GAH!!!

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

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

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

Just the facts

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

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

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

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

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

Well, OK then.

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Not all gloom and doom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I knew I should've made that bet!

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

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

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

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

I have four weeks left.

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

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

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

And the beat goes on

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

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

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

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

Where did that come from?

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

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

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

Not enough hours

Let's do the Cliff Notes version:

• tired, crabby, and not sleeping very well. It hurts to roll over (I've now reached harpoonable proportions, and my lower abdomen hurts like hell)
• I'm a full time waddler now-my trick of imagining that I'm not carrying around a watermelon on my front isn't working any more. I give in. Oh, and the cute lowish black slingbacks are now out of commission. Even my sandals with the stretchy elastic are getting too small-the summer swell is on!
• our flooring was put in today-it looks great! The crib is in and both the crib and changing table will be delivered a week from tomorrow.
• Husband is having a surprise inspection tomorrow, and for the first time with this brand, he was caught flat-footed. Insert grumpy, crabby, wired husband into the mix. Good times. There's nothing he can do to get ahead of it, so he just has to ride it out tomorrow. The sad thing is, he's more worried about his manager that decided to participate than the inspection itself. The inspector doesn't like him, and it only hurt Husband's score last time. Ugh.

I had mentioned that our friend's marriage was on its way to a massive implosion, and it happened over the weekend. They have said and done things that you just can't take back-things that should never be said unless you understand the gravity of them. No infidelity, nothing like that. Just two people who are similar in all of the wrong ways. The wife is already starting to try to manipulate their 2 1/2 year old-which just isn't right. It's really been bothering me-thinking about what the little girl caught in the cross fire will have to deal with. How Husband's friend will lose that day to day interaction with his daughter. All I could do was hug Son and try not to cry. I'm not that emotionally resilient these days (I've got a whole other post on that), and anything affecting a child really bothers me.

We had another biophysical profile (BPP) on Friday and all was well. BabyA was yawning, stretching, swallowing, and practicing breathing like a pro. The 4D pics were amazing. She looks a lot like Son, but there were still some significant differences. Just made me want to hold her all the more.

Next up: NST and OB appointment tomorrow. I've got to get my numbers into my endo tomorrow too-I'm spiking again in the AM, so it looks like the insulin is going to go up again. God, I miss real lemonade.....

The things that excite me

OK, so I have fully admitted in the past that I'm a full-blown dork. I know it. End of disclaimer.

Since I've been trying to busy my mind with things NOT related to labor, or otherwise known as holy-shit-am-I-going-to-have-to-do-this-again-and-what-if-I'm-still-lousy-at-it freak out, I've dived into getting BabyA's room finished and trying to wrap things up at work. So, see, at least I'm trying to be productive. I think I just have a really strange way of expressing nesting urges.

Anyway. My mom was kind enough to purchase all of the window treatments for BabyA's room. Since we have an older 1960's house, none of the window sizes are even remotely "standard," so instead of getting the gingham blinds that I had been jonesing for, we had to make adjustments. Adjustments that were way more expensive than I had planned. She still handed over her credit card willingly, even AFTER seeing the total. Oh, and I have to find someone to sew since (1) I couldn't get black out panels and drape all in one package, so I had to order them separately and (2) the drape and the panels are different sizes. For someone who barely passed home ec in high school, this is waaaaay too much.

I just checked the website and looked up the tracking number, and the nice UPS lady dropped the rest of the order off today. Hooray! Next up: flooring goes in on Monday!

My, My

Yet another week of running ragged...I just wish that the weekends were available to re-charge. That hasn't happened much lately and with now being what I consider the home stretch (32 weeks! Holy sh*t!), its getting harder and harder to get above the empty line. I'll keep trying though.

While I wish that I could take the time to write a real entry (or four) about some of the things that I have been mulling over lately, here are the highlights of accomplishments to mark last week:

*BabyA's room is now completely painted, the windows and trim finally stained, and Husband will have the wide shelf trim (to cover the ledge due to our house being a split level) ready to go tonight. We decided on and ordered flooring on Saturday, for way more than I had planned on, but it was the right choice, so I'm OK with it. They should have it installed in three weeks.

