Happy to say that the numbers are still looking pretty awesome with this new tester-good grief, does this mean that I've actually caught a break? Who, me? About damn time.
This morning was a little high, but I sort of expected that. I've got a good excuse, really.
Husband and I have both been exhausted lately, and Son an absolute terror around dinnertime. He won't wait until I have time to make anything-either he's in the high chair in 15 minutes after we get home (anywhere between 6 and 6:30) or we ALL pay for it. I've tried the whole having a snack in the car on the way home, but all it does is fill him up before he actually gets to a real meal. Since I've put my foot down on pre-meal snacking (and remembered to lock the pantry door), the meltdowns are still happening, but by God, he's now eating his meal. Imagine! Any meat other than hot dog, ground beef surrounded by mac and cheese or tomato sauce, or an occasional fish stick, are NOT tolerated, but fruit is OK, and veggies of the orange variety are OK too.
Anyway, we went through all the fun that Son is, and we were both too tired to think about what to cook. We desperately need me to make up a menu and do some shopping. Husband asked me what I wanted, and it was a toss up between tacos and spaghetti. No instant spaghetti anywhere, so off to national taco chain he went. He came home with our order, which we both started to inhale after Son was in bed. I thought that that pop tasted OK, my normal diet. After a few sips of his own, Husband asked me to do the taste test (he's always convinced that there is something wrong with his; he just doesn't seem to get that whole fountain vs. can difference). Ooops. Um, I've got the full sugar version. After a nacho supreme. Crap.
My two hour after that debacle were OK, but it hit me this morning. I'm just calling it God letting me have a little of the old life-no wonder it tasted so damn good-and a reality check. No biggie. I've got way too much stress in other areas to get worked up over this, although I'll have to be a saint today.
Well, I suppose that it's time to go and deal with some of the stress-the work piles are calling.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Vindication!!! (sort of)
Last night, Husband and I were having one of those oh so rare moments after Son went to bed that did not involve folding laundry, policing the rowdies outside (that would be the dogs), or loading a dishwasher. He was on the phone to work covering some things with his second shift, and I was laid out on the couch trying to convince my ribs that they really needed to go back to where they belong, and stop hurting so damn much while watching a marathon of one of my favorite series on Sci-Fi.
As Husband came upstairs, it was time for me to the do the poke and hope, er, two hour blood glucose check. My number came back higher than I expected (as usual). Husband wanted to check his for kicks as well. It came back astronomically high. We both agreed that while the chili cheese fries and hot dog weren't the best nutrition choices he had ever made, the number seemed waaaay out of whack, so he tested again. From the same stick, on the same finger, with a different result. Now I don't know if 10 points is statistically significant (I'll leave it to the math geeks like Pithy to tell me that), but it seemed fishy to me. I mean, it was less than a minute later!
So, my curiosity piqued, and in a desperate hope that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem to be with me, Husband retrieved my new, but yet unused, tester. I didn't have anything against using the new one, but I had just refilled my test strips on the old one, and was going to switch once they were gone. Sure enough, another different result, but this time with a nearly 15 point difference. Eureka! Old tester=undue stress for pregnant woman who freaks out on husband with every bad test and finds herself crying nearly uncontrollably in her glorified, windowless, cube office.
It was now too late to test me again, since the window had passed, but I decided to do a dual test this morning when I got up to test my theory once again. Once again, the hypothesis was proven (gee, I feel like I'm on Mythbusters or something!).
As Husband came upstairs, it was time for me to the do the poke and hope, er, two hour blood glucose check. My number came back higher than I expected (as usual). Husband wanted to check his for kicks as well. It came back astronomically high. We both agreed that while the chili cheese fries and hot dog weren't the best nutrition choices he had ever made, the number seemed waaaay out of whack, so he tested again. From the same stick, on the same finger, with a different result. Now I don't know if 10 points is statistically significant (I'll leave it to the math geeks like Pithy to tell me that), but it seemed fishy to me. I mean, it was less than a minute later!
So, my curiosity piqued, and in a desperate hope that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem to be with me, Husband retrieved my new, but yet unused, tester. I didn't have anything against using the new one, but I had just refilled my test strips on the old one, and was going to switch once they were gone. Sure enough, another different result, but this time with a nearly 15 point difference. Eureka! Old tester=undue stress for pregnant woman who freaks out on husband with every bad test and finds herself crying nearly uncontrollably in her glorified, windowless, cube office.
It was now too late to test me again, since the window had passed, but I decided to do a dual test this morning when I got up to test my theory once again. Once again, the hypothesis was proven (gee, I feel like I'm on Mythbusters or something!).
- New Tester: 89
- Old Tester: 103
Voila! Not wanting to tick off my endocrinology doc too much, I tried it again over lunch, and once again a decent difference; 11 points; 127 v. 116. I was also a bit worried that I was trying to cheat to a certain degree. In law, when a plaintiff goes looking for a jurisdiction to file their lawsuit in that has a history of leaning one way or another, we call if forum shopping. To some degree, I felt like I was tester shopping, but the scientist in me told me that this was not an isolated incident, and that I had calibrated the new one per the instructions. My other one is so old that they don't even make the calibration solution for it anymore. Using this as my rationale, I called the office today to tell them that (1) my OB had upped my nighttime insulin by two units, and boy howdy, did that do the trick; (2) my OB also wants them to check my numbers twice weekly, since the once a week thing isn't cutting it; and (3) am I in a sugar delusion that testers could differ so much?
The office called back relatively soon to tell me that they had faxed in a prescription for the new test strips and lancets to my pharmacy, and that they would be ready to go this afternoon, and that the upped dosage had been noted on my chart. Not too much push back on that one. And yes, once testers get elderly they tend to become more and more screwed up.
So, yes, I feel better about this. If my tester was that fouled up, then my after meals may not have been as jacked up as they appeared, which means that I may be able to dodge the fast acting insulin bullet for a while longer. I know that I'm not out of the woods for the long run, but for now, I can cut myself a bit of slack. I've been doing a great job of beating myself up about how things have been going, so now that I have actual proof, I can relax a little. Still eat to plan, and since its now out of the high 80s and 90s, take the rowdies out on a leash, and just breathe a little. Now if my ribs and back would just cooperate....
Monday, June 25, 2007
Jessie and Chloe Davis
There are no words. Either for what she must have gone through, and for what her son may have seen. So today, please take a moment to ask whatever higher power or spiritual guidance that you adhere to, or simply as a human being, ask that she is at rest, and strength for those she left behind.
Human beings sure have a long way to go.
Human beings sure have a long way to go.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Oh, this is gonna be fun....
Seems like I've been away forever. Unlike SOME people (you know who you are) who disappear to tropical locals for weeks at a time, I've been spending most of my not-so-free-time in doctor's offices. Now, I'm accustomed to doing so with Husband, the man who makes me very happy to have decent insurance coverage. Even Son, since, well, he's a toddler in daycare. It just doesn't throw me that much.
However, this time, it's been for me. I'm not happy about this, not one bit. And the fun of it all is that it's only going to get worse until BabyA (she's got to finally get a name around here, doesn't she?) makes her debut.
As we suspected, and I greatly feared, my gestational diabetes is worse this time around. It seems that two years does not help matters much. My morning (fasting) numbers have not come down, even with diet modifications, and I'm now on insulin at night. I've really been struggling with this on an emotional level. Husband pointed out last night that this isn't my fault, it's not something that I'm doing wrong, that it's just out of my hands, and now I've got to play by the rules. The thing is, I AM playing by the rules, and nothing seems to be going in my favor. It just isn't fair.
My first stop (of the many) was with the outpatient clinic for diabetes attached to large hospital in ritzy suburb after I faxed in my numbers for May to Dr. Wonderful. I went through the education module with both the nurse and dietitian, and was told in no uncertain terms that even though I was trying to manage things by diet, I was being too hard on myself. I was throwing some decent keytones, and simply wasn't eating enough. I have to admit some degree of relief at hearing this-I was getting sick of being hungry all of the time. Basically, I wasn't eating enough over the course of the day, and my liver got its enzymes all in a bunch and was dumping glucose into my system while I slept to try to give me enough calories, hence my high fasting numbers. Stupid me took this to mean that I needed to cut back on my carbs even more, and to ignore that gnawing in my stomach before bed. Argh.
I saw the clinic on a Monday, and since Dr. Wonderful had made the referral to them with a recommendation of night insulin, they had me do a food journal and chart my numbers until Wednesday, when I was to fax them in and we would go from there. Even with following the food plan, but numbers still sucked. Thursday afternoon was spent getting my sample insulin pen and all of the accoutrement's that surround that. In the meantime, Dr. Wonderful's office had set up an appointment for me on the following Monday to go to an endocrinologist.
I played phone tag with Dr. Wonderful's nurse, but I was finally able to get hold of her. I asked her if it was because things were so bad that I was being sent to a specialist, or what. She said that Dr. Wonderful wanted to stay very much on top of this, and that this is the practice's procedure when a GD patient ends up on insulin. After I calmed down a bit, I realized that this was probably a good thing. I'm not one of those people who have PCOS as a result of being overweight-I've been this way since I was twelve. During high school, my twice yearly periods happened while being 5'2" and 130 pounds. For someone as active as I was, that was a pretty reasonable weight. I just had boobs and a butt, something most of my friends didn't. Anyway, at least now I will have a relationship with an endocrinologist, something that I haven't had before. She mentioned follow-up care during my appointment, since now I am at even higher risk of type II later on. Argh.
We went out of town over the weekend, with all the fun that surrounds a toddler, a four hour car ride, and what we now know is the beginnings of strep and a summer cold. It also isn't horribly conducive to following any sort of meal plan. I did the best that I could, but it was still pretty sucky.
