 |
| The mandatory Pinterest nail polish pose. No, not overly corpsish here. But wait. You'll see. |
 |
| This a glorified crime scene photo. Severed DEAD hand. And yes, it does help that my fingers look bloated and misshapen. But still. CORPSE. |
Showing posts with label note-to-self. Show all posts
Showing posts with label note-to-self. Show all posts
Monday, March 05, 2012
Again and Again
I have an uncanny ability to pick out truly unflattering nail polish. I've done this for years. At best I will polish up and look like I have a circulatory problem. At worse, I'll look like a corpse. Granted it is just corpse hands, but considering how often I look at my hands (doing the dishes, changing diapers, you know doing the glamorous things in life), it is irksome. Now I KNOW I do this. So I am always careful when I buy pricey nail polish. Nonetheless I have ended up with a few corpse inducing Butter of London shades. Now I can add Zoya's Pandora to that list, which is not actually pricey but still. DAMMIT!
I was at Ulta, looking specifically for this color, Pandora. I'd seen it on Pinterest (DAMMIT PINTEREST! WHY DO YOU DO ME WRONG?) and went to Ulta to TRY IT ON. Which I did and I thought, "Meh ... prognosis: poor circulation, $8 saved." But then a sales clerk came over and when I explained my thoughts and the sadness I felt at looking sickly in the polish that I had come to check out, she took a look and proclaimed, "No way! That color looks great!" At which time my common sense left my body, my brain turned off the part that should note that the sales clerk was being a SALES. CLERK. and I marched the polish up to the checkout area, handed over my hard earned $8 (for which my coupon would not cover) and bought the stupid polish.
I got home, did another Pinterest thing (melty bead bowl ... more to come on that) and then painted my nails. This, of course, is when I realized my folly. You know when it was too late. When I had already dressed my nails up with Colour de Corpse. So. Note-to-self: Go with your gut. Ignore the SALES clerk.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Too Homespun
Pre-school Valentines and the need to not have the lamest Valentine ever can be a little scary. Or perhaps I am just a little crazy? Let's split the difference and go with both, m'kay? I KNOW. HUSH. Move on from my crazy!
Our pre-school has a 'no candy' policy, but J1's teachers, knowing that the Valentine's will not be opened until the kids are home and out of class when the parents can parent, have a 'what happens in the Orange Room stays in the Orange Room philosophy.' So, we could easily have slapped some candy on a store-bought Valentine and called it a day. In hindsight, this is a smart way to go. In any event maybe it is my inherent need to follow the rules, even when the rules are allowed to be broken, which is in total opposition to my driving/speed limit actions, but whatever, I didn't want to do candy Valentines. This is why I decided J1 and I should get our craft on for Valentine's Day and decided to go with the recycled/homemade heart crayon Valentine idea that a friend recommended. I perused Pinterest for further inspiration and thought I had a clear idea of what we were doing.
Clearly I did not, though when you look at our Valentines en mass, they seem fine. But in reality, or at least in my perfectionist not-three-and-a-half-years-old brain, they are a little too homespun. J1, however, is pleased so I am going to concentrate on that. Should I ever decide to undertake this venture again, a few notes to myself ...
Select more similar colors. Yes, your kid LOVES purple, it is her favorite color in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, but even a color blind person could see that the red and purple crayons look somewhat awful together. That is not going to change when they bake.
Some people have glitter that bakes and stays glittery. You are not one of those people. Your sparkly red glitter will turn to black. Black dots in homemade crayons look like dirt. Your kid knows the black dirt dots were glitter and doesn't see this dirt dilemma, the other parents will. GLITTER = FAIL.
Craft foam may seem like an awesome medium to attach things to and maybe it is. It is not an awesome medium to print on. My printer will not print on craft foam. It will print on labels but those labels will not stick to craft foam. So, unless you have a hankering to find your sharpest Sharpie and write some lame poem a dozen times, a poem that seemed not so lame until you wrote it a dozen times and then seems like the lamest thing ever, find a different medium. This will also help with reducing the tears factor, when at some point your kid will have a hard time writing her name on craft foam and will goof up one, or four, of your Sharpie poemed masterpieces. You will, tired of writing the stupid poem, snap. She will cry. Lesson? Craft foam is bad for this.
Your hole puncher has about a one inch reach. You can not get it to punch three or four inches in from an edge and your three hole punch which may be able to do this has vanished. While it is incredibly crafty to let your kid rummage through your yarn stash and pick out some hand-dyed superwash sock yarn which you then will thread through a darning needle and use to sew your crayon onto your Valentine, it is only crafty for you. And you know, it is not your crafty Valentine, it is your kid's.