*With the best of intentions, Husband and I hitched up the trailer to the Jeep, and hauled it to my OB appointment with the plan of going up to large baby retailer to buy the crib and changing table afterwards. From previous experience, we knew that we would need the trailer or have to deal with pulling out the car seat, etc. We were prepared, darn it! OB appointment ran long (as usual, when will I learn?), and once we got there, we looked at what we had picked, and decided that we didn't like it. We picked out a different set that we actually liked better, but wasn't in stock. It will be in either late this week or the next. The one big bonus-it was almost $200 less for the set. Hooray!

*According to our ultrasound on Friday, BabyA is still a girl (whew, now I can start ripping off tags), and is 4lbs, 7 oz. The ultrasound tech said that the weight may have been a bit high, since BabyA's legs are in the 80th percentile, but the rest is in the 60th. It feels strange to have what I equate with a small baby in there, especially since I feel like I'm reaching maximum capacity. It may just be that since we've been monitoring things so strictly with the GD so early, she's just the size she is supposed to be. But then again, I start to worry that maybe I haven't been eating enough, and that is why she is so small in comparison with Son. But then, the OB that saw this time, Dr. SkinnyGirl, was really happy that I hadn't gained any weight, and saw that as an example that we are managing things well. I guess that everyone has an opinion....I still feel a bit gypped by the whole thing, since I've been having more and more cravings lately, and I can't indulge in any of them. I'm mainly motivated by the fact that if I give in, I'll feel horrible when my numbers spike, but there are times when a big piece of chocolate cake just can't be replaced by a South Beach snack bar!

*Faxed in my weekly numbers to the endocrinologist, and no increase in meds this week! Hoooray! My A1c number came back a little higher than last time, but still in the normal range, so all is well there. OK, so it has all been worth it, but I still can't get some of those cravings out of my head...

*My coverage schedule for my leave at work is taken care of, and the big bulk of my daily tasks assigned. Now my job is to get it all under control before I leave so (1) I don't have a guilt and (2) no one will be able to see what an idiot I am. Do you have any idea how tough it is to try to do that when you're not even going to be here? It's exhausting.

Well, off to work to try to get some more done. My afternoon is shot for tomorrow, so off we go!

I should be working...really, I should. However, in my defense, I was pretty darn productive this morning, so there. AND I was being such a good client counselor that I missed lunch until almost 3:30. An almost eight month pregnant diabetic who missed lunch until it was almost time for dinner. I gotta see about some sort of maternal medal...wait, make that employee. The maternal side was reminded by BabyA that I really needed to get my act together and eat something since I had keytones this morning....

Things are cruising along at the Chronicle house. My parents came down last weekend and put in a serious amount of work to help us get the office cleaned out and ready. It went from half empty with the computer still set up to empty, carpet ripped up and in a dumpster (one must love neighbors that are in construction!), paint and primer purchased, and walls primed. They are coming back down again this weekend to paint. They know that Husband is NOT a detail type. Put it this way-cutting in and making things crisp? Nah, don't need to do it. His last paint job was over unsanded joint compound. It looks horrible. Thankfully, it's just his bathroom and no one other than the occasional cat who sneaks in for a nap in his underwear basket sees it.

My mom has also volunteered to pay for the window coverings, which does help. I've bought pretty much everything from P*ttery Barn Kids, and there are matching black out roman shades that I am absolutely coveting. While I now have sheets and waterproof mattress pads for the crib, still haven't gotten around to buying said crib or a mattress. We were given Son's mattress, so I didn't have to buy that last time either.. I didn't want to add even more stuff to an already cluttered house, so I haven't gone up and bought the thing yet. We can live without the changing table/dresser for a while if needed, but I have to get moving on a place for her to sleep. We'll never be a co-sleeping family, and while Son fought the crib for a while, it's now his refuge.

Over the past week we've made some major progress on getting everything that we took out of the office and deposited in our downstairs family room sorted out and put away (basically being motivated by the fear of disapproval from my parents), so there may actually be room to start putting everything together. I'm going to turn our closet under the stairs into our office storage-paper, filing cabinets, etc., so a lot of what is out right now will go there, but that entails yet another round of cleaning and sorting. It will get better after we move the loveseat into BabyA's room (so I'll have somewhere to nurse-and so unlike the furniture that we have upstairs, it actually fits me). However, we need to pick out, order, and have the flooring installed first. Which we haven't done yet. And Husband has had to work a couple of long nights this week, on top of the whole taking care of the dog thing, so we really haven't had a chance to get to where we need to go. If there is a patron saint for putting off labor, please say a prayer for me to him/her. I think I'm going to need it.

