Little Precious

Is it bad that sometimes I refer to the Potential Person, Little Precious, Sweet Child O’ Mine, Junior, as ‘Little Bitch’? I never actually say it out loud, and there is a degree of fondness that you wouldn’t suspect. I do, however, feel some guilt about my sudden surges of anger towards such an innocent-appearing being.

Reasons I have called Junior ‘Little Bitch’ in the past 24 hours:

- Peeing ever 14 seconds in the middle of the night. The middle of the night is my sleepy time, not my get-up-and-touch-the-icy-bathroom-floor-with-bare-feet-56-times time. Other people who have children like to snicker when I complain about this, and say, ‘Oh, it’s just Nature’s way of getting you ready for night feedings’. I get the feeling that there’s more to this than they are telling me. Especially when they add, ‘Just be happy you can still make it to the toilet, because I pee myself every time I sneeze or laugh or the garage door opens’. People with children are not sympathetic to me complaining about getting less than a good 10 hours, I have learned.

- The nausea is not gone, just hiding. I was unloading the dishwasher and unsuspectingly threw up in the sink. For no good reason. So let me get this straight – leaning over perfectly clean, antiseptic dishes makes me yammy? Standing hurts my back, laying down I can’t get comfortable, and sitting gives me leg cramps? I will be spending the rest of the pregnancy in some sort of sling, I guess, sullenly watching my ass grow.

- My midsection is no longer a tool. I like to use various body parts inappropriately, as utensils and props and weapons. I open things with my teeth that I shouldn’t, I kick buses, and I like to shove things with my gut, or use it as a shelf. However, lately my laptop no longer fits comfortably on my lap, I felt a twinge when I tried resting a box on my abdomen yesterday, and I can’t lean against the sink to apply makeup (right, makeup, haha) the way I use to. It’s just darn inconvenient.

Only 19 weeks. So far to go still. Yes, I realize that yesterday 19 weeks seemed like a blink of an eye and that I was going to go into labor in like 3 seconds. Well, today, when I am tired, and surly, and want a cocktail, and have heartburn, and don’t have any pants that fit me so I will have to go out for dinner in some sort of makeshift parachute/old refrigerator box, it seems like a loooooooooooooong way off. And I still haven’t felt her move, which I am not as devil-may-care about as I previously let on. And I don’t want to do any more work, I just want to be on vacation. It's less than a week til Christmas, isn't there some sort of law? I shouldn't blame Junior for my grumpiness - there will be plenty to blame her for when she is actually here.

Ultrasound Pics

Sorry for the delay in getting these posted.

Say 'hi' to the nice people, Junior!

Here's Junior's little hand (making a defiant fist, I love it - power to the people!)

And here is the shot that shows she's a girl -

the three magic little white lines. Doesn't seem like much, does it?

Update and Holiday Wishes

Junior taught me a little lesson about wearing flats over the weekend. I went to a Christmas party at Cousin J’s, which was a lot of fun (got to chat with her brothers, which I always enjoy, and made some awkward small talk with our ex-real estate agent). I had a very cute dress that was flattering to Junior’s burgeoning figure, and shoes with matching bows on the toes. Flat, arch support-less, awful, yet cute shoes. Standing for a mere 2-3 hours resulted in a painful pinch in my lower back that I have as yet to get rid of. I feel like an old lady, with a pillow propped in the small of my back whenever I sit, and a groan when I stand. It’s exciting because, as everyone tells me, it’s all downhill from here.

I can’t believe I’ll see my family for the holidays in just 4 days. I’ll get to play with my crazy-haired niece, and tell all my high school buddies about Junior. I spent a very productive afternoon yesterday burning CDs for the drive, and am keeping my fingers crossed for decent weather. I’ve already started to receive gifts for the baby, which is freaking exciting. Cousin J got me one of those womb-sound teddy bears; it’s cute and cuddly and just a tiny bit creepy, but I’ve heard babies are very comforted and soothed by them, so I had actually really wanted one. Whatever works, right?

It’s nice that I’m in the twilight of the pregnancy, with no nausea, returned energy, and out-of-control hormones. I cry at ANYTHING now. The shortness of breath is a little weird (and makes me feel very sympathetic for asthmatics and hugely fat people), but I’ve adjusted to the sinus thing and thankfully no one shares my room so the increased drool and snoring goes unnoticed. I still haven’t felt Junior move, which should happen any day now, but I’m not too worried about it. I’ve seen it enough on the ultrasound screen to have patience for once, plus from what I’ve read I may be feeling it and just don’t know that’s what it is. I’m sure that once those 18.5 cm legs get going I’ll be aware of it.

I’ve finally started the dreaded weight gain, three pounds so far. My clothes feel like I’ve gained 75. Everything is tight except the newest yoga pants. At least I’m not wearing leggings, kill me if that happens. I haven’t noticed any breast growth yet, thank god. I already got rid of ‘em once! There’s some delightful stretch marks starting to form, and weird skin blemishes, which really help contribute to my overall feeling of gorgeousness. But knock on wood, my blood pressure has stayed pretty normal and there haven’t been any other red flags. Good job, Junior!

Happy holidays to everyone in case I don’t get another chance to post before I flee the country on Friday. I probably won’t be back online until the new year, so I hope everyone has a merry Christmas, lots of good food, rest and relaxation, and time spent with loved ones, whoever they may be.

Storytime

One of the many things I miss about Quiet is that he was always a great audience. I still think of him first when something stupid or funny or awful or happy happens. There have been a million such occasions since Thanksgiving, where I have picked up the phone or drafted an email or started to rise to go find him, then stopped when I remembered.

So here’s my list of 10 Boston Stories I Wish I Could Share With Quiet:

1. “How I Got Banned From the Logan Airport Avis Shuttle Service”, or, “Why I Kicked a Bus”, or, “The Day a Driver Threatened to ‘Break Both My Legs’”
2. “Scandalously Inappropriate Office Wear As Modeled by a Previous Manager of Mine Who Once Offered to Buy Me ‘Hello Kitty’ Underwear”
3. “My Bosses React to the News About Junior”
4. “Getting Lost in North Boston, In a Blizzard, At Night, In a Mustang – Crying Does Not Help the Tires Stick to the Road”
5. “1,000 Things I Love About Marriott”
6. “Cafeteria Curry – Never a Good Idea in ANY Trimester”
7. “Winter Sucks”
8. “A Corporate Office Worker Learns I Live With Loud – ‘Don’t Tell Anyone Else That You Even Know Him’”
9. “Wrapping Gifts for Needy Children – My Team’s Disappointing Taste in Wrapping Paper”
10. “The Time I Learned That My Last Pair of Dress Pants No Longer Fit – A Tale in 5 Straining Safety Pins”

And I’ve only been here a day and a half.

*sigh*

I miss Quiet.

Sorry, Junior

I am officially well into The Third Trimester, which seemed to follow the actual conception schedule rather than that lame adjusted doctor’s date which puts everything off two weeks. For me, the light at the end of the throwing up in the shower didn’t start to shine until around 15 weeks. Now that I’m in week 17 ½ it’s very exciting; the nausea is gone, the aching tiredness isn’t as all-encompassing, and I ate a burger last night for dinner (although, man, that half pound of well done red meat just about killed me after all this veggie time).

Boston is 23 degrees and very pretty and Christmas-y, but I forgot how much work cold weather is. Driving is harder, I’m terrified of falling on Junior in an icy parking lot, and I can barely move in 97 lbs. of turtleneck and sweater and long coat. Dragging a laptop bag through slush sucks. I had to scrape a windshield! At a time when I have been very seriously considering a move back to Canada sooner rather than later, this trip has been a harsh reminder of the reality of a Northern winter. Maybe I ought to stick to my idea of just going for six months; long enough to get away for a bit, but not a permanent move. Surprisingly I am for once wary of leaping from one bad situation to another.

House drama has, unsurprisingly, escalated already. Loud, earlier than I had expected, feels like he has a license to be a jerk because, as he snidely justified, “You’re going to have a screaming baby soon, so you can’t say a damn thing”. Quiet #2, who I actually feel very sorry for, has had a breakdown of his own. Who knows what games Loud is playing with him? I don’t even want to know, just like I have come to realize I don’t want to know what it is he has said to Quiet #1 that has likely contributed towards him questioning/being resentful of/feeling bad about/being able to walk away from our friendship. I’m tired of going around and around every day asking myself what exactly I’ve done or what I could possibly do to fix things.

