky creature, Son has more meltdowns because he misses daddy, and I get the two of them on my own all day. I don't get that hour or so to sneak off to Target by myself, or to go outside and finish up the last of my garden work before it snows, since they have been rather adept at alternating who is up. Nice in that I usually can manage to only have to deal with one at a time, and I get some good time in with Son, but not so great in that I can't get anything really done or just get some down time to do something fun for me. I feel guilty about doing that, since there always seems to be something else that should be done-laundry, dishes, cleaning up after Son, trying to get things organized, etc. It just can be wearing, and on top of being short on the sleep side since I was about 28 weeks pregnant, it's been a while since I've been able to just recharge. It may just be a part of my reality now, but I'd like to be able to at least try.
Sorry so scattered-just a lot of things moving through my head. Husband just called and is on his way home, so looks like I won't get my magazine time after all. Oh well. Oh, and the dual naps? Yep, that's history too. See, I knew it would come back to bite me!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Could it be?
Just to document-ignore unless you were unfortunate enough to have to read about my tormented nights with Son when he was this age.
BabyA turned six weeks today. She was beat around 10:00, after a bath and much squawking, and a good feed. I stood and rocked her for a good 15 minutes, and while she was falling asleep, it wasn't very settled. I put her down, and let her fuss and talk to herself. She never escalated to full-blown crying, which would have prompted me to start the whole soothing thing over again (Yes, I am a Dr. Weisbluth disciple-but not a CIO fan). She talked and fussed for about 10 minutes, and has uttered nary a peep for the past 20, so I think that I can safely go up to bed.
Makes me want to kick myself for not doing this with Son this early. I probably could have saved myself a lot of lost sleep. I know that I'm not out of the woods yet, but boy, what a difference one child and two years makes.
BabyA turned six weeks today. She was beat around 10:00, after a bath and much squawking, and a good feed. I stood and rocked her for a good 15 minutes, and while she was falling asleep, it wasn't very settled. I put her down, and let her fuss and talk to herself. She never escalated to full-blown crying, which would have prompted me to start the whole soothing thing over again (Yes, I am a Dr. Weisbluth disciple-but not a CIO fan). She talked and fussed for about 10 minutes, and has uttered nary a peep for the past 20, so I think that I can safely go up to bed.
Makes me want to kick myself for not doing this with Son this early. I probably could have saved myself a lot of lost sleep. I know that I'm not out of the woods yet, but boy, what a difference one child and two years makes.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Coming up for air
So sorry to leave things hanging-the last post was from the hospital, and things got a bit interesting from there.
BabyA did end up flirting with full-blown jaundice. Her bilirubin levels were up in the 90th percentile, so we ended up having to run to the hospital for three days after we were discharged for blood work. She was so sleepy that she wasn't feeding well, so the formula routine was pushed on us pretty hard. Part of it was justified-she would get so tired from trying to nurse that she couldn't do it for very long, which in turn slowed down my milk coming in and getting my supply established, and so on. She really didn't seem to like the formula too much-she ended up spitting more of it up than actually keeping it down. I decided that I would just have to set an alarm and make sure that she was eating every three hours, at a minimum.
The first week was tough-she was hungry at night, but wouldn't/couldn't nurse, would sleep for an hour, max, and then be up again. Not a whole lot of fun. Her bilirubin levels finally leveled out, so no more trips to the hospital lab, which was a relief. At her two week check, she was down from her birthweight of 8lb 12 oz to 8lb 4oz, which was pretty crushing to me-I had been doing everything that I could to get food into her, and it just didn't seem to be working. Again, the pediatrician pushed formula (grrrr) but also asked a good question about how I was doing nutritionally and with fluids.
That caused me to have one of those moments where "doh!" is the only sufficient way to describe it. I hadn't been eating much-I simply wasn't that hungry, and was having a GD hangover of sorts-luxuriating in not having to worry about when and what I was eating. Fluids were another issue as well. I'm not a big drinker as it is, and at the time everything down there still hurt, so I think that I was subconsciously trying to limit what I had to do. Anyway, I addressed both of those issues post haste. Seriously, within 36 hours after I started pushing water, I could feel my supply increasing, and it didn't hurt that BabyA was finally waking up and taking an interest in food. She started sleeping a little better (still not stellar, but better than the 30-90 minute increments that we had been getting). A week later we went back for a weight check (no actual appointment unless things weren't going well), and she was back up to over her birth weight by two ounces. Hooray! She's still not the Hoover of a nurser that Son was, but she is still filling out and looks much more like an infant now than the pinched, old lady looking newborn that she was for the first couple of weeks. I got a bit of reinforcement of my perception when my parents, who hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, noticed right away how much better she looked.
Overall, recovery has been a lot easier this time around than with Son. Part of it was that this delivery was a lot easier. No baby that didn't turn the way that he was supposed to, no vacuum, no monster episiotomy. I still had a cut, but it was much smaller-well, at least that is what Husband told me, and my bladder wasn't half as beat up as last time. I'll detail more later when I actually write a proper birth story, but put it this way-after having the wonderful, competent nurse that we had this time, I realize how poor my care was with Son. I had a catheter as soon as I got my epidural, and gee, no huge, full bladder to get in the way of actually delivering the child. With Son, the freaked out nurse didn't do that (although BabyA's nurse acted like that was the standard of care) and part of Son's problem was that his enormous noggin was getting stuck with my over-full bladder. But I digress.
I was back into my pre-pregnancy clothes at around two and a half weeks. I still am dealing with the saggy middle, but I honestly think that it will resolve itself with a sane regimen of crunches. Since I didn't gain any weight, I'm still below where I was before I got pregnant. At three weeks, I was a little over 20 lbs lighter than before I got pregnant. I just need to get back into the swing of eating like I did while I was pregnant-it really made a difference. I don't want to go back to where I was. I'm almost at the point of getting rid of all of my clothes that would allow me some comfort if I backslide. I don't know if I'm that brave yet, but I need to keep it in mind. My closet can't handle to sets of sizes anyway, so I can give myself a kick in the butt for the sake of space in my dinky closet.
I could just keep on adding things as I have been for the past couple of days, but I should cut it off here. One up side is that we had a stretch last night from 10:15 to 4:30...for the second night in a row. No happy dance yet...don't want to jinx it...please.....
BabyA did end up flirting with full-blown jaundice. Her bilirubin levels were up in the 90th percentile, so we ended up having to run to the hospital for three days after we were discharged for blood work. She was so sleepy that she wasn't feeding well, so the formula routine was pushed on us pretty hard. Part of it was justified-she would get so tired from trying to nurse that she couldn't do it for very long, which in turn slowed down my milk coming in and getting my supply established, and so on. She really didn't seem to like the formula too much-she ended up spitting more of it up than actually keeping it down. I decided that I would just have to set an alarm and make sure that she was eating every three hours, at a minimum.
The first week was tough-she was hungry at night, but wouldn't/couldn't nurse, would sleep for an hour, max, and then be up again. Not a whole lot of fun. Her bilirubin levels finally leveled out, so no more trips to the hospital lab, which was a relief. At her two week check, she was down from her birthweight of 8lb 12 oz to 8lb 4oz, which was pretty crushing to me-I had been doing everything that I could to get food into her, and it just didn't seem to be working. Again, the pediatrician pushed formula (grrrr) but also asked a good question about how I was doing nutritionally and with fluids.
That caused me to have one of those moments where "doh!" is the only sufficient way to describe it. I hadn't been eating much-I simply wasn't that hungry, and was having a GD hangover of sorts-luxuriating in not having to worry about when and what I was eating. Fluids were another issue as well. I'm not a big drinker as it is, and at the time everything down there still hurt, so I think that I was subconsciously trying to limit what I had to do. Anyway, I addressed both of those issues post haste. Seriously, within 36 hours after I started pushing water, I could feel my supply increasing, and it didn't hurt that BabyA was finally waking up and taking an interest in food. She started sleeping a little better (still not stellar, but better than the 30-90 minute increments that we had been getting). A week later we went back for a weight check (no actual appointment unless things weren't going well), and she was back up to over her birth weight by two ounces. Hooray! She's still not the Hoover of a nurser that Son was, but she is still filling out and looks much more like an infant now than the pinched, old lady looking newborn that she was for the first couple of weeks. I got a bit of reinforcement of my perception when my parents, who hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, noticed right away how much better she looked.
Overall, recovery has been a lot easier this time around than with Son. Part of it was that this delivery was a lot easier. No baby that didn't turn the way that he was supposed to, no vacuum, no monster episiotomy. I still had a cut, but it was much smaller-well, at least that is what Husband told me, and my bladder wasn't half as beat up as last time. I'll detail more later when I actually write a proper birth story, but put it this way-after having the wonderful, competent nurse that we had this time, I realize how poor my care was with Son. I had a catheter as soon as I got my epidural, and gee, no huge, full bladder to get in the way of actually delivering the child. With Son, the freaked out nurse didn't do that (although BabyA's nurse acted like that was the standard of care) and part of Son's problem was that his enormous noggin was getting stuck with my over-full bladder. But I digress.