In other news, I get my first ultrasound since 20 weeks tomorrow, and I'm just a little bit excited. The last time that we saw her, she was just plain difficult and in a lousy position. I want to get the sex verified-we didn't get the money shot last time, and I'm now at the point of having so many receipts due to refusing to remove tags off of clothing, etc. that my wallet may explode. She also was still at that point where her proportions were still off and looked a bit on this side of alienesque. Who knows, maybe I'm out of that denial that we're actually going to be bringing home a baby soon. Took me long enough.

My poor baby, Pt. II

The vet tech who assisted with Yellow Dog called this afternoon, and the news was mixed. They do a tooth extraction, since the crack reached all the way to the pulp, and developing an abscess was a good possibility. It was just an incisor, not a molar, but she's still going to be on soft food for a couple of weeks, and we have to go back to get it checked to make sure that it is healing OK.

No bone growth actually, but an excess amount of gum tissue. Once they got rid of that (by laser, and boy, does that make the healing faster!), she had a lot of tartar and gunk that we hadn't been able to see. She's always had such good teeth that we've been told not to worry about cleaning them, since she was doing just fine on her own. The vet, Dr. GreatHair, said that it all looked pretty good, but that we'll have to keep an eye on her for anything else popping up.

I guess that she was still pretty dopey yet a couple of hours after the surgery, so I asked that when I pick her up that someone be there to lift her into the Jeep, since I can't do it right now, and Husband won't be there to help. I hate to see her like that, but if it helps keep her under control to let her heal for the next couple of days, we can deal with it. We pretty much need to treat her like a human that has been given the good drugs; no wandering unsupervised, and no major obstacles. My poor girl.

Yes, I'm a big softie-she'll get the good canned stuff tonight and a new bed...its the least that we can do for her.

My poor baby

Yellow dog had mouth surgery today. Our resident spaz has been bleeding here and there when we would give her rawhide or a bone. At her yearly checkup a couple of months ago, the vet noticed that she had a bony growth going on in front of one of her back molars (of course on the side where she prefers to gnaw) and suggested that we get rid of it to head off any problems. What he told us was that anything malignant in the mouth tends to never have a good end result. She's a pain sometimes, but she's still OUR pain, so I finally got her in today. To the tune of $400-$500. Our purebred has been the most expensive animal that we own.

The vet called, and while doing the dental, also found that she has a cracked tooth, so we opted to have that removed. Poor monster probably has had pain for a while, but, as usual, didn't show it. I don't feed her in the morning, but I did a couple of days ago and I didn't notice anything different-just her being her lab self and inhaling her bowl. Normal. Who knows how she managed it-either going at a bone or when she and Black Dog were playing. They cracked heads a couple of months ago (both chasing tennis ball, not watching, bam. Two 70lb dogs at full tilt. It hurt to watch it) so that may have done it.

I just hate it when any animal of mine has to go under anethesia-hate it. They do all of the screening bloodwork to make sure that there aren't any issues, but she isn't getting any younger. She'll be seven this fall. I just want her home and doped up so nothing hurts. I have a feeling that someone may end up with us tonight instead of down in the kennel. She's a lousy pill taker, but if there is some soft food involved, it may not be too tough*.

*I've honestly seen this dog be given a pill (or two) like her doggy benedryl, spit it out, and move her paw to cover it up, all the while getting the praise and treat for taking said pill(s). Rotten creature, but she's still our girl.

Pregnancy Stuff

Well, I appear to have finally reached the point (31 weeks!!) where I will be spending more time with my OB and associated obstetrics people than I will at work. In some circles, this wouldn't be considered a bad thing-but for someone with a small mountain of paper to climb before she signs off, not so great.