I just feel like there’s something more I could be doing to avoid bringing Junior into such a toxic environment. I feel like I’m failing her as a mother right out of the gate by not providing her with a safe, supportive and happy home. She’s already resented and a source of contention and the truly hard part hasn’t even come yet. It seemed like this past weekend I ran into someone who knew me and the guys every time I turned around, and I just smiled and said everything was great when asked how things were; I can’t admit that everything is in shambles because I’m insecure about being judged, not just for choosing to become a single mother but because I can't provide and protect. I know that this situation can’t last forever, but a study I read the other day found that extreme stress can result in premature or low birth weight babies, which can affect their growth and development. I would never, ever forgive myself if I thought that Junior was affected in that way by something I had inadvertently caused. I’m incredibly jealous that the guys can deal with their crazy lives by drinking or smoking or popping pills or having random sex or whatever. I have got to stop letting it all get to me. I have got to stay focused on better days ahead, no matter how far.

Alistair No More - Introducing Junior

Remember how I said I was absolutely positive that I was having a boy? All that bunk about my theories, and the quizzes, etc.? The gorgeous blue baby blanket that I had started knitting?
As you have already probably guessed, I got a bit of a shock at Friday’s ultrasound appointment. The tech highlighted three little white lines and before she could even get the words out, I was already bawling. I was so happy that Junior’s Aunt J. was there to see it. I had been so darn certain that Alistair was an Alistair, it was a total shock – and while I knew that deep dn I really, really, really wanted a daughter (especially if this was most likely going to be my only one), it surprised me a little bit to realize just how excited I was about a girl. Think about it:

- Hand-me-downs from Cousin Amelia
- Able to accompany me in shady public bathrooms and change rooms despite her age without disapproving looks
- Ballet lessons
- Matching outfits (ok, that should probably actually fall under ‘Downsides’)
- Dollhouses, charm bracelets, Barbies, tea parties, dress-up, sleepovers
- Cooking together
- Mother-Daughter functions
- Shoes

There are also the downsides:

- Puberty
- Daddy issues
- Pregnancy worries until she’s 36
- Boys breaking her heart
- Did I mention puberty yet?

I just still can’t believe it. Another step on the road to ‘Making This Whole Thing More Real’. No more random, abstract ‘he’ thinking.

She.

My daughter.

Thoughts of Alistair in the Dark

Did you know that when I go to bed at night, I lay my hand on my just-starting-to-poke-out bulge and tell you good night? I don’t say it out loud because that would make me a crazy person, but I whisper it in my head. Word on the street is that your ears are just starting to function, and you will respond to sudden noises like a dog barking or Loud slamming stuff at midnight. But I’m a little freaked out by that, and plus I figure you’ll hear my voice plenty in the upcoming months. I do find myself patting you soothingly for no good reason at random moments; it’s a good thing I’m going to be telling my boss about you on Monday, because I would totally give myself away in the office if anyone caught me. Or they'd just think I was a weird fat girl.

Did you know that I’ve never been one of those people who wanted to have a baby so that I wouldn’t be alone? I think those people are horrible, especially the ones who raise a child to be their friend and confidant. I know new mothers who felt even more isolated after a birth, since they allowed their world to become constricted and wouldn’t let anyone in. I’ve always vowed to try my best to avoid both those things. Anyhow, the point I am trying to make is that I’ve been feeling lonely lately, and I realized that I will never be more NOT alone than right now; I have another person with me, at all times, someone whose needs are more important and who I have to put first now and for the rest of time. I am still getting use to the idea of the whole thing, obviously. It’s good that I have the ultrasound appointments so that I keep getting reminders, visual and audio proof, because at this point when I can’t see you or feel you yet, it’s just ridiculous to believe that you’re really in there.

Do you know how much you are wanted? Not just by me, either, there are lots and lots of people who continuously ask about your well-being and when you will arrive. People that I never ever expected to even understand my decision are offering support, advice, best wishes, and kindness. I have to tell you that I’ve had a lot of doubts lately about my decision. Not about having you, just about the awful timing of it. I hate the idea of bringing you into this house with all its drama and instability and sadness. I regret that things aren’t different, and I’ve thought a lot lately about how I would feel if I lost you right now. A teensy little part of me thinks that might be for the best. In a few years I’ll be back in a house of my own, away from all this. I would use an anonymous donor. I’d be older and perhaps wiser, or at least have more perspective.
But then I think about what I’ve gone through to get to this moment. The whole reason I’m in this cursed house, the unfulfilling job that is perfect for a single mom, the time and effort and emotional turmoil. I wouldn’t want all of that to be for nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold any of that against you; I just see it all as the price to pay, along with all the future sacrifices that will need to be made, for getting to have you. And despite the fact that I haven’t met you yet, I’m pretty sure that’s worth anything. I’ve had enough loss for this year. I know that no matter the bad timing I want you. I would have you tomorrow if I could. I’ve always wanted you, and always will, and would be utterly devastated to lose you. So stick around for a while longer. At least until January, apparently, I guess that’s the magic point where you could make it on the outside if you had to. Terrifying.

Happy Birthday, Dad

I have a feeling that I am going to have lots of little reminders sneak up on me as to just how badly I have already ruined Alistair’s life. My favorite was this weekend, when I was trying to choose a card for my Dad’s upcoming birthday. There were all the usual, ‘You’re the best dad in the whole world!’ (untrue), ‘You taught me everything I know!’ (also largely untrue), and ‘You always did what you thought was best, and though I am still bitter I can at least respect that you always told me you loved me’ (totally true, but they don’t make this card. Yet.). Anyhow, as I was saying, my favorite was (and this is word-for-word), ‘Psychologists say that the role a father plays is the most important factor in a child’s life’. Isn’t that awesome?! I dropped it like it burned me. Hallmark hates single mothers. And the gays, so I’ve been told.

Speaking of the gays, something so terrible that I haven’t been able to write about it happened last week. Quiet is going through something, something big, and part of that something is a) Making up with Loud (which I think, in part, is a good thing, because he needs to get through everything and I know it’s been horrible living here with him broken up), and b) Not being friends with me anymore. It’s that last one that I can’t figure out. I can understand that he still loves Loud and wants to be with him at any price (because, even though it might not be ideal, and I might not think it’s the best thing for him, the heart wants what it wants and I would never judge or be critical of that), but I haven’t really been given an explanation as to why our friendship is over other than that I have been manipulative somehow. I have given him the space he asked for, but still he won’t talk to me. I spent the weekend waiting for a tap on my door, hoping that he would finally tell me what he has decided (the last time we spoke he said he wasn’t sure about maintaining the friendship, and I am ever hopeful, even in the face of overwhelming odds). Was our friendship really worth so little to him that the cruelty is intentional, or is he just dealing with so much that he doesn’t see me, waiting here still, pride gone, hoping beyond hope that a friendship I value enormously, a friend I love dearly, hasn’t been taken from me in addition to everything else I’ve lost lately.

I think of my friend Jackie, I guess 10 years ago now, coming to me after I shattered her trust horribly, saying to me ‘The worst thing about all of this is, I am sick with heartache and you’re the one who did this to me – but you’re the only person I want to talk to about it’.
Yep, karma is a dirty bitch.

I just wish he’d talk to me.

Happy Turkey Day

I’m so sorry, I’m such a Naughty Blogger! It’s been a trazillion years since I last posted, I know. Here are my excuses;

1. I was in Seattle, and the time difference made blogging next to impossible
2. I was washing my hair. Because there was vomit in it.
3. I’ve been enjoying spending quality time with Loud now that he’s home again
4. Quiet makes me sew every spare second like I’m in some sort of holiday sweatshop
5. Blog-posting, or cookie-making: True, a blog is forever, but a piece of homemade baklava is delicious for like, a whole hour

I was tallying up the number of places Baby will have been in-utero, and it’s really quite ridiculous. I am going to Cincinnati tomorrow (for Thanksgiving, more on that later), back to Boston a few weeks after that, Toronto for Christmas, Chicago again in early January, and who knows what else before May? The good news is, my Boston trip got moved back a week because of a major meeting, so my next ultrasound appointment is now a week earlier. The bad news is, it won’t be Dr. Reassuring, which kinda sucks but kinda fits into my original plan of trying to meet everyone in the practice, so I guess that’s a good thing. So Friday, December 7th I should know whether Alistair really is an Alistair, or is an Anastasia. I'm still getting the occasional nausea attack, which I was hoping would be gone by now, but last night I was able to retain a Big Mac, which I thought was a good sign (yes, I know, I chose the most healthy meat option I could think of). My energy level is still about the same, and no other physical changes that are noticeable as yet.

