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.