I hate it when Husband is right....he's such a lousy, graceless winner...gloats, just shows off in general. Eash enough when you've got a 50/50 shot of getting it right.. So, yes, you've guessed it.....it's a girl!
OK, so the sonographer said that it was a 90% certainty. She's sitting breech right now, with her feet tucked up under her, and really low, but it basically boiled down to an absence of boy parts. We weren't able to get the classic three lines. She pointed out that since I would most likely get more U/S due to near certainty of GD, once she turns a bit more, there should be a better opportunity to confirm it 100%. So there you have it-we get one of each.
She looks a lot like Son did at this point. I'll have to pull out his ultrasound pics to compare, but looking at the screen, it looked very familiar. She's (!) still measuring about two days ahead, and is estimated to weigh in at 10 oz. All of the structures look good, amniotic volume is right smack dab in the mid-range of normal, and everything in the brain in fine. Since my diagnosis is "advanced maternal age" (ugh, I'm only 35!), they went on to re-calculate our Down's risk-it's now up to something like 1:9000-10,000 from the 1:8400 based on the first trimester screen. Basically, I've got the risk of a teenager. My OB should get a kick out of that when he gets the report.
I also got a little reassurance as to why I'm not feeling a whole lot of movement. My placenta is anterior (in the front) so that is absorbing most of the motion. It's up high, so no worries about previa, and my cerivc is long and tight. So, all in all a good baby appointment...but then again any appointment that doesn't require me to get on a scale is a good appointment!
Bring on the pink! (Which, by the way, I already have. Having a K*hls accessible during a lunch hour is bad...especially when they have things on sale.)
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Just a littly antsy
Tomorrow is the BIG ultrasound. I'm nervous. I really have no reason to be. Our first trimester screen came back about as good as can be. No more spotting or scary symptoms. I've recently had a growth spurt, which isn't related to pigging out, since I've been sticking to the whole diabetic restrictions thing.
I'm just a little worried that I may end up being one of those unsuspecting types that has something really bad happen, or be revealed. I haven't really felt this baby move yet, and I'm getting a bit nervous. Little things here and there, but it can be weeks between jabs. I got a small kick or punch on Saturday morning after I brought Son to bed with us, but nothing since then. By this time with Son, the movement was readily identifiable, and somewhat regular. At 19w1d with a second pregnancy, I really thought that I would be feeling more. Everything that I read and hear tells me that I should. The what-ifs are swirling in my head, and I'm doing my best to hold them at bay. After what felt like a never-ending weekend, I'm overly tired, so that isn't helping my defenses too much either. There are days where being a type A analytical type can REALLY work against you.
Part of the paranoia may be self-induced, and I recognize that . It seems as though the worlds of infertility and loss are intertwined, and a lot of the people that I read on a regular basis have struggled with both. I think of Catherine being right about where I was when she lost Travis. I keep telling myself that this type of thing really doesn't happen that often, its just that those have gone through those tragedies are more prevelant in the areas that I tend to frequent online. However, there was one point in their lives where they thought that something like that would never happen to them. Then their lives changed forever.
I'm worried about the gender determination as well. As romantic as it may be not to find out, the practical side of me needs to know, to prepare, from both a physical sense (yes, the purple and pink butterflies instead of the train bedding) and to emotionally bond a bit more. I really haven't done that yet. I would be OK with anything, really. If a boy, how nice for Son to have brother, since those bonds can be pretty special. However, since this is most likely the last time we do this, I will never get a daughter to do all of the girly stuff (which, although extremely out of practice, I can do pretty darn well). If a girl, the fear of creating yet another in the long line of screwed up mother-daughter relationships that run in my family. Sadness that Son won't have a brother. Yep, I'm a real ray of sunshine.
Ultrasound is tomorrow morning at 9am. I've got to drink 16 oz half an hour prior to the appointment. Oh the joy. Please let everything be OK. Please.
I'm just a little worried that I may end up being one of those unsuspecting types that has something really bad happen, or be revealed. I haven't really felt this baby move yet, and I'm getting a bit nervous. Little things here and there, but it can be weeks between jabs. I got a small kick or punch on Saturday morning after I brought Son to bed with us, but nothing since then. By this time with Son, the movement was readily identifiable, and somewhat regular. At 19w1d with a second pregnancy, I really thought that I would be feeling more. Everything that I read and hear tells me that I should. The what-ifs are swirling in my head, and I'm doing my best to hold them at bay. After what felt like a never-ending weekend, I'm overly tired, so that isn't helping my defenses too much either. There are days where being a type A analytical type can REALLY work against you.
Part of the paranoia may be self-induced, and I recognize that . It seems as though the worlds of infertility and loss are intertwined, and a lot of the people that I read on a regular basis have struggled with both. I think of Catherine being right about where I was when she lost Travis. I keep telling myself that this type of thing really doesn't happen that often, its just that those have gone through those tragedies are more prevelant in the areas that I tend to frequent online. However, there was one point in their lives where they thought that something like that would never happen to them. Then their lives changed forever.
I'm worried about the gender determination as well. As romantic as it may be not to find out, the practical side of me needs to know, to prepare, from both a physical sense (yes, the purple and pink butterflies instead of the train bedding) and to emotionally bond a bit more. I really haven't done that yet. I would be OK with anything, really. If a boy, how nice for Son to have brother, since those bonds can be pretty special. However, since this is most likely the last time we do this, I will never get a daughter to do all of the girly stuff (which, although extremely out of practice, I can do pretty darn well). If a girl, the fear of creating yet another in the long line of screwed up mother-daughter relationships that run in my family. Sadness that Son won't have a brother. Yep, I'm a real ray of sunshine.
Ultrasound is tomorrow morning at 9am. I've got to drink 16 oz half an hour prior to the appointment. Oh the joy. Please let everything be OK. Please.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Back to your regular programming.....
OK, so my vent yesterday was a bit out of character. I'm not usually that fearless when expressing disdain for the current administration. Put it this way....if actually given a choice, I would rather have a philandering, yet politically savvy and intelligent leader (hey, I recognize that Bill wasn't a saint, but the world was a better place when he had an active role in it. FDR and JFK are in the same boat) than a privileged moron. UGH. I do have a political science degree after all.
ANYWAY......
Son has been in prime form lately. He's covering new ground almost daily, and how this kid loves to be outside! On Sunday afternoon, after his nap, he happily chased around Yellow Dog for a good half hour. Now, the fact that she really had no idea that he was doing it was inconsequential. He just loves watching her, hearing her bark with her mouth full (she only really barks when she has a toy in her mouth-usually a very effective mute), and just saying her name, over and over. She wandered off to our neighbor's yard to investigate something that caught her nose, and Son followed, yelling her name like he wanted her to come back. Good luck kid, she doesn't listen to me when the nose gets involved. Ah the joys of a hunting dog. He still likes to observe from afar, since the front end of Yellow Dog involves that big, wet, pink thing (get your minds out from wherever they are!!) that gets all over his face and it usually almost knocks him over. When she gets too close, he just raises up his hands to protect his face. Not the best thing to do, but I can't get him to stop. He will go and pet her if I can manage to keep her head busy. I hope that they can find a way to hang out together without him being scared. She'll be seven this fall. We probably only have 3-4 years left with her. One of the sucky things about having larger dogs.
He's also trying to string together 2-3 words at a time, although not all of it is comprehensible. He's babbling almost constantly, and pointing out just about everything. He's so much fun to try to talk to now. I just have to remember to keep a straight face when he's explaining something in his own language. It's sure important to him. He's pointing out "airpanes" on our way home at night, and pointed out a school bus to me this morning. The cat has a new name which is along the lines of "reow." C the psycho cat has always been VERY vocal, and she doesn't have a polite meow, so Son's "reow" covers it. However, we can't quite get him to say cat or kitty-all pictures or images of cats are "reow." Oh, and cows? They're dogs. Hopefully my SIL in Iowa will have a calf this year so he can meet a proper cow. He's town kid, that's all I can say.
As he is out exploring, I try to commit as much as I can to memory, since I never seem to have a camera with me. When we were outside last weekend, Son was very intrigued by the lattice that we have around our deck. The deck is about five feet off the ground, so in order to conceal the junk, er, yard supplies and tools that are chucked under there, we put up some lattice so our poor neighbors wouldn't have to look at it any more. He got up on his tiptoes, and peered through the holes just to see what was under there. It would have been such a cute picture! I guess that it is high time that I wrest the uber-expensive camera that we just bought from Husband's hands and start to use it myself. Husband has this rather high opinion of himself that he is some great photographer, and that I just can't handle the new camera. Puh-leeze. He also forgets that I helped to finance the acquisition of the beast, so he may need some reminding. I just want to catch the candid moments when Son the ham doesn't know that I have a camera.
I've prattled on long enough-I really need to get it in gear and get some work done. I've been very de-motivated lately, and it's going to come and smack me soon if I don't get a hold of it. Sometimes having to be a grownup sucks.
ANYWAY......
Son has been in prime form lately. He's covering new ground almost daily, and how this kid loves to be outside! On Sunday afternoon, after his nap, he happily chased around Yellow Dog for a good half hour. Now, the fact that she really had no idea that he was doing it was inconsequential. He just loves watching her, hearing her bark with her mouth full (she only really barks when she has a toy in her mouth-usually a very effective mute), and just saying her name, over and over. She wandered off to our neighbor's yard to investigate something that caught her nose, and Son followed, yelling her name like he wanted her to come back. Good luck kid, she doesn't listen to me when the nose gets involved. Ah the joys of a hunting dog. He still likes to observe from afar, since the front end of Yellow Dog involves that big, wet, pink thing (get your minds out from wherever they are!!) that gets all over his face and it usually almost knocks him over. When she gets too close, he just raises up his hands to protect his face. Not the best thing to do, but I can't get him to stop. He will go and pet her if I can manage to keep her head busy. I hope that they can find a way to hang out together without him being scared. She'll be seven this fall. We probably only have 3-4 years left with her. One of the sucky things about having larger dogs.
He's also trying to string together 2-3 words at a time, although not all of it is comprehensible. He's babbling almost constantly, and pointing out just about everything. He's so much fun to try to talk to now. I just have to remember to keep a straight face when he's explaining something in his own language. It's sure important to him. He's pointing out "airpanes" on our way home at night, and pointed out a school bus to me this morning. The cat has a new name which is along the lines of "reow." C the psycho cat has always been VERY vocal, and she doesn't have a polite meow, so Son's "reow" covers it. However, we can't quite get him to say cat or kitty-all pictures or images of cats are "reow." Oh, and cows? They're dogs. Hopefully my SIL in Iowa will have a calf this year so he can meet a proper cow. He's town kid, that's all I can say.
As he is out exploring, I try to commit as much as I can to memory, since I never seem to have a camera with me. When we were outside last weekend, Son was very intrigued by the lattice that we have around our deck. The deck is about five feet off the ground, so in order to conceal the junk, er, yard supplies and tools that are chucked under there, we put up some lattice so our poor neighbors wouldn't have to look at it any more. He got up on his tiptoes, and peered through the holes just to see what was under there. It would have been such a cute picture! I guess that it is high time that I wrest the uber-expensive camera that we just bought from Husband's hands and start to use it myself. Husband has this rather high opinion of himself that he is some great photographer, and that I just can't handle the new camera. Puh-leeze. He also forgets that I helped to finance the acquisition of the beast, so he may need some reminding. I just want to catch the candid moments when Son the ham doesn't know that I have a camera.
I've prattled on long enough-I really need to get it in gear and get some work done. I've been very de-motivated lately, and it's going to come and smack me soon if I don't get a hold of it. Sometimes having to be a grownup sucks.