So Cincinnati tomorrow. I’ll be staying with my #3 favorite cousin, who is a mother of two and hopefully kept some of her maternity clothes since she is also tall and not a size 0. The bonus is, she’s a nurse as well, so she’s a GREAT person to talk to about stuff like Baby. She’s a very tell-it-like-it-is person, which I appreciate when I’m faced with choices about epidurals and episiotomies and other even more disgusting topics. I hope my #1 favorite cousin doesn’t feel slighted that I’m not staying with him, which I’ve done for the past 10 years, but #3’s house is, uh, more centrally located. And has heat. And doesn’t have dogs and dust and a floor that makes my socks black on the bottom. I’m excited to tell the cousins, but I’m freaking out a bit about telling my Catholic Grandmother. I’m hoping that by now she’s had enough scandal in the family that she won’t actually keel over dead at my news and will just be disappointed or sad or some other awful reaction. She’s my closest grandma, so I really hope I don’t get disowned or anything like that, because I like her a lot and would love for Alistair to know her.

After I get back from the ‘Nati it will be time for The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. No, not a visit to the Admiral’s Club at O’Hare, CHRISTMAS!!!! I love Christmas. I love trying to come up with perfect presents, and wrapping them in blue and silver, and getting a ridiculously oversized tree and overloading it with lights, and baking 14 dozen different kinds of cookies, and more lights, and Christmas music on the radio and in the stores, and The Year Without a Santa Claus. I love it all. Loud is a Scrooge, so it makes me happy that he hates it all, because he gets outvoted (Quiet, sensibly, loves Christmas as well). And I found out that Loud’s Baby Boyfriend enjoys the holidays too, so at least that’s something.

I hope everyone has a nice Thanksgiving and a tryptophan hangover, and gets to spend time with friends or loved ones or a favorite video game or whatever floats your Mayflower. Happy Slapsgiving!

Homeless, Helpless, and Hapless

Still wonder why I'm single?

I just realized I sincerely hope that neighbors cannot see into my house. I am actually working from my home office today (and not my bed or chaise, I know, it’s truly remarkable), which is on the first floor of the house and street-facing. It’s excellent for playing Who’s That? Who’s There?, a favorite game that was invented when a group of my friends were all laid off from the same company. True, we were blind drunk when we came up with it, but that shouldn’t hurt the game’s validity.

Anyhow, it’s like 24 degrees in the house today and I still refuse to turn the heat on. The only thing worse than dry heat is the first time you turn the heat on for the season, and all the dust in the ducts burns off. I hate that smell. So here I sit, looking like the Unibomber but more homeless and unkempt and scary, in a black tracksuit with the hood up. Oh, and I have a blanket wrapped around me. And I fell asleep with my hair wet last night, so you can imagine what that is like. All I want is a big mug of hot chocolate that is in reality a mug of marshmallows with some cocoa powder, heated up, but I am trying to be good and am instead drinking lame ass warm milk. I feel guilty that I had a relatively healthy dinner last night of salad, cranberry sauce, and potatoes (look, I said ‘relatively’), and then projectile barfed it all over my walk-in shower. It would have upset me more if it hadn’t been so darn pretty (all that orange carrot peel and red cranberries, it was very festive, although I still didn’t enjoy picking it out of my shower drain). So now I'm giving baby some nice warm unsweetened milk without a chocolate cupcake (shut up, you cupcakes out in the kitchen!). The only downside is that I expect to be completely and utterly asleep within 20 minutes.

I was hoping I’d be one of those people who gets pregnant and their migraines magically go away for nine months, especially since mine are usually triggered by Aunt Flo. No Flo, no go, I figured. I was so wrong. I have had at least four in the past three months. Last night I was so sore afterwards that when I woke up in the middle of the night coughing I was afraid I was going to barf up baby. That’s just uncool.

So I had my first real doctor’s appointment, and made the tragic mistake of falling deeply in love with the very first doctor I met with. I’m going to one of those group practices where there are like 147 doctors that could potentially be on call when I go into labor, so my theory was that I was going to try to meet with a different doc each time I went for an appointment. That theory is shot to hell. I don’t want to see anybody but Dr. Reassuring. He was quietly funny, kindly, experienced (he’s the practice director), open-minded, didn’t hassle me about my weight, listened, and gave me his email address for any time I had questions. I wonder if his wife would let him live with me after I have the baby. So basically, I don’t have a chance of him being the one to deliver me since I adore him so much. My next appointment is December 12, and I will apparently get to learn the baby’s gender at that time. So crazy! Don’t those silly people know I already know it’s a boy? (sorry, baby, if you’re a girl, I hope I’m not giving you some sort of complex already).

My water aerobics class is tonight and I don’t want to go. I’m cold, and tired, and achy, and unshaven. The effort required to get ready is more taxing than the stupid class. And I just realized I didn’t ask Dr. Reassuring for a note that says it’s ok for me to even go, so I have a terrific excuse to avoid the other 26+ week non-vomitting energetic happy mommies.

Introducing - The Fetus

Don’t be upset that I’ve been keeping secrets, I had to. I had to see for myself that little person before I could let myself believe and hope and share with all of you. It’s been a VERY long three months, trust me. I’m up to an average of 1-2/day with the barfing, I’ve become a total vegetarian (totally against my will), I’m tired all the time, and just generally no fun at all. So be happy you only have another 6 months now of listening to me fret and complain!

I’ve been keeping up the writing, although not posting (I’m sneaky), so if you want, go back to September and get caught up on all the drama and excitement that was those first early weeks. If you don’t care, well, I promise that going forward I will try my best to keep you up-to-date on all the minutia. In the next couple months I’ll be working with my favorite web designer cousin to get the official website up, so I’ll share that info when it’s available.

For those of you wondering about the timing – yes, I conceived exactly two weeks after the miscarriage. So I will forever advise that people don’t wait, because apparently your body really is primed and ready to go. I only did one single lonely little attempt, Friday August 24th, but as we all know, that’s all it takes!

Girl - 3, Boy - 1

I’m on a conference call for work right now, and I don’t know how I’m expected to be able to focus, or even stop shaking. The drive home from UNC is a blur. There is a baby, inside me, growing and kicking and flailing his/her arms, and basically becoming a person. 167 beats per minute is how fast that little tiny heart is thumping, and I saw it. I saw the umbilical cord, and passed the Nuchal Translucency (less than 2.5mm is good, and my kid is 0.7, so I feel pretty happy about that). Length from crown to rump is a respectable 10.1 cm, which is long for 12 weeks but I had already expected a long big-headed baby.

I don’t know about people who say they can’t really make out the baby on the ultrasound viewer – maybe ultrasounds have just improved a whole lot since the sitcoms I remember, but I could see arms and legs and at times an oddly skeletal-looking face. The spine looked good, and there was a LOT of movement (although he/she seemed to be happiest snuggled right at the bottom where it was hardest to get measurements).

I also learned that because my blood type is A positive I don’t have to worry about the RH factor (duh, I wish now I had taken some sort of biology class). So basically I am reassured (for now), and will hear all the other results, including the blood draw, some time next week. The genetic counselor, Tricia, was very nice and had terrific hair, so I trust her implicitly. I don’t think at this point that I would do CVS or amnio, unless something comes back from the testing that was suspect. I know that people hit three months and see the baby and hear the heartbeat and then still miscarry, but I am done worrying for now. I can’t imagine that this crazily active being would want to jump ship, especially when it continues to get such an excellent diet of veggies and desserts.

The other kind of cool thing I saw (although the tech was very careful to say that she couldn’t officially say anything), was a somewhat pronounced genital area. Which would indicate boy. So that brings us to Girl – 3, Boy – 1. I can’t wait for that test. Yes, I am definitely going to find out the gender if I can. I hate mint green and butter yellow, even more than shell pink and baby blue. Plus I am just damn impatient.

So May 16 is the official magic date we’re aiming for. Either a Taurus or a Gemini (since as a firstborn it’ll probably be a bit late). I am just grateful it will be before the brutal Southern summer.