Our pre-school has a 'no candy' policy, but J1's teachers, knowing that the Valentine's will not be opened until the kids are home and out of class when the parents can parent, have a 'what happens in the Orange Room stays in the Orange Room philosophy.' So, we could easily have slapped some candy on a store-bought Valentine and called it a day. In hindsight, this is a smart way to go. In any event maybe it is my inherent need to follow the rules, even when the rules are allowed to be broken, which is in total opposition to my driving/speed limit actions, but whatever, I didn't want to do candy Valentines. This is why I decided J1 and I should get our craft on for Valentine's Day and decided to go with the recycled/homemade heart crayon Valentine idea that a friend recommended. I perused Pinterest for further inspiration and thought I had a clear idea of what we were doing.
Clearly I did not, though when you look at our Valentines en mass, they seem fine. But in reality, or at least in my perfectionist not-three-and-a-half-years-old brain, they are a little too homespun. J1, however, is pleased so I am going to concentrate on that. Should I ever decide to undertake this venture again, a few notes to myself ...
Select more similar colors. Yes, your kid LOVES purple, it is her favorite color in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, but even a color blind person could see that the red and purple crayons look somewhat awful together. That is not going to change when they bake.
Some people have glitter that bakes and stays glittery. You are not one of those people. Your sparkly red glitter will turn to black. Black dots in homemade crayons look like dirt. Your kid knows the black dirt dots were glitter and doesn't see this dirt dilemma, the other parents will. GLITTER = FAIL.
Craft foam may seem like an awesome medium to attach things to and maybe it is. It is not an awesome medium to print on. My printer will not print on craft foam. It will print on labels but those labels will not stick to craft foam. So, unless you have a hankering to find your sharpest Sharpie and write some lame poem a dozen times, a poem that seemed not so lame until you wrote it a dozen times and then seems like the lamest thing ever, find a different medium. This will also help with reducing the tears factor, when at some point your kid will have a hard time writing her name on craft foam and will goof up one, or four, of your Sharpie poemed masterpieces. You will, tired of writing the stupid poem, snap. She will cry. Lesson? Craft foam is bad for this.
Your hole puncher has about a one inch reach. You can not get it to punch three or four inches in from an edge and your three hole punch which may be able to do this has vanished. While it is incredibly crafty to let your kid rummage through your yarn stash and pick out some hand-dyed superwash sock yarn which you then will thread through a darning needle and use to sew your crayon onto your Valentine, it is only crafty for you. And you know, it is not your crafty Valentine, it is your kid's.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Ribbit MDLXXXVII
SONOFABITCH! So you know how people say, "READ THE PATTERN, IN TOTAL, BEFORE YOU START KNITTING!" Yah, well I did do that. Even so I still started knitting the WRONG &^%@!$^* blanket. There is a big, adult-sized, blanket on the left page and a smaller, child-sized blanket on the right page. Some dumbass (yours truly) cast on the stitches for THE ADULT SIZED BLANKET. All that knitting I finished ...
Rrrrriiipppp. That 'swatch' up there was basically two squares, instead of one. I could have finished block two already if I was paying attention, but no, I wasn't. Dammit! I couldn't figure out why I was using up so much yarn on the first square and then it hit me that perhaps I should check the pattern again. So, note-to-self, if something seems hinky, it is!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Maybe I Need Cats
I'm not sure who decided that canned tuna and pasta were a winning combination. It most certainly is not. Hell, I'm not sure who decided canning tuna was a good idea. It is, in fact, also not. Fresh tuna? Fabulous! Canned tuna? The opposite of fabulous. That being said, I've been hard up for EASY and QUICK dinner ideas for the kids. Jillian refuses to eat almost everything and Juliet eats almost everything. So, with this all swirling in my little pea brain, I decided to dump a teeny tiny can of tuna in a bowl with some plain ziti and some butter. A simple tuna casserole type thing. I mean millions of (fucking weird) people LOVE tuna casserole so my paired down version would be okay for the kids. This is what I thought. I mean knew Jillian would be suspect but I thought Juliet would eat the hell out of it. So it was worth the experiment ... also hello Omega-3's nice to see ya!
Well, Jillian was indeed suspect and with the whining and the whining and ohmygod the whining, pushed my buttons to the point where I threw down a bowl of un-tunaed plain ziti with enough force to create a ziti shower ... Woot! Woot! It is raining ziti! Now, while my crazy level is HIGH, it is not so HIGH that I did not realize that perhaps things would be better if I walked away for a few minutes. So I did. And when I returned Jillian had eaten the plain ziti and Juliet, dear sweet, I will eat anything but ice cream and greek yogurt (what the hell is that all about) Juliet, she had also eaten the ziti, while picking off the tuna. Every. Single. Bit. Then she took the tuna bits and rubbed them all over herself. So now I have a baby who smells like cat food. Let this be a lesson ... a-note-to-self ... don't think you can fool your kids into eating something you know is nasty. It will backfire. Spectacularly.