Monday, April 16, 2007
There are no words
An unconfirmed 33 dead at Virginia Tech, and our president releases this statement:
"The president believes that there is a right for people to bear arms, but that all laws must be followed," spokeswoman Dana Perino said
You have GOT to be FUCKING KIDDING ME. Kids, I have a locked, large gun safe in my home. My husband hunts. He follows the law. George the brilliant figured out that maybe, just maybe, shooting up a dorm and then two hours (!!) later a classroom might be against the law. Gee, ya think? C'mon George, after what Cheney did, do you think that you could come up with something a bit more compassionate, a bit more thoughtful? Oh, I forgot, your advisors (you know, the ones that have brain activity) didn't get to scrub this for you before you stuck your foot so far into your mouth that it is emerging from your ass.
Parents are having to face their worst nightmare today-the children that they sent off to college, that they had to let go of to grow up-won't get to finish growing up. Won't get to walk across the stage and get that diploma, or even go to the cafeteria tonight. And all that George can say is that there is a "right for people to bear arms." For once my bleeding heart liberal self won't be quiet. It's time for the conservative, left-wing, NRA nutjobs to recognize that this society cannot handle open access to firearms, particularly of an automatic variety. No matter what you tell me, automatic weapons have no place in in recreational use. Law enforcement, the military. You know, people who may come under fire from those hostile to what they stand for. Unless the deer or ducks can start shooting back, no way that you should be able to buy one of these things at Joe's Ammo World. This section of the constitution is an anachronism, and needs to be exposed for what it is. Will guns be obtained illegally? Yep, as long as there is a criminal and violent element of our society, they will be. However, how about reducing the opportunity. Get them out of the gun shops so they don't get stolen. Nail the arms dealers, even the black ops ones. How much more do we have to suffer through before it sinks in that the current rules just aren't working?
I can't imagine what those parents, brother, sisters, friends, and teachers are going through tonight. OK, for all of you conservatives and other gun rights types, please put yourself into the shoes of the 99 people that have been impacted today. The 66 parents, the 33 victims. Hold your kids and lock up your guns. Say a prayer that your absolute refusal to acknowledge this alleged "right" to bear arms is a historical throwback and not applicable to the society that we currently inhabit doesn't ever impact your children, your community, your very sense of safety and security.
Please God, help them through the nights and days to come. This cross just seems a bit too big.
"The president believes that there is a right for people to bear arms, but that all laws must be followed," spokeswoman Dana Perino said
You have GOT to be FUCKING KIDDING ME. Kids, I have a locked, large gun safe in my home. My husband hunts. He follows the law. George the brilliant figured out that maybe, just maybe, shooting up a dorm and then two hours (!!) later a classroom might be against the law. Gee, ya think? C'mon George, after what Cheney did, do you think that you could come up with something a bit more compassionate, a bit more thoughtful? Oh, I forgot, your advisors (you know, the ones that have brain activity) didn't get to scrub this for you before you stuck your foot so far into your mouth that it is emerging from your ass.
Parents are having to face their worst nightmare today-the children that they sent off to college, that they had to let go of to grow up-won't get to finish growing up. Won't get to walk across the stage and get that diploma, or even go to the cafeteria tonight. And all that George can say is that there is a "right for people to bear arms." For once my bleeding heart liberal self won't be quiet. It's time for the conservative, left-wing, NRA nutjobs to recognize that this society cannot handle open access to firearms, particularly of an automatic variety. No matter what you tell me, automatic weapons have no place in in recreational use. Law enforcement, the military. You know, people who may come under fire from those hostile to what they stand for. Unless the deer or ducks can start shooting back, no way that you should be able to buy one of these things at Joe's Ammo World. This section of the constitution is an anachronism, and needs to be exposed for what it is. Will guns be obtained illegally? Yep, as long as there is a criminal and violent element of our society, they will be. However, how about reducing the opportunity. Get them out of the gun shops so they don't get stolen. Nail the arms dealers, even the black ops ones. How much more do we have to suffer through before it sinks in that the current rules just aren't working?
I can't imagine what those parents, brother, sisters, friends, and teachers are going through tonight. OK, for all of you conservatives and other gun rights types, please put yourself into the shoes of the 99 people that have been impacted today. The 66 parents, the 33 victims. Hold your kids and lock up your guns. Say a prayer that your absolute refusal to acknowledge this alleged "right" to bear arms is a historical throwback and not applicable to the society that we currently inhabit doesn't ever impact your children, your community, your very sense of safety and security.
Please God, help them through the nights and days to come. This cross just seems a bit too big.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
I think that I finally get it
This pregnancy has been vastly different from my first with Son. With Son, I measured every day along I was, and there never was a question of where I was. With this one, as I've documented, I actually forgot and was over a week off!!
With this one, I've been struggling since the beginning to really understand that "hey stupid" you're pregnant. There's going to be a newborn in your house again. It just didn't seem to sink in. This fact strikes me as so strange. This baby is as wanted as Son was, but since it didn't entail the seemingly endless, desperate, highly emotional years of cycles, including ultrasound after ultrasound, and multiple, expensive trips to the pharmacy in Minneapolis, it just didn't seem real. The other part that makes my denial even more non-sensical is that the physical symptoms with this one have been more in the forefront. I was a lot more sick, and the nausea hung on until almost 14 weeks. While it still rears its ugly head when I get too hungry or tired, for the most part it is gone. The on-going insomnia, the relentless fatigue. While I had them with Son, neither were at the level that they have been with this one (gee, I really need to come up with a nickname here....).
Maybe its just the infertile in me saying that this shouldn't have happened so easy this time, that I didn't suffer enough. Or maybe its just that I have so much more going on in my life that I just don't have the time to be as introspective and observant as I was with Son. So, being a good Catholic, I tend to feel guilty that I'm not giving this baby his/her due. Like I'm not as engaged.
However, lately things seem to have changed a little. I'm feeling a lot better (wow, never thought that I would get to that point even a few weeks ago) so maybe I have some more emotional resources to bring to bear on this. I'm sleeping again, although Black Dog has been banished out to the garage in his crate at night. I hate to do it, but everyone in the Chronicle household has been sleeping better because of it. The other piece is that I'm finally feeling pregnant. My maternity pants fit. I've got some of the familiar aches and pains. I'm hungry again (hooray! or uh-oh...). I think that I felt movement a couple of days ago. Oh, and well, things are popping out everywhere. I don't have a bump, this is a full blown belly (mostly still jelly, but the dimensions look right). I've outgrown my biggest bras. Yep, there's something going on in there.
So, here I sit, with the realization that we have another baby coming. I'm actually getting antsy for our level II that is in less than two weeks. I'm even looking forward to September. Maybe I'm finally getting it.
With this one, I've been struggling since the beginning to really understand that "hey stupid" you're pregnant. There's going to be a newborn in your house again. It just didn't seem to sink in. This fact strikes me as so strange. This baby is as wanted as Son was, but since it didn't entail the seemingly endless, desperate, highly emotional years of cycles, including ultrasound after ultrasound, and multiple, expensive trips to the pharmacy in Minneapolis, it just didn't seem real. The other part that makes my denial even more non-sensical is that the physical symptoms with this one have been more in the forefront. I was a lot more sick, and the nausea hung on until almost 14 weeks. While it still rears its ugly head when I get too hungry or tired, for the most part it is gone. The on-going insomnia, the relentless fatigue. While I had them with Son, neither were at the level that they have been with this one (gee, I really need to come up with a nickname here....).
Maybe its just the infertile in me saying that this shouldn't have happened so easy this time, that I didn't suffer enough. Or maybe its just that I have so much more going on in my life that I just don't have the time to be as introspective and observant as I was with Son. So, being a good Catholic, I tend to feel guilty that I'm not giving this baby his/her due. Like I'm not as engaged.
However, lately things seem to have changed a little. I'm feeling a lot better (wow, never thought that I would get to that point even a few weeks ago) so maybe I have some more emotional resources to bring to bear on this. I'm sleeping again, although Black Dog has been banished out to the garage in his crate at night. I hate to do it, but everyone in the Chronicle household has been sleeping better because of it. The other piece is that I'm finally feeling pregnant. My maternity pants fit. I've got some of the familiar aches and pains. I'm hungry again (hooray! or uh-oh...). I think that I felt movement a couple of days ago. Oh, and well, things are popping out everywhere. I don't have a bump, this is a full blown belly (mostly still jelly, but the dimensions look right). I've outgrown my biggest bras. Yep, there's something going on in there.
So, here I sit, with the realization that we have another baby coming. I'm actually getting antsy for our level II that is in less than two weeks. I'm even looking forward to September. Maybe I'm finally getting it.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
OK, no more cheetos before bed...I mean it
Weird, weird dream last night/early this morning/sometime after potty break #2.
I'm in a place that I recognize as home, but it's not where I grew up. My mom is there, and for some reason when I get there, I'm told by dream extras that my baby is waiting for me, and that it's probably time to nurse. At some level, I do understand that I'm still pregnant.
I'm walking into the room where this baby is, and I look at my mom and ask her how this could be my baby, since I wasn't aware that the one that I am currently carrying is #3. She avoids the question (at least that part is true to life), and hands me a baby. Usually in my dreams I don't see distinct faces, but I usually sense who I am dealing with. In this instance, I can see the face of a six month old baby, that is a dead-ringer for Son, but that I also recognize as a girl. At that point, I accept that this is my child, but still question why I don't remember any of it.
We then flash to walking through the sacristy of the church on my college campus, and my mom confesses that the baby is hers (for some reason, she is in her mid 40s in this dream, even though she is now in her mid 50s now, but I'm the same age...oy). She was afraid to tell me that she had another baby. I ask her how, since I know that she had her tubes tied when I was a kid. No answer, then I woke up.
OK, now what the hell did that all mean? The gender issue doesn't surprise me-Husband has been insisting that this one is a girl, because, I kid you not, "you've been crazier with this one, and that's only possible if two women are involved." But the whole issue with my mom? You got me.
I remember thinking as a kid that my parent were still young even after my brother was born, so why didn't they have more? (My brother and I are six years apart, and after all of the begging that I did to get a sibling, I got a brother, when I specifically asked for a girl.) I also distinctly remember when I presume that my mom had her tubes tied. I was probably around 9, and everyone was rushing around cleaning up in preparation for mom to be out of commission. I knew that something big was up, but no one would tell me what was going on. I was scared, and sat in my room and cried. I also remember driving to the town where the hospital was to pick her up, and not being able to bring her home. I think that she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia, and bursting into tears, yelling at my Dad that yes, there was something very wrong, and why wouldn't he tell me anything?
I've been doing a lot of thinking about sibling relationships lately, so maybe that is the trigger. Maybe it was the snack of apple juice and Cheetos-I don't want to hear it, at least I ate something. Just very, very strange.
I'm in a place that I recognize as home, but it's not where I grew up. My mom is there, and for some reason when I get there, I'm told by dream extras that my baby is waiting for me, and that it's probably time to nurse. At some level, I do understand that I'm still pregnant.
I'm walking into the room where this baby is, and I look at my mom and ask her how this could be my baby, since I wasn't aware that the one that I am currently carrying is #3. She avoids the question (at least that part is true to life), and hands me a baby. Usually in my dreams I don't see distinct faces, but I usually sense who I am dealing with. In this instance, I can see the face of a six month old baby, that is a dead-ringer for Son, but that I also recognize as a girl. At that point, I accept that this is my child, but still question why I don't remember any of it.
We then flash to walking through the sacristy of the church on my college campus, and my mom confesses that the baby is hers (for some reason, she is in her mid 40s in this dream, even though she is now in her mid 50s now, but I'm the same age...oy). She was afraid to tell me that she had another baby. I ask her how, since I know that she had her tubes tied when I was a kid. No answer, then I woke up.
OK, now what the hell did that all mean? The gender issue doesn't surprise me-Husband has been insisting that this one is a girl, because, I kid you not, "you've been crazier with this one, and that's only possible if two women are involved." But the whole issue with my mom? You got me.