I saw my endocrinologist today, and all is well. She's pretty happy with where everything seems to have settled out, and I haven't had to increase my insulin for a couple of weeks. However, the mornings have begun to creep up again (as they should, my placenta-fueled insulin resistance increases until around 36 weeks) so I'm up to 15 units at night. No big deal. She was more worried about my keytones, since while I can put together strings of five or so days of nothing, I tend to drop meals here and there, thus resulting in non-negative results. That, in turn, tends to tweak my mornings upwards. It's all such a delicate balancing act sometimes. I vowed to behave and enforce my need to eat.

It still feels strange to have to tell Husband, or whoever else that I'm with (since if I'm left to my own devices, I do just fine) that I have to eat. I've been big all of my life, and have developed an incredibly strong aversion to ever mentioning anything about me and food. Basically, I have always had it in my head that people judge me and wonder why I would need to eat, "I mean, look at her!" Even when pregnant, this phobia/anxiety can prevail. I need to get over it, I know, but its easier to tell someone to slay the dragon, as opposed to actually having to do it. My only saving grace is that we don't have much on our agenda as far as traveling or major plans to muck up the works. Just a baptism and a birthday for my respective nieces, and then we're done. Feeling like I do anyway, I don't know if I could handle much more anyway.

I also had my regular OB appointment last Monday, and, as usual, it was pretty uneventful. Everything was where it was supposed to be, I was told after a review of my sugars that I really needed to relax a bit more (which felt about as helpful as being told while going through infertility to "just relax"), and that we would be starting monitoring for the next ten weeks. Ugh.

So, when we left, the understanding was that the protocol for monitoring had changed; ultrasound first, and if things were iffy or undetermined by ultrasound, then the NST (monitors for contractions and fetal heart rate). I was happy about this little change since my pregnancy with Son; no more two plus hour appointments, where I would usually spend somewhere in the neighborhood of half and hour just waiting for the monitoring equipment. However, between then and when I called the scheduler back to finish scheduling the rest of the appointments, Dr. Wonderful changed his mind. Instead of one long appointment, I get to have two a week! The joy of it all. While the ultrasounds are nice, and I haven't seen BabyA in almost two and a half months, I'm not overjoyed about the whole twice a week thing. The scheduler wasn't sure why he made the change, so she was going to look into it and we would clarify when I go in this Friday.

At this point, all I can say is that I'm happy that we have decent insurance.

Interesting things while driving

For some reason, I've been keeping mental tabs on the weird things that I have seen out and about on the roads over the past couple of months. I have no idea why I've been cataloging them-just random things that seem to be sticking.

• the local police office who rolled through the stop sign while driving one-handed on his cell phone
• the late 70s/early 80s Winnebago towing a Prius...somehow, I have feeling that they are still in the hole on that one
• non-injury accident on local busy street: mid-size sedan rear ended by minivan rear ended by large SUV. Guess who got the worst of it? Big SUV was spilling so much fluid that I thought that maybe they had hit a fire hydrant trying to avoid the first two. The other two (albeit with rear bumpers that no longer resembled OEM parts) probably were able to drive away. The SUV was most likely headed to parts land.
• a questionable mid-70s collector type car in desperate need of body work with rims that probably tripled the value of the car. Too bad that the quarter panels above them were about to fall off.
• this is probably my favorite (next to the Winnebago): a Suburban that was lowered to barely clear the pavement. We live in MINNESOTA. It SNOWS here. Talk about an expensive and idiotic snowplow. And to think that people gave me grief about having low profile tires on my last "fun" car....

There are other things that have grabbed my attention, but they bother me too much to get into detail-the carseatless baby, etc. But since I was aiming for more a "news of the weird" vibe, here's what you get. Now maybe I can get my act together and actually get some work done today. Nah....

the nutshell edition

I don't have a lot of time today to go over the fun that was this past week/weekend, but here are the highlights:

• managed to have a knock-down, drag out of a fight with Husband that lasted pretty much all of the day and night on Tuesday, including an hours worth of fun on our cell phones while I sat and cried in my office. Nice. While I don't think that we accomplished much other than blowing off steam, I sort of saw a glimmer of enlightenment in him. I'm just waiting for when the glimmer disappears.
• called my Mom and Dad on Wednesday to meet us halfway so they could take Son for the weekend. There was no way that I was getting out of going to KC, so this was the best solution. He had fun, so I guess that everyone won.
• drove to Des Moines on Thursday night, and KC and back to Des Moines on Friday after the funeral. Very strange service, if it even qualified. No one wore black, the urn (she was cremated) wasn't anywhere, and the whole thing felt like a little get together with little to no reverence. I didn't expect big crying jags or anything, but the only people that seemed to understand the purpose and depth of the service were the ministers. Afterward, we were asked if we wanted to go through her apartment and take anything. What?!?! My MIL and Husband's oldest sister when through and loaded up their car to go home and sort out things-basically grabbed anything that wasn't nailed down just for the sake of getting "stuff." My other SIL requested a rather nice dining room table-which didn't seem as greedy-they are buying a new house and are still using a table originally purchased by Husband's parents when they got married, at a farm sale no less. It seemed far more appropriate. If Grandma had been around, I'm sure that if SIL had asked, she would have been happy to see her have it. I think that the reason that the whole thing threw me was that the last funeral that I was at was my grandmother's. Full mass, packed church, lots of family (my Grandma was one of nine kids), and a real sense of loss. No mention was made of disposing of anything (my grandfather is still alive, but they have a will and everything has been decided for years). The focus was on the person. Maybe the difference seems so sharp because I was very vested in the person-I don't know.
• arrived back in Des Moines to walk into a thermonuclear fight between the couple that we were staying with. Their marriage is on the verge of imploding, and its harder to watch when there is a very bright and innocent 2 1/2 year old also involved who got caught in the crossfire. She was so scared to hear them screaming at each other-I wanted to just grab her and take her away from it, to help her feel safe. I was in no position to do that, but it took everything that I had to not smack them both and ask them to look at their daughter, who was on the verge of tears-before they came home she had been laughing and playing. It made the fight that Husband and I had on Tuesday almost look productive. They have been married less than four years. Husband tried to mediate and let the husband cool down, while the wife vented to her parents, who had just returned their daughter after taking care of her that night while they went to a small group therapy session. I have my own opinions, but Husband has known the husband for almost 20 years-I really couldn't add much. I played the coward and hightailed it up to our room with my night snack and insulin at hand. Thank God they have cable upstairs.
• The rest of the weekend was a little tense, but Husband and I stayed, since we both needed the break. The amazing thing is that I must have been more tightly wound than I thought-my morning sugars are now consistently down in the 80s, as opposed to the upper 90s. This is in direct contradiction to what should be happening at this stage, since my resistance should still be going up for another six weeks or so. Just goes to show how much stress can affect things. I'll be curious to hear what my endo's office has to say about it, since I faxed in a week's worth of numbers this morning.

There is probably more, but overall, the whole thing was probably more of a blessing than a curse-we really needed the away time, and Son had a ball with my parents. He did come home with a major eczema flare-up-either from something he ate or just being outside all of the time-but he got home in one piece, and is certainly in a better place for it. The presription will help with the rest. I'm not as apt to want to wring anyone's neck this week (but hey, it is young), and Husband isn't being the total and complete jerk that he was last week. Not too bad.

FUBAR

For those of you not familiar with the term, its buried in "Saving Private Ryan" about halfway through.

Lots of fun right now, and I really wish that I had the time to do a decent post to sort out everything. I'm more than a bit frazzled right now, and I'm sick of crying, sick of worrying, sick of just about everything.

Husband's estranged grandmother died today. The short version is that she gave up Husband's mom, G, to be rasied by G's grandmother. They reconnected about 10 years ago, albeit on a strained level. She found out that she had terminal liver cancer (and it was just about everywhere else) about month ago, went into hospice, and went home late last week. Husband's sister, who has fought tooth and nail for a relationship, was there last week, and the grandmother, M, said that she was ready to "go upstairs." She was 89, and at peace with what was coming. Not a bad way to end it, at least from my detached perspective.

However, this means a trip to Kansas City over the weekend. Loosely translated, seven to eight hours in the car. At 29 weeks and some change. With a toddler that loses it for the three hour trip to my parents. Oh, and on a holiday week. My parents have volunteered to come down and get Son and take him for the weekend. I love the gesture, but I worry about him being away from us for that long, and having someone else driving him almost 200 miles. I don't know what I would do if something happened. There are stupid people everywhere on highways during a summer holiday. I'm scared.