Well, Jillian was indeed suspect and with the whining and the whining and ohmygod the whining, pushed my buttons to the point where I threw down a bowl of un-tunaed plain ziti with enough force to create a ziti shower ... Woot! Woot! It is raining ziti! Now, while my crazy level is HIGH, it is not so HIGH that I did not realize that perhaps things would be better if I walked away for a few minutes. So I did. And when I returned Jillian had eaten the plain ziti and Juliet, dear sweet, I will eat anything but ice cream and greek yogurt (what the hell is that all about) Juliet, she had also eaten the ziti, while picking off the tuna. Every. Single. Bit. Then she took the tuna bits and rubbed them all over herself. So now I have a baby who smells like cat food. Let this be a lesson ... a-note-to-self ... don't think you can fool your kids into eating something you know is nasty. It will backfire. Spectacularly.
Friday, April 11, 2008
The Labor Post
I've been wanting to memorialize our labor story but this whole mommy thing is taking up a ton of time. Go figure! Lady Bean is currently sleeping and so I thought I would give a quick and dirty version of our labor as another note-to-self.
3:45 a.m.: The alarm goes off. This sucks! Why must we wake up so early? The getting ready part is pretty easy since we essentially slept walk through it.
5:00 a.m.: We leave the house and are on the way to the hospital. We have a good laugh as Bush's Machine Head (Breathe in, Breathe out, indeed!) and the Ramones' I Wanna Be Sedated play on the radio.
5:30 a.m.: We enter Labor and Delivery exactly on time and there are already two other women laboring there.
6:30 a.m.: We have met our L&D nurse, Stacey. We are her only patient and we really like her but for her Red Sox sweatshirt. Boo asks if there is way to get "fluids" on it so she has to change. We meet with a resident who gives me a once over and then I am juiced up on pitocin. I start having contractions. They appear on the monitor and I giggle. So cute, my little contractions. This shit is easy! I start knitting on my second sock.
7:00 a.m.: We meet with the doctor and she comments on my sock. She approves. We discuss the game plan and I giggle at how easy this labor thing is. She smiles and ask if I am going to want drugs. I explain that my plan is to wing it. Wait and see. She thinks this is a great idea and asks if we have an actual labor plan. We reveal that our entire labor plan is to: 1) have a healthy baby, 2) keep me alive with all of my parts in tact, and 3) keep Boo at my head end. This is a big hit and voted in as one of the best labor plans ever. Man is this birthing a baby thing easy.
7:30 a.m.: Boo gets an awesome, comfy chair that reclines, but nearly cries when it's revealed to be broken. Nurse Stacey gets him another one and he forgives her for her Red Sox sweatshirt. There is no more talk of fluids ruining the shirt.
9:45 a.m.: The contractions are more real. Not painful per se, just noticeable as contractions. They are getting stronger, at least in my back. I fear that at this rate, I'll birth the baby out of my ass. That can't be good. I start to walk around and the back pain ebbs to some extent. I am still drug free and feeling pretty good. Stacey gets me a heating pad for my back which also helps. I labor pretty uneventfully and am bored enough to send out a few e-mails, though I have a hard time typing with all of the monitors on me.
1:00 p.m.: I am dilated about five to six centimeters and the doctor decides to break my water. This is quite a nasty feeling as it feels like I am peeing myself. Constantly. I'm told that labor will really start now. I (foolishly) say, "Bring it!"
1:15 p.m.: Wow! The contractions are kicking it up a notch. I start to discuss pain medication with Boo.
1:30 p.m.: Stacey comes to check on me and asks if I have any interest in pain medicine or an epidural. She, Boo and I discuss it and I decide to go with an epidural.
1:50 p.m.: The anesthesiologist goes over all of the medical and legal stuff and then gets to work. He is a really nice guy and he an Boo chat about sports as if he isn't going to stick a huge needle in my spine. The actual epidural part is unbelievably easy. There is no pain and not even any discomfort. I am glad I hadn't been stressed over it.
2:15 p.m.: I feel good and my legs are kind of warm and toasty. I can move my toes, sort of.