I remember thinking as a kid that my parent were still young even after my brother was born, so why didn't they have more? (My brother and I are six years apart, and after all of the begging that I did to get a sibling, I got a brother, when I specifically asked for a girl.) I also distinctly remember when I presume that my mom had her tubes tied. I was probably around 9, and everyone was rushing around cleaning up in preparation for mom to be out of commission. I knew that something big was up, but no one would tell me what was going on. I was scared, and sat in my room and cried. I also remember driving to the town where the hospital was to pick her up, and not being able to bring her home. I think that she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia, and bursting into tears, yelling at my Dad that yes, there was something very wrong, and why wouldn't he tell me anything?
I've been doing a lot of thinking about sibling relationships lately, so maybe that is the trigger. Maybe it was the snack of apple juice and Cheetos-I don't want to hear it, at least I ate something. Just very, very strange.
What a difference a couple of hours makes
My usual disdain for anitbiotics (mainly the size of the pills and what they end up doing to my digestive tract) has been obliterated. After just two days of the Z-pack, I feel a ton better. Almost makes me think that I haven't had allergies after all, just recurrent sinus infections. Hmmmmm.
Anyway, while the insomnia is still rearing it's head, I did manage to piece together two stints of over two hours last night. The amount of improvement that I feel today is tantamount to that first time that a newborn goes for more three hours at a pop at night. Still a little bleary, but more seems right with the world. Even though we had snow last night. Yes, in April. I do live in Minnesota after all. Winter doesn't give up entirely until at least the end of May. It ended up to just be a dusting, which is less than the 2 inches that were predicted. However, my parents, who live about 200 miles north of us, had 8 inches on the ground at 4PM yesterday. Dad jinxed it I'm sure, since he's been fiddling with the boats for the past couple of weeks.
Regardless, I'm hoping that tonight will even be better. Let's see if I can put together three or more hours. Sure would be nice.
Anyway, while the insomnia is still rearing it's head, I did manage to piece together two stints of over two hours last night. The amount of improvement that I feel today is tantamount to that first time that a newborn goes for more three hours at a pop at night. Still a little bleary, but more seems right with the world. Even though we had snow last night. Yes, in April. I do live in Minnesota after all. Winter doesn't give up entirely until at least the end of May. It ended up to just be a dusting, which is less than the 2 inches that were predicted. However, my parents, who live about 200 miles north of us, had 8 inches on the ground at 4PM yesterday. Dad jinxed it I'm sure, since he's been fiddling with the boats for the past couple of weeks.
Regardless, I'm hoping that tonight will even be better. Let's see if I can put together three or more hours. Sure would be nice.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
hack, hack, and hack
All I have to say is that with the way this pregnancy has been going, I had better have a kid that sleeps through the night before 11 months. That's all I'm asking. The basis for my demand? I am now 16w2d, and I think I can count the number of good days on one hand. I am so ready to be done with this. C'mon, where is that second trimester rebound?
Just to be clear, I am about to gripe. A lot. I suppose that I should add in the normal disclaimer that seems to be required by all infertiles, you know, that I do appreciate this pregnancy, blah, blah. I do, but right now, I'm not enjoying the ride a whole lot.
For the past couple of weeks, sleep has been a very scare commodity for me, and I know that it is adversely affecting just about everything. I'm overly tired, stressed out that I am so damn tired, which in turn causes my morning sickness/overall disdain for food to skyrocket. This probably isn't as big of a deal was would be for a non-fat person, but Husband is now getting on my case that I'm not eating enough, with the strong undertone that he thinks that I'm hurting the baby. What he fails to understand is that I'm eating as much as I can handle, which I have to admit, isn't all that much. In my defense, I haven't lost weight (except for the same pound that I keep bouncing up and down). I don't have any of those keytone strips that are still good, so I don't know if I'm burning any fat or not. My hunch is no. I have my OB appointment on Friday, so we'll see what she says. I know that Husband is going to raise the issue. I really don't think that it is a big deal. Clinically, I'm obese, and no weight movement at 16 weeks really is no big deal. Now, if we're at 28 weeks and nothing has moved, then maybe we'll have to talk.
Another factor that isn't helping with the whole lack of sleep is that I've been nursing this nagging cough for the past couple of weeks. It gets worse at night, and I wake up with coughing fits that I can't get under control. A couple of times they have gotten so bad that I've vomited, which is no fun either. (Damn, I need those calories!) So, combine the coughing fits with the fact that I'm still getting up 2-3 times a night to go to the bathroom, and I'm lucky if I can string together more than an hour or two at a pop. Oh, and the kicker? Once I go back to bed, I can't fall back asleep. Yes folks, insomnia! Usually after 1-2 hours of this, with my mind running a million miles a minute, I get up and promptly fall asleep on the couch. Husband, well, he's pretty much oblivious to this. He keeps trying to get me to bed earlier, but I've almost developed a "thing" about our bed. That I almost dread going to bed because it just causes more agony. It might be time to rearrange the bedroom and see where that gets us.
Ok, so I've covered sick and tired. Next stop, and pardon me Mr. Osbourne, but everyone on the crazy train! OK, so in my misguided belief that the cough and congestion was allergy related, I finally caved in after a horrible night to try to take some Benadr*l. I thought that hey, it should knock me out, and I'll actually be able to function in the morning. The first night, I just took one, and while it helped with the cough, the improvement wasn't that great. Being ever the scientist, I decided that I would try two and see what happened. The first night-only up once. A miracle cure! Second night, not as good, but tolerable. Third night, I was considering whether Husband should take me to a psych ward. I would sleep for 30 minutes, wake up with a pounding heart and breathing fast, and with such undirected anxiety that I had to get up out of bed and pace. My mind was racing, and no matter what I did, I couldn't shut it off. Finally, around 3:30 I fell asleep in the chair out in the living room, only to be woke up by Husband going downstairs to let the dogs out. He commands me to bed.
I try to sleep, but I wake up scared again. I simply couldn't be alone. I went down to watch TV with him while he got ready for work. I finally calm down (some), go back upstairs, and try to go to sleep. I wake up 45 minutes later, and am absolutely, irrationally, afraid that Husband has left for work, and that I was alone, and that I was having some sort of psychotic break. I ran downstairs, and caught him before he left. I begged him to stay. In all of our years together, him being gone at weird times and me being alone in the house has been a semi-regular event. I usually don't mind, since I can take up all of a king sized bed if allowed. It's one of the curses of him being in an industry that is 24/7/365. However, on that day I just simply could not let him out of the house. I was sure that I wouldn't be able to bear it.
He wasn't too happy with me, and I really don't think that he understood/understands the sheer depth of the fear and anxiety that I had. He stayed home and was able to get one of the major things done that he needed to and emailed in. I tried to stay on the love seat while he worked from the couch, but that was too far for me. I ended up on the couch with him, and finally slept. It was only another 45 minutes, but if I hadn't had that, the day would have been shot. I finally calmed down enough to get ready for work, get Son ready, and be on time for my first meeting of the day. Quite an accomplishment considering that I was in such a state that the thought of sitting alone in my glorified cube/office was scaring me an hour before. After I got to work, the whole night felt like I had literally been in the twilight zone, or a dream.
At the height of everything, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I had finally lost it. That I wasn't just a little depressed, but rather that I had some sort of psychosis happening. The type that changes people forever. That, of course, wound me up even more. What really bothers me is that I was able to see and grasp the idea that there was really something wrong with me. Something that might change me irretrievably.
Husband was convinced that I was just having a reaction to the allergy medication, and made me promise to call my OB to see if this was normal. I think that he may have even thought that I was really losing it. Later on that morning, I was able to get hold of my OB's office, and Dr. Wonderful agreed that while a little on the extreme side, the possibility of the whole episode being caused by the medication was high. Add that to being extremely tired and my other history, he didn't feel like I needed to do anything other than not take it again. I was also instructed to go to my GP and get checked to see if the whole reason behind my taking the medication in the first place was indeed allergies, or a sinus infection run amok. (Which ultimately was the conclusion. Zithromax for the next five days. Yea.)
Unfortunately, my next OB appointment isn't with Dr. Wonderful, so the person that I'm seeing won't really have much insight into who I am and what is going on with me. I've been having mild anxiety attacks in the past couple of weeks, and I'm a little worried that they aren't going to get better. I'm really anxious about giving birth again since I failed so miserable last time, and having to go through the first six weeks with a newborn, a toddler, and a husband that isn't going to do much in way of helping on either front. I'm worried about how this second baby is going to hit our financial bottom line (heavily) and how we're going to manage it, especially if one of the cars gives up the ghost in the next year. I've pretty much given up on the idea of us moving any time soon, but I still have a lot of work to do to get ready for this one. Five months doesn't' seem long enough to save what we need to outfit a room (Son has a convertible crib and a changing table/dresser that he needs to keep), somehow organize and move our home office to somewhere else in the house, recarpet the bedroom (my adopted stray cat and her kittens destroyed it), and save enough to survive on maternity leave where the second six weeks isn't paid. Add that on top of the fact that I haven't had anything resembling "me time" or a break in at least a couple of months, and it may just be that I'm burned out, and being tired is just what is pushing me over the edge. However, I look around me, and lots of people are in the same boat and are doing fine. Why am I such a fragile creature right now?
I also worry that I'm penalizing myself yet again in that I have so much running through my head that I'm not taking the time to appreciate and enjoy what will most likely be my last pregnancy. After I had Son, I made a promise to myself that the next time I would just slow down and try to soak it in, appreciate it for the wonder of it all. Basically, take enough time to be able to remember it. At this point, almost halfway done, and I haven't done any of that. Maybe once I feel a little movement, but I don't think that I have yet. With Son, I was around 18 weeks when I felt the first popcorn pop, so hopefully soon. I'm just struggling to remember that this is real. If I could still fit in my regular clothes, I probably would forget that I'm pregnant.
So, there it is, nutjob and all. I feel a little cleansed to get all of it written down. Hopefully my brain will shut down and let me sleep tonight. I know that everyone around me is hoping that I can.
Just to be clear, I am about to gripe. A lot. I suppose that I should add in the normal disclaimer that seems to be required by all infertiles, you know, that I do appreciate this pregnancy, blah, blah. I do, but right now, I'm not enjoying the ride a whole lot.
For the past couple of weeks, sleep has been a very scare commodity for me, and I know that it is adversely affecting just about everything. I'm overly tired, stressed out that I am so damn tired, which in turn causes my morning sickness/overall disdain for food to skyrocket. This probably isn't as big of a deal was would be for a non-fat person, but Husband is now getting on my case that I'm not eating enough, with the strong undertone that he thinks that I'm hurting the baby. What he fails to understand is that I'm eating as much as I can handle, which I have to admit, isn't all that much. In my defense, I haven't lost weight (except for the same pound that I keep bouncing up and down). I don't have any of those keytone strips that are still good, so I don't know if I'm burning any fat or not. My hunch is no. I have my OB appointment on Friday, so we'll see what she says. I know that Husband is going to raise the issue. I really don't think that it is a big deal. Clinically, I'm obese, and no weight movement at 16 weeks really is no big deal. Now, if we're at 28 weeks and nothing has moved, then maybe we'll have to talk.
Another factor that isn't helping with the whole lack of sleep is that I've been nursing this nagging cough for the past couple of weeks. It gets worse at night, and I wake up with coughing fits that I can't get under control. A couple of times they have gotten so bad that I've vomited, which is no fun either. (Damn, I need those calories!) So, combine the coughing fits with the fact that I'm still getting up 2-3 times a night to go to the bathroom, and I'm lucky if I can string together more than an hour or two at a pop. Oh, and the kicker? Once I go back to bed, I can't fall back asleep. Yes folks, insomnia! Usually after 1-2 hours of this, with my mind running a million miles a minute, I get up and promptly fall asleep on the couch. Husband, well, he's pretty much oblivious to this. He keeps trying to get me to bed earlier, but I've almost developed a "thing" about our bed. That I almost dread going to bed because it just causes more agony. It might be time to rearrange the bedroom and see where that gets us.