On Monday afternoon I headed up the endocrinology clinic, which was surprisingly on top of things and running, get this "right on time." That was enough to make me fall over, since I thought that since I was a shoe horn appointment, I would end up waiting. I liked the endocrinologist-she respected that I knew a decent amount about what we are up against, although I was appreciative of the weight talk. I'm almost seven months pregnant and a bit stressed-can we tackle that trigger at some other time? PLEASE?? Regardless, I was shuffled off to the nurse/dietitian, given my prescriptions, and off I went. I need to fax everything over to them tomorrow afternoon to see if things are OK.
The thing is, things aren't OK. After some initial success with the insulin (a 96, with the threshold being 95), I am now back up in the 105 region in the morning, even on the increased dose. My one hours after meals are high (over the required 140) or in the upper ranges of normal. One thing that differed between the first clinic and the second is that the second wasn't quite as optimistic that I will be able to avoid the insulin before meals as well. Just call me a pincushion. Upwards of four shots a day, plus the four blood checks.
I know that people who have true type II do this every day. I know. I know. I know. However, like I told Husband through tears last night, it's just another case of my body screwing me over. I'm scared about what it is doing to BabyA, what it's doing to me. My stress levels are so high right now I sometimes wonder how I can make it to the next minute, the next day. It just feels so crushing sometimes, and I don't see a way out. This doesn't help my numbers at all.
I just feel like a bad mom already. Not only am I at risk for future problems, so are my kids. This never crossed my mind for a minute when I was dealing with our IF issues. All of the what-ifs are in my head. I'm scared something is going to happen to BabyA before she is born, and terrified that it will happen while she is being born. Will they take her early if she gets too big? How will that work with my leave, which is only being complicated by being out so much for appointments, etc. I oscillate between being mad, hurt, sad, ticked off, you name it. I just want it to be OK, for my body to cooperate just a little bit. So far, that ain't workin'.
However, this time, it's been for me. I'm not happy about this, not one bit. And the fun of it all is that it's only going to get worse until BabyA (she's got to finally get a name around here, doesn't she?) makes her debut.
As we suspected, and I greatly feared, my gestational diabetes is worse this time around. It seems that two years does not help matters much. My morning (fasting) numbers have not come down, even with diet modifications, and I'm now on insulin at night. I've really been struggling with this on an emotional level. Husband pointed out last night that this isn't my fault, it's not something that I'm doing wrong, that it's just out of my hands, and now I've got to play by the rules. The thing is, I AM playing by the rules, and nothing seems to be going in my favor. It just isn't fair.
My first stop (of the many) was with the outpatient clinic for diabetes attached to large hospital in ritzy suburb after I faxed in my numbers for May to Dr. Wonderful. I went through the education module with both the nurse and dietitian, and was told in no uncertain terms that even though I was trying to manage things by diet, I was being too hard on myself. I was throwing some decent keytones, and simply wasn't eating enough. I have to admit some degree of relief at hearing this-I was getting sick of being hungry all of the time. Basically, I wasn't eating enough over the course of the day, and my liver got its enzymes all in a bunch and was dumping glucose into my system while I slept to try to give me enough calories, hence my high fasting numbers. Stupid me took this to mean that I needed to cut back on my carbs even more, and to ignore that gnawing in my stomach before bed. Argh.
I saw the clinic on a Monday, and since Dr. Wonderful had made the referral to them with a recommendation of night insulin, they had me do a food journal and chart my numbers until Wednesday, when I was to fax them in and we would go from there. Even with following the food plan, but numbers still sucked. Thursday afternoon was spent getting my sample insulin pen and all of the accoutrement's that surround that. In the meantime, Dr. Wonderful's office had set up an appointment for me on the following Monday to go to an endocrinologist.
I played phone tag with Dr. Wonderful's nurse, but I was finally able to get hold of her. I asked her if it was because things were so bad that I was being sent to a specialist, or what. She said that Dr. Wonderful wanted to stay very much on top of this, and that this is the practice's procedure when a GD patient ends up on insulin. After I calmed down a bit, I realized that this was probably a good thing. I'm not one of those people who have PCOS as a result of being overweight-I've been this way since I was twelve. During high school, my twice yearly periods happened while being 5'2" and 130 pounds. For someone as active as I was, that was a pretty reasonable weight. I just had boobs and a butt, something most of my friends didn't. Anyway, at least now I will have a relationship with an endocrinologist, something that I haven't had before. She mentioned follow-up care during my appointment, since now I am at even higher risk of type II later on. Argh.
We went out of town over the weekend, with all the fun that surrounds a toddler, a four hour car ride, and what we now know is the beginnings of strep and a summer cold. It also isn't horribly conducive to following any sort of meal plan. I did the best that I could, but it was still pretty sucky.
On Monday afternoon I headed up the endocrinology clinic, which was surprisingly on top of things and running, get this "right on time." That was enough to make me fall over, since I thought that since I was a shoe horn appointment, I would end up waiting. I liked the endocrinologist-she respected that I knew a decent amount about what we are up against, although I was appreciative of the weight talk. I'm almost seven months pregnant and a bit stressed-can we tackle that trigger at some other time? PLEASE?? Regardless, I was shuffled off to the nurse/dietitian, given my prescriptions, and off I went. I need to fax everything over to them tomorrow afternoon to see if things are OK.
The thing is, things aren't OK. After some initial success with the insulin (a 96, with the threshold being 95), I am now back up in the 105 region in the morning, even on the increased dose. My one hours after meals are high (over the required 140) or in the upper ranges of normal. One thing that differed between the first clinic and the second is that the second wasn't quite as optimistic that I will be able to avoid the insulin before meals as well. Just call me a pincushion. Upwards of four shots a day, plus the four blood checks.
I know that people who have true type II do this every day. I know. I know. I know. However, like I told Husband through tears last night, it's just another case of my body screwing me over. I'm scared about what it is doing to BabyA, what it's doing to me. My stress levels are so high right now I sometimes wonder how I can make it to the next minute, the next day. It just feels so crushing sometimes, and I don't see a way out. This doesn't help my numbers at all.
I just feel like a bad mom already. Not only am I at risk for future problems, so are my kids. This never crossed my mind for a minute when I was dealing with our IF issues. All of the what-ifs are in my head. I'm scared something is going to happen to BabyA before she is born, and terrified that it will happen while she is being born. Will they take her early if she gets too big? How will that work with my leave, which is only being complicated by being out so much for appointments, etc. I oscillate between being mad, hurt, sad, ticked off, you name it. I just want it to be OK, for my body to cooperate just a little bit. So far, that ain't workin'.
Monday, June 04, 2007
One of THOSE days
When I think about it, I've evened out quite a bit from earlier in this pregnancy when I was a hormonal, mood-swinging psycho. Contrary to what Husband may assert, I really have calmed down. I've now moved on to freaking out over exactly how much we need to do to get ready for this one. Mind you, I would be doing this non-pregnant, even though I am a procrastinator about actually doing anything, I tend to think about things well in advance.
So, it tends to take my by surprise when the hormones make their presence known lately. Case in point, this morning. I didn't sleep real well last night, since my brain didn't get any shut down time before bed last night. After I got up for my potty break at 3:30, sleep was tortured at best. I'm tired, but functioning.
I get to daycare, drop Son off, and he's playing happily. I notice that his cubby is full of "art" projects (mostly done for him since they seem a bit advanced for him, but still) that I haven't picked up, so I pull them all out and go back out to the car. I looked through them, and while you can't see a whole lot of Son in them, it does look like he is progressively trying harder to actually do something with them. Anyway, I come across one where his handprints are like tulips on top of teacher-drawn stems. I started to bawl, right there in the daycare parking lot. I got it together to leave, but promptly dissolve again once I cross the street and park in the lot for work. (The picture is now up on the wall in my office-there are days where I still wish that I didn't have to leave him every day).
I get to work, and since I have a short amount of time to burn before my first appointment of the day, I check my bloglist. To find an entry about a loving Lab who was her master's best friend, and mourned him when he died in the way that only animals can. The entry went on to talk about how the dog helped the master's wife cope with his death, and about how the dog died over the weekend. I cried again. It probably didn't help that the picture of the dog looks a lot like my Yellow Dog, the ditzy blond lab that we have. Sigh. I said a little prayer for Sadie and those who loved her. I also plan on hugging Yellow Dog when I get home tonight, and I might even break out the last new tennis ball in the can.
All of this before 10am. Can't wait to see what the rest of the day holds for me......
UPDATE: No more waterworks as of 3:30, although I probably should have after I got the return call from my OB after he saw my glucose numbers. Off the to the diabetes clinic for me! Possibility of PM insulin, which doesn't surprise me much. I've got the big group session next Monday-which I have a hunch will be a waste of time since I've done this already, but the refresher was what I asked for, right? Let's just do what we can about these fasting numbers, please? I'm trying not to be any more neurotic than normal, but I'm getting a little scared. And Husband has the balls to say that I'm not taking this seriously. He couldn't make it a week.
So, it tends to take my by surprise when the hormones make their presence known lately. Case in point, this morning. I didn't sleep real well last night, since my brain didn't get any shut down time before bed last night. After I got up for my potty break at 3:30, sleep was tortured at best. I'm tired, but functioning.
I get to daycare, drop Son off, and he's playing happily. I notice that his cubby is full of "art" projects (mostly done for him since they seem a bit advanced for him, but still) that I haven't picked up, so I pull them all out and go back out to the car. I looked through them, and while you can't see a whole lot of Son in them, it does look like he is progressively trying harder to actually do something with them. Anyway, I come across one where his handprints are like tulips on top of teacher-drawn stems. I started to bawl, right there in the daycare parking lot. I got it together to leave, but promptly dissolve again once I cross the street and park in the lot for work. (The picture is now up on the wall in my office-there are days where I still wish that I didn't have to leave him every day).