2:30 p.m.: All of my machines start beeping from the baby warmer to the epidural. It is almost comedic in that every time I fall asleep (love you epidural!), something goes off. Stacey apologizes profusely but I tell her it is fine as I am amused
4:50 p.m.: I wake up feeling as if I have to take the most massive dump ever. It is really uncomfortable. I immediately regret my last Outback dinner and wonder if anyone will let me use the loo with the epidural in. It is then that I realize my legs are normal and not warm and toasty. I fear my best friend epidural has died.
5:00 p.m.: The shakes kick in. I am shaking like an epileptic and it is weird. Stacey is in with us and assures me that I don't have to poop, and instead that I am about to go into active labor. I politely tell her she is wrong and that I totally have to pooh. She smiles and contacts the doctor and anesthesiologist.
5:15 p.m.: I am checked out and almost fully dilated but my cervix has a lip so I can't push. I am given a small shot of juice in the epidural which does nothing for my lady parts but does ease the contractions in my belly. I continue to shake. A lot. Boo comments that my milkshake brings all the boys in the yard. I continue to fret over the massive dump I am sure to take any second now.
5:55 p.m.: By now I have a death grip on the bed railing. It helps with the contraction pains and the shakes. Boo is patting my back and being encouraging. Stacey has everything prepped and is also cheering me on. A new nurse, the baby's nurse, comes in and finger prints me. This strikes me as odd.
6:00 p.m.: The doctor tells me to push. Time stops. For the next hour I push whenever I feel a contraction. It is painful, but not unbearable. I push and I push. I do not, however, pooh. The whole thing is very intimate as it is only Boo, Stacey, the baby's nurse and the doctor.
6:45 p.m.: I joke that this hurts more than the time I gave birth to the gall bladder anesthesia pooh. The doctor jokes that she bets I will want to keep this thing that I am giving birth as opposed to the other.
6:55 p.m.: My crotch is on fire. I announce this and am told, vary sternly and forcefully, to push.
6:58 p.m.: Crotch? Still on fire. I tell everyone this again, in case they missed it the first time. I also note that this hurts A WHOLE LOT. But, I do not cuss. Nary a fuck, shit, or holymutherfuckinjesus passes my lips. I push and I push and I push.
7:00 p.m.: Lady Bean is born. She is perfect. She is immediately placed on my belly and my first words are, "Wow, she is tiny!" I forget all about my fiery crotch. Her cord is cut and she is swooped over to the warming tray to be tagged with Baby LoJack and wiped off. We get some pictures while I deliver the placenta. Much to my all of my (weird) friends' dismay, I don't ask to see the placenta or ask to save it for stew. Lady Bean and I have some skin to skin time and I am amazed that she is over seven pounds, she looks so small. Lady Bean is bundled up and given to Boo. He cuddles her while I am stitched up. I need a local anesthetic because I feel everything. The doctor repeatedly requests extra packets of sutures. I am freaked out by this. I ask exactly how many stitches I am getting and she says it isn't something you count, that it is like a seam. My vagina is being whip-stitched. Everyone makes general conversation and I learn that the doctor was worried towards the end. I'm not sure if it was for Lady Bean's well being or my crotch's, and I don't ask. Lady Bean is brought to the nursery for the pediatrician to check out and I am cleaned up and then am allowed to walk to the restroom to clean up some more. There is a lot of ... fluids. I still do not pooh.
10:00 p.m.: I am in my new room with Boo. Lady Bean is brought in from the nursery. I have to use the loo again and as I am cleaning up more fluids, Lady Bean starts to cry. I hear Boo immediately work some magic and she is soothed. I start sobbing in the bathroom. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have a healthy perfect little girl and a husband who loves her lots.
As soon as it was over, and now, over a week later, I can only see my labor experience as positive. My bits are sore from the tearing and my boobs are not being cooperative. My hormones make me cry. A lot. We've had some ups and downs trying to get the boob thing, the sleep thing, and the what-does-this-cry-mean thing going. Nonetheless, I feel very lucky.
3:45 a.m.: The alarm goes off. This sucks! Why must we wake up so early? The getting ready part is pretty easy since we essentially slept walk through it.
5:00 a.m.: We leave the house and are on the way to the hospital. We have a good laugh as Bush's Machine Head (Breathe in, Breathe out, indeed!) and the Ramones' I Wanna Be Sedated play on the radio.
5:30 a.m.: We enter Labor and Delivery exactly on time and there are already two other women laboring there.
6:30 a.m.: We have met our L&D nurse, Stacey. We are her only patient and we really like her but for her Red Sox sweatshirt. Boo asks if there is way to get "fluids" on it so she has to change. We meet with a resident who gives me a once over and then I am juiced up on pitocin. I start having contractions. They appear on the monitor and I giggle. So cute, my little contractions. This shit is easy! I start knitting on my second sock.