Studying for the Test

Tomorrow, finally is The Big Day. Not as momentous as some future milestones, but still a biggie to me. Tomorrow is the day I get the First Trimester Test, where they’ll poke around my insides with that violating internal ultrasound device again, but this time hopefully find a healthy happy baby.

Going to the Halloween party last weekend was rough (the long drive, the insane cat allergies, the exhaustion and nausea, the lack of drinking), but it was kind of cool because I told that small group of people about the Potential Person, and I started getting all kinds of crazy advice. I would probably only follow about 2% of what I heard, since a lot of it was total crap or crazy hippie nonsense or just didn’t apply to my situation whatsoever, but I still enjoyed getting to ‘talk parent’ with other parents. Yet another occasion where it made everything that much more real to me, and allowed me to think yet again, ‘Yes, hmm, maybe I may actually have a small person sometime early summer next year’.

I think of all the horror stories I’ve heard about people who go for the ultrasound and find an empty sac, or dead baby, or a huge cancerous tumor (well, not really the last thing, but I couldn’t think of anything else that would be worse than going through three months of this to find out the baby had died). Really, I know now why people don’t jump back on that horse faster after a post-12 week loss; they need that time to forget how horrible the first trimester is. I know I sure as hell couldn’t turn around and knock myself up again as fast as I did last time.

I was hoping that since I was about to hit 12 weeks tomorrow the craptastic effects would begin to subside, but I’ve actually tossed my cookies more in the last week than in the whole previous month. I had a cup of weak tea and some sliced melon for breakfast this morning, and promptly hurled – I can’t get much more bland than that! I ordered a salad last night for dinner and uttered the most horrifying sentence ever – “Hold the bacon”. Chicken is now off the list as well, so I’m eating a lot of veggies. The last few days for lunch I’ve lived on my mother’s recipe for 4-bean salad, but without the onion or green peppers or anything else that might offend. So basically I’m eating some beans in a sugar/vinegar marinade. Oddly, I lately adore chick peas, but since they are so darn good for me I’m not too worried. I’m drinking a yogurt and fruit smoothie to get my dairy on, so other than the lack of brain-growing fish oil I figure I'm doing ok.

Happy Month-Before-Christmas!

I was catching up on some blogs and feeling irritated by the people that are slack in writing (that’s you, Dang), and excited by the people who have been writing a lot more lately (excellent work, Marit and Zacend!), when I realized I myself hadn’t posted in like 4 months. After a quick and slightly excitable slap on the wrist, I set myself down to write and realized – it’s NOVEMBER. It’s no secret that I love and adore Christmas, and start planning for it in July, and talk about it constantly and play Christmas music and have already done 80% of my shopping (it’s called the Internet – get some). But I still, after 13 years of living in the States, have a hard time coping with how it sneaks up on me. I think it has something to do with how late Thanksgiving is here. I’m used to a nice early-October Canadian Thanksgiving, then Halloween, then a full two months to prepare. Here, I now have to wait another three weeks for Thanksgiving, and then BOOM, it will be Christmas like the next day. It doesn't help that it's sunny and 65 degrees outside, and that I have gorgeous pink roses in full bloom around my mailbox.

I had my first Christmas-worry dream last night. This year, my college friend T. who teaches in New Zealand will be in Toronto with her two kids and my college roommate Lola will be around with her two kids, so we’re all going to meet up – I can’t wait. In the dream, though, I suddenly realized it was December 25th and I had to leave for NC the next day and I had not seen them PLUS we had forgotten to celebrate Christmas. Did I mention I’m a natural born worrier? So I had to instantly email them both first thing this morning to lock in plans.

And as disappointed as I am to still be living with Loud and all that goes along with that, I am still excited that I get to have another Christmas in this house. This house wears the holidays very well. I have been toying with the idea of having some sort of holiday party/open house/New Year’s get-together, but haven’t decided yet. Part of it depends on my work/travel schedule, which impacts my energy/availability, part of it depends on whether Loud will be around since I don’t want him or his offensively young boyfriend or irritating friends to be here, and part of it depends on what’s going on with the baby attempt – I don’t want to commit to something and then be all barfy or tired and not enjoy it. Regardless – only 54 days til Christmas! I think I'll do my first batch of cookies this weekend...

Barfy in Boston

Another lame update. The Vicodin did nothing yesterday and I finally took some Tylenol at about 3 ish, but basically I had the headache and unbelievable nausea all day. I had an awkward moment when I went to one of the other buildings for a meeting and almost hurled in the bushes in the parking lot. I sat in the car for 15 minutes with the AC blasting on me, thinking happy non-vomitous thoughts. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this here before, but I wouldn’t be so petrified of throwing up at work/in a random parking lot/in the rental car if not for the fact that I uncontrollably pee myself when I barf. And I couldn’t cope with the thought of having to cancel my afternoon meetings so that I could go back to the hotel for recycled pants. So I managed to keep everything together, did the meetings, and made it in the door of my hotel room just in time to splatter the bathroom floor. *sigh* I crawled into bed at 7 pm and was asleep by 8:00 after nibbling at a Chili’s To-Go side salad with no dressing and some Kraft Dinner. Thank god Chili’s has KD on their children’s menu.

The good news is, the very light and cheerfully pink spotting only made that one-time-only showing, and there was no cramping, so hopefully Alistair has settled back down and is happily gloating about making me blow chunks everywhere but in the toilet. Today I feel better (hmm, must be the 12 HOURS sleep I got), so I’ll venture some fruit and maybe a salad for lunch and see where the afternoon takes me.

Baby Goes to Boston - Again

As I sit here in the corporate office under flickering fluorescents in an institutional grey cubicle popping yet another Vicodin and forcing myself to gnaw on a bagel, I find it oddly reassuring to get the email updates from all the various sites (WhatToExpect, BabyZone, BabyCenter), reminding me just exactly why I am miserable and to suck it up. I think it’s cool (in a slightly grody creepy way) to read that the Potential Person is forming hair follicles and finger nails this week, and has now graduated to ‘fetus’ status. You grow, kid! Also, the head is equal in length to the rest of its body, which cracks me up. Since it’s a child of mine, that head will unfortunately likely stay pretty big. Our family has a lot of fat-headed children.

10 days until the First Trimester test. How funny is it that THAT appointment will be the first time this pregnancy is actually ‘confirmed’? When I’m 12 weeks gone?

And… a super lousy update. I just got back from one of my oh-so-frequent trips to the ladies’ room (at least it’s conveniently located like 8 feet from this crappy cubicle) and there seems to be a little spotting going on. Why is it that this stuff always happens when I’m away from home? When I can’t just go crawl into bed and pull the blankets over my head and hide from the world? I really, really do not want to have a miscarriage while I am in Boston. Uh, or at all.

Today’s Basic Functionality Brought to You By Vicodin

This week I’ve been in non-scenic Schaumburg for training, and have been pleasantly surprised by the delightfully chilly temperatures. Of course, the training room itself has averaged either 50 degrees or 90 degrees, nothing in between, which has made things either pee-inducing or unbearably nauseating. For the most part the sleepiness and barfiness have been very well behaved, which is a huge relief. Mama’s little helper, Pepsi, has contributed, I’m sure.

Of course I’ve been sleeping like crap despite being so tired that I can’t keep my eyes open past 9:00 pm. This every-2-hour potty schedule HAS to stop. Last night I was very strict with myself and managed to skip the 2 am bathroom run, and got a stretch of sleep between midnight and 4:30 that would’ve been great, except for the splitting headache that woke me up. I don’t know what the deal is with the mini-migraines this week, whether it’s the food or the exhaustion or the weather or something else totally random and stupid. All I know is, I’ve had to ration the Vicodin due to limited supply and blind unreasonable fear that somehow, every time I seek relief from the throbbing incapacitating pain, I am hurting Alistair. ½ pill seems to buy 3-4 hours of relief, so that’s working ok so far.

I’m just so excited to be going home tonight. 4 hours to go til I head to O’Hare, where I have already told myself I am DEFINITELY not allowed to have a delicious Chicago-style hot dog. (*Note: I ended up hanging out in the Happiest Place on Earth, the Admiral's Club, so had no need for such a thing due to the abundance of free snacks)





9 weeks today! My first appointment is Monday! Blaarrrgghhh!