I get to work, and since I have a short amount of time to burn before my first appointment of the day, I check my bloglist. To find an entry about a loving Lab who was her master's best friend, and mourned him when he died in the way that only animals can. The entry went on to talk about how the dog helped the master's wife cope with his death, and about how the dog died over the weekend. I cried again. It probably didn't help that the picture of the dog looks a lot like my Yellow Dog, the ditzy blond lab that we have. Sigh. I said a little prayer for Sadie and those who loved her. I also plan on hugging Yellow Dog when I get home tonight, and I might even break out the last new tennis ball in the can.
All of this before 10am. Can't wait to see what the rest of the day holds for me......
UPDATE: No more waterworks as of 3:30, although I probably should have after I got the return call from my OB after he saw my glucose numbers. Off the to the diabetes clinic for me! Possibility of PM insulin, which doesn't surprise me much. I've got the big group session next Monday-which I have a hunch will be a waste of time since I've done this already, but the refresher was what I asked for, right? Let's just do what we can about these fasting numbers, please? I'm trying not to be any more neurotic than normal, but I'm getting a little scared. And Husband has the balls to say that I'm not taking this seriously. He couldn't make it a week.
Friday, June 01, 2007
My entry into the "my kid is the cutest thing in the universe"
Son really is a good kid. He, like any other toddler, can be what can only be described as a challenge sometimes. But then again, so can Husband, and he's 38. But I digress.
Last night he was just so sweet, and I need to get it down. Feel free to look away.
Husband was out in the garage cursing at our riding lawnmower, and it was getting to be time for bed for little man. I needed to get out of that garage for fear of beating Husband with the instruction manual for the mower, since he was refusing to read it. Son was horribly grubby, and really needed to be cleaned up. I managed to get him into the house, and stripped down to get ready for his much-needed bath. He plays so hard, he usually ends up with sand in his diaper (talk about uncomfortable). Needless to say, the bath was definitely in order.
Being scatterbrained, I managed to have a naked child with no bathwater. Hunh? Don't know why I forgot to run the stupid bath. Son was kind enough not to water the bath mat like he has in the past, and actually thought that it was pretty darn cool to be sitting in his tub while the water ran. We played, he got me soaked (as usual), and once out of the tub, he insisted on wrapping himself up in his towel all by himself. Wouldn't let me do it. He looked at me with such a look of victory when he got it right. Such a big boy, but still using the hooded hippo towel. OK, a cute big boy.
I brought him back to his room, got him dressed and combed and all of the other fun stuff. I've mentioned before that we have this routine that when we are all done, he stands up on the changing pad, stretches out his arms, and falls into me to get down. Last night he added a twist. Before he fell, he very seriously put those pudgy little hands on either side of my face, and pulled me towards him. I'm fearing for a nibble to my nose, but I thought that I would see where this was going. He gave me a kiss, with a little kiss sound, on the tip of my nose! Nothing sloppy or wet, but just a cute pucker and peck. He was so proud of himself, and was all grins.
Now that he was satisfied that we were done, we went through the routine. I was walking him over to his crib, and he grabbed his beanie bear, BoBo, from the ledge of the crib. He pushed the bear towards me, which I assumed meant that I was supposed to kiss the bear. Nope, not in Son's plans. He had the bear kiss me, with the same little kiss sound, and then he got me again. Son then snuggled into my shoulder before I put him down (which is getting harder and harder these days). I covered him up, and he said "night night" as I shut off the light and closed the door.
Son is affectionate, but never usually like that. He doesn't do that kiss thing with anyone else but me, which I have to admit that I really love. It's our little thing. I need to remember this type of stuff when he's dumping his entire plate on his head and on the floor. You know, with the meal that has a lot of tomato sauce.
I think I'll still keep him.
Last night he was just so sweet, and I need to get it down. Feel free to look away.
Husband was out in the garage cursing at our riding lawnmower, and it was getting to be time for bed for little man. I needed to get out of that garage for fear of beating Husband with the instruction manual for the mower, since he was refusing to read it. Son was horribly grubby, and really needed to be cleaned up. I managed to get him into the house, and stripped down to get ready for his much-needed bath. He plays so hard, he usually ends up with sand in his diaper (talk about uncomfortable). Needless to say, the bath was definitely in order.
Being scatterbrained, I managed to have a naked child with no bathwater. Hunh? Don't know why I forgot to run the stupid bath. Son was kind enough not to water the bath mat like he has in the past, and actually thought that it was pretty darn cool to be sitting in his tub while the water ran. We played, he got me soaked (as usual), and once out of the tub, he insisted on wrapping himself up in his towel all by himself. Wouldn't let me do it. He looked at me with such a look of victory when he got it right. Such a big boy, but still using the hooded hippo towel. OK, a cute big boy.
I brought him back to his room, got him dressed and combed and all of the other fun stuff. I've mentioned before that we have this routine that when we are all done, he stands up on the changing pad, stretches out his arms, and falls into me to get down. Last night he added a twist. Before he fell, he very seriously put those pudgy little hands on either side of my face, and pulled me towards him. I'm fearing for a nibble to my nose, but I thought that I would see where this was going. He gave me a kiss, with a little kiss sound, on the tip of my nose! Nothing sloppy or wet, but just a cute pucker and peck. He was so proud of himself, and was all grins.
Now that he was satisfied that we were done, we went through the routine. I was walking him over to his crib, and he grabbed his beanie bear, BoBo, from the ledge of the crib. He pushed the bear towards me, which I assumed meant that I was supposed to kiss the bear. Nope, not in Son's plans. He had the bear kiss me, with the same little kiss sound, and then he got me again. Son then snuggled into my shoulder before I put him down (which is getting harder and harder these days). I covered him up, and he said "night night" as I shut off the light and closed the door.
Son is affectionate, but never usually like that. He doesn't do that kiss thing with anyone else but me, which I have to admit that I really love. It's our little thing. I need to remember this type of stuff when he's dumping his entire plate on his head and on the floor. You know, with the meal that has a lot of tomato sauce.
I think I'll still keep him.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Random junk
Lots of stuff spinning in my head, and I'm headed towards all-out crabby if I don't vent. Although, knowing how today seems to be going, I could end up talking myself into a snit. Who knows.....
__________
I hate food today-and it just seems to be getting worse. Yesterday morning I got up around 5:30 to go to the bathroom (for the first time all night-hooray!), and was thirsty, so I had a small juice glass of water. I no more than got back to the bedroom, than I had to get out of bed and sprint across the hall to make it to the bathroom to throw it all back up. I've had to fight the same thing off twice today already...once right when I got up, and again at work. I'm 24 weeks people-morning sickness should not be making this marked of an appearance again.
The other part of the problem is that the comfort foods, or at least the ones that actually sound good, are pretty much verboten due to the damn GD, which has been fighting me tooth and nail lately. I just want a damn chocolate malt from the place across the street from work. Malt always calms my stomach, and was a real lifesaver during my first trimester. Yes, I'm whining. Remind me of this when I end up on insulin despite everything.
__________
My mouth hurts on the left side. I don't have a dentist to speak of, and the last one was so administratively incompetent that I simply couldn't handle going back there. Hopefully its just a fluke.
__________
Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of ratting out my boss to his boss. My manager isn't really that-it's a line on a org chart, but he really does nothing in regards to "managing" me. For the most part, I don't mind the lack of involvement, since being micro-managed drives me up the wall and through the roof. However, this is the guy who also gives me my reviews, and essentially has my career, at least internally, in his hands. When I got in yesterday morning, I had an extremely vague meeting invite in my email from the head of the department, who is located here (my manager is at a different site in a different time zone-don't ask). Being paranoid, my first instinct was to do a run-through of things in my head that I may have screwed up lately, or any other reason that I may be pulled into the VP's office. After chewing on it for half an hour, I decided that I really was just being paranoid, and that whatever it was, the VP didn't want to document it out in email.
I arrived at his office at the appointed time, ready to talk about the couple of projects that I am working on that may be of interest to him. I knew that something was up when he told me to close the door. Hmmmm. He then started asking me for my read on how my manager is doing. I had a hunch that this may be the topic, so I had thought about it. I was honest, and tried not to make it sound like I was on a crusade to bash my manager. I just told him how things were (I can literally go months without talking to him in any way, shape, or form), provided some past history, and gave basic input. This was all stuff that I had actually wanted to discuss with my manager, D, previously. Back in February, I had told him that I felt that we really needed to have an in-depth discussion, and since he hadn't been to this site in over a year, that maybe he could come here as well. He said that he would. Trip cancelled, several more promises to come, never acted upon. He finally forced me to tell him in an email that I was pregnant, and the issues are still on the table. I suppose that I could have done it all in an email, but since he very rarely responds to even those, I didn't want all of those things sitting there in print.
Apparently one of his other reports has been squawking about the same things, which prompted our VP to look into whether this was an isolated issue, or widespread among all of the direct reports. Apparently D was supposed to talk to all of his reports about how to implement a new administrative initiative at our respective sites. I have never heard about it. I feel bad, but a bit vindicated as well. I used to report directly to the VP-it could be happening again.
__________
__________
I hate food today-and it just seems to be getting worse. Yesterday morning I got up around 5:30 to go to the bathroom (for the first time all night-hooray!), and was thirsty, so I had a small juice glass of water. I no more than got back to the bedroom, than I had to get out of bed and sprint across the hall to make it to the bathroom to throw it all back up. I've had to fight the same thing off twice today already...once right when I got up, and again at work. I'm 24 weeks people-morning sickness should not be making this marked of an appearance again.