7:00 a.m.: We meet with the doctor and she comments on my sock. She approves. We discuss the game plan and I giggle at how easy this labor thing is. She smiles and ask if I am going to want drugs. I explain that my plan is to wing it. Wait and see. She thinks this is a great idea and asks if we have an actual labor plan. We reveal that our entire labor plan is to: 1) have a healthy baby, 2) keep me alive with all of my parts in tact, and 3) keep Boo at my head end. This is a big hit and voted in as one of the best labor plans ever. Man is this birthing a baby thing easy.
7:30 a.m.: Boo gets an awesome, comfy chair that reclines, but nearly cries when it's revealed to be broken. Nurse Stacey gets him another one and he forgives her for her Red Sox sweatshirt. There is no more talk of fluids ruining the shirt.
9:45 a.m.: The contractions are more real. Not painful per se, just noticeable as contractions. They are getting stronger, at least in my back. I fear that at this rate, I'll birth the baby out of my ass. That can't be good. I start to walk around and the back pain ebbs to some extent. I am still drug free and feeling pretty good. Stacey gets me a heating pad for my back which also helps. I labor pretty uneventfully and am bored enough to send out a few e-mails, though I have a hard time typing with all of the monitors on me.
1:00 p.m.: I am dilated about five to six centimeters and the doctor decides to break my water. This is quite a nasty feeling as it feels like I am peeing myself. Constantly. I'm told that labor will really start now. I (foolishly) say, "Bring it!"
1:15 p.m.: Wow! The contractions are kicking it up a notch. I start to discuss pain medication with Boo.
1:30 p.m.: Stacey comes to check on me and asks if I have any interest in pain medicine or an epidural. She, Boo and I discuss it and I decide to go with an epidural.
1:50 p.m.: The anesthesiologist goes over all of the medical and legal stuff and then gets to work. He is a really nice guy and he an Boo chat about sports as if he isn't going to stick a huge needle in my spine. The actual epidural part is unbelievably easy. There is no pain and not even any discomfort. I am glad I hadn't been stressed over it.
2:15 p.m.: I feel good and my legs are kind of warm and toasty. I can move my toes, sort of.
2:30 p.m.: All of my machines start beeping from the baby warmer to the epidural. It is almost comedic in that every time I fall asleep (love you epidural!), something goes off. Stacey apologizes profusely but I tell her it is fine as I am amused
4:50 p.m.: I wake up feeling as if I have to take the most massive dump ever. It is really uncomfortable. I immediately regret my last Outback dinner and wonder if anyone will let me use the loo with the epidural in. It is then that I realize my legs are normal and not warm and toasty. I fear my
5:00 p.m.: The shakes kick in. I am shaking like an epileptic and it is weird. Stacey is in with us and assures me that I don't have to poop, and instead that I am about to go into active labor. I politely tell her she is wrong and that I totally have to pooh. She smiles and contacts the doctor and anesthesiologist.
5:15 p.m.: I am checked out and almost fully dilated but my cervix has a lip so I can't push. I am given a small shot of juice in the epidural which does nothing for my lady parts but does ease the contractions in my belly. I continue to shake. A lot. Boo comments that my milkshake brings all the boys in the yard. I continue to fret over the massive dump I am sure to take any second now.
5:55 p.m.: By now I have a death grip on the bed railing. It helps with the contraction pains and the shakes. Boo is patting my back and being encouraging. Stacey has everything prepped and is also cheering me on. A new nurse, the baby's nurse, comes in and finger prints me. This strikes me as odd.
6:00 p.m.: The doctor tells me to push. Time stops. For the next hour I push whenever I feel a contraction. It is painful, but not unbearable. I push and I push. I do not, however, pooh. The whole thing is very intimate as it is only Boo, Stacey, the baby's nurse and the doctor.
6:45 p.m.: I joke that this hurts more than the time I gave birth to the gall bladder anesthesia pooh. The doctor jokes that she bets I will want to keep this thing that I am giving birth as opposed to the other.
6:55 p.m.: My crotch is on fire. I announce this and am told, vary sternly and forcefully, to push.
6:58 p.m.: Crotch? Still on fire. I tell everyone this again, in case they missed it the first time. I also note that this hurts A WHOLE LOT. But, I do not cuss. Nary a fuck, shit, or holymutherfuckinjesus passes my lips. I push and I push and I push.