I was back into my pre-pregnancy clothes at around two and a half weeks. I still am dealing with the saggy middle, but I honestly think that it will resolve itself with a sane regimen of crunches. Since I didn't gain any weight, I'm still below where I was before I got pregnant. At three weeks, I was a little over 20 lbs lighter than before I got pregnant. I just need to get back into the swing of eating like I did while I was pregnant-it really made a difference. I don't want to go back to where I was. I'm almost at the point of getting rid of all of my clothes that would allow me some comfort if I backslide. I don't know if I'm that brave yet, but I need to keep it in mind. My closet can't handle to sets of sizes anyway, so I can give myself a kick in the butt for the sake of space in my dinky closet.
I could just keep on adding things as I have been for the past couple of days, but I should cut it off here. One up side is that we had a stretch last night from 10:15 to 4:30...for the second night in a row. No happy dance yet...don't want to jinx it...please.....
Thursday, September 13, 2007
She's here
BabyA made her arrival on Wednesday, Sept. 12 at 1:34 after an interesting induction. No progress for almost 5 hours, epidural that sort of worked, was perfect after anesthesiologist #2, and then went from 3 cm to complete in a little over an hour.
On the size front, the timing was probably a good thing. At 39w3d, she was 8 lbs, 12 oz and 21 inches on the nose.
Breastfeeding is going OK. We were able to start earlier than with Son, so no issues on the sugars front (yea!) but we're a little high on the bilirubin levels so we'll have to see how that goes. Barring any issues arising on that front, we should be headed home tomorrow. Son thought that she was OK-he's having fun at SIL's, so he really isn't that concerned. Yet. Friday afternoon may be interesting.
Gotta go and try to get at least a little sleep. I'm going to have to wake her up in an hour to try to feed her to head off the jaundice issues. I didn't sleep very well last night, so I need to try to cover myself. OK...maybe I won't get my hour....
On the size front, the timing was probably a good thing. At 39w3d, she was 8 lbs, 12 oz and 21 inches on the nose.
Breastfeeding is going OK. We were able to start earlier than with Son, so no issues on the sugars front (yea!) but we're a little high on the bilirubin levels so we'll have to see how that goes. Barring any issues arising on that front, we should be headed home tomorrow. Son thought that she was OK-he's having fun at SIL's, so he really isn't that concerned. Yet. Friday afternoon may be interesting.
Gotta go and try to get at least a little sleep. I'm going to have to wake her up in an hour to try to feed her to head off the jaundice issues. I didn't sleep very well last night, so I need to try to cover myself. OK...maybe I won't get my hour....
Friday, August 31, 2007
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...
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...
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
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....
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....
Monday, August 20, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, August 17, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
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?
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?
Monday, July 30, 2007
Not enough hours
Let's do the Cliff Notes version:
- tired, crabby, and not sleeping very well. It hurts to roll over (I've now reached harpoonable proportions, and my lower abdomen hurts like hell)
- I'm a full time waddler now-my trick of imagining that I'm not carrying around a watermelon on my front isn't working any more. I give in. Oh, and the cute lowish black slingbacks are now out of commission. Even my sandals with the stretchy elastic are getting too small-the summer swell is on!
- our flooring was put in today-it looks great! The crib is in and both the crib and changing table will be delivered a week from tomorrow.
- Husband is having a surprise inspection tomorrow, and for the first time with this brand, he was caught flat-footed. Insert grumpy, crabby, wired husband into the mix. Good times. There's nothing he can do to get ahead of it, so he just has to ride it out tomorrow. The sad thing is, he's more worried about his manager that decided to participate than the inspection itself. The inspector doesn't like him, and it only hurt Husband's score last time. Ugh.
I had mentioned that our friend's marriage was on its way to a massive implosion, and it happened over the weekend. They have said and done things that you just can't take back-things that should never be said unless you understand the gravity of them. No infidelity, nothing like that. Just two people who are similar in all of the wrong ways. The wife is already starting to try to manipulate their 2 1/2 year old-which just isn't right. It's really been bothering me-thinking about what the little girl caught in the cross fire will have to deal with. How Husband's friend will lose that day to day interaction with his daughter. All I could do was hug Son and try not to cry. I'm not that emotionally resilient these days (I've got a whole other post on that), and anything affecting a child really bothers me.
We had another biophysical profile (BPP) on Friday and all was well. BabyA was yawning, stretching, swallowing, and practicing breathing like a pro. The 4D pics were amazing. She looks a lot like Son, but there were still some significant differences. Just made me want to hold her all the more.
Next up: NST and OB appointment tomorrow. I've got to get my numbers into my endo tomorrow too-I'm spiking again in the AM, so it looks like the insulin is going to go up again. God, I miss real lemonade.....
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The things that excite me
OK, so I have fully admitted in the past that I'm a full-blown dork. I know it. End of disclaimer.
Since I've been trying to busy my mind with things NOT related to labor, or otherwise known as holy-shit-am-I-going-to-have-to-do-this-again-and-what-if-I'm-still-lousy-at-it freak out, I've dived into getting BabyA's room finished and trying to wrap things up at work. So, see, at least I'm trying to be productive. I think I just have a really strange way of expressing nesting urges.
Anyway. My mom was kind enough to purchase all of the window treatments for BabyA's room. Since we have an older 1960's house, none of the window sizes are even remotely "standard," so instead of getting the gingham blinds that I had been jonesing for, we had to make adjustments. Adjustments that were way more expensive than I had planned. She still handed over her credit card willingly, even AFTER seeing the total. Oh, and I have to find someone to sew since (1) I couldn't get black out panels and drape all in one package, so I had to order them separately and (2) the drape and the panels are different sizes. For someone who barely passed home ec in high school, this is waaaaay too much.
I just checked the website and looked up the tracking number, and the nice UPS lady dropped the rest of the order off today. Hooray! Next up: flooring goes in on Monday!
Since I've been trying to busy my mind with things NOT related to labor, or otherwise known as holy-shit-am-I-going-to-have-to-do-this-again-and-what-if-I'm-still-lousy-at-it freak out, I've dived into getting BabyA's room finished and trying to wrap things up at work. So, see, at least I'm trying to be productive. I think I just have a really strange way of expressing nesting urges.
Anyway. My mom was kind enough to purchase all of the window treatments for BabyA's room. Since we have an older 1960's house, none of the window sizes are even remotely "standard," so instead of getting the gingham blinds that I had been jonesing for, we had to make adjustments. Adjustments that were way more expensive than I had planned. She still handed over her credit card willingly, even AFTER seeing the total. Oh, and I have to find someone to sew since (1) I couldn't get black out panels and drape all in one package, so I had to order them separately and (2) the drape and the panels are different sizes. For someone who barely passed home ec in high school, this is waaaaay too much.
I just checked the website and looked up the tracking number, and the nice UPS lady dropped the rest of the order off today. Hooray! Next up: flooring goes in on Monday!
Monday, July 23, 2007
My, My
Yet another week of running ragged...I just wish that the weekends were available to re-charge. That hasn't happened much lately and with now being what I consider the home stretch (32 weeks! Holy sh*t!), its getting harder and harder to get above the empty line. I'll keep trying though.
While I wish that I could take the time to write a real entry (or four) about some of the things that I have been mulling over lately, here are the highlights of accomplishments to mark last week:
*BabyA's room is now completely painted, the windows and trim finally stained, and Husband will have the wide shelf trim (to cover the ledge due to our house being a split level) ready to go tonight. We decided on and ordered flooring on Saturday, for way more than I had planned on, but it was the right choice, so I'm OK with it. They should have it installed in three weeks.
*With the best of intentions, Husband and I hitched up the trailer to the Jeep, and hauled it to my OB appointment with the plan of going up to large baby retailer to buy the crib and changing table afterwards. From previous experience, we knew that we would need the trailer or have to deal with pulling out the car seat, etc. We were prepared, darn it! OB appointment ran long (as usual, when will I learn?), and once we got there, we looked at what we had picked, and decided that we didn't like it. We picked out a different set that we actually liked better, but wasn't in stock. It will be in either late this week or the next. The one big bonus-it was almost $200 less for the set. Hooray!
*According to our ultrasound on Friday, BabyA is still a girl (whew, now I can start ripping off tags), and is 4lbs, 7 oz. The ultrasound tech said that the weight may have been a bit high, since BabyA's legs are in the 80th percentile, but the rest is in the 60th. It feels strange to have what I equate with a small baby in there, especially since I feel like I'm reaching maximum capacity. It may just be that since we've been monitoring things so strictly with the GD so early, she's just the size she is supposed to be. But then again, I start to worry that maybe I haven't been eating enough, and that is why she is so small in comparison with Son. But then, the OB that saw this time, Dr. SkinnyGirl, was really happy that I hadn't gained any weight, and saw that as an example that we are managing things well. I guess that everyone has an opinion....I still feel a bit gypped by the whole thing, since I've been having more and more cravings lately, and I can't indulge in any of them. I'm mainly motivated by the fact that if I give in, I'll feel horrible when my numbers spike, but there are times when a big piece of chocolate cake just can't be replaced by a South Beach snack bar!