The other part of the problem is that the comfort foods, or at least the ones that actually sound good, are pretty much verboten due to the damn GD, which has been fighting me tooth and nail lately. I just want a damn chocolate malt from the place across the street from work. Malt always calms my stomach, and was a real lifesaver during my first trimester. Yes, I'm whining. Remind me of this when I end up on insulin despite everything.
__________
My mouth hurts on the left side. I don't have a dentist to speak of, and the last one was so administratively incompetent that I simply couldn't handle going back there. Hopefully its just a fluke.
__________
Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of ratting out my boss to his boss. My manager isn't really that-it's a line on a org chart, but he really does nothing in regards to "managing" me. For the most part, I don't mind the lack of involvement, since being micro-managed drives me up the wall and through the roof. However, this is the guy who also gives me my reviews, and essentially has my career, at least internally, in his hands. When I got in yesterday morning, I had an extremely vague meeting invite in my email from the head of the department, who is located here (my manager is at a different site in a different time zone-don't ask). Being paranoid, my first instinct was to do a run-through of things in my head that I may have screwed up lately, or any other reason that I may be pulled into the VP's office. After chewing on it for half an hour, I decided that I really was just being paranoid, and that whatever it was, the VP didn't want to document it out in email.
I arrived at his office at the appointed time, ready to talk about the couple of projects that I am working on that may be of interest to him. I knew that something was up when he told me to close the door. Hmmmm. He then started asking me for my read on how my manager is doing. I had a hunch that this may be the topic, so I had thought about it. I was honest, and tried not to make it sound like I was on a crusade to bash my manager. I just told him how things were (I can literally go months without talking to him in any way, shape, or form), provided some past history, and gave basic input. This was all stuff that I had actually wanted to discuss with my manager, D, previously. Back in February, I had told him that I felt that we really needed to have an in-depth discussion, and since he hadn't been to this site in over a year, that maybe he could come here as well. He said that he would. Trip cancelled, several more promises to come, never acted upon. He finally forced me to tell him in an email that I was pregnant, and the issues are still on the table. I suppose that I could have done it all in an email, but since he very rarely responds to even those, I didn't want all of those things sitting there in print.
Apparently one of his other reports has been squawking about the same things, which prompted our VP to look into whether this was an isolated issue, or widespread among all of the direct reports. Apparently D was supposed to talk to all of his reports about how to implement a new administrative initiative at our respective sites. I have never heard about it. I feel bad, but a bit vindicated as well. I used to report directly to the VP-it could be happening again.
__________
I think my glucose meter is either broken or in dire need of recalibrating. How can I be at 140 one minute, and (literally) one minute later be at 130, from the same finger poke? Ugh. I have to fax my numbers into Dr. Wonderful this afternoon since I spaced out and forgot my little booklet at my appointment on Tuesday.
__________
Dr. Wonderful has decided to stay with his current practice (yippee!), so I won't have to worry about changing mid-stream. Only downer is that I've now lost access to any type of water birth/labor. Boo.
__________
24 week appointment went well enough. All of the normal indicators were just fine, and I'm measuring dead on. One more monthly appointment before the every other weeks start. Depending on how agahst Dr. Wonderful is when he looks at my blod sugar numbers, I may even be looking at starting NSTs in a month. Good God, I'm really going to be having a baby. Soon. Disregard the fact that I've caught myself doing the waddle while holding my back for the past couple of days. Holy shit, where has the time gone?
__________
This morning I had someone ask me if I was due in June. For the record, it's mid September. I may want to avoid public bodies of water for fear of being harpooned. What would they be asking if I had actually gained any weight?
Friday, May 25, 2007
And so it begins....
Guess who is now sick and its the absolute end of the world? Two guesses, and I'll give you the hint that he's over the age of two.
Yep, my non-believing, completely non-sympathetic and generally not on my good times list lately husband is sick. With a sniffle. Oh, wait, let me quote "a little cough," which was directed at me a couple of days ago.
Part of me wants to rejoice in the anticipation of a karmic retaliation of sorts. Husband really wasn't what I would call a stalwart of empathy, consideration, or any other warm fuzzy emotion while I felt as though I was on death's door. As you can tell, I haven't completely let go of my general pissiness of how unsupportive he can be, and his complete lack of any ability to put himself into my position. For example, when he was down for the count with his whole neck spasm thing, and really was of absolutely no help with Son or anything else for a good week, when he knew that I really still wasn't feeling all that hot (morning sickness and general fatigue held on a looooong time with this one), but yet still sucked it up so he could rest and take his mongo painkillers that would knock him out for 10 hours at a time. That type of stuff is just expected out of me. He doesn't have to ask for it, I just do it. It's part of my job as a wife, and as a mom. Son really misses him when he's not around, so I also have to try to distract a little boy who really just tolerates me sometimes.
My husband, on the other hand, does not view his job to encompass any of these duties. It has less to do with gender issues than it does with just looking out for the other person issues. What ticks me off is that he makes a big deal about his in his work-I mean, he does work in the hospitality industry after all. However, why this doesn't transfer over to me once in a great while is a mystery to me. Maybe he suffers from the same thing I do-taking care of everyone else all the time can be draining, and raises this innate desire to be taken care of yourself. I understand that one completely, and quite honestly, this is what is fueling some of my angst. However, the flip side is that in a marriage, especially one that includes parenting of other humans (while the dogs are still the babies, it is a different ballgame), there has to be some of that give and take as well. I've given a hell of a lot lately, and haven't been doing a whole lot of voluntary taking. Pulling teeth, yes, otherwise, it's been pretty slim on the receiving end.
The thing is, I LIKE doing that type of thing for him, I really do. I like taking care of other people. I was pre-med until organic chemistry scared the living bejesus out of me in under grad. I liked working in hotels and catering. Even though I am a social hermit and outlier, I like doing that stuff. However, everyone has that point where they can only give away so much of themselves before they have to get something back to replace it all. I haven't been able to do anything for me in the past year or so that has helped me replace those reserves. I haven't received anything from anyone else in that regard either. All of those factors combined create a person who is just plain burned, and I'm at a loss as to how to remedy that. Coming full circle, that means that when I feel like shit, when I can't even cough without wetting myself enough to be a candidate for a D*pends commercial, you give me something, anything. That can be telling me not to worry about Son, that you'll take care of it and then do it without yelling or being a total ass, going to the store to get my favorite comfort foods even though you may not like them yourself, or, something simple like just putting your arm around me and letting me being able to literally lean on you. I'm pretty easy like that. That's what I do for him all of the time.
OK, so maybe I've crossed the line from pissy to just plain mad. Anyway, my point is that this may be karmic payback, but it won't do me a bit of good if he doesn't get it. Which is highly unlikely. Oh well, I'll enjoy the glow for the rest of the day until I have to go home and face the reality of the grumpy need man that I'll be facing. Oh, and the little boy who also seems to also have contracted the virus from hell. Oh, the fun that will be had this weekend. Oh, and did I mention that my MIL will be involved with all of this? Good times I tell you, good times.
Yep, my non-believing, completely non-sympathetic and generally not on my good times list lately husband is sick. With a sniffle. Oh, wait, let me quote "a little cough," which was directed at me a couple of days ago.
Part of me wants to rejoice in the anticipation of a karmic retaliation of sorts. Husband really wasn't what I would call a stalwart of empathy, consideration, or any other warm fuzzy emotion while I felt as though I was on death's door. As you can tell, I haven't completely let go of my general pissiness of how unsupportive he can be, and his complete lack of any ability to put himself into my position. For example, when he was down for the count with his whole neck spasm thing, and really was of absolutely no help with Son or anything else for a good week, when he knew that I really still wasn't feeling all that hot (morning sickness and general fatigue held on a looooong time with this one), but yet still sucked it up so he could rest and take his mongo painkillers that would knock him out for 10 hours at a time. That type of stuff is just expected out of me. He doesn't have to ask for it, I just do it. It's part of my job as a wife, and as a mom. Son really misses him when he's not around, so I also have to try to distract a little boy who really just tolerates me sometimes.
My husband, on the other hand, does not view his job to encompass any of these duties. It has less to do with gender issues than it does with just looking out for the other person issues. What ticks me off is that he makes a big deal about his in his work-I mean, he does work in the hospitality industry after all. However, why this doesn't transfer over to me once in a great while is a mystery to me. Maybe he suffers from the same thing I do-taking care of everyone else all the time can be draining, and raises this innate desire to be taken care of yourself. I understand that one completely, and quite honestly, this is what is fueling some of my angst. However, the flip side is that in a marriage, especially one that includes parenting of other humans (while the dogs are still the babies, it is a different ballgame), there has to be some of that give and take as well. I've given a hell of a lot lately, and haven't been doing a whole lot of voluntary taking. Pulling teeth, yes, otherwise, it's been pretty slim on the receiving end.
The thing is, I LIKE doing that type of thing for him, I really do. I like taking care of other people. I was pre-med until organic chemistry scared the living bejesus out of me in under grad. I liked working in hotels and catering. Even though I am a social hermit and outlier, I like doing that stuff. However, everyone has that point where they can only give away so much of themselves before they have to get something back to replace it all. I haven't been able to do anything for me in the past year or so that has helped me replace those reserves. I haven't received anything from anyone else in that regard either. All of those factors combined create a person who is just plain burned, and I'm at a loss as to how to remedy that. Coming full circle, that means that when I feel like shit, when I can't even cough without wetting myself enough to be a candidate for a D*pends commercial, you give me something, anything. That can be telling me not to worry about Son, that you'll take care of it and then do it without yelling or being a total ass, going to the store to get my favorite comfort foods even though you may not like them yourself, or, something simple like just putting your arm around me and letting me being able to literally lean on you. I'm pretty easy like that. That's what I do for him all of the time.