7:00 p.m.: Lady Bean is born. She is perfect. She is immediately placed on my belly and my first words are, "Wow, she is tiny!" I forget all about my fiery crotch. Her cord is cut and she is swooped over to the warming tray to be tagged with Baby LoJack and wiped off. We get some pictures while I deliver the placenta. Much to my all of my (weird) friends' dismay, I don't ask to see the placenta or ask to save it for stew. Lady Bean and I have some skin to skin time and I am amazed that she is over seven pounds, she looks so small. Lady Bean is bundled up and given to Boo. He cuddles her while I am stitched up. I need a local anesthetic because I feel everything. The doctor repeatedly requests extra packets of sutures. I am freaked out by this. I ask exactly how many stitches I am getting and she says it isn't something you count, that it is like a seam. My vagina is being whip-stitched. Everyone makes general conversation and I learn that the doctor was worried towards the end. I'm not sure if it was for Lady Bean's well being or my crotch's, and I don't ask. Lady Bean is brought to the nursery for the pediatrician to check out and I am cleaned up and then am allowed to walk to the restroom to clean up some more. There is a lot of ... fluids. I still do not pooh.
10:00 p.m.: I am in my new room with Boo. Lady Bean is brought in from the nursery. I have to use the loo again and as I am cleaning up more fluids, Lady Bean starts to cry. I hear Boo immediately work some magic and she is soothed. I start sobbing in the bathroom. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have a healthy perfect little girl and a husband who loves her lots.
As soon as it was over, and now, over a week later, I can only see my labor experience as positive. My bits are sore from the tearing and my boobs are not being cooperative. My hormones make me cry. A lot. We've had some ups and downs trying to get the boob thing, the sleep thing, and the what-does-this-cry-mean thing going. Nonetheless, I feel very lucky.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The Pregnancy Post
Good God people! I'm suppose to have a baby today. Can you say, "Totally surreal?" I haven't been real diligent about blogging my pregnancy. I figure most people would find it boring and also, I am paranoid and didn't want to jinx anything. Now that the end is in sight, I do want to make myself a reminder of how things were ... a note-to-self, so that if/when we decide to try this again, I have something to look back on and say, "Oh yah, right, that is how I work." Feel free to enjoy nine months of my ramblings, or, um, skip this post and come back tomorrow (am I being overly optimistic with my tomorrow?) for interesting tales of ... something.
September 25, 2005: We make the big decision (which is actually recorded in my calendar) ... "You wanna have a baby?" "Um, sure, okay." "Let's do it. Let's have sex." "Heh. Sex!"
September 25, 2006: A year later, and we have made no progress ... "Um, are you sure we're doing this right ... we ain't got no baby." "We're doing it right, let's try a little bit longer."
May 2007: Now it's just getting ridiculous ... "Fine, I give up. I'll go see a doctor ... Um, the soonest I can get in is July." "I guess we can have more sex." "Great, more sex."
July 2, 2007: "Sorry, we have to cancel your appointment with the doctor today. How about August 9?" "Greeeaaatttt, more sex." Well, we can try one more time. I mean sex is fun, right?
July 21, 2007: We decide to re-do the small bedroom and create a yarn room since there is no baby in sight. We start the process of wall repair and painting and so on. We don't worry about perfection because fifteen years from now when we finally have a kid via some black market adoption, we will have to redo it again anyway. We adopt a motto of "Better than Before" and chant it during each step of our remodeling.
July 28, 2007: "My period never came today." "That's odd." "Maybe we're pregnant. HAHAHAHA." "Wake me up in the morning before you take the test."
July 29, 2007: It's early in the morning and I totally have to pee ... "You wanted me to wake you up when I had to pee." "M'kay. I'm up." "No period, I'm peeing on a stick." ... tinkle tinkle tinkle ... wait wait wait ... "Um, that's weird, I think it says we're pregnant." I crawl back in bed thinking the stick is messing with me, "You go look." Boo crawls out of bed and glances at the stick ... "Yah, I think you're right. It says you're pregnant. How bout that?" He pees (there is a lot of peeing going on that morning) and comes back to bed. "I'm tired." "Me too" and back to sleep we go. We are more skeptical than excited because come on, our one last chance before I go and get poked and prodded, whatever.
July 30, 2007: I'm still not a believer. "Another test, another positive." "Weird."
August 1, 2007: Still not convinced, I plunk down more of our hard earned money on outrageously expensive home pregnancy tests. "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Do you feel pregnant?" "Nope, I'm bloated like I'm going to get my period." "Huh."
August 4, 2007: We continue to work on the yarn room. We rip up carpet and beginning staining bookcases. We joke that this might all be futile because, haha, this could be a baby's room and maybe stain isn't the best thing in the world for a pregnant person to be inhaling but ha, come on, us and baby. Hardy har har.
August 6, 2007: "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Ya feel pregnant yet??" "Nope!"