Ok, so I've covered sick and tired. Next stop, and pardon me Mr. Osbourne, but everyone on the crazy train! OK, so in my misguided belief that the cough and congestion was allergy related, I finally caved in after a horrible night to try to take some Benadr*l. I thought that hey, it should knock me out, and I'll actually be able to function in the morning. The first night, I just took one, and while it helped with the cough, the improvement wasn't that great. Being ever the scientist, I decided that I would try two and see what happened. The first night-only up once. A miracle cure! Second night, not as good, but tolerable. Third night, I was considering whether Husband should take me to a psych ward. I would sleep for 30 minutes, wake up with a pounding heart and breathing fast, and with such undirected anxiety that I had to get up out of bed and pace. My mind was racing, and no matter what I did, I couldn't shut it off. Finally, around 3:30 I fell asleep in the chair out in the living room, only to be woke up by Husband going downstairs to let the dogs out. He commands me to bed.
I try to sleep, but I wake up scared again. I simply couldn't be alone. I went down to watch TV with him while he got ready for work. I finally calm down (some), go back upstairs, and try to go to sleep. I wake up 45 minutes later, and am absolutely, irrationally, afraid that Husband has left for work, and that I was alone, and that I was having some sort of psychotic break. I ran downstairs, and caught him before he left. I begged him to stay. In all of our years together, him being gone at weird times and me being alone in the house has been a semi-regular event. I usually don't mind, since I can take up all of a king sized bed if allowed. It's one of the curses of him being in an industry that is 24/7/365. However, on that day I just simply could not let him out of the house. I was sure that I wouldn't be able to bear it.
He wasn't too happy with me, and I really don't think that he understood/understands the sheer depth of the fear and anxiety that I had. He stayed home and was able to get one of the major things done that he needed to and emailed in. I tried to stay on the love seat while he worked from the couch, but that was too far for me. I ended up on the couch with him, and finally slept. It was only another 45 minutes, but if I hadn't had that, the day would have been shot. I finally calmed down enough to get ready for work, get Son ready, and be on time for my first meeting of the day. Quite an accomplishment considering that I was in such a state that the thought of sitting alone in my glorified cube/office was scaring me an hour before. After I got to work, the whole night felt like I had literally been in the twilight zone, or a dream.
At the height of everything, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I had finally lost it. That I wasn't just a little depressed, but rather that I had some sort of psychosis happening. The type that changes people forever. That, of course, wound me up even more. What really bothers me is that I was able to see and grasp the idea that there was really something wrong with me. Something that might change me irretrievably.
Husband was convinced that I was just having a reaction to the allergy medication, and made me promise to call my OB to see if this was normal. I think that he may have even thought that I was really losing it. Later on that morning, I was able to get hold of my OB's office, and Dr. Wonderful agreed that while a little on the extreme side, the possibility of the whole episode being caused by the medication was high. Add that to being extremely tired and my other history, he didn't feel like I needed to do anything other than not take it again. I was also instructed to go to my GP and get checked to see if the whole reason behind my taking the medication in the first place was indeed allergies, or a sinus infection run amok. (Which ultimately was the conclusion. Zithromax for the next five days. Yea.)
Unfortunately, my next OB appointment isn't with Dr. Wonderful, so the person that I'm seeing won't really have much insight into who I am and what is going on with me. I've been having mild anxiety attacks in the past couple of weeks, and I'm a little worried that they aren't going to get better. I'm really anxious about giving birth again since I failed so miserable last time, and having to go through the first six weeks with a newborn, a toddler, and a husband that isn't going to do much in way of helping on either front. I'm worried about how this second baby is going to hit our financial bottom line (heavily) and how we're going to manage it, especially if one of the cars gives up the ghost in the next year. I've pretty much given up on the idea of us moving any time soon, but I still have a lot of work to do to get ready for this one. Five months doesn't' seem long enough to save what we need to outfit a room (Son has a convertible crib and a changing table/dresser that he needs to keep), somehow organize and move our home office to somewhere else in the house, recarpet the bedroom (my adopted stray cat and her kittens destroyed it), and save enough to survive on maternity leave where the second six weeks isn't paid. Add that on top of the fact that I haven't had anything resembling "me time" or a break in at least a couple of months, and it may just be that I'm burned out, and being tired is just what is pushing me over the edge. However, I look around me, and lots of people are in the same boat and are doing fine. Why am I such a fragile creature right now?
I also worry that I'm penalizing myself yet again in that I have so much running through my head that I'm not taking the time to appreciate and enjoy what will most likely be my last pregnancy. After I had Son, I made a promise to myself that the next time I would just slow down and try to soak it in, appreciate it for the wonder of it all. Basically, take enough time to be able to remember it. At this point, almost halfway done, and I haven't done any of that. Maybe once I feel a little movement, but I don't think that I have yet. With Son, I was around 18 weeks when I felt the first popcorn pop, so hopefully soon. I'm just struggling to remember that this is real. If I could still fit in my regular clothes, I probably would forget that I'm pregnant.
So, there it is, nutjob and all. I feel a little cleansed to get all of it written down. Hopefully my brain will shut down and let me sleep tonight. I know that everyone around me is hoping that I can.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The wonders of a little boy
Son has discovered a slew of new tricks to add to his cuteness quotient. God knows, after the toddler screaming/tantrum demerits, he needs the help.
Regardless, this kid never fails to surprise us. A couple of nights ago we were putting Son to bed. Pajamas (the "cahr" ones), Bobo the bear was in hand, and it was time to try to cajole a kiss or two out of him. He has this routine where I pull up his pajama bottoms where he is standing on the changing table. I tell him "all done" and then he just falls into me. I don't know when we started it, but routine it is. Husband was doing the dressing for some reason (oh yea, tired, pregnant mommy hadn't eaten since lunch and it was 8PM), and Son did the fall thing with Husband. He then....drumrolll....wrapped his little arms around Husband's neck and hugged. He hugged! He's never done that before. He would pat your back or shoulder while someone was holding him, but that was it. This was a bona fide hug!
Last night, Husband was conked out on a muscle relaxant (his neck is still bugging him a little), and I was going through the routine. Son fell, I caught, he hugged. He then demanded that we do it again. I moved away from the changing table and was moving towards his crib. He then would open his arms wide, let out a happy little scream and then wrap his arms and squeeze. Heaven!
He's also started to blow kisses. Again, not something that he had ever done before. However, his aim on his hand is still a little goofy-sometimes I think that he's signing thank you, and others a kiss. Regardless, he does it with such glee that I'll take either version. He's also using "pease", but not voluntarily yet. I gotta say, he can take his time with some of those vowel sounds.
I can say, that he's way more entertainment than I ever thought he could be. I was singing "Twinkle Twinkle" last night, and he actually chimed in for a couple of lines-melody and everything! The words, well, they were ad-libbed, but still, what a sweet little voice. He's been singing for a while, but it just sounded like random tests of the noises he could make. Now it's becoming more organized. Damn, now I'll actually have to start reading the newsletters and figure out what they are focusing on. It's fun to see how his face registers that he knows what comes next, and gee, Mom, you can do it too!
OK, so I guess that we'll keep him.
Regardless, this kid never fails to surprise us. A couple of nights ago we were putting Son to bed. Pajamas (the "cahr" ones), Bobo the bear was in hand, and it was time to try to cajole a kiss or two out of him. He has this routine where I pull up his pajama bottoms where he is standing on the changing table. I tell him "all done" and then he just falls into me. I don't know when we started it, but routine it is. Husband was doing the dressing for some reason (oh yea, tired, pregnant mommy hadn't eaten since lunch and it was 8PM), and Son did the fall thing with Husband. He then....drumrolll....wrapped his little arms around Husband's neck and hugged. He hugged! He's never done that before. He would pat your back or shoulder while someone was holding him, but that was it. This was a bona fide hug!
Last night, Husband was conked out on a muscle relaxant (his neck is still bugging him a little), and I was going through the routine. Son fell, I caught, he hugged. He then demanded that we do it again. I moved away from the changing table and was moving towards his crib. He then would open his arms wide, let out a happy little scream and then wrap his arms and squeeze. Heaven!
He's also started to blow kisses. Again, not something that he had ever done before. However, his aim on his hand is still a little goofy-sometimes I think that he's signing thank you, and others a kiss. Regardless, he does it with such glee that I'll take either version. He's also using "pease", but not voluntarily yet. I gotta say, he can take his time with some of those vowel sounds.
I can say, that he's way more entertainment than I ever thought he could be. I was singing "Twinkle Twinkle" last night, and he actually chimed in for a couple of lines-melody and everything! The words, well, they were ad-libbed, but still, what a sweet little voice. He's been singing for a while, but it just sounded like random tests of the noises he could make. Now it's becoming more organized. Damn, now I'll actually have to start reading the newsletters and figure out what they are focusing on. It's fun to see how his face registers that he knows what comes next, and gee, Mom, you can do it too!
OK, so I guess that we'll keep him.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Why can't time just stand still for a little while?
Just one of those days...again. God, I hate hormones, I hate lurking depression, hate.it.all.
It was one of those days where it took all that I had to leave Son at daycare and walk out the door. He had been in a horrible mood this morning, and everything was sending him into tears. (I guess that we that in common). He's been fighting a cold for over two weeks now, he's tired, his nose is literally raw from all of the wiping, to the point that it bled last night. The only thing that seemed to make him feel better was when I picked him up, wrapped him up in a blanket, gave him his bear, and we stood and looked out the window. I so didn't want to let him go-I feel like time is this relentless force, and that our chance moments of quiet like that are slipping through my fingers, never to be recaptured.
My little boy needed me, and I had to walk out the door.
It felt like the first day when I had to leave him. Will he get the cuddles that he needs, the hugs? Will they know that he just needs/wants to crawl into their lap and look at a book, or just lean back into them while holding his blanket? Will they know? Will they care?
I'm probably being overly dramatic about all of this. I carried him in this morning, and by the time we got his blanket put away, and his coat off, he was looking with great interest at the play area. All of his friends were there. I gave him another hug, and set him down on the other side of the wall. His friend M, who is like a sister (they are six weeks apart and have been together since he started at the center) offered him a toy, and he didn't look back for me. To see the two of them together is actually comforting. They are a pair of contrasts; for as big and blond as he is, she is dark and petite. They seek each other out for comfort, and he is her protector.
I know that he's in a good place, but I still have those days where I hate the fact that I can't be with him more. There's no way that I can ever stay home. I'm the primary income for us. Working in the corporate area, the likelihood of me every swinging part-time is so low that I don't even consider it. There are times that I resent it so much. Today is one of those days.
In the end, I don't know if I could do it as a stay at home. I'm not that social, and Son would be stuck with me all day. All the enrichment activities in the world are no substitute for being around other kids. He's social, and he is learning new things every day. I just hate that other people get so much of him. Before I know it, he won't want to be held with a blanket and a bear. Then what? I won't get that time back. I think that's what is hitting me the most. I want to burn that picture of my beautiful blond boy running to me with the biggest smile in my mind so I never lose it. I'm just so terrified of missing something.
The thought of having to do this again with another child is really eating at me right now. I feel as though I lose a piece of me each day that I have to leave them. What I look forward to is having to do it again. Leaving a newborn. It's the hardest thing to do. And the kicker is, the U.S. wants to reduce our benefits even more. It's hard enough to have to take six of the twelve weeks unpaid. We don't live beyond our means, but to take any more time than that is not financially possible.
So, here I sit in my office crying, stifling the urge to leave with my keys, and take my son home. I just miss him so much. Why can't time just stand still for a little while?