Fridays Are For Napping

Well, dear reader, it's another grey-and-dreary day here at DIY. Not only was Loud running around packing last night for his 7 am flight, but for some suspicious reason all the smoke detectors in the house went off at 3 am. I would put my two cents on Loud burning a candle or hippie incense or playing with a wood-burning kit or some such nonsense, especially since he acted so guilty, but I will never truly know. It was a horrible noise to wake up to though, and I am extra sunny and cheerful this morning as a result. My work goals accomplished thus far are catching up on my little list of forums and blogs, and, well, posting here.

I'm happy that it's the weekend (yay!) but I go back to Boston again next week (boo!) so that is hanging over my head. I think I'm just looking forward to some quiet time and napping this weekend to catch up on my sleep. There is a far-away train whistle I can hear right now, and that combined with the rainy day and my comfy chaise are killing me. It's just dawned on me that there is positively no Pepsi anywhere in the house, so I may need to go make a cup of black tea for a caffeine injection (although a nice hot relaxing cup of tea might just be the thing that pushes me over the edge to make me crawl back into bed and say to hell with this day). The cleaning crew is coming this afternoon, so I can't sneak away and sleep then. *sigh* it's so hard to be me.

I've got to iron my burden of a costume this weekend, and everyone knows how I feel about ironing. I can't wear it with the big crease down the front though. I also need to play with the hair dye and make sure it's going to do what I think it's going to do. Luckily I apparently ordered 9 million gallons of grey skin coloring, so I won't have any problems there. I gave up on finding shoes (barefoot will be more comfortable anyhow, and it's not like it will be the kind of party with crack needles and used condoms all over the floor; I might get a World of Warcraft manual stuck to me, but that's about it). So anyhow, I might not get a chance to post for a while since I'm going right from Boston to Virginia, so won't have time for the internets until Halloween proper. So have a good one, whatever you do!

A Fair Day and the Pumpkin King

No, I haven't died (because, hello, I'd be haunting you, duh). It's been a busy fall, what with the new job and training and going back and forth to Boston and plotting ways to kill Loud and get off scott-free. All is well, although I'm tired of this whole am-I-going-to-be-a-mother-sometime-in-the-next-decade-or-not? thing. I'm still keeping a positive attitude, however, no matter how many horrible stories I am told.

My 2nd favorite cousin (sorry, but, really, you know who #1 is and can't blame me because he's the coolest priest-in-training we know) and I went to the fair yesterday afternoon for a few hours, which was pretty fun. Apparently 1 1/2 hours is the exact right amount of time to be there when you're a grown up and don't ride rides or like to smell animals and hate people. I got my corn on and brought home cotton candy, so what else was there to do?

I'm excited because this weekend A Nightmare Before Christmas 3-D opens up, which my in-the-know friend Chris invited me to. I love this movie not just because it is totally awesome and the songs get stuck in my head at inopportune times, but also because according to my Rules of Watching Seasonal Movies Seasonally, I get to watch this both at Halloween AND at Christmas. Yes, I am a crazy person.

Next week I am back to Boston, and then from there I have four days in Virginia for the Halloween party. My costume is basically done, because I'm a quitter and stopped caring, and it's passably cool. I realized that if I want to decorate the house for Halloween I need to do it like, this weekend, and I have to go into the dreaded Attic Crawlspace of Horror and Falling Insulation, and unpack a damn box, so I'm not too sure how I feel about that. We'll see how inspired I get after the movie.

Lame, Lame, Lame

I had my ‘first’ 'prenatal appointment' today, and man, was it disappointing. It was, in actuality, a cattle call for new preggers patients, and it was conducted similar to a multi-level marketing job interview (if you’ve never accidentally been on one, count yourself lucky, I’ve been suckered into three somehow in the past).

So it’s me and 5 other women ranging in age from like 28 to 42 (which was kinda cool), and their bored yet nervous husbands, and a nurse who spends a million years going over all the basics that everyone who has already read 47 pregnancy books should know; don’t eat the cat poo or unpasteurized cheese, cut out the crystal meth, a cup o’ joe won’t kill you so for god’s sake quit freaking out. Of course I’m the only one there with nausea, and my eyes well up every time she says something like ‘sardines’ or ‘eggs’. It’s very exciting because I thought the nausea was going away, especially after a quiet week last week, but it turns out it was only being well behaved for the training class; last night I made a lovely lemon chicken with rice soup, and about 5 seconds after I decided there was no way in hell I would be able to eat any, Quiet said, ‘Well, should we just go get McDonald’s…’ and I ran for the loo to upchuck nothing but clementines and grits. I ended up having some tasty plain white rice while Quiet enjoyed the avgolemono.

So my NEXT appointment, my first REAL appointment with an actual doctor, will be the exciting one. I’ll get to do the first trimester testing (at the convenient time of 8 am on a Friday morning), and I’ll be 12 weeks so I’ll get to have a bladder-busting ultrasound, and I’ll get to ask all my probing thought-provoking questions, like, ‘What is your cesarean rate?’ and ‘Do you think single mothers are dirty evil sinners?’

After 20 It’s No Longer a Snack

I find it fascinating that what I eat is my ongoing pregnancy fixation. Never before have I been so body conscious, so what-goes-into-my-mouth aware, so damn – uh, fat-aware. I haven’t eaten red meat in weeks, or pork. And I think eggs are sliding off the list. I still love fruit, and look forward to buying more $7 off-season pints of strawberries, since my current fave salad mix is berries, pineapple chunks, Empire apples, white nectarines, clementines, and guava juice. If I could keep a banana alive more than 12 seconds I’d have bananas in there too. Sometimes when I’m feeling a little crazy I throw this all in a blender with a few scoops of vanilla yogurt and some ice cubes. SO GOOD.

I’m also trying to eat things like crackers and pretzels in the late afternoons to help with the barfiness, but I realized today as I was mowing through my pretzel canister that I’ve worked so hard to train myself not to snack, that I eat like it’s my last meal. So now I have to count out how many and stick to that. Because I’m a four year old.

I had a stirfry for lunch that was pretty tasty, although I mostly picked out the chicken. I think I’ll try to do better with making veggie-and-rice things. Every time I try to do something other than bland-and-paralyzingly-boring I get barfy and don’t eat anything at all, so what the heck is the point? I was sad the other night because we got my favorite Lemon Pepper Chicken Wings, and I ate two and just couldn’t do it. Fries and carrot sticks, that’s a balanced meal. I can't cook any more, but hate the idea of fast food. I figure if I have at least one 'good for me' thing a day then I'm providing some sort of nutrients and hey, it's not crystal meth, right?

I’ve lost another pound or so, which brings me up to something between 5 and 7 that I’ve lost so far. If I could keep this up it would be AWESOME (um, although I know it’s not good for the Potential Person). I’ve never been the kind of person to look in a mirror and think, ‘OhmygodlookathowdisgustingIam’ until now, which I think is interesting – the one time I’m SUPPOSED to gain some weight and wear it with pride, and I am freaking out about being the teletubby with the dirty hair and yoga pants. I don’t know if it’s hormones that make me so depressed about it, or the worry about the extra poundage being bad for Growing Alien Thing Inside Me, but man, I hate myself right now. A teensy part of me hopes this teenaged girl feeling sticks around after the Event-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, so that I am motivated to shed the baby weight and keep going. But for now, it’s only going to get worse. I can’t wait to get all defensive and angry and freak out when someone asks if I’m pregnant, and then be like, ‘Oh, yeah, hold on, right, I actually am’. And then they’re like, ‘Hmph, crazy pregnant lady’. And I’m like, ‘Dude, you don’t know the half of it’.

Yes, Those Are Huge Crabs

I've been surprised by how good I feel this week - maybe it's because I'm cruising into week 9 and the end (of this brutal trimester) is in sight, or it's just simply because I'm busy and not sitting around over-thinking about nonsense and moping. Either way, the exhaustion hasn’t killed me (despite the fact I am still not sleeping), and I’ve been eating a very normal meal plan. Today’s lunch time taco salad may have been an error, in retrospect, because I’ve had a killer headache and been gaggy ever since, but otherwise all is a-ok. Maybe it really is the time-in-the-kitchen factor that’s been getting me; according to a girl in my aerobics class, if she’s in the kitchen longer than 10 minutes, she is sick and can’t eat anything. And I’ve tried cooking a few very simple, very innocuous meals since I’ve been back (like, a bland stir fry that doesn’t have meat or even garlic or ginger) but have instantly lost my appetite. For once in my life I wish I lived with someone who cooks, but even though I’ve heard rumors that Quiet has some skills, he hasn’t stepped up to the plate (ha ha), and I’m not about to ask him to. I just find it strange that I was able to have shrimp and crab legs and caesar salad last night (and see people downing raw oysters) and I was just fine, yet pea pods in a little soy sauce made me run for plain white rice.