August 7, 2007: It is the fifteen year anniversary of our first date. We celebrate with another test, and another positive. "This is so weird." "Maybe we really are knocked up?!?" Then we go to dinner and I have swordfish. I later learn that this is a high mercury fish and that I am an asshole for eating it.
August 9, 2007: We have our first doctor's appointment where the nurse cheerfully tells me that the stick turned pink and I am at the right appointment. We are given a bunch of information and we meet the doctor who looks eerily like my college president, Donna Shalala. "Congrats! Now I need a gallon of blood." We walk out laughing at the thought of Donna Shalala delivering our baby.
We look through the stuff they give us, including the food list and I start mourning the loss of sushi. Then I see that swordfish is bad and wonder how hard it is going to be to raise a child with an extra-ear growing out if its forehead.
August 13, 2007: I finish the yarn room and lurve it. It is, indeed, 'Better than Before.' It is also going to be a huge pain in the arse if we have actually have this kid and have to move it.
August 17, 2007: I'm almost seven weeks along and am sent for my first ultrasound. It seems that yes, there is a baby-to-be in there, though I think it looks like a bird. Or a bean, with a beak. There is only one, and it has a heart beat. I walk out of the office with a wonky, shit-eating grin because hey, I have a bean in my belly! I also wonder if the swordfish gave the bean a beak. I toughen my resolve to avoid sushi.
For the next few weeks I feel exactly the same as I always have. The pregnancy doesn't seem all that real. Sometimes I am a little sleepy, sometimes I am bloated, sometimes I am crampy. But for the most part I feel like me. I think, "This whole pregnancy thing is easy." I'm at a high risk for developing gestational diabetes so I get extra monitoring which is actually nice because I get reinforcement that the bean is still in there and growing.
September 17, 2007: I catch a cold. I realize that the pregnancy thing is not easy since I can't take any decent drugs. I am nasty and grumpy and Boo becomes scared that the next nine months of his life are going to be pure torture.
September 20, 2007: We fly to Florida for BeFri's wedding. I leave my doctor prescribed antibiotics in Connecticut. I am an asshole. Several calls later a new prescription is waiting for me in a twenty-four hour drugstore, in the Miami ghetto. I marvel at the possible irony of getting killed while picking up antibiotics. I survive the antibiotic pick up. Even though we are only twelve weeks, we bring one of the ultrasound pictures and decide to tell my uncle in person that we're having a baby. Even though we tell him and it is very exciting it still doesn't feel all that real. I also miss my mom and aunt and try not to dwell on the fact that they aren't around for the big news and to answer questions and tell me what their experiences were like.
September 24, 2007: We have the first trimester screening ultrasound. The bean is breech and uncooperative but they decide all looks well. Boo is surprised I can't feel all the hurkey jerky movements we see going on during the ultrasound.
October 6, 2007: We are fourteen weeks and out of the first trimester. It still feels unreal, but we go to Jersey to see Boo's family and tell them the news in person. Everyone assumes that we are pregnant and gossips that this is why we are visiting so we tell them we are moving to Ireland. The family is shocked about our move and we are smug. Heh, don't mess with us! We do finally tell them the truth.
Over the next few weeks we tell our friends. I am worried about jinxing things but Boo isn't and tells me to chill. I say I do, but I don't really. I still feel bloated and sometimes crampy. I have some sort of ligament pain which I am told is normal. I'm not stressed over the discomfort because it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy ride. Even acknowledging this whole pregnancy thing doesn't make it any more real. I wonder, shouldn't I feel pregnant?
November 1, 2007: We are eighteen weeks and have our level two screening. We are hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is uncooperative and we don't get gender, or good measurements. We have to go back in a few weeks. Boo, still surprised I can't feel any baby movements when they are so obvious on the ultrasound, thinks maybe I am an alien.
November 7, 2007: My favorite work pants are tight when I sit down. I don't look any different and I haven't gained any weight (but the doctors say this is normal and okay considering I could stand to lose a few anyway) but something must have shifted because the pants don't work when I am sitting.
Around week twenty, I have still not felt the baby move. I conclude that there is no baby. It is all a ploy. Boo thinks I am insane. I conceded that maybe there is a baby and I just can't feel it do to residual numbness from my gall bladder removal surgery or because I have belly flub. Though I don't feel the baby, I have developed a shooting pain in my left hip and butt cheek. My first real pregnancy "symptom" is sciatica. I am not stressed over this new discomfort because, again, it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy thing. I do wonder if, however, my mom or aunt ever had similar pain. I try not to dwell on it. We start getting gifts from friends which is awesome but also weird because hey, are we really having a baby?