It was one of those days where it took all that I had to leave Son at daycare and walk out the door. He had been in a horrible mood this morning, and everything was sending him into tears. (I guess that we that in common). He's been fighting a cold for over two weeks now, he's tired, his nose is literally raw from all of the wiping, to the point that it bled last night. The only thing that seemed to make him feel better was when I picked him up, wrapped him up in a blanket, gave him his bear, and we stood and looked out the window. I so didn't want to let him go-I feel like time is this relentless force, and that our chance moments of quiet like that are slipping through my fingers, never to be recaptured.
My little boy needed me, and I had to walk out the door.
It felt like the first day when I had to leave him. Will he get the cuddles that he needs, the hugs? Will they know that he just needs/wants to crawl into their lap and look at a book, or just lean back into them while holding his blanket? Will they know? Will they care?
I'm probably being overly dramatic about all of this. I carried him in this morning, and by the time we got his blanket put away, and his coat off, he was looking with great interest at the play area. All of his friends were there. I gave him another hug, and set him down on the other side of the wall. His friend M, who is like a sister (they are six weeks apart and have been together since he started at the center) offered him a toy, and he didn't look back for me. To see the two of them together is actually comforting. They are a pair of contrasts; for as big and blond as he is, she is dark and petite. They seek each other out for comfort, and he is her protector.
I know that he's in a good place, but I still have those days where I hate the fact that I can't be with him more. There's no way that I can ever stay home. I'm the primary income for us. Working in the corporate area, the likelihood of me every swinging part-time is so low that I don't even consider it. There are times that I resent it so much. Today is one of those days.
In the end, I don't know if I could do it as a stay at home. I'm not that social, and Son would be stuck with me all day. All the enrichment activities in the world are no substitute for being around other kids. He's social, and he is learning new things every day. I just hate that other people get so much of him. Before I know it, he won't want to be held with a blanket and a bear. Then what? I won't get that time back. I think that's what is hitting me the most. I want to burn that picture of my beautiful blond boy running to me with the biggest smile in my mind so I never lose it. I'm just so terrified of missing something.
The thought of having to do this again with another child is really eating at me right now. I feel as though I lose a piece of me each day that I have to leave them. What I look forward to is having to do it again. Leaving a newborn. It's the hardest thing to do. And the kicker is, the U.S. wants to reduce our benefits even more. It's hard enough to have to take six of the twelve weeks unpaid. We don't live beyond our means, but to take any more time than that is not financially possible.
So, here I sit in my office crying, stifling the urge to leave with my keys, and take my son home. I just miss him so much. Why can't time just stand still for a little while?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Thar she blows!
There are certain types of things that I think only happen in a house with a small child (or children). I used to think that the dogs, in all their glory, were two of the most destructive forces in the universe. Oh no. Two 75lb dogs have nothing on a 28 lb toddler. Nothing.
So, last night, I actually made a meal (with help from our friendly neighborhood SuperTarget, but never you mind), and I'm getting Son's plate ready. Husband is corralling said Son to get into his highchair, when Son notices that the 7Up fridge pack is on the dining room chair. Hooray! One of Son's favorite things is to take cans out and put them back in. Screw the meal, let me play.
Son then proceeds to start to pull out one can....and the thing erupts, spewing pop up and onto the ceiling, the wall, and just about every other surface within five feet. Son, meanwhile, is crying. He's scared, and soaked in the full-sugar version of pop. Husband grabs the offending container and throws it in the sink, and I guide the toddler down the hall to the bathroom to strip him off and clean him up. Good thing it was bath night. He walks into the bathroom stiff legged, since his pants are soaked from waistband down to his shoes. He's still crying. We strip off his shirt, and I wipe him off with a washcloth, give him a hug, and the tears stop. We were on our way to his room to get off his pants and get a new diaper when I look down the hall to see Husband watering the floor of the kitchen and dining room with the sprayer from the sink. I guess it worked, because the main areas affected are pretty stick free.
The rest of the two rooms...well, lets just say that me and my Floormate are going to be spending some time together this weekend. And that the dining room wall might need to get repainted too. The thing is, unlike the last time this happened (yes, there was a last time), Son had actually dropped the can of pop. This time, we can't figure out what happened. I looked at the can later, and the seam along the top of the can just seems to have split. Don't think that Son will be messing with those cans again.
So, last night, I actually made a meal (with help from our friendly neighborhood SuperTarget, but never you mind), and I'm getting Son's plate ready. Husband is corralling said Son to get into his highchair, when Son notices that the 7Up fridge pack is on the dining room chair. Hooray! One of Son's favorite things is to take cans out and put them back in. Screw the meal, let me play.
Son then proceeds to start to pull out one can....and the thing erupts, spewing pop up and onto the ceiling, the wall, and just about every other surface within five feet. Son, meanwhile, is crying. He's scared, and soaked in the full-sugar version of pop. Husband grabs the offending container and throws it in the sink, and I guide the toddler down the hall to the bathroom to strip him off and clean him up. Good thing it was bath night. He walks into the bathroom stiff legged, since his pants are soaked from waistband down to his shoes. He's still crying. We strip off his shirt, and I wipe him off with a washcloth, give him a hug, and the tears stop. We were on our way to his room to get off his pants and get a new diaper when I look down the hall to see Husband watering the floor of the kitchen and dining room with the sprayer from the sink. I guess it worked, because the main areas affected are pretty stick free.
The rest of the two rooms...well, lets just say that me and my Floormate are going to be spending some time together this weekend. And that the dining room wall might need to get repainted too. The thing is, unlike the last time this happened (yes, there was a last time), Son had actually dropped the can of pop. This time, we can't figure out what happened. I looked at the can later, and the seam along the top of the can just seems to have split. Don't think that Son will be messing with those cans again.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Ask and ye shall receive
OK, so I made some smartass comment in my last post about "unforeseen calamity." Duh. When will I learn?
Unforeseen Calamity (Sort of) #1: Wednesday morning I wake up with one of those headaches. The ones that I wake up crying it hurts so much. I don't know if this qualifies as a migraine, or just an extremely painful headache. I wander downstairs (in the dark because I take on vampire qualities when these hit) and beg Husband to come up and help me. The headache is radiating from a severely screwed up neck and shoulders. Stress hasn't been absent from my life, and it builds up to equal trapezious muscles of stone. He works on me for about 30 minutes, and I start to feel human. Damn Tylenol doesn't work at all.
Husband calls my OB to see if there is anything else that I can take to try to deal with this. I then to proceed to exchange several calls with the triage nurse. I stupidly had mentioned that I had pain in my neck, and there is a freak out about meningitis. Ugh. No. I dutifully take my temperature (after having to tear about the house to try to find a thermometer that hasn't been used rectally) to find that I am normal. Sigh. I have a family history of migraine. I'm not sure if what I have are migraines, but I do usually manage to have some light sensitivity, and if I don't get to my A*vil in time, I do get a bit sick to my stomach. Regardless, all I wanted to know was whether I needed to suck it up, or if I could enjoy better living through chemistry.
In the end a chiropractic appointment and a good clunk and pop out of the right side of my neck later, the headache pretty much disappears. The day is shot anyway, so I took advantage of the child-free time to nap. I got up around 4:00, and we decided that we would go and fetch Son from daycare around 5:00, which leads to......
Unforeseen Calamity #2: As we pull ourselves together to go get Son, Husband sits down on the couch and lets out a scream. What the....? His neck is in excruciating pain, he can't turn it, and he wants me to hold it up to take the pressure off. Great, just great.
We know that we have to get to Son's daycare, which is about 20 minutes away from home. Due to the calamity, it is now 5:30ish, and daycare closes at 6:00. There really isn't time to drop Husband off at the nearest Urgent Care/Emergency room. What follows is the car ride from hell. We take the Caddie, since it rides somewhat smoothly. Husband cries, curses at me for taking curves too fast, and lets me have it in general. I refrain from making the reference to his total lack of empathy with my contractions on the way to the hospital. This takes a great deal of restraint, let me tell you.
We get to daycare, I grab Son, who is in one of the best moods he has been in for a while. To see his face crumple when he sees Da-Da in pain breaks my heart. He was so concerned, and scared. Husband decides that he can't tolerate the return trip to the ER closest to our house (which was prudent in that he called the Urgent Care attached to the same ER and the wait was over 1 1/2 hours), so we go to the ER in the same town as daycare. My GP is out of this hospital, and I know that it is pretty good.
Fortunately, when we get there, the waiting room is empty, and Husband is put in a neck brace and taken back to an ER room immediately. This hospital is different in that the triage nurse decides how gets urgent care and who gets the ER. Anyway, they take his history (for the third freakin' time), and after a quick chat with the doc (who was in with Husband less than 10 minutes after he got a bed), he gets an IV of morphine and is able to breathe again. His blood pressure was really high too.
In the end, after an MRI, two doses of M*rphine, it is determined that things aren't dire, but he's got a way to go before he feels better. He had been doing a lot work using his right side. One day he spent the entire morning chipping ice off of the sidewalk, and a couple of days later, pumping over six inches of water off of the flat roof of the hotel, since the center drains don't work. All of that overuse, plus the chiropractic appointment, caused a pretty severe muscle spasm, which they are considering a muscle injury. The MRI also showed that he has a slightly bulging disc a little higher in his neck, but they were pretty certain that the disc isn't causing the problem. We were discharged with prescriptions for V*alium, Pe*coset, and high dosage Advil.
Through all of this, Son did pretty well. We did leave for a while to get him some supper. He ate probably the best he has all week. I was so upset that I fought throwing up the entire time I was feeding him his chicken strips and fruit. My morning sickness turns on a dime when I get tired and/or stressed, but I managed to choke down half a shake just so my stomach wouldn't be empty. I was stressed because I didn't know what they were going to find with Husband, I knew that Son was going to get to bed late and thus be one fun toddler the next morning. and mad (not pretty) at Husband for yet again not doing what he should and having to spend time in an emergency room. This always happens immediately, if not soon after, something happens to me. Example. I'm in labor, he breaks a tooth. I'm recovering from having a baby, and he's more concerned about getting to the dentist than taking care of me. He brings a lot of this on himself. He DOES NOT TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AT ALL. However, he has the guts to give me grief about what I do. It makes me so damn mad, because he really does have time to work out, eat decently. I mean, he really is only responsible for himself. He has a fitness club that is free for him (through the hotel) right across the street. He usually leaves work between 3 and 4; even with a 30 minute commute, Son and I are lucky to cross the threshold before 6 each night. He has the time. Something that I have fight tooth and nail for.
I guess what scared me, and continues to scare me, is that I see Husband going down the same path medically as his father. His father's last 15 years were hell, both on him and everyone around him. From a selfish point of view, I don't want to have to live that life. He had strokes, Alzheimer's, and struggled with thyroid problems. He had two fused vertebrae in his neck, his shoulders had been rebuilt twice. He was senile the last few years, irritable, angry, controlling, violent, and just awful. Due to a previous CAT scan, we know that Husband has calcification in his brain, which are a pretty solid marker for Alzheimer's. We haven't talked about it much, but in the back of my mind, I don't think that it is a question of if he develops it, but when. And how badly. The thought of him not knowing me or our children terrifies me. I know that he thinks about it, but still lives in this fantasy that he is in his 20s and he's bulletproof. When is he going to figure out that he can't live that way anymore? When?
Needless to say, it wasn't a fun day.
Unforeseen Calamity (Sort of) #1: Wednesday morning I wake up with one of those headaches. The ones that I wake up crying it hurts so much. I don't know if this qualifies as a migraine, or just an extremely painful headache. I wander downstairs (in the dark because I take on vampire qualities when these hit) and beg Husband to come up and help me. The headache is radiating from a severely screwed up neck and shoulders. Stress hasn't been absent from my life, and it builds up to equal trapezious muscles of stone. He works on me for about 30 minutes, and I start to feel human. Damn Tylenol doesn't work at all.