*Faxed in my weekly numbers to the endocrinologist, and no increase in meds this week! Hoooray! My A1c number came back a little higher than last time, but still in the normal range, so all is well there. OK, so it has all been worth it, but I still can't get some of those cravings out of my head...
*My coverage schedule for my leave at work is taken care of, and the big bulk of my daily tasks assigned. Now my job is to get it all under control before I leave so (1) I don't have a guilt and (2) no one will be able to see what an idiot I am. Do you have any idea how tough it is to try to do that when you're not even going to be here? It's exhausting.
Well, off to work to try to get some more done. My afternoon is shot for tomorrow, so off we go!
While I wish that I could take the time to write a real entry (or four) about some of the things that I have been mulling over lately, here are the highlights of accomplishments to mark last week:
*BabyA's room is now completely painted, the windows and trim finally stained, and Husband will have the wide shelf trim (to cover the ledge due to our house being a split level) ready to go tonight. We decided on and ordered flooring on Saturday, for way more than I had planned on, but it was the right choice, so I'm OK with it. They should have it installed in three weeks.
*With the best of intentions, Husband and I hitched up the trailer to the Jeep, and hauled it to my OB appointment with the plan of going up to large baby retailer to buy the crib and changing table afterwards. From previous experience, we knew that we would need the trailer or have to deal with pulling out the car seat, etc. We were prepared, darn it! OB appointment ran long (as usual, when will I learn?), and once we got there, we looked at what we had picked, and decided that we didn't like it. We picked out a different set that we actually liked better, but wasn't in stock. It will be in either late this week or the next. The one big bonus-it was almost $200 less for the set. Hooray!
*According to our ultrasound on Friday, BabyA is still a girl (whew, now I can start ripping off tags), and is 4lbs, 7 oz. The ultrasound tech said that the weight may have been a bit high, since BabyA's legs are in the 80th percentile, but the rest is in the 60th. It feels strange to have what I equate with a small baby in there, especially since I feel like I'm reaching maximum capacity. It may just be that since we've been monitoring things so strictly with the GD so early, she's just the size she is supposed to be. But then again, I start to worry that maybe I haven't been eating enough, and that is why she is so small in comparison with Son. But then, the OB that saw this time, Dr. SkinnyGirl, was really happy that I hadn't gained any weight, and saw that as an example that we are managing things well. I guess that everyone has an opinion....I still feel a bit gypped by the whole thing, since I've been having more and more cravings lately, and I can't indulge in any of them. I'm mainly motivated by the fact that if I give in, I'll feel horrible when my numbers spike, but there are times when a big piece of chocolate cake just can't be replaced by a South Beach snack bar!
*Faxed in my weekly numbers to the endocrinologist, and no increase in meds this week! Hoooray! My A1c number came back a little higher than last time, but still in the normal range, so all is well there. OK, so it has all been worth it, but I still can't get some of those cravings out of my head...
*My coverage schedule for my leave at work is taken care of, and the big bulk of my daily tasks assigned. Now my job is to get it all under control before I leave so (1) I don't have a guilt and (2) no one will be able to see what an idiot I am. Do you have any idea how tough it is to try to do that when you're not even going to be here? It's exhausting.
Well, off to work to try to get some more done. My afternoon is shot for tomorrow, so off we go!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
I should be working...really, I should. However, in my defense, I was pretty darn productive this morning, so there. AND I was being such a good client counselor that I missed lunch until almost 3:30. An almost eight month pregnant diabetic who missed lunch until it was almost time for dinner. I gotta see about some sort of maternal medal...wait, make that employee. The maternal side was reminded by BabyA that I really needed to get my act together and eat something since I had keytones this morning....
Things are cruising along at the Chronicle house. My parents came down last weekend and put in a serious amount of work to help us get the office cleaned out and ready. It went from half empty with the computer still set up to empty, carpet ripped up and in a dumpster (one must love neighbors that are in construction!), paint and primer purchased, and walls primed. They are coming back down again this weekend to paint. They know that Husband is NOT a detail type. Put it this way-cutting in and making things crisp? Nah, don't need to do it. His last paint job was over unsanded joint compound. It looks horrible. Thankfully, it's just his bathroom and no one other than the occasional cat who sneaks in for a nap in his underwear basket sees it.
My mom has also volunteered to pay for the window coverings, which does help. I've bought pretty much everything from P*ttery Barn Kids, and there are matching black out roman shades that I am absolutely coveting. While I now have sheets and waterproof mattress pads for the crib, still haven't gotten around to buying said crib or a mattress. We were given Son's mattress, so I didn't have to buy that last time either.. I didn't want to add even more stuff to an already cluttered house, so I haven't gone up and bought the thing yet. We can live without the changing table/dresser for a while if needed, but I have to get moving on a place for her to sleep. We'll never be a co-sleeping family, and while Son fought the crib for a while, it's now his refuge.
Over the past week we've made some major progress on getting everything that we took out of the office and deposited in our downstairs family room sorted out and put away (basically being motivated by the fear of disapproval from my parents), so there may actually be room to start putting everything together. I'm going to turn our closet under the stairs into our office storage-paper, filing cabinets, etc., so a lot of what is out right now will go there, but that entails yet another round of cleaning and sorting. It will get better after we move the loveseat into BabyA's room (so I'll have somewhere to nurse-and so unlike the furniture that we have upstairs, it actually fits me). However, we need to pick out, order, and have the flooring installed first. Which we haven't done yet. And Husband has had to work a couple of long nights this week, on top of the whole taking care of the dog thing, so we really haven't had a chance to get to where we need to go. If there is a patron saint for putting off labor, please say a prayer for me to him/her. I think I'm going to need it.
In other news, I get my first ultrasound since 20 weeks tomorrow, and I'm just a little bit excited. The last time that we saw her, she was just plain difficult and in a lousy position. I want to get the sex verified-we didn't get the money shot last time, and I'm now at the point of having so many receipts due to refusing to remove tags off of clothing, etc. that my wallet may explode. She also was still at that point where her proportions were still off and looked a bit on this side of alienesque. Who knows, maybe I'm out of that denial that we're actually going to be bringing home a baby soon. Took me long enough.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
My poor baby, Pt. II
The vet tech who assisted with Yellow Dog called this afternoon, and the news was mixed. They do a tooth extraction, since the crack reached all the way to the pulp, and developing an abscess was a good possibility. It was just an incisor, not a molar, but she's still going to be on soft food for a couple of weeks, and we have to go back to get it checked to make sure that it is healing OK.
No bone growth actually, but an excess amount of gum tissue. Once they got rid of that (by laser, and boy, does that make the healing faster!), she had a lot of tartar and gunk that we hadn't been able to see. She's always had such good teeth that we've been told not to worry about cleaning them, since she was doing just fine on her own. The vet, Dr. GreatHair, said that it all looked pretty good, but that we'll have to keep an eye on her for anything else popping up.
I guess that she was still pretty dopey yet a couple of hours after the surgery, so I asked that when I pick her up that someone be there to lift her into the Jeep, since I can't do it right now, and Husband won't be there to help. I hate to see her like that, but if it helps keep her under control to let her heal for the next couple of days, we can deal with it. We pretty much need to treat her like a human that has been given the good drugs; no wandering unsupervised, and no major obstacles. My poor girl.
Yes, I'm a big softie-she'll get the good canned stuff tonight and a new bed...its the least that we can do for her.
No bone growth actually, but an excess amount of gum tissue. Once they got rid of that (by laser, and boy, does that make the healing faster!), she had a lot of tartar and gunk that we hadn't been able to see. She's always had such good teeth that we've been told not to worry about cleaning them, since she was doing just fine on her own. The vet, Dr. GreatHair, said that it all looked pretty good, but that we'll have to keep an eye on her for anything else popping up.
I guess that she was still pretty dopey yet a couple of hours after the surgery, so I asked that when I pick her up that someone be there to lift her into the Jeep, since I can't do it right now, and Husband won't be there to help. I hate to see her like that, but if it helps keep her under control to let her heal for the next couple of days, we can deal with it. We pretty much need to treat her like a human that has been given the good drugs; no wandering unsupervised, and no major obstacles. My poor girl.
Yes, I'm a big softie-she'll get the good canned stuff tonight and a new bed...its the least that we can do for her.
My poor baby
Yellow dog had mouth surgery today. Our resident spaz has been bleeding here and there when we would give her rawhide or a bone. At her yearly checkup a couple of months ago, the vet noticed that she had a bony growth going on in front of one of her back molars (of course on the side where she prefers to gnaw) and suggested that we get rid of it to head off any problems. What he told us was that anything malignant in the mouth tends to never have a good end result. She's a pain sometimes, but she's still OUR pain, so I finally got her in today. To the tune of $400-$500. Our purebred has been the most expensive animal that we own.