OK, so maybe I've crossed the line from pissy to just plain mad. Anyway, my point is that this may be karmic payback, but it won't do me a bit of good if he doesn't get it. Which is highly unlikely. Oh well, I'll enjoy the glow for the rest of the day until I have to go home and face the reality of the grumpy need man that I'll be facing. Oh, and the little boy who also seems to also have contracted the virus from hell. Oh, the fun that will be had this weekend. Oh, and did I mention that my MIL will be involved with all of this? Good times I tell you, good times.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Employee of the day
I made it to work this morning. Hooray for me! All of this despite the fact that Son woke up crying at 3;30, settled down at 3:45, and ended up in bed with us (I know, I know, but.....[insert whine here]) at 4:30, only to be up for the day at 6:00. That's one and a half hours before showtime people. Ugh. Considering that I didn't get to bed until around 12:00 last night, I was really looking forward to my 6:15 alarm. Oh well.
Husband, who I think secretly believes that I was putting everything on for effect, called in to work at 4:30 to say that Son was sick and would be home with him today. Interestingly enough, Son was chipper enough (although not eating, hmmmm....) to go to daycare this morning. So, Husband is at home, lounging. Why? Not real sure. I asked him when he called whether he thought that since I sat home for the past two days whether it was his turn. He didn't find me funny. I wasn't trying to be funny. Seriously. I did ask him that if he endeavored to get off of the couch today that he could wander down to the office and start to sort out his "stuff" in anticipation for our garage sale that is coming up way too soon. Chuck the extra phone cords. Clean up the not compatible past Windows 98 monitors. I'm not holding out much hope. It has to be done, whether he likes it or not. I'm buying baby bedding this weekend pal. Pottery Barn Kids on sale. Denial will get you nowhere.
Other than this mystifying course of events, work is OK today. I can't breathe through my nose, and I sound horrible, but I feel OK considering. Everyone that has called or stopped by has said that "hey, great you're back" but has quickly added "but you sound terrible." At least they are nice enough to refrain from the "look terrible" part. Could be the good hair day going on that's helping there. I was planning on taking tomorrow off in anticipation of the holiday weekend and diving into the home office project (with Son happily at daycare), but this rotten virus has conspired against me on that one. Of course, unless I kick it into gear and get something done this afternoon...but lunch calls first!
Husband, who I think secretly believes that I was putting everything on for effect, called in to work at 4:30 to say that Son was sick and would be home with him today. Interestingly enough, Son was chipper enough (although not eating, hmmmm....) to go to daycare this morning. So, Husband is at home, lounging. Why? Not real sure. I asked him when he called whether he thought that since I sat home for the past two days whether it was his turn. He didn't find me funny. I wasn't trying to be funny. Seriously. I did ask him that if he endeavored to get off of the couch today that he could wander down to the office and start to sort out his "stuff" in anticipation for our garage sale that is coming up way too soon. Chuck the extra phone cords. Clean up the not compatible past Windows 98 monitors. I'm not holding out much hope. It has to be done, whether he likes it or not. I'm buying baby bedding this weekend pal. Pottery Barn Kids on sale. Denial will get you nowhere.
Other than this mystifying course of events, work is OK today. I can't breathe through my nose, and I sound horrible, but I feel OK considering. Everyone that has called or stopped by has said that "hey, great you're back" but has quickly added "but you sound terrible." At least they are nice enough to refrain from the "look terrible" part. Could be the good hair day going on that's helping there. I was planning on taking tomorrow off in anticipation of the holiday weekend and diving into the home office project (with Son happily at daycare), but this rotten virus has conspired against me on that one. Of course, unless I kick it into gear and get something done this afternoon...but lunch calls first!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Long time
Life around the Chronicle house has not been fun for the last couple of weeks. A knock-down, drag out with Husband that is still bothering me, a uber crappy Mother's Day (like that was going to be a big shock), and the kicker; being out of work sick for the past three days. A cold, combined and complicated by allergies, that the ER doc said last night appeared to be turning into bronchitis. Now working on my third box of Kleenex in 36 hours. Coughing so hard that my bladder, which had previously assured me that it was empty was empty, decides to change it's mind while I'm standing in front of a room full of interns giving a new hire orientation presentation (thank God for dark blue pants). I've now almost surpassed Husband on the amount of prescriptions picked up in a week from our pharmacy.
If yesterday felt like death, today is purgatory. I feel well enough to actually be out of bed, and I've managed to keep the sinus pressure down to the point where I'm no longer involuntarily crying (my eyes watered pretty much non-stop all day). Things have been so horsed up that I haven't checked my sugars since last Friday. Oops. I feel OK on that front, so I think that things are OK.
The very nice ER doc (really, he was by far one of the better ones lately) asked how I'd been eating. Husband piped up that he didn't think that I had been for almost a week. I couldn't dispute him one way or the other. I know that my keytones (a measurement of the chemical that burned fat gives off in your urine) were off the chart earlier last week, but I've been trying to be better. However, at my GP on Monday, I was still down another pound. I know that it's normal for overweight women to lose weight during pregnancy, but this is freakin' ridiculous. My OB was OK with it last time-not so sure if I'm off the hook for my next appointment. It feels strange to be struggling to maintain weight, when I've spent most, if not all of my life, trying to lose it.
If anything, I got a very strong reminder last night in the ER exam room of why I need to get my act together. Not just the cute little boy who, yet again, flirted with the nurses and "helped" the doc with my exam (a doctor in the family would be nice.......), but rather that I could see little girl visibly kicking. So hard that it made my gown and my rapidly expanding belly jump. She's found a way to work around the whole placenta thing, and I've been feeling her consistently for about a week now, which is reassuring since they told me not to worry about any decrease in movement last night when they gave me Tylenol 3 (to try to get my coughing under control). She wiggled pretty much all night, despite the codeine.
I'm not too crazy about all of the stuff that I'm taking right now, but I just couldn't function if I didn't have something. The wheezing and lack of full breath scared me the most, and prompted the ER visit last night. No way I was going to suffer through the Urgent Care wait. We were in and out of our local ER in under two hours. NOW they can send me the patient survey.
Well, now that I've returned to the land of the living, I've got to dig my laptop out of the car, try to find something to eat, and try to get ready for a presentation that I have to give tomorrow. Work may be abbreviated tomorrow, but I need to try to show up. Still sick enough to prove that I wasn't faking, but well enough so my admin doesn't douse me in Lysol when I walk in the door. Knowing her, my office has already been hit.
If yesterday felt like death, today is purgatory. I feel well enough to actually be out of bed, and I've managed to keep the sinus pressure down to the point where I'm no longer involuntarily crying (my eyes watered pretty much non-stop all day). Things have been so horsed up that I haven't checked my sugars since last Friday. Oops. I feel OK on that front, so I think that things are OK.
The very nice ER doc (really, he was by far one of the better ones lately) asked how I'd been eating. Husband piped up that he didn't think that I had been for almost a week. I couldn't dispute him one way or the other. I know that my keytones (a measurement of the chemical that burned fat gives off in your urine) were off the chart earlier last week, but I've been trying to be better. However, at my GP on Monday, I was still down another pound. I know that it's normal for overweight women to lose weight during pregnancy, but this is freakin' ridiculous. My OB was OK with it last time-not so sure if I'm off the hook for my next appointment. It feels strange to be struggling to maintain weight, when I've spent most, if not all of my life, trying to lose it.
If anything, I got a very strong reminder last night in the ER exam room of why I need to get my act together. Not just the cute little boy who, yet again, flirted with the nurses and "helped" the doc with my exam (a doctor in the family would be nice.......), but rather that I could see little girl visibly kicking. So hard that it made my gown and my rapidly expanding belly jump. She's found a way to work around the whole placenta thing, and I've been feeling her consistently for about a week now, which is reassuring since they told me not to worry about any decrease in movement last night when they gave me Tylenol 3 (to try to get my coughing under control). She wiggled pretty much all night, despite the codeine.
I'm not too crazy about all of the stuff that I'm taking right now, but I just couldn't function if I didn't have something. The wheezing and lack of full breath scared me the most, and prompted the ER visit last night. No way I was going to suffer through the Urgent Care wait. We were in and out of our local ER in under two hours. NOW they can send me the patient survey.
Well, now that I've returned to the land of the living, I've got to dig my laptop out of the car, try to find something to eat, and try to get ready for a presentation that I have to give tomorrow. Work may be abbreviated tomorrow, but I need to try to show up. Still sick enough to prove that I wasn't faking, but well enough so my admin doesn't douse me in Lysol when I walk in the door. Knowing her, my office has already been hit.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Hallmark's revenge
Just talked to Husband during his daily check in on my call. He had been awful quiet today, so I was happy to talk to him. Until he mentioned this weekend.
After being gone pretty much all of last week and weekend, he's working both Saturday and Sunday morning. This entails being to work by 6 AM (leaving home by 5:30) and not getting home until 11:00 or later that morning. Which means that he will be so tired that he will be absolutely useless for the rest of the day, or worse, grumpy and cranky.
The thing that really pisses me off is that no one told him about this little departure in schedule. He runs the damn place, but his more useless by the minute assistant has a VERY bad habit of leaving holes in the schedule and not doing a damn thing to fill them until we get the phone call at 11:15 on a Saturday night that no one is on the schedule to do the audit that night. Being a hotel, it is a 24/7 business so SOMEONE has to be there. My vote is brainless assistant-Husband doesn't see it that way. I know that it impresses guests to see the GM there on a weekend morning serving breakfast, but dammit, why this weekend?