Husband calls my OB to see if there is anything else that I can take to try to deal with this. I then to proceed to exchange several calls with the triage nurse. I stupidly had mentioned that I had pain in my neck, and there is a freak out about meningitis. Ugh. No. I dutifully take my temperature (after having to tear about the house to try to find a thermometer that hasn't been used rectally) to find that I am normal. Sigh. I have a family history of migraine. I'm not sure if what I have are migraines, but I do usually manage to have some light sensitivity, and if I don't get to my A*vil in time, I do get a bit sick to my stomach. Regardless, all I wanted to know was whether I needed to suck it up, or if I could enjoy better living through chemistry.
In the end a chiropractic appointment and a good clunk and pop out of the right side of my neck later, the headache pretty much disappears. The day is shot anyway, so I took advantage of the child-free time to nap. I got up around 4:00, and we decided that we would go and fetch Son from daycare around 5:00, which leads to......
Unforeseen Calamity #2: As we pull ourselves together to go get Son, Husband sits down on the couch and lets out a scream. What the....? His neck is in excruciating pain, he can't turn it, and he wants me to hold it up to take the pressure off. Great, just great.
We know that we have to get to Son's daycare, which is about 20 minutes away from home. Due to the calamity, it is now 5:30ish, and daycare closes at 6:00. There really isn't time to drop Husband off at the nearest Urgent Care/Emergency room. What follows is the car ride from hell. We take the Caddie, since it rides somewhat smoothly. Husband cries, curses at me for taking curves too fast, and lets me have it in general. I refrain from making the reference to his total lack of empathy with my contractions on the way to the hospital. This takes a great deal of restraint, let me tell you.
We get to daycare, I grab Son, who is in one of the best moods he has been in for a while. To see his face crumple when he sees Da-Da in pain breaks my heart. He was so concerned, and scared. Husband decides that he can't tolerate the return trip to the ER closest to our house (which was prudent in that he called the Urgent Care attached to the same ER and the wait was over 1 1/2 hours), so we go to the ER in the same town as daycare. My GP is out of this hospital, and I know that it is pretty good.
Fortunately, when we get there, the waiting room is empty, and Husband is put in a neck brace and taken back to an ER room immediately. This hospital is different in that the triage nurse decides how gets urgent care and who gets the ER. Anyway, they take his history (for the third freakin' time), and after a quick chat with the doc (who was in with Husband less than 10 minutes after he got a bed), he gets an IV of morphine and is able to breathe again. His blood pressure was really high too.
In the end, after an MRI, two doses of M*rphine, it is determined that things aren't dire, but he's got a way to go before he feels better. He had been doing a lot work using his right side. One day he spent the entire morning chipping ice off of the sidewalk, and a couple of days later, pumping over six inches of water off of the flat roof of the hotel, since the center drains don't work. All of that overuse, plus the chiropractic appointment, caused a pretty severe muscle spasm, which they are considering a muscle injury. The MRI also showed that he has a slightly bulging disc a little higher in his neck, but they were pretty certain that the disc isn't causing the problem. We were discharged with prescriptions for V*alium, Pe*coset, and high dosage Advil.
Through all of this, Son did pretty well. We did leave for a while to get him some supper. He ate probably the best he has all week. I was so upset that I fought throwing up the entire time I was feeding him his chicken strips and fruit. My morning sickness turns on a dime when I get tired and/or stressed, but I managed to choke down half a shake just so my stomach wouldn't be empty. I was stressed because I didn't know what they were going to find with Husband, I knew that Son was going to get to bed late and thus be one fun toddler the next morning. and mad (not pretty) at Husband for yet again not doing what he should and having to spend time in an emergency room. This always happens immediately, if not soon after, something happens to me. Example. I'm in labor, he breaks a tooth. I'm recovering from having a baby, and he's more concerned about getting to the dentist than taking care of me. He brings a lot of this on himself. He DOES NOT TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AT ALL. However, he has the guts to give me grief about what I do. It makes me so damn mad, because he really does have time to work out, eat decently. I mean, he really is only responsible for himself. He has a fitness club that is free for him (through the hotel) right across the street. He usually leaves work between 3 and 4; even with a 30 minute commute, Son and I are lucky to cross the threshold before 6 each night. He has the time. Something that I have fight tooth and nail for.
I guess what scared me, and continues to scare me, is that I see Husband going down the same path medically as his father. His father's last 15 years were hell, both on him and everyone around him. From a selfish point of view, I don't want to have to live that life. He had strokes, Alzheimer's, and struggled with thyroid problems. He had two fused vertebrae in his neck, his shoulders had been rebuilt twice. He was senile the last few years, irritable, angry, controlling, violent, and just awful. Due to a previous CAT scan, we know that Husband has calcification in his brain, which are a pretty solid marker for Alzheimer's. We haven't talked about it much, but in the back of my mind, I don't think that it is a question of if he develops it, but when. And how badly. The thought of him not knowing me or our children terrifies me. I know that he thinks about it, but still lives in this fantasy that he is in his 20s and he's bulletproof. When is he going to figure out that he can't live that way anymore? When?
Needless to say, it wasn't a fun day.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Insurance Workout
The past week or so has truly given my insurance a workout. Let's see, Husband refilled four prescriptions, my OB appointment, and Son's 18 month checkup. If we were one of the many that didn't have coverage, our financial life would really stink right now. As it is, five copays later, it's not so bad. Now I just have to remember to submit everything to our FSA.
My 12 week OB appointment with Dr. Wonderful was on Friday. Husband couldn't come, which was OK, since he can't stand to wait (for anything) and just generally annoys me. He's worse than Son when it comes to sitting still. All of the normal stuff, was, well, normal. I even have a fundal height! Trust me, it was a tough one to get too-I'm still not big enough to easily find the top of the uterus, and all of my extra padding doesn't help. I love that Dr. Wonderful doesn't get on my case about this since, really, there's not much I can do about it now.
The real excitement came when he pulled out the doppler. As with Son, radio silence. This happened after he had to leave the room to take a call after I was already gooped up. Ah, the dignity of holding one's pants down to be left on the table goopy and under the air vent. He dug around for a while, and still couldn't find anything.
I was somewhat impressed that I didn't freak out about it, at least initially. Son had done this at this same appointment. Just active. Right? The longer he dug around, the more I could feel the anxiety lapping up around my ankles. He finally gave up after a couple of minutes, told me that he was pretty sure that there were heart tones, but that he was going to go check with the sonographer to see what her schedule looked like. (Insert anxiety up to my shins.) I mention that this is probably just an active baby, and that my padding didn't help. He agreed that it didn't help, but that it wasn't a barrier either. Out to the waiting room I go to wait for Wendy the sonographer.
About 15 minutes of waiting (all the while trying to distract myself reading an article about Sandra Bullock and Jesse James) and I was in with the sonographer. As suspected, all is well. Heartbeat at 161. The funny thing was that the baby looked like it had its hands behind its head, and was doing the bicycle with its legs against the uterine wall. Son was active, but he never really hurt with the kicking once I could feel it. I'm a little afraid that this one might not be so gentle. However, it was good to see all of that activity, and I'm beginning to look forward to our Level II in April.
It was Son's turn at the doctor on Monday for his 18 month appointment. We went over basic things like where he was developmentally, and he was even kind enough to point out a car to doctor that was on one of the books that he was trying to destroy. Everything checked out fine, and he still is in the upper percentiles for everything. I keep waiting for everything to slow down, but so far, not happening. He's now 34.5" tall (95th percentile), and 27.6 pounds (75th percentile), which follows where he has been since birth. He just needed one shot, and we were done. He didn't cry for the shot, but was waaaay more interested in the Spiderman band aid. One interesting thing was that the doctor brought up that the American Academy of Pediatrics is now recommending a Hepatitis A shot as well. I guess that they have given them routinely in the southern border states for years. Hep A is prevalent in developing countries that suffer from less than ideal sanitation. We didn't get it this time, and I need to do some more research on it. I know that at least child in his daycare room routinely visits India each year, so it may not be a bad idea. I just want to be sure that there isn't any negatives that I'm not aware of.
Barring any unforeseen calamity, we are now officially out of any doctor's offices for a good month. However, that leave me with no excuse why I've been cruising into work a bit later than normal. Sigh. Time to respect the alarm again....
My 12 week OB appointment with Dr. Wonderful was on Friday. Husband couldn't come, which was OK, since he can't stand to wait (for anything) and just generally annoys me. He's worse than Son when it comes to sitting still. All of the normal stuff, was, well, normal. I even have a fundal height! Trust me, it was a tough one to get too-I'm still not big enough to easily find the top of the uterus, and all of my extra padding doesn't help. I love that Dr. Wonderful doesn't get on my case about this since, really, there's not much I can do about it now.
The real excitement came when he pulled out the doppler. As with Son, radio silence. This happened after he had to leave the room to take a call after I was already gooped up. Ah, the dignity of holding one's pants down to be left on the table goopy and under the air vent. He dug around for a while, and still couldn't find anything.
I was somewhat impressed that I didn't freak out about it, at least initially. Son had done this at this same appointment. Just active. Right? The longer he dug around, the more I could feel the anxiety lapping up around my ankles. He finally gave up after a couple of minutes, told me that he was pretty sure that there were heart tones, but that he was going to go check with the sonographer to see what her schedule looked like. (Insert anxiety up to my shins.) I mention that this is probably just an active baby, and that my padding didn't help. He agreed that it didn't help, but that it wasn't a barrier either. Out to the waiting room I go to wait for Wendy the sonographer.
About 15 minutes of waiting (all the while trying to distract myself reading an article about Sandra Bullock and Jesse James) and I was in with the sonographer. As suspected, all is well. Heartbeat at 161. The funny thing was that the baby looked like it had its hands behind its head, and was doing the bicycle with its legs against the uterine wall. Son was active, but he never really hurt with the kicking once I could feel it. I'm a little afraid that this one might not be so gentle. However, it was good to see all of that activity, and I'm beginning to look forward to our Level II in April.
It was Son's turn at the doctor on Monday for his 18 month appointment. We went over basic things like where he was developmentally, and he was even kind enough to point out a car to doctor that was on one of the books that he was trying to destroy. Everything checked out fine, and he still is in the upper percentiles for everything. I keep waiting for everything to slow down, but so far, not happening. He's now 34.5" tall (95th percentile), and 27.6 pounds (75th percentile), which follows where he has been since birth. He just needed one shot, and we were done. He didn't cry for the shot, but was waaaay more interested in the Spiderman band aid. One interesting thing was that the doctor brought up that the American Academy of Pediatrics is now recommending a Hepatitis A shot as well. I guess that they have given them routinely in the southern border states for years. Hep A is prevalent in developing countries that suffer from less than ideal sanitation. We didn't get it this time, and I need to do some more research on it. I know that at least child in his daycare room routinely visits India each year, so it may not be a bad idea. I just want to be sure that there isn't any negatives that I'm not aware of.
Barring any unforeseen calamity, we are now officially out of any doctor's offices for a good month. However, that leave me with no excuse why I've been cruising into work a bit later than normal. Sigh. Time to respect the alarm again....
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
OK, so maybe I'm not THAT old
On Monday the fetal center got around to calling me with my bloodwork results from the first trimester scan. Apparently, at least according to my blood, I'm not that old. The Downs risk was 1:3900, and the other two were in the neighborhood of 1:8500. In the end, the probability of us having a genetically abnormal child is that of a 20 year old, at least statistically. Ha! Old my eye.....
I have to say that I'm happy that we got the results back, that there isn't anything lurking, and off we go. I understand how lucky we really are-we haven't had to deal with a loss, and other than my spotting freak out a month or so ago, no real issues to speak of. I'm beginning to feel better on a regular basis. I still feel sick if I get too tired or stressed out, but I expect that will continue on for a while. Son is adapting well to his new daycare room, and the screaming fits as we leave, usually because I required him to surrender a daycare-owned toy, are ending as soon as we roll out the driveway. He's talking so much more, and it seems as though he is adding words daily. He's not stringing anything together yet that is decipherable-I still get a lot of very serious stories in his own little language. I bet that they would be entertaining and informative if I just knew what he was saying.