The vet called, and while doing the dental, also found that she has a cracked tooth, so we opted to have that removed. Poor monster probably has had pain for a while, but, as usual, didn't show it. I don't feed her in the morning, but I did a couple of days ago and I didn't notice anything different-just her being her lab self and inhaling her bowl. Normal. Who knows how she managed it-either going at a bone or when she and Black Dog were playing. They cracked heads a couple of months ago (both chasing tennis ball, not watching, bam. Two 70lb dogs at full tilt. It hurt to watch it) so that may have done it.
I just hate it when any animal of mine has to go under anethesia-hate it. They do all of the screening bloodwork to make sure that there aren't any issues, but she isn't getting any younger. She'll be seven this fall. I just want her home and doped up so nothing hurts. I have a feeling that someone may end up with us tonight instead of down in the kennel. She's a lousy pill taker, but if there is some soft food involved, it may not be too tough*.
*I've honestly seen this dog be given a pill (or two) like her doggy benedryl, spit it out, and move her paw to cover it up, all the while getting the praise and treat for taking said pill(s). Rotten creature, but she's still our girl.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Pregnancy Stuff
Well, I appear to have finally reached the point (31 weeks!!) where I will be spending more time with my OB and associated obstetrics people than I will at work. In some circles, this wouldn't be considered a bad thing-but for someone with a small mountain of paper to climb before she signs off, not so great.
I saw my endocrinologist today, and all is well. She's pretty happy with where everything seems to have settled out, and I haven't had to increase my insulin for a couple of weeks. However, the mornings have begun to creep up again (as they should, my placenta-fueled insulin resistance increases until around 36 weeks) so I'm up to 15 units at night. No big deal. She was more worried about my keytones, since while I can put together strings of five or so days of nothing, I tend to drop meals here and there, thus resulting in non-negative results. That, in turn, tends to tweak my mornings upwards. It's all such a delicate balancing act sometimes. I vowed to behave and enforce my need to eat.
It still feels strange to have to tell Husband, or whoever else that I'm with (since if I'm left to my own devices, I do just fine) that I have to eat. I've been big all of my life, and have developed an incredibly strong aversion to ever mentioning anything about me and food. Basically, I have always had it in my head that people judge me and wonder why I would need to eat, "I mean, look at her!" Even when pregnant, this phobia/anxiety can prevail. I need to get over it, I know, but its easier to tell someone to slay the dragon, as opposed to actually having to do it. My only saving grace is that we don't have much on our agenda as far as traveling or major plans to muck up the works. Just a baptism and a birthday for my respective nieces, and then we're done. Feeling like I do anyway, I don't know if I could handle much more anyway.
I also had my regular OB appointment last Monday, and, as usual, it was pretty uneventful. Everything was where it was supposed to be, I was told after a review of my sugars that I really needed to relax a bit more (which felt about as helpful as being told while going through infertility to "just relax"), and that we would be starting monitoring for the next ten weeks. Ugh.
So, when we left, the understanding was that the protocol for monitoring had changed; ultrasound first, and if things were iffy or undetermined by ultrasound, then the NST (monitors for contractions and fetal heart rate). I was happy about this little change since my pregnancy with Son; no more two plus hour appointments, where I would usually spend somewhere in the neighborhood of half and hour just waiting for the monitoring equipment. However, between then and when I called the scheduler back to finish scheduling the rest of the appointments, Dr. Wonderful changed his mind. Instead of one long appointment, I get to have two a week! The joy of it all. While the ultrasounds are nice, and I haven't seen BabyA in almost two and a half months, I'm not overjoyed about the whole twice a week thing. The scheduler wasn't sure why he made the change, so she was going to look into it and we would clarify when I go in this Friday.
At this point, all I can say is that I'm happy that we have decent insurance.
I saw my endocrinologist today, and all is well. She's pretty happy with where everything seems to have settled out, and I haven't had to increase my insulin for a couple of weeks. However, the mornings have begun to creep up again (as they should, my placenta-fueled insulin resistance increases until around 36 weeks) so I'm up to 15 units at night. No big deal. She was more worried about my keytones, since while I can put together strings of five or so days of nothing, I tend to drop meals here and there, thus resulting in non-negative results. That, in turn, tends to tweak my mornings upwards. It's all such a delicate balancing act sometimes. I vowed to behave and enforce my need to eat.
It still feels strange to have to tell Husband, or whoever else that I'm with (since if I'm left to my own devices, I do just fine) that I have to eat. I've been big all of my life, and have developed an incredibly strong aversion to ever mentioning anything about me and food. Basically, I have always had it in my head that people judge me and wonder why I would need to eat, "I mean, look at her!" Even when pregnant, this phobia/anxiety can prevail. I need to get over it, I know, but its easier to tell someone to slay the dragon, as opposed to actually having to do it. My only saving grace is that we don't have much on our agenda as far as traveling or major plans to muck up the works. Just a baptism and a birthday for my respective nieces, and then we're done. Feeling like I do anyway, I don't know if I could handle much more anyway.
I also had my regular OB appointment last Monday, and, as usual, it was pretty uneventful. Everything was where it was supposed to be, I was told after a review of my sugars that I really needed to relax a bit more (which felt about as helpful as being told while going through infertility to "just relax"), and that we would be starting monitoring for the next ten weeks. Ugh.
So, when we left, the understanding was that the protocol for monitoring had changed; ultrasound first, and if things were iffy or undetermined by ultrasound, then the NST (monitors for contractions and fetal heart rate). I was happy about this little change since my pregnancy with Son; no more two plus hour appointments, where I would usually spend somewhere in the neighborhood of half and hour just waiting for the monitoring equipment. However, between then and when I called the scheduler back to finish scheduling the rest of the appointments, Dr. Wonderful changed his mind. Instead of one long appointment, I get to have two a week! The joy of it all. While the ultrasounds are nice, and I haven't seen BabyA in almost two and a half months, I'm not overjoyed about the whole twice a week thing. The scheduler wasn't sure why he made the change, so she was going to look into it and we would clarify when I go in this Friday.
At this point, all I can say is that I'm happy that we have decent insurance.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Interesting things while driving
For some reason, I've been keeping mental tabs on the weird things that I have seen out and about on the roads over the past couple of months. I have no idea why I've been cataloging them-just random things that seem to be sticking.
- the local police office who rolled through the stop sign while driving one-handed on his cell phone
- the late 70s/early 80s Winnebago towing a Prius...somehow, I have feeling that they are still in the hole on that one
- non-injury accident on local busy street: mid-size sedan rear ended by minivan rear ended by large SUV. Guess who got the worst of it? Big SUV was spilling so much fluid that I thought that maybe they had hit a fire hydrant trying to avoid the first two. The other two (albeit with rear bumpers that no longer resembled OEM parts) probably were able to drive away. The SUV was most likely headed to parts land.
- a questionable mid-70s collector type car in desperate need of body work with rims that probably tripled the value of the car. Too bad that the quarter panels above them were about to fall off.
- this is probably my favorite (next to the Winnebago): a Suburban that was lowered to barely clear the pavement. We live in MINNESOTA. It SNOWS here. Talk about an expensive and idiotic snowplow. And to think that people gave me grief about having low profile tires on my last "fun" car....
There are other things that have grabbed my attention, but they bother me too much to get into detail-the carseatless baby, etc. But since I was aiming for more a "news of the weird" vibe, here's what you get. Now maybe I can get my act together and actually get some work done today. Nah....
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
the nutshell edition
I don't have a lot of time today to go over the fun that was this past week/weekend, but here are the highlights:
- managed to have a knock-down, drag out of a fight with Husband that lasted pretty much all of the day and night on Tuesday, including an hours worth of fun on our cell phones while I sat and cried in my office. Nice. While I don't think that we accomplished much other than blowing off steam, I sort of saw a glimmer of enlightenment in him. I'm just waiting for when the glimmer disappears.
- called my Mom and Dad on Wednesday to meet us halfway so they could take Son for the weekend. There was no way that I was getting out of going to KC, so this was the best solution. He had fun, so I guess that everyone won.
- drove to Des Moines on Thursday night, and KC and back to Des Moines on Friday after the funeral. Very strange service, if it even qualified. No one wore black, the urn (she was cremated) wasn't anywhere, and the whole thing felt like a little get together with little to no reverence. I didn't expect big crying jags or anything, but the only people that seemed to understand the purpose and depth of the service were the ministers. Afterward, we were asked if we wanted to go through her apartment and take anything. What?!?! My MIL and Husband's oldest sister when through and loaded up their car to go home and sort out things-basically grabbed anything that wasn't nailed down just for the sake of getting "stuff." My other SIL requested a rather nice dining room table-which didn't seem as greedy-they are buying a new house and are still using a table originally purchased by Husband's parents when they got married, at a farm sale no less. It seemed far more appropriate. If Grandma had been around, I'm sure that if SIL had asked, she would have been happy to see her have it. I think that the reason that the whole thing threw me was that the last funeral that I was at was my grandmother's. Full mass, packed church, lots of family (my Grandma was one of nine kids), and a real sense of loss. No mention was made of disposing of anything (my grandfather is still alive, but they have a will and everything has been decided for years). The focus was on the person. Maybe the difference seems so sharp because I was very vested in the person-I don't know.