Last week was hard-I would have been tired even if I wasn't pregnant and trying to keep everything together. I'm slowly working on catching up on my sleep, and I'm proud to note that I haven't fallen asleep in my chair at work for two whole days in a row. Impressive in light of my previous feeble efforts. He doesn't get that. He doesn't think that it would be hard to do it all for a week. Oh, and grow another human being. I'm happy that he had fun.
He asked me last night what Son could get me for Mother's Day (and a couple of hours later asked me what day that was, exactly...yep, high on his list). It doesn't matter now. I didn't want anything other than to maybe get a couple of hours out in my gardens, or a trip to my favorite nursery to just linger. I had even thought about going home, even though it is the fishing opener-it's a very big deal here; if you don't live in Minnesota, you may not get it-maybe go out on the boat with my dad and just fish in silence. You know, relax. If I want to do that, I'll now have to do it alone. A three hour trip (which, because my parents live "up north" will turn into four because of all of the people going up to fish or open up their cabins for the year) with a toddler that isn't that crazy about his carseat for that long, doesn't sound like much fun. The trip home would just be a repeat.
Just to try to give some context as to why I'm so upset about this, last year, my first Mother's Day with an actual child, he blew it completely-even called me selfish that I wanted some time alone. The kicker was that he didn't even care enough to really know when Mother's Day was-so he completely didn't connect that I was asking for a little leeway that day for a reason. He had mentioned going out to eat that day-I had let myself get excited that maybe he had made reservations for brunch or something. No, didn't get that far. For some stupid reason he thought that it was on a Monday. WHAT?? Now, I know that it is just a day, but after all that we had gone through to have Son, it meant a lot to me. I was finally a mom, had joined the club that I never thought that I could join. Infertility had caused me to dread that day to the point that I couldn't even acknowledge my own mom (rotten I know). I felt so let down, so hurt. On top of the PPD I was dealing with, it wasn't pretty. When I relayed this whole thing to my doctor in a follow up appointment, it was the one and only time that I broke and cried. It had just cut me to the very core. Combine that with a very shaky sense of confidence in my ability to mother in the first place, a thing that endures in me even now, and I couldn't help but feel completely devalued.
I had hoped that it would be different this year-but yet again I'll be left to my own devices, or to him trying to do something, but not because he wants to, but because he thinks that he HAS to. That he will end up thinking he deserves a medal for because he's dealing with his irrational wife. That I should owe him for. I have never wanted to be an obligation to anyone for anything; either you do it out of genuine feeling or you don't do it at all. Guess that it won't be done at all.
At the end of the day, I just want my husband to tell me that I do an OK job at mothering Son, and that I'll be OK with this next child. Should I need this? Shouldn't I be secure enough in myself to know how I'm doing? Probably, but I'm not. I suppose that I should go and try to find something for my own mom. At least I can be a decent kid.
After being gone pretty much all of last week and weekend, he's working both Saturday and Sunday morning. This entails being to work by 6 AM (leaving home by 5:30) and not getting home until 11:00 or later that morning. Which means that he will be so tired that he will be absolutely useless for the rest of the day, or worse, grumpy and cranky.
The thing that really pisses me off is that no one told him about this little departure in schedule. He runs the damn place, but his more useless by the minute assistant has a VERY bad habit of leaving holes in the schedule and not doing a damn thing to fill them until we get the phone call at 11:15 on a Saturday night that no one is on the schedule to do the audit that night. Being a hotel, it is a 24/7 business so SOMEONE has to be there. My vote is brainless assistant-Husband doesn't see it that way. I know that it impresses guests to see the GM there on a weekend morning serving breakfast, but dammit, why this weekend?
Last week was hard-I would have been tired even if I wasn't pregnant and trying to keep everything together. I'm slowly working on catching up on my sleep, and I'm proud to note that I haven't fallen asleep in my chair at work for two whole days in a row. Impressive in light of my previous feeble efforts. He doesn't get that. He doesn't think that it would be hard to do it all for a week. Oh, and grow another human being. I'm happy that he had fun.
He asked me last night what Son could get me for Mother's Day (and a couple of hours later asked me what day that was, exactly...yep, high on his list). It doesn't matter now. I didn't want anything other than to maybe get a couple of hours out in my gardens, or a trip to my favorite nursery to just linger. I had even thought about going home, even though it is the fishing opener-it's a very big deal here; if you don't live in Minnesota, you may not get it-maybe go out on the boat with my dad and just fish in silence. You know, relax. If I want to do that, I'll now have to do it alone. A three hour trip (which, because my parents live "up north" will turn into four because of all of the people going up to fish or open up their cabins for the year) with a toddler that isn't that crazy about his carseat for that long, doesn't sound like much fun. The trip home would just be a repeat.
Just to try to give some context as to why I'm so upset about this, last year, my first Mother's Day with an actual child, he blew it completely-even called me selfish that I wanted some time alone. The kicker was that he didn't even care enough to really know when Mother's Day was-so he completely didn't connect that I was asking for a little leeway that day for a reason. He had mentioned going out to eat that day-I had let myself get excited that maybe he had made reservations for brunch or something. No, didn't get that far. For some stupid reason he thought that it was on a Monday. WHAT?? Now, I know that it is just a day, but after all that we had gone through to have Son, it meant a lot to me. I was finally a mom, had joined the club that I never thought that I could join. Infertility had caused me to dread that day to the point that I couldn't even acknowledge my own mom (rotten I know). I felt so let down, so hurt. On top of the PPD I was dealing with, it wasn't pretty. When I relayed this whole thing to my doctor in a follow up appointment, it was the one and only time that I broke and cried. It had just cut me to the very core. Combine that with a very shaky sense of confidence in my ability to mother in the first place, a thing that endures in me even now, and I couldn't help but feel completely devalued.
I had hoped that it would be different this year-but yet again I'll be left to my own devices, or to him trying to do something, but not because he wants to, but because he thinks that he HAS to. That he will end up thinking he deserves a medal for because he's dealing with his irrational wife. That I should owe him for. I have never wanted to be an obligation to anyone for anything; either you do it out of genuine feeling or you don't do it at all. Guess that it won't be done at all.
At the end of the day, I just want my husband to tell me that I do an OK job at mothering Son, and that I'll be OK with this next child. Should I need this? Shouldn't I be secure enough in myself to know how I'm doing? Probably, but I'm not. I suppose that I should go and try to find something for my own mom. At least I can be a decent kid.
Ok, so maybe I AM old
This morning I was sitting at my desk, and happened to look up at the wall where I have my various degrees and admittances hanging, and made a startling discovery.....
Today is the 10 year anniversary of me graduating from law school. ACK! I still feel like such a newbie sometimes, but yet, according to the calendar, I'm what most would call "seasoned." Hmmm, may be time to actually join a bar association or two. Being an in-house counsel has allowed me to indulge my hermit-like qualities, since I'm not out having to bust it to get clients. There are perks to having a captive audience. However, I may now be forced to be an actual grownup and professional. Geez, all of the demands.
But. Still. Where did the time go?
Today is the 10 year anniversary of me graduating from law school. ACK! I still feel like such a newbie sometimes, but yet, according to the calendar, I'm what most would call "seasoned." Hmmm, may be time to actually join a bar association or two. Being an in-house counsel has allowed me to indulge my hermit-like qualities, since I'm not out having to bust it to get clients. There are perks to having a captive audience. However, I may now be forced to be an actual grownup and professional. Geez, all of the demands.
But. Still. Where did the time go?
Friday, May 04, 2007
Ack!
I had my 20 week OB visit today. While I have a tough time getting pregnant, I seem to have incredibly unremarkable pregnancies, other than the GD thing. For me that doesn't strike me as that remarkable; I have PCOS, I'm overweight, and the odds are stacked heavily against me. I manage it, and off we go. I also make sure to order the full sugar Coke with my first post-partum meal.
As I said, unremarkable. Blood pressure is fine, urine looks fine, heartbeat at 142 (from where Dr. Wonderful found it, the stinker is still sitting breach), and I'm measuring right on. That one surprises me, since I feel absolutely huge right now. I need to give myself a pretty stiff reality check on that one, since, well, we have a loooong way to go, and the history of big babies in my family is not on my side. I did manage to lose three pounds, which I attribute to the changes in my diet since I started to notice the diabetic reactions to different foods was wrecking havoc with me. I showed him my sugars, and overall he was happy with them. He's still going to diagnose me with GD, since we know that if I wasn't watching it, I would be blowing them on a regular basis. Keep monitoring things-I need to get better about doing my fasting numbers in the morning. Since I seem to have a pretty good grasp of what does and doesn't work, he doesn't see the need to go back to the dietitian, unless I start to struggle to maintain the numbers that I currently have. I was a little bummed about that, since a refresher would have been nice. I've got to start cleaning out the office anyway, so I hope that I can find my file from last time with the recommended schedule, etc.
The ACK! part of the whole thing is that Dr. Wonderful told me that he is leaving the practice to join his wife's practice in the Smaller Twin City. Apparently, she is also an OB, and they used to practice together. The opportunity has arisen again, and he really thinks that this is a good move for him. How can I begrudge that? To actually WANT to work with a spouse and have it work? Egads. He will maintain office hours in another 'burb close to me, but he wanted to let me know so I wouldn't be surprised later on, especially since I've been a patient for quite a while.