The worry still lurks in the back of my mind as to how Son is going to handle all of the changes that are headed his way in the next months. He is going to get a new room, whether in a new house or in the downstairs, and will probably be moving into a toddler bed then. He's nearing 36 inches tall, and for safety's sake, he might have to leave his crib. He never tries to climb out, but I think that it is a matter of time before the thought moves him to try. How will I be able to give him the same hugs and kisses and attention? Will he resent me or his new sibling for changing his world? How am I going to be able to do it all, especially in the mornings when I am on my own? I'm going to be old, darn it!
I know that none of these worries are unique to a second time parent. It's just new to me. I look at that little man and don't think that I can love him any more than I do now. I want to give him everything, make sure that he is safe, makes good decisions, doesn't become a news story someday. How can I do that when I have to have the same responsibility for another child? Argh. It can be overwhelming if I think about it too much.
OK, so maybe I'm getting old.
I have to say that I'm happy that we got the results back, that there isn't anything lurking, and off we go. I understand how lucky we really are-we haven't had to deal with a loss, and other than my spotting freak out a month or so ago, no real issues to speak of. I'm beginning to feel better on a regular basis. I still feel sick if I get too tired or stressed out, but I expect that will continue on for a while. Son is adapting well to his new daycare room, and the screaming fits as we leave, usually because I required him to surrender a daycare-owned toy, are ending as soon as we roll out the driveway. He's talking so much more, and it seems as though he is adding words daily. He's not stringing anything together yet that is decipherable-I still get a lot of very serious stories in his own little language. I bet that they would be entertaining and informative if I just knew what he was saying.
The worry still lurks in the back of my mind as to how Son is going to handle all of the changes that are headed his way in the next months. He is going to get a new room, whether in a new house or in the downstairs, and will probably be moving into a toddler bed then. He's nearing 36 inches tall, and for safety's sake, he might have to leave his crib. He never tries to climb out, but I think that it is a matter of time before the thought moves him to try. How will I be able to give him the same hugs and kisses and attention? Will he resent me or his new sibling for changing his world? How am I going to be able to do it all, especially in the mornings when I am on my own? I'm going to be old, darn it!
I know that none of these worries are unique to a second time parent. It's just new to me. I look at that little man and don't think that I can love him any more than I do now. I want to give him everything, make sure that he is safe, makes good decisions, doesn't become a news story someday. How can I do that when I have to have the same responsibility for another child? Argh. It can be overwhelming if I think about it too much.
OK, so maybe I'm getting old.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Round I: First Trimester Screening
The short of it: everything looks OK. The genetic counseling, while entertaining, just went to show that Husband's family is a cluster when it comes to health issues, mine is fairly normal, but the women tend to have stroke issues. No red flags.
The ultrasound went well. Well, unless you count Husband getting yelled at for recording with his cell phone. I told him not to, he did it anyway, and he pissed off the sonographer. He just doesn't get that recording, in any form, creates a significant liability for the hospital, which this clinic is attached to. He doesn't get that malpractice insurance is through the roof, and that suites happen all the time. He sort of ruined it by NOT listening to me, yet again. This is getting VERY old.
Anyway, there really is a baby in there! A lot less blobish, and looking far more human. Very active once they changed my position on the table (which by the way, was the best ultrasound table I have ever been on. With a screen that I could see. That never happened at my OB's office. Man, did I get screwed the last time around!). Hands waving, bouncing around a little bit. Rolling around. Still measuring around 3 days ahead (11w5d), so we may be headed to another big one this time. They even flipped on the 3D capability to take a look. I've never been that excited about the 3D thing-I have never been offered one for diagnostic purposes, and I have some issues about going to a strip mall somewhere to have it done. Just feels too back alley for me. However, how cool! We have our level II there in late April, so I'm hoping that we'll get some more of the 3D done.
We'll get the blood test results back on Fridayish. I'm not too concerned, since the nuchal measurement was endorsed by the perinatologist on duty as normal, and that the baby looked great. Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday morning.
The ultrasound went well. Well, unless you count Husband getting yelled at for recording with his cell phone. I told him not to, he did it anyway, and he pissed off the sonographer. He just doesn't get that recording, in any form, creates a significant liability for the hospital, which this clinic is attached to. He doesn't get that malpractice insurance is through the roof, and that suites happen all the time. He sort of ruined it by NOT listening to me, yet again. This is getting VERY old.
Anyway, there really is a baby in there! A lot less blobish, and looking far more human. Very active once they changed my position on the table (which by the way, was the best ultrasound table I have ever been on. With a screen that I could see. That never happened at my OB's office. Man, did I get screwed the last time around!). Hands waving, bouncing around a little bit. Rolling around. Still measuring around 3 days ahead (11w5d), so we may be headed to another big one this time. They even flipped on the 3D capability to take a look. I've never been that excited about the 3D thing-I have never been offered one for diagnostic purposes, and I have some issues about going to a strip mall somewhere to have it done. Just feels too back alley for me. However, how cool! We have our level II there in late April, so I'm hoping that we'll get some more of the 3D done.
We'll get the blood test results back on Fridayish. I'm not too concerned, since the nuchal measurement was endorsed by the perinatologist on duty as normal, and that the baby looked great. Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday morning.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Help! Need some cultural awareness!!
OK, here's the deal. A colleague and friend in Singapore is getting married. In two weeks. Long story short, she slipped in her news to her manager in an email, manager missed it (this is the same guy that I work for...ugh), and figures that no one would be interested. Anyway, just found out that the wedding is on March 10th!
So, here's the quandary. What to get for a wedding gift? She really is a good friend, and while we don't see each other much, we have kept in touch. She spent a year here in the U.S., and is now back in Singapore. If I'm lucky, I get to see her about once a year for our department all-hands meetings.
Her parents are mainland Chinese who emigrated to Singapore when she was small, and she was raised with all of those traditions. She's also a born again/fundamentalist Christian, and is very conscious of living her faith. She's also a lousy cook, who managed to bake a lid onto a casserole dish that was on so tightly that she had to throw the whole thing out. Don't talk about her driving...how can you manage to total a three cylinder car (OK, golf cart on steroids) in Singapore urban traffic? She's sensitive culturally, so I want to make sure that I don't blow this.
I've done some research, and what I've come up with is that chopsticks are a traditional Chinese wedding gift. (Hey, I know that the girl can eat, and is double-jointed or something when it comes to using those things). She also likes sushi a great deal-to quote Terry Bradshaw "...where I come from, that's bait!", but I have no clue as to whether she would actually ever endeavor to prepare it for herself. I was thinking either a nice set of chopsticks and rests, or something sushi related. Outside of her time here in the U.S., she's lived at home her entire life, so I'm pretty sure that she is starting from scratch. Singapore has very strict housing regulations, and living by yourself and being single is a very tough thing to do.
Any suggestions, anecdotal advice, whatever, would be helpful. I think that I like the chopstick idea the best, although I'm struggling to find something that also uses the color red, since that is the Chinese symbol for luck and prosperity. Any direction from blogland would be great!
So, here's the quandary. What to get for a wedding gift? She really is a good friend, and while we don't see each other much, we have kept in touch. She spent a year here in the U.S., and is now back in Singapore. If I'm lucky, I get to see her about once a year for our department all-hands meetings.
Her parents are mainland Chinese who emigrated to Singapore when she was small, and she was raised with all of those traditions. She's also a born again/fundamentalist Christian, and is very conscious of living her faith. She's also a lousy cook, who managed to bake a lid onto a casserole dish that was on so tightly that she had to throw the whole thing out. Don't talk about her driving...how can you manage to total a three cylinder car (OK, golf cart on steroids) in Singapore urban traffic? She's sensitive culturally, so I want to make sure that I don't blow this.
I've done some research, and what I've come up with is that chopsticks are a traditional Chinese wedding gift. (Hey, I know that the girl can eat, and is double-jointed or something when it comes to using those things). She also likes sushi a great deal-to quote Terry Bradshaw "...where I come from, that's bait!", but I have no clue as to whether she would actually ever endeavor to prepare it for herself. I was thinking either a nice set of chopsticks and rests, or something sushi related. Outside of her time here in the U.S., she's lived at home her entire life, so I'm pretty sure that she is starting from scratch. Singapore has very strict housing regulations, and living by yourself and being single is a very tough thing to do.
Any suggestions, anecdotal advice, whatever, would be helpful. I think that I like the chopstick idea the best, although I'm struggling to find something that also uses the color red, since that is the Chinese symbol for luck and prosperity. Any direction from blogland would be great!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Just stuff
Lots of random things bouncing around right now. Doesn't make for the most interesting entry, but it does have cathartic properties.
- Baby stuff. Everything is progressing at a quiet, yet steady pace. I'm beginning to have to get more creative with my wardrobe. I'm at that crappy stage where things are beginning to fit strangely, the progesterone bloat has worn off, and my passenger is making its presence much more visible. (We aren't talking about the flotation devices on my chest...I'm going to have to go and actually get measured to see where I am. Lovely.) However, since I'm a plus size and short (I barely graze 5'2" on a good day), I just look frumpy. In an effort to assuage my general frustrations about the situation, I ordered some stuff from tres chic JCP*nney today. Don't judge the fashion sense here...they're one of the few that actually make plus size maternity without everything looking like a tent. Other than that, not too much to report. Still sick in the mornings, although all I can manage is dry heaves, and still sick at night. Yuck. We have a our first trimester screen next Tuesday, so I've got something to look forward to (I hope).
- Work. It's still crappy, but some of my hormone-tinged frustration and anger has dissipated, but I still think that it is high time that I have an honest conversation with my manager. Communication isn't his strong suite, something that he will readily admit to. Unfortunately, my mind-reading skills aren't up to Troi standards, so we tend to be universally screwed. He's going to be here next week, somewhat at my behest (geez, I should've thrown a fit a while ago). Originally, it was supposed to be a week later. Now I just have to decide whether to tell him about the baby or wait. Quite honestly, it's getting harder and harder not to let it slip, and I'm getting a bit tired of it. In addition, the appointments are coming fast and furious over the next couple of weeks, and I hate having to slink around because of it.
- Son. He's been a little off since we got back from vacation and his four days with my parents. The smallest frustrations are sending him to complete and total meltdowns. Part of this is what I think is going to be a personality trait, inherited from his father. You know the one; throw a fit, throw things, scream and cry, when if you calmed down, took the time, the issue would be fixed in five seconds. I HATE this about Husband, and the fact that he knows that he does it, recognizes when he's in the midst of it, but yet does nothing to change. I worry about the example he is setting. It doesn't help that even though I'm pretty sure that my parents tried to stick to Son's schedule, he just doesn't seem comfortable. The loss of the long nap during the day at daycare is also throwing him for a loop. Another part of the meltdown factor when we get home is that he is REALLY hungry, and just can't seem to wait for me to make him something. We have been wanting to eat dinner together, but that has gone out the window. Husband "forgets" to eat all day, then gorges when he gets home around 4:00, so he's not hungry. Meanwhile, I think that at least I could have something with Son, but that means that we actually have to cook something. I want him to start having more whole foods, not so much processed stuff. However, that means that things take time. Son doesn't seem to have that kind of time, and since nothing food-related is even appealing to me right now, we both end up frustrated. GAH!!!! It makes me want to scream. I hope that he settles down after this week, because I'm having a hard time coping with it all. Husband wanted to go on yet another road trip this weekend, this time four hours in one direction, but I think that he'll either have to wait, or go by himself. I don't think that Son can handle another trip this soon. The weather is supposed to be less than nice as well (snow, rain, high winds), so I think that we just need to all stay home. His friend can wait another week.
God, this entry is boring even me. I've been working on another set of entries having to deal with Son's delivery, what I learned, and what I hope to not repeat. While in the end, everything went OK, there are still things about it that upset me. Things that I don't want to repeat.