- arrived back in Des Moines to walk into a thermonuclear fight between the couple that we were staying with. Their marriage is on the verge of imploding, and its harder to watch when there is a very bright and innocent 2 1/2 year old also involved who got caught in the crossfire. She was so scared to hear them screaming at each other-I wanted to just grab her and take her away from it, to help her feel safe. I was in no position to do that, but it took everything that I had to not smack them both and ask them to look at their daughter, who was on the verge of tears-before they came home she had been laughing and playing. It made the fight that Husband and I had on Tuesday almost look productive. They have been married less than four years. Husband tried to mediate and let the husband cool down, while the wife vented to her parents, who had just returned their daughter after taking care of her that night while they went to a small group therapy session. I have my own opinions, but Husband has known the husband for almost 20 years-I really couldn't add much. I played the coward and hightailed it up to our room with my night snack and insulin at hand. Thank God they have cable upstairs.
- The rest of the weekend was a little tense, but Husband and I stayed, since we both needed the break. The amazing thing is that I must have been more tightly wound than I thought-my morning sugars are now consistently down in the 80s, as opposed to the upper 90s. This is in direct contradiction to what should be happening at this stage, since my resistance should still be going up for another six weeks or so. Just goes to show how much stress can affect things. I'll be curious to hear what my endo's office has to say about it, since I faxed in a week's worth of numbers this morning.
There is probably more, but overall, the whole thing was probably more of a blessing than a curse-we really needed the away time, and Son had a ball with my parents. He did come home with a major eczema flare-up-either from something he ate or just being outside all of the time-but he got home in one piece, and is certainly in a better place for it. The presription will help with the rest. I'm not as apt to want to wring anyone's neck this week (but hey, it is young), and Husband isn't being the total and complete jerk that he was last week. Not too bad.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
FUBAR
For those of you not familiar with the term, its buried in "Saving Private Ryan" about halfway through.
Lots of fun right now, and I really wish that I had the time to do a decent post to sort out everything. I'm more than a bit frazzled right now, and I'm sick of crying, sick of worrying, sick of just about everything.
Husband's estranged grandmother died today. The short version is that she gave up Husband's mom, G, to be rasied by G's grandmother. They reconnected about 10 years ago, albeit on a strained level. She found out that she had terminal liver cancer (and it was just about everywhere else) about month ago, went into hospice, and went home late last week. Husband's sister, who has fought tooth and nail for a relationship, was there last week, and the grandmother, M, said that she was ready to "go upstairs." She was 89, and at peace with what was coming. Not a bad way to end it, at least from my detached perspective.
However, this means a trip to Kansas City over the weekend. Loosely translated, seven to eight hours in the car. At 29 weeks and some change. With a toddler that loses it for the three hour trip to my parents. Oh, and on a holiday week. My parents have volunteered to come down and get Son and take him for the weekend. I love the gesture, but I worry about him being away from us for that long, and having someone else driving him almost 200 miles. I don't know what I would do if something happened. There are stupid people everywhere on highways during a summer holiday. I'm scared.
I'm also scared that I haven't felt BabyA as much as before. It really started yesterday with her being unusually quiet. She just flunked the one hour kick count-I needed 10, I got 5. I'm waiting for the nurse to call me back. Dr. Wonderful isn't in until 2:00, but my hunch is that I've got an ultrasound, if not a trip to L&D in my plans today. I'm worried about that too-I just can't let anyone else down today. I really can't. I'm probably being a paranoid pregnant, but with all of the stress lately, I just worry about how she's handling it. I'm not doing so hot either.
UPDATE: Even though I only counted five in the first hour, I had five in the next half hour, so Dr. Wonderful didn't see the need to see me, especially since I have an appointment on Tuesday. Just have to push the fluids, which will be a treat in the car. It's over 150 miles between rest stops in southern Iowa and Northern Missouri. Yea.
Still haven't decided what to do about this damn trip. My parents are pushing for me to not go, or at least let them have Son. I still can't shake that worry about him traveling that far without me. The biggest stumbling block was that I was taking Thursday and Friday off specifically to get BabyA's room cleaned out to the degree that mom and dad could come down the following weekend to paint. If I go, that plan is screwed, and well, I'm pissed.
I've actually been looking forward to making some headway, and I feel as though the carpet has been pulled out on me. It's a huge piece of stress-Husband is working weekends for at least the next month, so I'm on my own. My weekends are reserved for doing shitty jobs like laundry, dishes, trying to clean. If I don't do that then, no one will. I'm tired of the filth and I want it gone. That means leave me alone long enough to do something about it. Trying to get it all done during Son's naps isn't possible. I'm physically having a hard time right now, and it won't get better.
I just want to cry. I have been for three days, and any light that is at the end of the tunnel has disappeared. Husband doesn't get it-all he sees is his stress and that I'm not being supportive. Fuck that. I've been supportive; but at some point when do I get to be put into the equation? Why do I have to bottle up all of this? I don't like Son seeing me lose it, and my temper has been out of control. Son is paying for it, because, you know, Husband JUST ISN'T THERE. Even when he is, he wants to sleep, or check email, or get a billion phone calls from work, so he might as well be there. I HATE THIS. This is my last pregnancy, and I really wanted to enjoy it, since I didn't allow myself that luxury last time. Looks like I lose again. I just want it over and done with.
Lots of fun right now, and I really wish that I had the time to do a decent post to sort out everything. I'm more than a bit frazzled right now, and I'm sick of crying, sick of worrying, sick of just about everything.
Husband's estranged grandmother died today. The short version is that she gave up Husband's mom, G, to be rasied by G's grandmother. They reconnected about 10 years ago, albeit on a strained level. She found out that she had terminal liver cancer (and it was just about everywhere else) about month ago, went into hospice, and went home late last week. Husband's sister, who has fought tooth and nail for a relationship, was there last week, and the grandmother, M, said that she was ready to "go upstairs." She was 89, and at peace with what was coming. Not a bad way to end it, at least from my detached perspective.
However, this means a trip to Kansas City over the weekend. Loosely translated, seven to eight hours in the car. At 29 weeks and some change. With a toddler that loses it for the three hour trip to my parents. Oh, and on a holiday week. My parents have volunteered to come down and get Son and take him for the weekend. I love the gesture, but I worry about him being away from us for that long, and having someone else driving him almost 200 miles. I don't know what I would do if something happened. There are stupid people everywhere on highways during a summer holiday. I'm scared.
I'm also scared that I haven't felt BabyA as much as before. It really started yesterday with her being unusually quiet. She just flunked the one hour kick count-I needed 10, I got 5. I'm waiting for the nurse to call me back. Dr. Wonderful isn't in until 2:00, but my hunch is that I've got an ultrasound, if not a trip to L&D in my plans today. I'm worried about that too-I just can't let anyone else down today. I really can't. I'm probably being a paranoid pregnant, but with all of the stress lately, I just worry about how she's handling it. I'm not doing so hot either.
UPDATE: Even though I only counted five in the first hour, I had five in the next half hour, so Dr. Wonderful didn't see the need to see me, especially since I have an appointment on Tuesday. Just have to push the fluids, which will be a treat in the car. It's over 150 miles between rest stops in southern Iowa and Northern Missouri. Yea.
Still haven't decided what to do about this damn trip. My parents are pushing for me to not go, or at least let them have Son. I still can't shake that worry about him traveling that far without me. The biggest stumbling block was that I was taking Thursday and Friday off specifically to get BabyA's room cleaned out to the degree that mom and dad could come down the following weekend to paint. If I go, that plan is screwed, and well, I'm pissed.
I've actually been looking forward to making some headway, and I feel as though the carpet has been pulled out on me. It's a huge piece of stress-Husband is working weekends for at least the next month, so I'm on my own. My weekends are reserved for doing shitty jobs like laundry, dishes, trying to clean. If I don't do that then, no one will. I'm tired of the filth and I want it gone. That means leave me alone long enough to do something about it. Trying to get it all done during Son's naps isn't possible. I'm physically having a hard time right now, and it won't get better.
I just want to cry. I have been for three days, and any light that is at the end of the tunnel has disappeared. Husband doesn't get it-all he sees is his stress and that I'm not being supportive. Fuck that. I've been supportive; but at some point when do I get to be put into the equation? Why do I have to bottle up all of this? I don't like Son seeing me lose it, and my temper has been out of control. Son is paying for it, because, you know, Husband JUST ISN'T THERE. Even when he is, he wants to sleep, or check email, or get a billion phone calls from work, so he might as well be there. I HATE THIS. This is my last pregnancy, and I really wanted to enjoy it, since I didn't allow myself that luxury last time. Looks like I lose again. I just want it over and done with.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Vindication: Part II
Happy to say that the numbers are still looking pretty awesome with this new tester-good grief, does this mean that I've actually caught a break? Who, me? About damn time.
This morning was a little high, but I sort of expected that. I've got a good excuse, really.