Since I've been going to this practice, and know how they rotate who is on for delivery, I made an effort when I was pregnant with Son to see everyone. However, when I was diagnosed with GD, Dr. Wonderful claimed me as his own, and I saw him pretty much exclusively for the last 10 weeks of my pregnancy. If I had made it to my due date/inducement date, he would have delivered. I also went to him when the PPD threatened to overtake me. Needless to say, I trust this guy. I'm just a little torn as to what to do-to quote the song-"should I stay or should I go?"
Assuming that my insurance covers this new practice, I would be looking at probably having to go the Smaller Twin City for at least some appointments. This probably isn't that big of a deal, but it is an almost 30 minute hike, without traffic, and then back cross-country to get to work. The current practice is on my way to work. My RE was in the Larger Twin City, so it's not like I'm unused to having to make a trip. Dr. Wonderful will still have privileges at the hospital close to home (less than 15 minutes away), but also at all of the Smaller Twin City hospitals. This is where I get a little excited, actually. Only one hospital in the TC (at least that I know of) has a water birth option, or at least a birthing tub to labor in. This is one where Dr. Wonderful would be able to deliver at. The hospital that I delivered Son at had a stand up shower, but it was so dinky that to have two people in it would have been nearly impossible. (My contractions turned out to be such monsters that I couldn't stand through them-and that was before transition and the epidural). Needless to say, having that option open up was interesting. However, in order to get to that hospital, its at least 30 minutes, and that is assuming so-so traffic. If I would have the audacity to need to make my way to the hospital during morning rush hour (7A-9A), it could take much longer.
So, I'm faced with a decision. I suppose that the first hurdle is to check out if the practice is covered under my insurance. If so, then I just have to suck it up and chose. Husband, being the font of support that he is, says that it's completely up to me. Loose translation: "I don't want to talk about it, since it really doesn't matter that much to me and I can't remember who is who anyway." I have my last appointment with Dr. Wonderful on June 1, his last day, when he will give me his schedule. Here's hoping I don't blow it.
As I said, unremarkable. Blood pressure is fine, urine looks fine, heartbeat at 142 (from where Dr. Wonderful found it, the stinker is still sitting breach), and I'm measuring right on. That one surprises me, since I feel absolutely huge right now. I need to give myself a pretty stiff reality check on that one, since, well, we have a loooong way to go, and the history of big babies in my family is not on my side. I did manage to lose three pounds, which I attribute to the changes in my diet since I started to notice the diabetic reactions to different foods was wrecking havoc with me. I showed him my sugars, and overall he was happy with them. He's still going to diagnose me with GD, since we know that if I wasn't watching it, I would be blowing them on a regular basis. Keep monitoring things-I need to get better about doing my fasting numbers in the morning. Since I seem to have a pretty good grasp of what does and doesn't work, he doesn't see the need to go back to the dietitian, unless I start to struggle to maintain the numbers that I currently have. I was a little bummed about that, since a refresher would have been nice. I've got to start cleaning out the office anyway, so I hope that I can find my file from last time with the recommended schedule, etc.
The ACK! part of the whole thing is that Dr. Wonderful told me that he is leaving the practice to join his wife's practice in the Smaller Twin City. Apparently, she is also an OB, and they used to practice together. The opportunity has arisen again, and he really thinks that this is a good move for him. How can I begrudge that? To actually WANT to work with a spouse and have it work? Egads. He will maintain office hours in another 'burb close to me, but he wanted to let me know so I wouldn't be surprised later on, especially since I've been a patient for quite a while.
Since I've been going to this practice, and know how they rotate who is on for delivery, I made an effort when I was pregnant with Son to see everyone. However, when I was diagnosed with GD, Dr. Wonderful claimed me as his own, and I saw him pretty much exclusively for the last 10 weeks of my pregnancy. If I had made it to my due date/inducement date, he would have delivered. I also went to him when the PPD threatened to overtake me. Needless to say, I trust this guy. I'm just a little torn as to what to do-to quote the song-"should I stay or should I go?"
Assuming that my insurance covers this new practice, I would be looking at probably having to go the Smaller Twin City for at least some appointments. This probably isn't that big of a deal, but it is an almost 30 minute hike, without traffic, and then back cross-country to get to work. The current practice is on my way to work. My RE was in the Larger Twin City, so it's not like I'm unused to having to make a trip. Dr. Wonderful will still have privileges at the hospital close to home (less than 15 minutes away), but also at all of the Smaller Twin City hospitals. This is where I get a little excited, actually. Only one hospital in the TC (at least that I know of) has a water birth option, or at least a birthing tub to labor in. This is one where Dr. Wonderful would be able to deliver at. The hospital that I delivered Son at had a stand up shower, but it was so dinky that to have two people in it would have been nearly impossible. (My contractions turned out to be such monsters that I couldn't stand through them-and that was before transition and the epidural). Needless to say, having that option open up was interesting. However, in order to get to that hospital, its at least 30 minutes, and that is assuming so-so traffic. If I would have the audacity to need to make my way to the hospital during morning rush hour (7A-9A), it could take much longer.
So, I'm faced with a decision. I suppose that the first hurdle is to check out if the practice is covered under my insurance. If so, then I just have to suck it up and chose. Husband, being the font of support that he is, says that it's completely up to me. Loose translation: "I don't want to talk about it, since it really doesn't matter that much to me and I can't remember who is who anyway." I have my last appointment with Dr. Wonderful on June 1, his last day, when he will give me his schedule. Here's hoping I don't blow it.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Balance
No, not any deep thought-provoking stuff here, but it did strike me how things work sometimes.
Con: Son woke up at 5AM yesterday, crying in his sleep. He has been doing this lately, and I feel so sad for him-what is upsetting him so much? He's very cognizant of Husband not benig home right now, and I know that he doesn't understand, and is upset about it. Usually, I can sneak into his room, put a blanket over him (they never, ever stay on through the night), he calms down, I get to go back to bed. Needless to say, I like this solution.
However, it didn't work that way yesterday. He just kept crying, but he was still asleep. Since he's still in his crib, and it's on the lowest mattress adjustment, it's tough to be able to reach him to rub his back or anything when he's squashed in the far corner. The extra mound that I'm carrying around in front doesn't help either, especially since I usually have to balance on the front rail of the crib to reach him. Anyway, I woke him up enough that he sat up, grabbed his bear and blanket, and wanted to be picked up.
Pro: realizing that he just needed his mommy. I brought him to bed with me (I had gotten to bed LAAATE that night, and we both needed the sleep). He finally fell asleep, with no tossing or turning, after he crawled on top of me, wiggled to get in a comfortable position (legs hanging around the ever-increasing belly), and positioned BoBo the bear just right. Then he snored.
I had to find a way to prop myself up on some pillows so the whole compressing the vena cava thing didn't cause me to pass out, but still, it was so nice. We never coslept with him as a baby-I just couldn't do it since I was so jumpy about every sound he made, I never would have slept. However, there was something so peaceful about looking over at my angelic-looking blond haired son, feeling him breathe and melt into me with such complete and utter trust, and feeling so much for him that I was on the point of tears. I know that those moments are fleeting, but I'm doing the best that I can to burn them into my brain and be able to remember them forever.
Con: Son woke up at 5AM yesterday, crying in his sleep. He has been doing this lately, and I feel so sad for him-what is upsetting him so much? He's very cognizant of Husband not benig home right now, and I know that he doesn't understand, and is upset about it. Usually, I can sneak into his room, put a blanket over him (they never, ever stay on through the night), he calms down, I get to go back to bed. Needless to say, I like this solution.
However, it didn't work that way yesterday. He just kept crying, but he was still asleep. Since he's still in his crib, and it's on the lowest mattress adjustment, it's tough to be able to reach him to rub his back or anything when he's squashed in the far corner. The extra mound that I'm carrying around in front doesn't help either, especially since I usually have to balance on the front rail of the crib to reach him. Anyway, I woke him up enough that he sat up, grabbed his bear and blanket, and wanted to be picked up.
Pro: realizing that he just needed his mommy. I brought him to bed with me (I had gotten to bed LAAATE that night, and we both needed the sleep). He finally fell asleep, with no tossing or turning, after he crawled on top of me, wiggled to get in a comfortable position (legs hanging around the ever-increasing belly), and positioned BoBo the bear just right. Then he snored.
I had to find a way to prop myself up on some pillows so the whole compressing the vena cava thing didn't cause me to pass out, but still, it was so nice. We never coslept with him as a baby-I just couldn't do it since I was so jumpy about every sound he made, I never would have slept. However, there was something so peaceful about looking over at my angelic-looking blond haired son, feeling him breathe and melt into me with such complete and utter trust, and feeling so much for him that I was on the point of tears. I know that those moments are fleeting, but I'm doing the best that I can to burn them into my brain and be able to remember them forever.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
It seems like forever since I last wrote anything of note, but yet I still don't have anything even remotely scintillating, or non-baby related. Even though I still am having issues remembering that I am pregnant sometimes-OK, this morning m protesting hips reminded me, but still-it still seems to be on my mind a lot. So do a lot of other random things. To start this post before I go to bed probably isn't the best idea, but since I am solo mom for the next six, count 'em, six days, I might as well make use of the time that I have.....
- Son has been in an interesting place lately, and I don't know quite what to make of it. One day at daycare he can be all smiles and energy, and the next the teacher is talking to me about three biting attempts. He NEVER does this at home. Every once in a while he will grab my hand and bring it to his mouth, but his mouth is closed. Not quite a kiss, but not aggressive either. The weird thing about the whole deal is that he isn't doing it when he is angry or upset, but during downtime. The one example that I got yesterday was that he was part of a group of kids that were standing by the gate from the play area in the room waiting to go wash their hands and get ready for lunch. He gets upset after he is told not to do it. I'm really at a loss. Nothing has changed at home, although I have a feeling that he knows that something is going on with me-there's no denying that my lap is shrinking and I'm not picking him up as much as I used to. However, there is still book reading, and a lot more playing outside at night with Husband and the dogs, which he loves. I'm actively suppressing my worries about adjustment after Daughter (first time I've typed that one) gets here. Oy.