Dreams, Sweat and Tears

I had an interesting dream last night. Well, several, actually. I’ve been having some really weird ones lately (part of one last night, Kathy Griffin called to talk to Quiet about something, and I was miffed because she didn’t want to talk to me). Anyhoo, my subconscious is getting more and more pushy and obvious about the things I am most preoccupied with.

Last night I dreamt I was pregnant, and had to tell my boss (who in the dream was a man – weird!). She/he took it pretty rough, and then asked me to review some paperwork in order to prepare for the maternity leave. One of the documents was a job description for my position.

So APPARENTLY I am worried about going out on leave and losing my job. Just because I would have to live in a refrigerator box and eat no-name Ramen noodles and government cheese doesn’t mean I should be concerned. When I do finally manage to successfully knock myself up I will be in a protected category, at least for a little while. Who knew I was regardless nervous? I guess, uh, I did.

Next week I’ll be in The Not-Because-Of-Weather Windy City (look it up, it’s super lame), Chicago, for boring-ass training. Hello, it’s October, and I was hoping that at least a Northern city would have some nice cool weather. But nooooooooooooo. Damn this global warming! Damn it to unseasonably warm hell!

To spite the gorgeous sunny 85 degree day we're having I booked a hotel for the drive home at Christmas, thereby officially committing to both driving and spending time with my family. I figure it will just be easier and way cheaper than dealing with airports at the holidays and having to ship gifts. Plus I'll have my precious baby (my car, Rader) with me. Splitting up the trip forces me to take it a little easier, especially pre-scheduling a halfway point stop. Despite the stupidity of driving, I then proved how brilliant I am by registering for an audio book club, in order to spend the next few months ripping entertainment for said long and tortuous ride. David Sedaris was the only reason I made it last time. Let me know if you have any recommendations.

Crazy For Loving You

I finally got to tell someone. I had plans to meet a friend for lunch and knew I couldn’t wait another second or I’d go totally nuts, so with a rush of words I spilled my 8-week old secret. Of course she was thrilled, and listened patiently while I blabbed on and on about my fears and worries and general nausea, until I broke down and started crying (I think I got to, ‘How can I let myself believe that 7 months from now I will be holding a baby, my baby, in my arms?’), at which point she asked me to get a grip because people in the restaurant were going to think that she was breaking up with me.

Basically she gave me some very solid advice, which was to be HAPPY. I’m having a baby! (supposedly). And also, to work at getting back the confidence that I normally have in abundance; the confidence I totally have about motherhood and once the kid is actually here. Both very good points. I’m not letting myself be happy and excited, and I should be, because despite the fear and the worry, all signs thus far point to Baby Town, population me and Alistair. And I know, deep down, that I am capable and equipped to cope with whatever happens, so what the heck’s my deal?

This is why I needed to talk to someone, a woman and a mother and a friend. Because she knows exactly what crazy things are swimming in my head day and night. She has personally experienced the heart-gripping fear of waiting 10 days for AFP test results to come back, and the true horror of an amnio, and all the million little everyday things I’m trying to plan for that just can’t be planned for. She could look at me and say, ‘I’m excited!’, and make me realize, ‘Oh yeah! Me too!’

Anti-Crazy Plan:

1. Stop obsessively buying and reading baby books. They all either say the exact same things or totally contradictory things, and that shit ain’t helping anybody.
2. Come up with three topics that aren’t baby, work, or house related to think about as I drift off to sleep at night. Examples; Plans for Halloween, How Much I Love Peter Petrelli, or What Kinds Of Christmas Cookies Will I Bake This Year?
3. Limit myself to one baby website/blog per day. Stop registering for stuff and no more online window shopping for maternity clothes.
4. Have a banana and a glass of milk before bed, or whatever lame snack is recommended.
5. No more pregnancy tests. Cold turkey. Except for today. Today is the positively last time, I swear.

Food Crush

Today I was reading up a little bit on just how truly crazy my meat aversion is. Surprisingly, the answer is, ‘not at all’. It seems that my body is trying to protect the Potential Person from all sorts of stuff, and meat can be bad for such a multitude of reasons (meat-borne pathogens, ew!) that I guess The Parasite has just said no. I made a delicious Chicken Pot Pie last night, and thoroughly enjoyed the potatoes and crust, while carefully avoiding all my delicately seasoned chicken pieces. Quiet commented, “You’re welcome for your Irish baby”, which startled me because I constantly forget that The Growth has some of his genes; I work so hard to think in terms of ‘Me and the Baby’, and ‘My Baby’, and ‘Yeah, So What, I’m a Single Mother, Suck It’, that whenever I do remember Quiet’s key involvement I am always surprised. I have to remember that the Potential Person is not only Canadian-Southern, but also German-Irish, and quite likely to be a terrifically pale, blond, alcoholic, tempermental McBossy Pants.

In addition to feeling better about my recent fear and disgust of protein, I was also comforted by finding that I share quite a few odd cravings with some of the other women out there. Beets were on several lists, as well as cranberry juice, cantaloupe, McDonald’s cheeseburgers and sundaes, and Kraft Dinner. The strangest thing to me this week though is apples. Growing up on a farm we had lots of apple trees, and my mother was a firm believer in diluted apple juice, so as a result I have hated apples (unless they are in something, like a bad-for-me pie) pretty much since college. I use to buy them for Quiet last year when he went through a phase where he’d eat two for lunch each day, and I never touched a single one. This weekend however, at the Farmer’s Market, the apples were calling to me, so I got a Mix ‘n Match bag for $7. I still miss the Macintoshes of Ontario, but I now love the local Galas and Emperors that grow here. I used half of ‘em in a pie, which was a mistake, because I soon learned that all I want is crisp, cold, fresh apples. Salted, or with mild cheddar, or maybe Alpine Swiss, peeled, or just plain – mmmmmmmm. Screw the pie. I also got some interesting Apple Mint at the market, and made some herbal iced tea and freaking tore through it.

Exercise is for Losers

'That's it, just 1000 more to go!'

I’m tired of being tired. This insomnia thing is killing me. What the crap is the deal? This is one of the many things that just doesn’t make sense to be as a Potentially Pregnant Person. At the time when I most need sleep, I can’t have it? What the heck is going on inside my body or brain that is making me toss and turn and lie awake for hours? Other than, of course, the soul-gnawing worry that is my new constant companion.

Yesterday evening was my first AquaMoms class. I met;

Emily – Best chance for friendship. Nice smile, pretty hair, good bathing suit, possibly slightly competitive which I like.
Kathy – Sporty, skinny. Don’t like her for no good reason at all. Maybe the skinniness.
Christy – Snooty, fancy hair and bathing suit, possibly just very tired because of excessive pregnancy but seems unfriendly.
Dionne – Spacey, a little distant.
Someone whose name I didn’t catch – Nice, polite, very quiet.

I thought there would be more people. It’s kind of nice that it’s a smaller group, although there’s no way for me to hide or cheat. And the stuff we did was TOUGH!! Who was the cruel bitch who invented Pool Noodle Pushups? That is NOT fun use of a pool noodle. The fat on the outsides of my thighs was actually hurting. And I was dumb and wore my paddle boots, which hurt my feet. So I was sucking wind, with cramped feet, had to pee, my jiggling fat hurt, and I was already hot within like 15 minutes. I was like, ‘I am going to miscarry this poor little joggled baby because I am so embarrassingly out of shape, and this little tiny bit of exercise is going to be too much for it and it is going to spontaneously abort right here in the pool’. So on one hand, it was a surprisingly good workout. On the other, I still didn’t sleep and now I’m scared to go next week. I have got to hurry and see if there are any water shoes left anywhere. Plus, I am a winner in the four major categories;

Oldest

Fatest

Least pregnant

Most husband-free

The instructor was big on sharing little personal stories, so we'll see what happens when the non-married thing comes up. I'm not afraid to slap someone with a noodle if they get up in my bidness.