I'm also scared that I haven't felt BabyA as much as before. It really started yesterday with her being unusually quiet. She just flunked the one hour kick count-I needed 10, I got 5. I'm waiting for the nurse to call me back. Dr. Wonderful isn't in until 2:00, but my hunch is that I've got an ultrasound, if not a trip to L&D in my plans today. I'm worried about that too-I just can't let anyone else down today. I really can't. I'm probably being a paranoid pregnant, but with all of the stress lately, I just worry about how she's handling it. I'm not doing so hot either.

UPDATE: Even though I only counted five in the first hour, I had five in the next half hour, so Dr. Wonderful didn't see the need to see me, especially since I have an appointment on Tuesday. Just have to push the fluids, which will be a treat in the car. It's over 150 miles between rest stops in southern Iowa and Northern Missouri. Yea.

Still haven't decided what to do about this damn trip. My parents are pushing for me to not go, or at least let them have Son. I still can't shake that worry about him traveling that far without me. The biggest stumbling block was that I was taking Thursday and Friday off specifically to get BabyA's room cleaned out to the degree that mom and dad could come down the following weekend to paint. If I go, that plan is screwed, and well, I'm pissed.

I've actually been looking forward to making some headway, and I feel as though the carpet has been pulled out on me. It's a huge piece of stress-Husband is working weekends for at least the next month, so I'm on my own. My weekends are reserved for doing shitty jobs like laundry, dishes, trying to clean. If I don't do that then, no one will. I'm tired of the filth and I want it gone. That means leave me alone long enough to do something about it. Trying to get it all done during Son's naps isn't possible. I'm physically having a hard time right now, and it won't get better.

I just want to cry. I have been for three days, and any light that is at the end of the tunnel has disappeared. Husband doesn't get it-all he sees is his stress and that I'm not being supportive. Fuck that. I've been supportive; but at some point when do I get to be put into the equation? Why do I have to bottle up all of this? I don't like Son seeing me lose it, and my temper has been out of control. Son is paying for it, because, you know, Husband JUST ISN'T THERE. Even when he is, he wants to sleep, or check email, or get a billion phone calls from work, so he might as well be there. I HATE THIS. This is my last pregnancy, and I really wanted to enjoy it, since I didn't allow myself that luxury last time. Looks like I lose again. I just want it over and done with.

Vindication: Part II

Happy to say that the numbers are still looking pretty awesome with this new tester-good grief, does this mean that I've actually caught a break? Who, me? About damn time.

This morning was a little high, but I sort of expected that. I've got a good excuse, really.

Husband and I have both been exhausted lately, and Son an absolute terror around dinnertime. He won't wait until I have time to make anything-either he's in the high chair in 15 minutes after we get home (anywhere between 6 and 6:30) or we ALL pay for it. I've tried the whole having a snack in the car on the way home, but all it does is fill him up before he actually gets to a real meal. Since I've put my foot down on pre-meal snacking (and remembered to lock the pantry door), the meltdowns are still happening, but by God, he's now eating his meal. Imagine! Any meat other than hot dog, ground beef surrounded by mac and cheese or tomato sauce, or an occasional fish stick, are NOT tolerated, but fruit is OK, and veggies of the orange variety are OK too.

Anyway, we went through all the fun that Son is, and we were both too tired to think about what to cook. We desperately need me to make up a menu and do some shopping. Husband asked me what I wanted, and it was a toss up between tacos and spaghetti. No instant spaghetti anywhere, so off to national taco chain he went. He came home with our order, which we both started to inhale after Son was in bed. I thought that that pop tasted OK, my normal diet. After a few sips of his own, Husband asked me to do the taste test (he's always convinced that there is something wrong with his; he just doesn't seem to get that whole fountain vs. can difference). Ooops. Um, I've got the full sugar version. After a nacho supreme. Crap.

My two hour after that debacle were OK, but it hit me this morning. I'm just calling it God letting me have a little of the old life-no wonder it tasted so damn good-and a reality check. No biggie. I've got way too much stress in other areas to get worked up over this, although I'll have to be a saint today.

Well, I suppose that it's time to go and deal with some of the stress-the work piles are calling.

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!).

• 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....