Anyway, that's it for now. Work must be done.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Why can't I get out of this?
I'm having another one of those days, and I don't know why. Everything is making me want to cry. I just want to crawl under the covers, and hide out from everyone and thing. This doesn't make sense.
I understand the whole pregnancy hormone roller coaster, I do. However, when do I get to be at the top of the hill? When? I'm just getting worried that I may need to seek out some chemical intervention (i.e. anti-depressants) and I really, really don't want to. There's just not enough out there in the literature that can convince me that they won't mess with my baby at some level. I can't risk that.
Things are really good. Son is transitioning into the toddler room at daycare, and at the halfway mark, things seem to be going pretty well. He's having to learn some new things, like sitting still for more than two minutes (unrestrained mind you), and he's even starting singing a little bit of the songs that they use. Husband actually remembered to get me a card today. In the almost 10 years that we have been together, this is the first valentine that I've ever gotten from him. We're leaving on a mini-vacation this weekend, the first time without child and dogs. I haven't had any more spotting since our scare a couple of weeks ago, and everything looked fine on the ultrasound. Why can't I get out of this funk?
There are some things that aren't so good. My job, well, I'm on the brink of really beginning to hate it. All I see in front of me is doing the same thing for the next 10 years. I'm bored, and feeling pushed out to the periphery. There is no opportunity to move up or anywhere else. My first maternity leave hurt me, even though I can't point to any one thing to support it. It's just a change in attitude. I haven't told anyone here yet, and I plan to continue this until I can't hide it anymore. As far as I can tell, I should be able to make it until March, or even further. I know that I'm due for a growth spurt at some point, but if I work it right, no one should be the wiser. I'm sort of the opinion that it's no one's business.
Our vacation plans are also looking to go haywire, as I found out his morning. We were supposed to leave to go up to my parents to drop off Son on Thursday afternoon, with the intention of getting out of town before the afternoon rush hour. If we don't time it right, a three hour trip rapidly turns into four, and we get to deal with Son having a meltdown the last hour of the trip. Husband called this morning on his way to his doctor's appointment, and told me that his inspector is in town. She was at one property today (she only can do one a day), and will probably hit him either tomorrow (please) or Friday (shit). It's an all day thing, and he won't get done until at least 4PM the day that he gets it. We could go on with our plans, but he really should be there. He has a good chance to become an outstanding property with this inspection, and it really would be a feather in his cap. However, we may end up paying for a night at the house where we aren't even there. The plan, for now, is that I will still go up to my parents on Thursday, and he will follow when he can. If it turns out to be Friday, I'll probably just meet him in Duluth. No sense in him driving six hours when he only needs to go three. We actually allowed ourselves to get excited about this. Dumb, dumb.
So, there's my happiness for the day. I'm frustrated, and I want to throw a tantrum of my own, pitch a fit, and scream that it's not fair. We play by the rules, and we get screwed. Ugh.
I understand the whole pregnancy hormone roller coaster, I do. However, when do I get to be at the top of the hill? When? I'm just getting worried that I may need to seek out some chemical intervention (i.e. anti-depressants) and I really, really don't want to. There's just not enough out there in the literature that can convince me that they won't mess with my baby at some level. I can't risk that.
Things are really good. Son is transitioning into the toddler room at daycare, and at the halfway mark, things seem to be going pretty well. He's having to learn some new things, like sitting still for more than two minutes (unrestrained mind you), and he's even starting singing a little bit of the songs that they use. Husband actually remembered to get me a card today. In the almost 10 years that we have been together, this is the first valentine that I've ever gotten from him. We're leaving on a mini-vacation this weekend, the first time without child and dogs. I haven't had any more spotting since our scare a couple of weeks ago, and everything looked fine on the ultrasound. Why can't I get out of this funk?
There are some things that aren't so good. My job, well, I'm on the brink of really beginning to hate it. All I see in front of me is doing the same thing for the next 10 years. I'm bored, and feeling pushed out to the periphery. There is no opportunity to move up or anywhere else. My first maternity leave hurt me, even though I can't point to any one thing to support it. It's just a change in attitude. I haven't told anyone here yet, and I plan to continue this until I can't hide it anymore. As far as I can tell, I should be able to make it until March, or even further. I know that I'm due for a growth spurt at some point, but if I work it right, no one should be the wiser. I'm sort of the opinion that it's no one's business.
Our vacation plans are also looking to go haywire, as I found out his morning. We were supposed to leave to go up to my parents to drop off Son on Thursday afternoon, with the intention of getting out of town before the afternoon rush hour. If we don't time it right, a three hour trip rapidly turns into four, and we get to deal with Son having a meltdown the last hour of the trip. Husband called this morning on his way to his doctor's appointment, and told me that his inspector is in town. She was at one property today (she only can do one a day), and will probably hit him either tomorrow (please) or Friday (shit). It's an all day thing, and he won't get done until at least 4PM the day that he gets it. We could go on with our plans, but he really should be there. He has a good chance to become an outstanding property with this inspection, and it really would be a feather in his cap. However, we may end up paying for a night at the house where we aren't even there. The plan, for now, is that I will still go up to my parents on Thursday, and he will follow when he can. If it turns out to be Friday, I'll probably just meet him in Duluth. No sense in him driving six hours when he only needs to go three. We actually allowed ourselves to get excited about this. Dumb, dumb.
So, there's my happiness for the day. I'm frustrated, and I want to throw a tantrum of my own, pitch a fit, and scream that it's not fair. We play by the rules, and we get screwed. Ugh.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Just when you think that there isn't a whole lot of good
I was reading through my daily updates from a legal news source, and I came across a story about this amazing young man (yep, see, I'm o-l-d). This is a kid of privilege that, at least on the surface, has his head on very straight, and really could make a sizable difference in this world over his lifetime. A difference that could change a lot of peoples lives. Makes my day-to-day complaints seem pretty trivial. .
http://news.lp.findlaw.com/ap/o/51/02-12-2007/b66d003501c6d5f8.html
His name is Uzodinma Iweala, a son of a doctor and former minister of finance of Nigeria (with degrees from MIT and Harvard). Who says that there aren't any role models left?
http://news.lp.findlaw.com/ap/o/51/02-12-2007/b66d003501c6d5f8.html
His name is Uzodinma Iweala, a son of a doctor and former minister of finance of Nigeria (with degrees from MIT and Harvard). Who says that there aren't any role models left?
Monday, February 12, 2007
'Cause, you know, you're old
This whole over 35 and over being pregnant thing is really beginning to bug me. I know that there is nothing that I can do about it, and that I need to just suck it up and go through it, but jeez.
Yes, I could say that I don't want all the testing and fussing. But, I know me. Then I would be worried that I should be worried and that since I don't know that I shouldn't be worried I'll worry even more. I'm a dork, I know it.
So, being a born researcher, I've been reading. Not obsessively as I may have wanted to, since Husband, being the font of support that he is, refuses to talk about the possibility of anything being wrong. Since I need to verbalize at times to organize things in my head, and he is the only available adult most of the time, all of this just sits in my head. I have a cousin that has Downs. He is very high functioning, and is in his early 40s, and while living at an assisted living facility (mainly to help with cooking; he's a guy after all, and is a bit challenged anyway), he has an independent life. He holds down a job, has friends. As far as I know, he's avoided a lot of the medical issues that are common with Downs. The thing that worries me is that he isn't the classic Down case-older parents, etc. He was the first child of my aunt and uncle, and they were both in their early 20s when they had him. They went on to have two other genetically normal kids, and there have been no issues with their children. I just wonder why then, why him? Is there something lurking in my genetics that could rear it's head now?
I know that there are other things, things that can be controlled to some degree by lifestyle. Diabetes (yea, yea, I've flunked on that one myself), and stroke risks. My great grandmother and grandmother all ultimately died of strokes. My mom, who really takes great care of herself, has had one unexplained blood pressure spike that resulted in blowing out a vein in her eye. Husband has Alzheimer's lurking, and a recent CAT scan has scared us both as to what we may be facing. This is stuff that we can address.
I'm just getting worried and building up all sorts of anxiety over all of this extra screening. We elected to do the first trimester screen, and have that scheduled for the 27th (yet another day that I'll have to make up a plausible excuse for...this is getting hard). I won't get my 20 week ultrasound at my OB's office, but have to go back to the same place where I get my first trimester, since it has to be a level II off the bat. Dammit, I don't feel that old!!
Myabe that's the gist of it: I don't feel that old. It's not like this was a choice. I wanted to be done having kids at least three years ago. This would have meant getting pregnant when we first starting trying. I was 28. I was a couple weeks shy of 33 when I delivered Son. There are still days where I don't feel like a grownup and am amazed at this life that I have. A mortgage, a career, planning for retirement? What the? When did this hapen? I've put away the worries about how old I will be when Son and #2 graduate from high school. The fears that I may not live to see them married, and with their own kids. Husband's dad didn't get to meet his grandson, something that really bothers Husband. Husband's dad was in his mid-40s when Husband was born. I keep telling Husband that, first of all, you were 35 when Son was born, so you've got 10 years there. Second, he hasn't had as tough of a life physically as his dad, he can still be active. Maybe his fears are rubbing off on me. Great, just what I need.
Sigh, I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. Still doesn't mean that I have to like it.
Yes, I could say that I don't want all the testing and fussing. But, I know me. Then I would be worried that I should be worried and that since I don't know that I shouldn't be worried I'll worry even more. I'm a dork, I know it.
So, being a born researcher, I've been reading. Not obsessively as I may have wanted to, since Husband, being the font of support that he is, refuses to talk about the possibility of anything being wrong. Since I need to verbalize at times to organize things in my head, and he is the only available adult most of the time, all of this just sits in my head. I have a cousin that has Downs. He is very high functioning, and is in his early 40s, and while living at an assisted living facility (mainly to help with cooking; he's a guy after all, and is a bit challenged anyway), he has an independent life. He holds down a job, has friends. As far as I know, he's avoided a lot of the medical issues that are common with Downs. The thing that worries me is that he isn't the classic Down case-older parents, etc. He was the first child of my aunt and uncle, and they were both in their early 20s when they had him. They went on to have two other genetically normal kids, and there have been no issues with their children. I just wonder why then, why him? Is there something lurking in my genetics that could rear it's head now?
I know that there are other things, things that can be controlled to some degree by lifestyle. Diabetes (yea, yea, I've flunked on that one myself), and stroke risks. My great grandmother and grandmother all ultimately died of strokes. My mom, who really takes great care of herself, has had one unexplained blood pressure spike that resulted in blowing out a vein in her eye. Husband has Alzheimer's lurking, and a recent CAT scan has scared us both as to what we may be facing. This is stuff that we can address.
I'm just getting worried and building up all sorts of anxiety over all of this extra screening. We elected to do the first trimester screen, and have that scheduled for the 27th (yet another day that I'll have to make up a plausible excuse for...this is getting hard). I won't get my 20 week ultrasound at my OB's office, but have to go back to the same place where I get my first trimester, since it has to be a level II off the bat. Dammit, I don't feel that old!!
Myabe that's the gist of it: I don't feel that old. It's not like this was a choice. I wanted to be done having kids at least three years ago. This would have meant getting pregnant when we first starting trying. I was 28. I was a couple weeks shy of 33 when I delivered Son. There are still days where I don't feel like a grownup and am amazed at this life that I have. A mortgage, a career, planning for retirement? What the? When did this hapen? I've put away the worries about how old I will be when Son and #2 graduate from high school. The fears that I may not live to see them married, and with their own kids. Husband's dad didn't get to meet his grandson, something that really bothers Husband. Husband's dad was in his mid-40s when Husband was born. I keep telling Husband that, first of all, you were 35 when Son was born, so you've got 10 years there. Second, he hasn't had as tough of a life physically as his dad, he can still be active. Maybe his fears are rubbing off on me. Great, just what I need.
Sigh, I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. Still doesn't mean that I have to like it.
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