Cheeseburger in Paradise

Before everyone starts thinking I’m a saint for all my healthy eating efforts, I have to admit I have cracked. I can no longer cook dinner. I made a lovely German Oktoberfest-ish meal last night (grilled bratwurst, red cabbage ‘n apples, German potato salad) and ate approximately one piece of apple and one piece of potato. I lay on the couch playing the ‘What Sounds Good?’ game (where I run through every single imaginable edible item on the planet and gauge my gag reflex), and all I could come up with was a McDonald’s cheeseburger. So Quiet, patient and supportive as always, loaded me into the car and chauffeured me through the drive through. I didn’t even want the fries. Just the cheeseburger. I mean, two cheeseburgers. And an orange drink. And a caramel sundae. With nuts. So maybe I do want some protein after all.

Today I thought I was being smart and boiled some fresh ginger with a little honey, since the nausea started early (normally it doesn’t hit until after lunch, so I have time to get at least one healthy meal down). It didn’t work. I apparently wanted nothing but Taco Bell, for which I blame their latest commercial. I resignedly drove to the closest Taco Bell, only to find that it had burnt down or been blown up or something, as there were few walls, no roof, and positively no drive through. I decided that chicken was a decent compromise but forgot to ask my stomach. When I got home with Chick-Fil-A, I was a very unhappy girl. The lemonade was awesome (mmm, I wish I had more lemonade), but everything else was too greasy or too icky or too creamy or just gross to me. So now I’m sipping water and wondering what I am going to do in a few hours when I need to eat something before my AQUAMOMS CLASS!!!!! I am so excited. I can’t wait. Maybe I’ll try the egg-on-toast I’ve been craving, and just force it down. Omg, I hope I don’t barf in the pool, that would be a lousy first impression for all the moms-to-be I want to befriend. “Hi, my name is… hurghalahhrrffblrtgark!”.

I really, really need a hobby. I am making myself insane thinking about the Potential Person, plus I just plain need to get out of the house. I can’t do the Dive Club or the Cooking Club anymore. Maybe I’ll look at stupid Meetup this afternoon. It’s not like I can focus on doing work or anything. Thank god I’m still in that honeymoon new job phase, where I can delude my boss into believing I’m totally overwhelmed still with duties from my previous position.



Heading into 7 weeks. That means 8 weeks until I tell everyone. Because then that's just past the 'real' 12 weeks (this thing where docs measure from your LMP (last bloody event) is just ridiculous, I know exactly the moment I conceived so why can't I count from there?). Plus I love the idea of telling my mom in person, Thanksgiving weekend. Man, I still hope my parents are planning to be in Ohio.

I Just Might Mind About the Little Things

I love my dentist's office. I really do. It's all women, all the time. The receptionists are women, the hygienists are women, and the two dentists are women. Occasionally a stray male wanders in, but usually only the very young or very gay last long. The floors are hardwood, and the chairs in the waiting room are low and comfy and surround a fire place. There is a quiet and cheerful children's play area, and lots of plants. There is no towering meaty-handed ogre or smelly fish tank like when I was a kid.

I have, however, spent a LOT of time there recently. Since I started Project Invisalign, I have to go at least once a month, to pick up my next trays and check on progress. Since I was just there two weeks ago I freaked out when my Outlook reminder poppped up today, but I realized it was that happy time of year again when I was due for my stabbing, I mean cleaning. The whole reason I'm doing the Invisalign is because my bottom teeth are so crowded and angry and plaque-hungry, so it's always a bloody and traumatic event.

Today, however, my dentist (who is smoking hot) and I got into this weird conversation that she started about how my boss was going to think I was having an affair with her. It went from there, to how extra scandalous it would be because I would therefore also be found out as a lesbian. Let's face it, if I were gay she'd be way out of my league. But do I really give off that vibe? Do I need to start wearing makeup to the dentist's office? I can't wait til I go in when I'm like 11 months pregnant. Talk about scandalous.

I realized how sensitive I had become about my fertility when on the phone with my sister yesterday. Every innocent question rubs me the wrong way. No, I don't have some magic 'the oven is ready, get the bun in there!' timer. All I can do is play it by ear and 'listen to my body' like some damn new age hippie. A friend of mine asked last week if it was still ok to ask me how things were going; apparently, he had been slapped down one too many times by his other friends who were also trying. I told him I would rather know that people were thinking of me than have them afraid to talk to me about stuff, but I think I need to get better at saying, 'let's talk about something else, shall we?' at times. I'm actually worse when people ask about the house. It's off the market at the end of the month, don't ask me about it until next June, please don't make me think about it because I have to live it and it's exactly as crappy as you think it is. In a way it's oddly reassuing that my odds of having a baby are better than selling though. There's that silver lining again!

My dentist is not gay. I think she's divorced. It was all just in fun. But she really is totally hot, and single. She has a great body and likes to ski, has shoulder-length blonde hair, and obviously a really good job. Let me know if you know of any decent early-40's single guys who might be interested. But find a guy for me first, if you know what's good for you.

Things I Randomly Worried About Today

1. Where Quiet is going to sleep when my parents are here (he’s currently in their bed because Loud took the good bed when they broke up, and the only other bed he had was a crappy single)

2. Where I am going to sleep when I’m at my parents’ at Christmas (if I’m in the basement I get the upstairs-stomping-mice noise and I’ll have to hike deathly dangerous steps to use the bathroom a million times a night)


3. Where my coach and hopefully live-in-at-least-for-the-first-few-days caregiver-support-system cousin is going to sleep when I have Alastair (I think Loud and I fought this out adequately today, and it should only involve moving the heaviest and most awkward pieces of furniture in the house)


4. When I will next get a good night’s sleep


5. What will I do if I wait until I’m 12 weeks to tell everyone I’m pregnant, and I miscarry at 13 weeks?

As you can see, I’m mostly worried about sleep (who’s getting it, why aren’t I – very similar to my worries about sex). Every baby book says the same thing – that instead of typing right now I should be sleeping. I really dread this whole tired-all-the-time thing. I don’t function so well as no sleep when tired me.

Steak Out

As a proud carnivore, I have in my time voraciously devoured many a slab of barely-cooked dripping-red roast, ribeye, and ribs. It is therefore with utter shock (and a bit of confusion) that I lay down my bloody gauntlet and claim defeat. The growth inside me has spoken, and it has said, ‘Red meat is for losers!’.

I’m surprised by this, because so far it has made some pretty good calls (I gag when I see/smell/discuss soft cheeses or hot dogs), and you would think that a nice beefy iron-laden burger would be just the thing. But no. I go to the fridge with semi-good intentions, and return with yogurt. I am worried that I have a hippie inside me. Chicken seems to still be tolerable, as long as I don’t have to cook it or smell it while it’s cooking. Pork is out. I think bacon might even be out, horror of all horrors. Fish is DEFINITELY out, although I’ve managed to still choke down canned tuna because I bury it in relish and mayo. Lamb, I just learned, is out, since my eyes welled up when Loud said the word to me. So what does that leave? Lentils are still good. I like beans, and split peas; thank god we’re coming into the soup season, because I’ll be able to do a lot with legumes. I still love dairy, and fruit and veggies have proven themselves to be on the high-crave list. Soy is so-so, but I don’t think it’s good for the preggers ladies anyhow. Eggs are also touch and go, depending on my mood and how they’re prepared (for example, I have had a recurring fantasy about a soft-boiled egg on toast, but when it comes to actually delivering I change my mind every time).



Mom, dad... it looks like I'm having a vegan! I just hope it doesn’t smell like patchouli.

Screw Confinement

I am so excited! I just signed up for fat mommy-to-be swim class! (they don’t call it that, though)

Ask me again when it’s the end of the day on Thursday and I’m dead-tired exhausted and nauseous, but right now I cannot WAIT until my first ‘Prenatal AquaMoms’. I found a class not too far from the house. I hope there aren’t pool noodles, since pool noodles get me kicked out of water classes*. The instructor was a little freaked out that I hadn’t been to see my OB yet, since they normally require a signed consent form. How am I suppose to explain that I like to self-diagnose, and that I refused to pay a $20 copay for my current doctor to basically do the exact same test I had done, three times, at home?

So the exercise plan so far is treadmill every other day, water aerobics once a week, and then I’ll pick up prenatal yoga in like the fifth or sixth month. I think that is reasonable – nothing too radical or shocking to my poor sedentary body.