Husband and I have both been exhausted lately, and Son an absolute terror around dinnertime. He won't wait until I have time to make anything-either he's in the high chair in 15 minutes after we get home (anywhere between 6 and 6:30) or we ALL pay for it. I've tried the whole having a snack in the car on the way home, but all it does is fill him up before he actually gets to a real meal. Since I've put my foot down on pre-meal snacking (and remembered to lock the pantry door), the meltdowns are still happening, but by God, he's now eating his meal. Imagine! Any meat other than hot dog, ground beef surrounded by mac and cheese or tomato sauce, or an occasional fish stick, are NOT tolerated, but fruit is OK, and veggies of the orange variety are OK too.
Anyway, we went through all the fun that Son is, and we were both too tired to think about what to cook. We desperately need me to make up a menu and do some shopping. Husband asked me what I wanted, and it was a toss up between tacos and spaghetti. No instant spaghetti anywhere, so off to national taco chain he went. He came home with our order, which we both started to inhale after Son was in bed. I thought that that pop tasted OK, my normal diet. After a few sips of his own, Husband asked me to do the taste test (he's always convinced that there is something wrong with his; he just doesn't seem to get that whole fountain vs. can difference). Ooops. Um, I've got the full sugar version. After a nacho supreme. Crap.
My two hour after that debacle were OK, but it hit me this morning. I'm just calling it God letting me have a little of the old life-no wonder it tasted so damn good-and a reality check. No biggie. I've got way too much stress in other areas to get worked up over this, although I'll have to be a saint today.
Well, I suppose that it's time to go and deal with some of the stress-the work piles are calling.
This morning was a little high, but I sort of expected that. I've got a good excuse, really.
Husband and I have both been exhausted lately, and Son an absolute terror around dinnertime. He won't wait until I have time to make anything-either he's in the high chair in 15 minutes after we get home (anywhere between 6 and 6:30) or we ALL pay for it. I've tried the whole having a snack in the car on the way home, but all it does is fill him up before he actually gets to a real meal. Since I've put my foot down on pre-meal snacking (and remembered to lock the pantry door), the meltdowns are still happening, but by God, he's now eating his meal. Imagine! Any meat other than hot dog, ground beef surrounded by mac and cheese or tomato sauce, or an occasional fish stick, are NOT tolerated, but fruit is OK, and veggies of the orange variety are OK too.
Anyway, we went through all the fun that Son is, and we were both too tired to think about what to cook. We desperately need me to make up a menu and do some shopping. Husband asked me what I wanted, and it was a toss up between tacos and spaghetti. No instant spaghetti anywhere, so off to national taco chain he went. He came home with our order, which we both started to inhale after Son was in bed. I thought that that pop tasted OK, my normal diet. After a few sips of his own, Husband asked me to do the taste test (he's always convinced that there is something wrong with his; he just doesn't seem to get that whole fountain vs. can difference). Ooops. Um, I've got the full sugar version. After a nacho supreme. Crap.
My two hour after that debacle were OK, but it hit me this morning. I'm just calling it God letting me have a little of the old life-no wonder it tasted so damn good-and a reality check. No biggie. I've got way too much stress in other areas to get worked up over this, although I'll have to be a saint today.
Well, I suppose that it's time to go and deal with some of the stress-the work piles are calling.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Vindication!!! (sort of)
Last night, Husband and I were having one of those oh so rare moments after Son went to bed that did not involve folding laundry, policing the rowdies outside (that would be the dogs), or loading a dishwasher. He was on the phone to work covering some things with his second shift, and I was laid out on the couch trying to convince my ribs that they really needed to go back to where they belong, and stop hurting so damn much while watching a marathon of one of my favorite series on Sci-Fi.
As Husband came upstairs, it was time for me to the do the poke and hope, er, two hour blood glucose check. My number came back higher than I expected (as usual). Husband wanted to check his for kicks as well. It came back astronomically high. We both agreed that while the chili cheese fries and hot dog weren't the best nutrition choices he had ever made, the number seemed waaaay out of whack, so he tested again. From the same stick, on the same finger, with a different result. Now I don't know if 10 points is statistically significant (I'll leave it to the math geeks like Pithy to tell me that), but it seemed fishy to me. I mean, it was less than a minute later!
So, my curiosity piqued, and in a desperate hope that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem to be with me, Husband retrieved my new, but yet unused, tester. I didn't have anything against using the new one, but I had just refilled my test strips on the old one, and was going to switch once they were gone. Sure enough, another different result, but this time with a nearly 15 point difference. Eureka! Old tester=undue stress for pregnant woman who freaks out on husband with every bad test and finds herself crying nearly uncontrollably in her glorified, windowless, cube office.
It was now too late to test me again, since the window had passed, but I decided to do a dual test this morning when I got up to test my theory once again. Once again, the hypothesis was proven (gee, I feel like I'm on Mythbusters or something!).
As Husband came upstairs, it was time for me to the do the poke and hope, er, two hour blood glucose check. My number came back higher than I expected (as usual). Husband wanted to check his for kicks as well. It came back astronomically high. We both agreed that while the chili cheese fries and hot dog weren't the best nutrition choices he had ever made, the number seemed waaaay out of whack, so he tested again. From the same stick, on the same finger, with a different result. Now I don't know if 10 points is statistically significant (I'll leave it to the math geeks like Pithy to tell me that), but it seemed fishy to me. I mean, it was less than a minute later!
So, my curiosity piqued, and in a desperate hope that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem to be with me, Husband retrieved my new, but yet unused, tester. I didn't have anything against using the new one, but I had just refilled my test strips on the old one, and was going to switch once they were gone. Sure enough, another different result, but this time with a nearly 15 point difference. Eureka! Old tester=undue stress for pregnant woman who freaks out on husband with every bad test and finds herself crying nearly uncontrollably in her glorified, windowless, cube office.
It was now too late to test me again, since the window had passed, but I decided to do a dual test this morning when I got up to test my theory once again. Once again, the hypothesis was proven (gee, I feel like I'm on Mythbusters or something!).
- New Tester: 89
- Old Tester: 103
Voila! Not wanting to tick off my endocrinology doc too much, I tried it again over lunch, and once again a decent difference; 11 points; 127 v. 116. I was also a bit worried that I was trying to cheat to a certain degree. In law, when a plaintiff goes looking for a jurisdiction to file their lawsuit in that has a history of leaning one way or another, we call if forum shopping. To some degree, I felt like I was tester shopping, but the scientist in me told me that this was not an isolated incident, and that I had calibrated the new one per the instructions. My other one is so old that they don't even make the calibration solution for it anymore. Using this as my rationale, I called the office today to tell them that (1) my OB had upped my nighttime insulin by two units, and boy howdy, did that do the trick; (2) my OB also wants them to check my numbers twice weekly, since the once a week thing isn't cutting it; and (3) am I in a sugar delusion that testers could differ so much?
The office called back relatively soon to tell me that they had faxed in a prescription for the new test strips and lancets to my pharmacy, and that they would be ready to go this afternoon, and that the upped dosage had been noted on my chart. Not too much push back on that one. And yes, once testers get elderly they tend to become more and more screwed up.
So, yes, I feel better about this. If my tester was that fouled up, then my after meals may not have been as jacked up as they appeared, which means that I may be able to dodge the fast acting insulin bullet for a while longer. I know that I'm not out of the woods for the long run, but for now, I can cut myself a bit of slack. I've been doing a great job of beating myself up about how things have been going, so now that I have actual proof, I can relax a little. Still eat to plan, and since its now out of the high 80s and 90s, take the rowdies out on a leash, and just breathe a little. Now if my ribs and back would just cooperate....
Monday, June 25, 2007
Jessie and Chloe Davis
There are no words. Either for what she must have gone through, and for what her son may have seen. So today, please take a moment to ask whatever higher power or spiritual guidance that you adhere to, or simply as a human being, ask that she is at rest, and strength for those she left behind.
Human beings sure have a long way to go.
Human beings sure have a long way to go.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Oh, this is gonna be fun....
Seems like I've been away forever. Unlike SOME people (you know who you are) who disappear to tropical locals for weeks at a time, I've been spending most of my not-so-free-time in doctor's offices. Now, I'm accustomed to doing so with Husband, the man who makes me very happy to have decent insurance coverage. Even Son, since, well, he's a toddler in daycare. It just doesn't throw me that much.
However, this time, it's been for me. I'm not happy about this, not one bit. And the fun of it all is that it's only going to get worse until BabyA (she's got to finally get a name around here, doesn't she?) makes her debut.
As we suspected, and I greatly feared, my gestational diabetes is worse this time around. It seems that two years does not help matters much. My morning (fasting) numbers have not come down, even with diet modifications, and I'm now on insulin at night. I've really been struggling with this on an emotional level. Husband pointed out last night that this isn't my fault, it's not something that I'm doing wrong, that it's just out of my hands, and now I've got to play by the rules. The thing is, I AM playing by the rules, and nothing seems to be going in my favor. It just isn't fair.