- Another highlight of my day. Tired and hungry Son and I had to stop at T*rget on the way home for milk and juice, and to pick up one of Husband's myriad of prescriptions. He's just cranky, and making that irritating whining noise (with absolutely no tears, so I know that he's full of it) while we make our way to the checkout. I was playing with his hair when I came across something on the back of his head. I think that it feels like a scab, but I'm not going to go all primate in the express lane to make sure. We get out to the truck, and lo and behold, it's a tick! EWWWWWWWWWWW. (As she feels creepy crawlies all over.) I frantically call my mom since this is what moms are for, and she gives me some suggestions of what to do, and in essence tells me to suck it up and just do what needs to be done. I bribe Son into the highchair as soon as we get home with juice and a Rice Kr*spie treat (don't judge me, he had a real meal later). In the end he had TWO of the nasties. One had attached, but I was able to get it off with nothing more than a dirty look from Son after I swabbed the site with alcohol. The one in his hair didn't like the alcohol wipe that I used, and didn't have to remove any of Son's hair, to the relief of us both. A necessary evil, but....ewwww. They didn't look like deer ticks, the carriers of Lyme disease-it's prevalent enough around here that we have both of the dogs inoculated every year-so we should be OK. The daycare play area backs up to a field, and they have wood mulch under the play equipment. I guess that we are lucky that Son is so fair, so it was really easy to find them on him. For any kid that has darker hair/complexions (over 50%) of the kids in his room, it would have been tougher. I'll ask them to do checks from here on out.
- Husband is on a business trip/boondoggle until Sunday in Washington, D.C., and left to the sounds of me melting down. Either its the Benadr*l that I've been taking whenever I want to spend some time outside (I've pinpointed that it's tree and lilac pollen that is driving me nuts) or I'm losing my mind. Another panic attack this morning, great amounts of sobbing before he even got in the shower this morning to get ready to go to the airport. Again, he still doesn't know what to do with me when I get like this-his tack on it seems to be to downplay it, which makes me feel even worse. The other part of his reaction I attributed to his dramatic tendencies. He kept telling me that me crying and telling him that I didn't want to be alone was telling him that I was scared of losing him forever since something would happen to the plane. Not really what I was getting at, since that never crossed my mind (until now, thank you). His fear of flying took over on that one. I'm the one with issues, and I end up comforting him. Ugh. However, I managed to rein it in before I went to that place where I have totally lost control and there is no recovery. The dry heaves in the shower helped to snap me out of it. If I hate anything in this world, dry heaves when I hadn't eaten in over 12 hours is it. I've shelved my plans to have Yellow Dog sleep with me tonight, at least for now. She is just too restless and it will take her a while to settle each time that I have to get up to pee (yes, same time and channel every night-oh, to get more than four hours in a row!) If I find that I start to melt down later tonight I may relent, and hey, the coverlet is machine washable, so the hair/essence du Yellow Dog won't be a big deal. I would let the cats out to have full dominion over the night, but since Big Boy is such a klutz, it would only cause things to go bump in the night-the last thing that I need.
- I was out sick yesterday-no, really, felt like crap. In hindsight it probably was due to my building anxiety about Husband leaving. I did however, get in about three hours of morning naptime after I prevailed on Husband to take Son to daycare. I could have used three more, but I'll take what I can get. I'm still feeling lousy in the mornings. Not really morning sickness, although the nausea is mixed in the background, but just really weak, like my legs won't hold me. I haven't checked my morning sugars in several days, so I could be spiking high again, but I'm not feeling the way that I normally do when they are over where they should be. It really doesn't make any sense. This morning was better, however, and by the time I get to work it's gone. I haven't been able to handle taking my prenatal lately due to the size of the pill, but I doubt that I'm anemic with my spinach habit.
- I have my 20 week OB appointment with Dr. Wonderful on Friday morning. I've got to make sure that I make up a list of the things that I want to cover. He's one of the few docs that will actually take the time to talk if you have issues. It usually results in him running 30 minutes late on average, but it's worth it. I can't believe that I'm halfway there already.
- I've agreed to participate in the neighborhood garage sale the first week in June. As in have just my stuff in my garage and driveway. Usually, we would ship a couple of things over to our neighbor to add to her sale (we've disposed of a couple of couches, exercise equipment, etc.). However, this time, I think that we will have enough to stand on our own. It's also a good way to have a set date for Husband to get rid of the junk that he's been hording in the office/Daughter's room. Old monitors (2), printers (2), different peripherals, etc. It will also force me to go through all of Son's old clothes and sort out what to keep for Daughter, keep for sentimental reasons, and what can be sold. Get rid of the 20 gallon fish tank that I won't have time to set up any time in the near future. Whatever doesn't get sold over the three days will already have a designated disposition; either donate (Son's clothes can go to the county crisis nursery and good will) or trash. We have two, yes two functioning microwaves in our garage that are just taking up space, TVs from the hotel that we will never use, etc. We HAVE to get moving on cleaning out this office as well. Five months until B-Day seems like a long time, but I've lived the reality of what a pregnancy can do to the time/space continuum. We need to recarpet and paint, and since Husband most likely isn't going to have a lot of time off again this summer (employee issues yet again-I hate his job some days), if I can get the major grunt work done, I can prevail on my parents and brother/SIL to get the rest done. I think that I've come up with a color scheme that won't involve the walls going pink, but should still be nice. Let's just hope that Pottery B*rn doesn't discontinue what I like.
- Oh, and one last thing. We took the boat, you know, the one that Husband has been spending a ton of time on replacing carpeting, re-wiring so the lights and radio work, that boat? Yeah, we have a 21 foot canoe. We tried to take it out on Saturday afternoon, and the damn thing refused to start. Not one of the six cylinders would even cough for us. Because it is an inboard, you can't start it dry (on land without a water source for the intake) and we didn't have the right tool to do it with a hose, we hadn't tried it out yet. However, after spending almost $200 to get it winterized last fall and having it come back with half a tank less of gas than we had dropped it off with, we didn't think that there would be an issue. Wrong. After some trouble shooting, Husband was able to determine there is no spark at all, and we can't figure it out. Great. Oh, and the marital strife that occurred in front of a very busy public launch when I interpreted "get out" to mean pull out of the boat ramp so the boat can float off the trailer and go and park and bring Son to the dock instead of "get out of the truck to hold onto the boat so if it doesn't start we can just pull it back out" was one of the newer low points. In the end, since the behemoth couldn't be moved with an oar even if you tried, some nice guy in a wetsuit waded out to pull the damn thing in to beach her while Husband went and got the Jeep and the trailer to pull the freakin' POS out. Fortunately, the wind was blowing the right way, so when we finally had our turn on the ramp, it wasn't too bad to line it up on the trailer and get it hooked up. Not bad in that Husband had to wade in to thigh high and the water still isn't that warm yet (hence the guy in the wetsuit) and I had to go in midcalf in my BRAND NEW tennis shoes to help winch the damn thing up. Oh, and since I haven't mastered the art of two footed driving (and hence not lurching when the 4x4 that I am pulling the trailer and the now loaded up boat (oh, weighing a combined ton and a half) slips on the sand-covered concrete ramp before it gets traction), I got yelled at yet again. Loudly. So not in love with that. Yet I bawl like, God I don't know what, when he leaves for almost a week. Either its love or, well, something else.
There is probably more to put out there in order to get my head organized, but I am dead tired after getting up 45 minutes early this morning and spending an hour and a half in rush hour traffic-my southern suburb to the airport, all the way across the metro, and south to an outer ring suburb for work. Plus, since I was out on Monday, today was like cramming two Monday's worth of crap into eight hours of time. I still wasn't completely done, but with a late 5:00 meeting, and having to get Son from daycare by six, needing to stop at the store for milk and juice, and all of the other fun of running my house by myself, it's been a long day.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
NOW I can get moving
I hate it when Husband is right....he's such a lousy, graceless winner...gloats, just shows off in general. Eash enough when you've got a 50/50 shot of getting it right.. So, yes, you've guessed it.....it's a girl!
OK, so the sonographer said that it was a 90% certainty. She's sitting breech right now, with her feet tucked up under her, and really low, but it basically boiled down to an absence of boy parts. We weren't able to get the classic three lines. She pointed out that since I would most likely get more U/S due to near certainty of GD, once she turns a bit more, there should be a better opportunity to confirm it 100%. So there you have it-we get one of each.
She looks a lot like Son did at this point. I'll have to pull out his ultrasound pics to compare, but looking at the screen, it looked very familiar. She's (!) still measuring about two days ahead, and is estimated to weigh in at 10 oz. All of the structures look good, amniotic volume is right smack dab in the mid-range of normal, and everything in the brain in fine. Since my diagnosis is "advanced maternal age" (ugh, I'm only 35!), they went on to re-calculate our Down's risk-it's now up to something like 1:9000-10,000 from the 1:8400 based on the first trimester screen. Basically, I've got the risk of a teenager. My OB should get a kick out of that when he gets the report.
I also got a little reassurance as to why I'm not feeling a whole lot of movement. My placenta is anterior (in the front) so that is absorbing most of the motion. It's up high, so no worries about previa, and my cerivc is long and tight. So, all in all a good baby appointment...but then again any appointment that doesn't require me to get on a scale is a good appointment!
Bring on the pink! (Which, by the way, I already have. Having a K*hls accessible during a lunch hour is bad...especially when they have things on sale.)
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.)
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.
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