Um, I hope I continue to fit in my most recent well-worn barely-decent bathing suit through December. That is NOT something I want to have to go try and buy during the off-season. My goal was to be pregnant in the winter specifically because I would be able to cover every inch of me. Plus I just think I would look really cute in a black turtleneck and denimn skirt with a big belly poking out. Omg, and I just realized I would meet other area preggers ladies. Maybe I'll make a new friend. Egh, I hate small talk. I hope they aren't all super lame and skinny and extremely well coordinated and in bathing suits that fit.


*I like the sound it makes when you slap a pool noodle on the pool surface. Really, I’m still that immature. I can’t stop doing it, even when asked.

I Am Slowly Going Crazy

Today my first thought upon waking was, ‘I refuse to make myself crazy thinking about this pregnancy today’. In reality it was more like, ‘Omg, I’m awake, what can I worry about?’, but that was closely followed by general feelings of irritation at how insane I’ve become with reading every single thing I can get my hands on.

I think it’s just such an all-encompassing thing, and you have no control over it, and you don’t know anything about it, and it’s not the same for any one person so the stories and advice can’t always help or don’t always apply, and we’re really just desperate to find that one little paragraph that simply says, ‘Everything is going to be fine. You will be healthy, the baby will be normal, labor will be complication-free, and you’ll make a terrific mother’. However, this book is not out there. I’ve looked.

The last few days I’ve been freaking out about the tests I’m going to take. Some of them are pretty standard and non-invasive, but others will potentially cause your unborn baby to die, which is totally uncool. How am I suppose to make that call? It’s just the first of many painful decisions that only I can make, and I don’t like the precedent it sets for parenthood. I would prefer to only have easy decisions with simple, no-death options. I am pretty sure I’ve settled on the triple-screen test and definitely the first trimester screen (which I think now includes the nuchal test if UNC does it), and then depending on those results do an amnio. Something about the CVS makes me nervous. Oh right, the big needles and the 1 in 100 chance of miscarriage, that's it.

The question, of course, is will you do anything differently if the test results aren’t great? For me, I think I would. I think as tough as single motherhood will be, raising a special-needs child would multiply that by a zillion. I struggle with the guilt, but it’s not like I’m shooting for a ‘perfect’ child for vanity’s sake or anything lame like that. I just don’t think I could devote the time, energy or finances that would be necessary when doing it on my own. Of course, ask me again once I’ve heard a heart beat or seen an ultrasound image, I might feel that I could accept and deal with any disabilities. Early testing can also help plan for early intervention and potential in-utero treatment. This is somewhere around #3 or 4 of my list of Things To Worry About That I Absolutely Cannot Control.

#2 on my list of Things To Worry About That I Totally Can control is my weight (following #1, my eating habits). To that effect I grudgingly and sluggishly donned workout apparel when I got dressed this morning, so that I can go back to my noon treadmill routine. There are just too many things that can affect me and Alastair (gestational diabetes, labor issues, big fat baby) by being so out-of-shape. I’ve made a commitment to eat better, why wouldn’t I go the next step? Oh, right, because I’m lazy. This whole thing blows. It finally dawned on me at some point this weekend that not only would I not be able to drink at the big Halloween party I’m going to, I won’t be able to drink at Thanksgiving (no fresh cranberry margaritas at my aunt’s!), and most critically, I WON’T BE ABLE TO DRINK AT CHRISTMAS. I will be spending a week with my family, sober. Every time I think about that trip I subtract a day’s visit in my head; I think I’m down to Christmas Eve and Christmas day now, and that’s a long way to drive for such a short time.

So here I am, heading into week 7, filled with unusual cravings (I had boiled beets for lunch yesterday) and filled with loathing for just about any smell (couldn’t touch the lasagna I made). I started a draft of my birth plan, and have still managed not to tell anyone although it’s TORTUOUS. I’m tired pretty much all the time, since I toss and turn all night and get nap-cravings in the afternoons. I feel like my jeans are getting tighter, but that’s probably in my head since it’s too early for that crap (and I’m eating less, what with the all-day morning sickness). I still don’t drink enough water, but I swear I’m trying. I have to work harder to focus on what I’m doing (like I have to stop typing every five seconds and re-read what I’ve written because I keep losing my train of thought, and this is the simple stuff – what the heck is going to happen with work?!). And I will NOT make myself crazy this week. I have to take the week off. A pregnancy worry holiday. Good luck with that.

This Is Halloween

This is my Halloween costume. Well, the idea behind it, anyhow. It might not look very scary, but if you had seen the Dr. Who episode 'Blink'*, you would be peeing your pants right now. What you can't see in the photo is that the angel has fangs (already ordered), and, uh, well, there really isn't anything else scary about the outfit, but I'm hoping the crowd at the nerd party I'm going to will get it. And if not, who cares? I get to paint my entire body in grey body paint. And I've ordered the best wings (I went with latex rather than feathers, since I'm suppose to be a statue and I could get 'demon wings' in stone color; costume realism won over angel realism). I'm very excited. I'm going to go find the right fabric tomorrow, and I've already drawn out the pattern I want to use (a cross between a Greek paplos and a Roman stola). In my head it's very cool. We'll see what actually happens. I also tortured myself by looking at baby costumes - there's a little monkey that is SO CUTE I almost bought the pattern, but don't worry, still not that crazy. I keep thinking, 'What if I'm a mom next Halloween?' I won't have time (or energy, or money) for self-indulgent stuff like this. I think that's why I almost had a breakdown trying to find something cool this year. That, and I don't usually have an event to go to, and this year I'm driving to Virginia. I need a great outfit to snag a baby daddy.

*If you care, the terrifying 'crying angels' in the episode are really creatures who feed off potential energy (hard to explain) BUT they can only move when no one is looking at them. However, when unseen, they can move extremely fast (in the blink of an eye they will get you). I wasn't this scared watching 'Saw'.

Still Possibly Pregnant

The test was so instantaneously remarkably positive that it was a little bit embarassing. The colors barely had time to start to show before there was an enormous, blinking neon plus sign. It was at this moment that I realized, pregnancy tests are yet another thing designed purely for right-handed people. I was totally pissed by this, and then I realized that there were other more important things going on since I was obviously still Possibly Pregnant, according to the friendly test.

I must now go read online compulsively about taking a pregnancy test when you're like more than just a few days late, and whether the results do appear faster/darker/sexier.

Ok, I just got the answer I was looking for;

"hCG may be present in blood up to four weeks after an abortion or miscarriage"

Since it has been almost six weeks it looks like I'm off the hook there. I was really totally convinced that this was the case since I had none of the symptoms I had last time.

Oh-oh, but also,

"hCG may be released by trophoblastic tumors (molar pregnancies)--uncommon, benign tumors that usually develop in the placenta but may also occur when a piece of the placenta is left behind in the uterus after delivery, miscarriage, or abortion."

Um, ewwwwwwww. Since this is 'uncommon', I am voting 'no' on this.

The page I'm reading now says that most 'morning sickness' symptoms don't start until the fifth or sixth week, so maybe I'm just rushing things.

Baby Goes to Boston

Well, this week was Alistair's second plane ride. What a well-traveled little zygote/fetus/embryo/whatever the heck it is! I still have absolutely zero symptoms and am nervous as hell about it. I'm chugging my favorite 'I can't drink and I'm extremely bitter about it' cocktail, ginger ale and cranberry juice, so that I can do another pregnancy test.


Work functions are a lot less fun when you are Possibly Pregnant. I went to not one but two dinner parties in scenic MA; one at a coworker's home, where she made homemade mojitos and served a heady red wine (brought by a French friend) with steak at dinner; the other, a team building meal at an Irish pub, where everyone drank Guinness and Black & Tan and I silently wept. Luckily, Quiet came up with the BEST excuse ever; I kept telling people my doctor has me on a new migraine trial, so I have to temporarily avoid any caffeine and alcohol. What a great excuse for avoiding both those things! I don't think my boss bought it at ALL (or maybe she was just thinking, 'Oh great, I've got a new burden of an employee who gets stupid migraines'). So basically I just felt sorry for myself the whole week as I played the PP martyr and didn't even have a SINGLE PEPSI. It was torture during the meetings. Everyone else was running around cracked out on Diet Cokes and mini-chocolate bars, and I slumped heavy-lidded with my lame Invisalign braces sipping Sprite Zero. SO LAME.

This child better be extremely smart and well-formed. I am starting to get a sense of why moms are so crazed about kids taking care of themselves. If you're just going to become a teenager and eat junk food and smoke pot, well then, I might as well have a freakin' mojito or two.