My first stop (of the many) was with the outpatient clinic for diabetes attached to large hospital in ritzy suburb after I faxed in my numbers for May to Dr. Wonderful. I went through the education module with both the nurse and dietitian, and was told in no uncertain terms that even though I was trying to manage things by diet, I was being too hard on myself. I was throwing some decent keytones, and simply wasn't eating enough. I have to admit some degree of relief at hearing this-I was getting sick of being hungry all of the time. Basically, I wasn't eating enough over the course of the day, and my liver got its enzymes all in a bunch and was dumping glucose into my system while I slept to try to give me enough calories, hence my high fasting numbers. Stupid me took this to mean that I needed to cut back on my carbs even more, and to ignore that gnawing in my stomach before bed. Argh.
I saw the clinic on a Monday, and since Dr. Wonderful had made the referral to them with a recommendation of night insulin, they had me do a food journal and chart my numbers until Wednesday, when I was to fax them in and we would go from there. Even with following the food plan, but numbers still sucked. Thursday afternoon was spent getting my sample insulin pen and all of the accoutrement's that surround that. In the meantime, Dr. Wonderful's office had set up an appointment for me on the following Monday to go to an endocrinologist.
I played phone tag with Dr. Wonderful's nurse, but I was finally able to get hold of her. I asked her if it was because things were so bad that I was being sent to a specialist, or what. She said that Dr. Wonderful wanted to stay very much on top of this, and that this is the practice's procedure when a GD patient ends up on insulin. After I calmed down a bit, I realized that this was probably a good thing. I'm not one of those people who have PCOS as a result of being overweight-I've been this way since I was twelve. During high school, my twice yearly periods happened while being 5'2" and 130 pounds. For someone as active as I was, that was a pretty reasonable weight. I just had boobs and a butt, something most of my friends didn't. Anyway, at least now I will have a relationship with an endocrinologist, something that I haven't had before. She mentioned follow-up care during my appointment, since now I am at even higher risk of type II later on. Argh.
We went out of town over the weekend, with all the fun that surrounds a toddler, a four hour car ride, and what we now know is the beginnings of strep and a summer cold. It also isn't horribly conducive to following any sort of meal plan. I did the best that I could, but it was still pretty sucky.
On Monday afternoon I headed up the endocrinology clinic, which was surprisingly on top of things and running, get this "right on time." That was enough to make me fall over, since I thought that since I was a shoe horn appointment, I would end up waiting. I liked the endocrinologist-she respected that I knew a decent amount about what we are up against, although I was appreciative of the weight talk. I'm almost seven months pregnant and a bit stressed-can we tackle that trigger at some other time? PLEASE?? Regardless, I was shuffled off to the nurse/dietitian, given my prescriptions, and off I went. I need to fax everything over to them tomorrow afternoon to see if things are OK.
The thing is, things aren't OK. After some initial success with the insulin (a 96, with the threshold being 95), I am now back up in the 105 region in the morning, even on the increased dose. My one hours after meals are high (over the required 140) or in the upper ranges of normal. One thing that differed between the first clinic and the second is that the second wasn't quite as optimistic that I will be able to avoid the insulin before meals as well. Just call me a pincushion. Upwards of four shots a day, plus the four blood checks.
I know that people who have true type II do this every day. I know. I know. I know. However, like I told Husband through tears last night, it's just another case of my body screwing me over. I'm scared about what it is doing to BabyA, what it's doing to me. My stress levels are so high right now I sometimes wonder how I can make it to the next minute, the next day. It just feels so crushing sometimes, and I don't see a way out. This doesn't help my numbers at all.
I just feel like a bad mom already. Not only am I at risk for future problems, so are my kids. This never crossed my mind for a minute when I was dealing with our IF issues. All of the what-ifs are in my head. I'm scared something is going to happen to BabyA before she is born, and terrified that it will happen while she is being born. Will they take her early if she gets too big? How will that work with my leave, which is only being complicated by being out so much for appointments, etc. I oscillate between being mad, hurt, sad, ticked off, you name it. I just want it to be OK, for my body to cooperate just a little bit. So far, that ain't workin'.
However, this time, it's been for me. I'm not happy about this, not one bit. And the fun of it all is that it's only going to get worse until BabyA (she's got to finally get a name around here, doesn't she?) makes her debut.
As we suspected, and I greatly feared, my gestational diabetes is worse this time around. It seems that two years does not help matters much. My morning (fasting) numbers have not come down, even with diet modifications, and I'm now on insulin at night. I've really been struggling with this on an emotional level. Husband pointed out last night that this isn't my fault, it's not something that I'm doing wrong, that it's just out of my hands, and now I've got to play by the rules. The thing is, I AM playing by the rules, and nothing seems to be going in my favor. It just isn't fair.
My first stop (of the many) was with the outpatient clinic for diabetes attached to large hospital in ritzy suburb after I faxed in my numbers for May to Dr. Wonderful. I went through the education module with both the nurse and dietitian, and was told in no uncertain terms that even though I was trying to manage things by diet, I was being too hard on myself. I was throwing some decent keytones, and simply wasn't eating enough. I have to admit some degree of relief at hearing this-I was getting sick of being hungry all of the time. Basically, I wasn't eating enough over the course of the day, and my liver got its enzymes all in a bunch and was dumping glucose into my system while I slept to try to give me enough calories, hence my high fasting numbers. Stupid me took this to mean that I needed to cut back on my carbs even more, and to ignore that gnawing in my stomach before bed. Argh.
I saw the clinic on a Monday, and since Dr. Wonderful had made the referral to them with a recommendation of night insulin, they had me do a food journal and chart my numbers until Wednesday, when I was to fax them in and we would go from there. Even with following the food plan, but numbers still sucked. Thursday afternoon was spent getting my sample insulin pen and all of the accoutrement's that surround that. In the meantime, Dr. Wonderful's office had set up an appointment for me on the following Monday to go to an endocrinologist.
I played phone tag with Dr. Wonderful's nurse, but I was finally able to get hold of her. I asked her if it was because things were so bad that I was being sent to a specialist, or what. She said that Dr. Wonderful wanted to stay very much on top of this, and that this is the practice's procedure when a GD patient ends up on insulin. After I calmed down a bit, I realized that this was probably a good thing. I'm not one of those people who have PCOS as a result of being overweight-I've been this way since I was twelve. During high school, my twice yearly periods happened while being 5'2" and 130 pounds. For someone as active as I was, that was a pretty reasonable weight. I just had boobs and a butt, something most of my friends didn't. Anyway, at least now I will have a relationship with an endocrinologist, something that I haven't had before. She mentioned follow-up care during my appointment, since now I am at even higher risk of type II later on. Argh.
We went out of town over the weekend, with all the fun that surrounds a toddler, a four hour car ride, and what we now know is the beginnings of strep and a summer cold. It also isn't horribly conducive to following any sort of meal plan. I did the best that I could, but it was still pretty sucky.
On Monday afternoon I headed up the endocrinology clinic, which was surprisingly on top of things and running, get this "right on time." That was enough to make me fall over, since I thought that since I was a shoe horn appointment, I would end up waiting. I liked the endocrinologist-she respected that I knew a decent amount about what we are up against, although I was appreciative of the weight talk. I'm almost seven months pregnant and a bit stressed-can we tackle that trigger at some other time? PLEASE?? Regardless, I was shuffled off to the nurse/dietitian, given my prescriptions, and off I went. I need to fax everything over to them tomorrow afternoon to see if things are OK.
The thing is, things aren't OK. After some initial success with the insulin (a 96, with the threshold being 95), I am now back up in the 105 region in the morning, even on the increased dose. My one hours after meals are high (over the required 140) or in the upper ranges of normal. One thing that differed between the first clinic and the second is that the second wasn't quite as optimistic that I will be able to avoid the insulin before meals as well. Just call me a pincushion. Upwards of four shots a day, plus the four blood checks.
I know that people who have true type II do this every day. I know. I know. I know. However, like I told Husband through tears last night, it's just another case of my body screwing me over. I'm scared about what it is doing to BabyA, what it's doing to me. My stress levels are so high right now I sometimes wonder how I can make it to the next minute, the next day. It just feels so crushing sometimes, and I don't see a way out. This doesn't help my numbers at all.
I just feel like a bad mom already. Not only am I at risk for future problems, so are my kids. This never crossed my mind for a minute when I was dealing with our IF issues. All of the what-ifs are in my head. I'm scared something is going to happen to BabyA before she is born, and terrified that it will happen while she is being born. Will they take her early if she gets too big? How will that work with my leave, which is only being complicated by being out so much for appointments, etc. I oscillate between being mad, hurt, sad, ticked off, you name it. I just want it to be OK, for my body to cooperate just a little bit. So far, that ain't workin'.
Monday, June 04, 2007
One of THOSE days
When I think about it, I've evened out quite a bit from earlier in this pregnancy when I was a hormonal, mood-swinging psycho. Contrary to what Husband may assert, I really have calmed down. I've now moved on to freaking out over exactly how much we need to do to get ready for this one. Mind you, I would be doing this non-pregnant, even though I am a procrastinator about actually doing anything, I tend to think about things well in advance.
So, it tends to take my by surprise when the hormones make their presence known lately. Case in point, this morning. I didn't sleep real well last night, since my brain didn't get any shut down time before bed last night. After I got up for my potty break at 3:30, sleep was tortured at best. I'm tired, but functioning.
I get to daycare, drop Son off, and he's playing happily. I notice that his cubby is full of "art" projects (mostly done for him since they seem a bit advanced for him, but still) that I haven't picked up, so I pull them all out and go back out to the car. I looked through them, and while you can't see a whole lot of Son in them, it does look like he is progressively trying harder to actually do something with them. Anyway, I come across one where his handprints are like tulips on top of teacher-drawn stems. I started to bawl, right there in the daycare parking lot. I got it together to leave, but promptly dissolve again once I cross the street and park in the lot for work. (The picture is now up on the wall in my office-there are days where I still wish that I didn't have to leave him every day).
I get to work, and since I have a short amount of time to burn before my first appointment of the day, I check my bloglist. To find an entry about a loving Lab who was her master's best friend, and mourned him when he died in the way that only animals can. The entry went on to talk about how the dog helped the master's wife cope with his death, and about how the dog died over the weekend. I cried again. It probably didn't help that the picture of the dog looks a lot like my Yellow Dog, the ditzy blond lab that we have. Sigh. I said a little prayer for Sadie and those who loved her. I also plan on hugging Yellow Dog when I get home tonight, and I might even break out the last new tennis ball in the can.
All of this before 10am. Can't wait to see what the rest of the day holds for me......
UPDATE: No more waterworks as of 3:30, although I probably should have after I got the return call from my OB after he saw my glucose numbers. Off the to the diabetes clinic for me! Possibility of PM insulin, which doesn't surprise me much. I've got the big group session next Monday-which I have a hunch will be a waste of time since I've done this already, but the refresher was what I asked for, right? Let's just do what we can about these fasting numbers, please? I'm trying not to be any more neurotic than normal, but I'm getting a little scared. And Husband has the balls to say that I'm not taking this seriously. He couldn't make it a week.
So, it tends to take my by surprise when the hormones make their presence known lately. Case in point, this morning. I didn't sleep real well last night, since my brain didn't get any shut down time before bed last night. After I got up for my potty break at 3:30, sleep was tortured at best. I'm tired, but functioning.
I get to daycare, drop Son off, and he's playing happily. I notice that his cubby is full of "art" projects (mostly done for him since they seem a bit advanced for him, but still) that I haven't picked up, so I pull them all out and go back out to the car. I looked through them, and while you can't see a whole lot of Son in them, it does look like he is progressively trying harder to actually do something with them. Anyway, I come across one where his handprints are like tulips on top of teacher-drawn stems. I started to bawl, right there in the daycare parking lot. I got it together to leave, but promptly dissolve again once I cross the street and park in the lot for work. (The picture is now up on the wall in my office-there are days where I still wish that I didn't have to leave him every day).
I get to work, and since I have a short amount of time to burn before my first appointment of the day, I check my bloglist. To find an entry about a loving Lab who was her master's best friend, and mourned him when he died in the way that only animals can. The entry went on to talk about how the dog helped the master's wife cope with his death, and about how the dog died over the weekend. I cried again. It probably didn't help that the picture of the dog looks a lot like my Yellow Dog, the ditzy blond lab that we have. Sigh. I said a little prayer for Sadie and those who loved her. I also plan on hugging Yellow Dog when I get home tonight, and I might even break out the last new tennis ball in the can.
All of this before 10am. Can't wait to see what the rest of the day holds for me......
UPDATE: No more waterworks as of 3:30, although I probably should have after I got the return call from my OB after he saw my glucose numbers. Off the to the diabetes clinic for me! Possibility of PM insulin, which doesn't surprise me much. I've got the big group session next Monday-which I have a hunch will be a waste of time since I've done this already, but the refresher was what I asked for, right? Let's just do what we can about these fasting numbers, please? I'm trying not to be any more neurotic than normal, but I'm getting a little scared. And Husband has the balls to say that I'm not taking this seriously. He couldn't make it a week.
Friday, June 01, 2007
My entry into the "my kid is the cutest thing in the universe"
Son really is a good kid. He, like any other toddler, can be what can only be described as a challenge sometimes. But then again, so can Husband, and he's 38. But I digress.
Last night he was just so sweet, and I need to get it down. Feel free to look away.
Husband was out in the garage cursing at our riding lawnmower, and it was getting to be time for bed for little man. I needed to get out of that garage for fear of beating Husband with the instruction manual for the mower, since he was refusing to read it. Son was horribly grubby, and really needed to be cleaned up. I managed to get him into the house, and stripped down to get ready for his much-needed bath. He plays so hard, he usually ends up with sand in his diaper (talk about uncomfortable). Needless to say, the bath was definitely in order.
Being scatterbrained, I managed to have a naked child with no bathwater. Hunh? Don't know why I forgot to run the stupid bath. Son was kind enough not to water the bath mat like he has in the past, and actually thought that it was pretty darn cool to be sitting in his tub while the water ran. We played, he got me soaked (as usual), and once out of the tub, he insisted on wrapping himself up in his towel all by himself. Wouldn't let me do it. He looked at me with such a look of victory when he got it right. Such a big boy, but still using the hooded hippo towel. OK, a cute big boy.
I brought him back to his room, got him dressed and combed and all of the other fun stuff. I've mentioned before that we have this routine that when we are all done, he stands up on the changing pad, stretches out his arms, and falls into me to get down. Last night he added a twist. Before he fell, he very seriously put those pudgy little hands on either side of my face, and pulled me towards him. I'm fearing for a nibble to my nose, but I thought that I would see where this was going. He gave me a kiss, with a little kiss sound, on the tip of my nose! Nothing sloppy or wet, but just a cute pucker and peck. He was so proud of himself, and was all grins.
Now that he was satisfied that we were done, we went through the routine. I was walking him over to his crib, and he grabbed his beanie bear, BoBo, from the ledge of the crib. He pushed the bear towards me, which I assumed meant that I was supposed to kiss the bear. Nope, not in Son's plans. He had the bear kiss me, with the same little kiss sound, and then he got me again. Son then snuggled into my shoulder before I put him down (which is getting harder and harder these days). I covered him up, and he said "night night" as I shut off the light and closed the door.
Son is affectionate, but never usually like that. He doesn't do that kiss thing with anyone else but me, which I have to admit that I really love. It's our little thing. I need to remember this type of stuff when he's dumping his entire plate on his head and on the floor. You know, with the meal that has a lot of tomato sauce.
I think I'll still keep him.
Last night he was just so sweet, and I need to get it down. Feel free to look away.
Husband was out in the garage cursing at our riding lawnmower, and it was getting to be time for bed for little man. I needed to get out of that garage for fear of beating Husband with the instruction manual for the mower, since he was refusing to read it. Son was horribly grubby, and really needed to be cleaned up. I managed to get him into the house, and stripped down to get ready for his much-needed bath. He plays so hard, he usually ends up with sand in his diaper (talk about uncomfortable). Needless to say, the bath was definitely in order.
Being scatterbrained, I managed to have a naked child with no bathwater. Hunh? Don't know why I forgot to run the stupid bath. Son was kind enough not to water the bath mat like he has in the past, and actually thought that it was pretty darn cool to be sitting in his tub while the water ran. We played, he got me soaked (as usual), and once out of the tub, he insisted on wrapping himself up in his towel all by himself. Wouldn't let me do it. He looked at me with such a look of victory when he got it right. Such a big boy, but still using the hooded hippo towel. OK, a cute big boy.
I brought him back to his room, got him dressed and combed and all of the other fun stuff. I've mentioned before that we have this routine that when we are all done, he stands up on the changing pad, stretches out his arms, and falls into me to get down. Last night he added a twist. Before he fell, he very seriously put those pudgy little hands on either side of my face, and pulled me towards him. I'm fearing for a nibble to my nose, but I thought that I would see where this was going. He gave me a kiss, with a little kiss sound, on the tip of my nose! Nothing sloppy or wet, but just a cute pucker and peck. He was so proud of himself, and was all grins.
Now that he was satisfied that we were done, we went through the routine. I was walking him over to his crib, and he grabbed his beanie bear, BoBo, from the ledge of the crib. He pushed the bear towards me, which I assumed meant that I was supposed to kiss the bear. Nope, not in Son's plans. He had the bear kiss me, with the same little kiss sound, and then he got me again. Son then snuggled into my shoulder before I put him down (which is getting harder and harder these days). I covered him up, and he said "night night" as I shut off the light and closed the door.
Son is affectionate, but never usually like that. He doesn't do that kiss thing with anyone else but me, which I have to admit that I really love. It's our little thing. I need to remember this type of stuff when he's dumping his entire plate on his head and on the floor. You know, with the meal that has a lot of tomato sauce.
I think I'll still keep him.
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