November 22, 2007: I am sitting at my vanity getting ready for a trip to Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner and I feel the baby move for the first time. I interrupt Boo's shower to tell him this. We both are psyched. Kind of a cool way to ring in Thanksgiving.
November 28, 2007: Crazy tells me I am developing a gut. Boo who sees me naked on a daily basis disagrees.
November 29, 2007: We have our re-do of the level two screening and are still hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is, yet again, uncooperative and is breech. The ultrasound doctor, overwhelmed by the scent of our desperation, takes pity on us and really works hard. He determines that the bean is a girl bean. She's got "three lines." We giggle. Three lines. Now we must decide on a girl name. We decide we'll each submit a list of ten names come February. Three lines, hehe!
For the next month or so I still feel exactly the same. My sciatic pain has gone away and while I do feel the baby move, I often think it is phantom gall bladder pain, or gas. Every now and then she gets caught on my internal organs and reminds me that, "Yo, woman, I am a baby, NOT a gall bladder." She also likes to do a little River Dance on my cervix. I puke for the first time in the beginning of December, mostly because I messed up the prenatal vitamin taking schedule. Overall though, the pregnancy still doesn't feel real. I think I should feel more different. I feel fine and not-so-preggers. I have gotten stretch marks which is weird since I figured my body had stretched all it could since I have been heavier that I am now. My clothes, with the exception of my favorite work pants, still fit and I can't really tell a difference in how I look. Even my boobs are the same, much to my chagrin. I've had to start testing my sugar every other day and it is typically fine. I learn, however, that Panera Bread and Five Guys Burgers will raise my sugar, no matter what I eat. I still mourn sushi.
January 2, 2008: I wear my jeans and they fit fine. The pregnancy doesn't feel real.
January 3, 2008: I bend over to tie my shoe and vomit. I vow not to mess with the prenatal vitamin schedule ever again.
January 5, 2008: My jeans don't fit. Well, not if I want to sit down and breathe, at the same time. This makes no sense since they fit three days ago. I am confused but figure that I'm at twenty-seven weeks and pretty lucky that I haven't had to buy new clothes yet. I order maternity jeans which are ridiculous and so I return them. I then go through my wardrobe looking for all of my stretchy type pants and pants that were previously too big. I decide I have enough pants for now and so I don't bother looking for new ones to buy.
January 7, 2008: I am just over twenty-seven weeks pregnant and it is the first time a random person has noticed I am pregnant. I guess I am starting to show. Maybe my jeans were telling the truth. My boobs? Not bigger, still the same. Such underachievers.
January 8, 2008: My extra monitoring really kicks in and I have to schedule NSTs and ultrasounds for the next few months. I also start scheduling classes. I figure some of this will make the pregnancy thing feel real. It doesn't.
January 12, 2008: We start the registry process. I am sure this is a jinx and a bad idea but all of the books say we need to get on the ball. The registry process makes me cranky because not only do I fear the jinx, I don't know what any of the shit is and what we'll need. I mean come on, special towels for the baby? She is human right? What is wrong with my towels? We also look at a crib and dresser. We can't decide on anything so we put it off for a week knowing that it could take "up to ten weeks for delivery" and we have eleven weeks until Lady Bean's arrival. We feel no stress since Brian, the sales guy we spoke to, assures us that it usually only takes two weeks for furniture delivery.
January 22, 2008: We make a decision on the dresser and crib. Boo orders the dresser and is told that it will be in by April 5 - our due date. They assure him that it will probably be ready in about two to four weeks but they have to say ten weeks to cover themselves. The crib, however, is in stock so Boo brings it home. We look at the box and then prop it up against the wall. No need to rush to put it together, we have ten plus weeks.
January 23, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is big. Birthable, but big. This is Boo's fault since he was a big baby. Even knowing he was gig, I am somewhat surprised since I haven't gained any weight. Is she sucking the fat out of my ass? Am I making a baby out of butt fat?
January 29, 2008: It is my last girls weekend for a while and I have my first surprise shower. We now have baby stuff. Cool! Um, what do we do with it?
February 7, 2008: We have our first class. On breast-feeding. Nothing like jumping into the deep end. There are some odd ducks in the class with us. I'm impressed that a thousand year old woman can whip out her boob for a doll and not show a thing. I am angry that my peers can't do the same thing. I'm also bummed because I can't have sushi while I'm nursing. I'm just paranoid enough that I will follow the rules ... if only I hadn't had that damn swordfish!
February 9, 2008: We tour the Labor & Delivery area, as well as the Maternity area of the hospital with a group of morons. We realize that we might not know much, but we know more than the people surrounding us. We hope that none of these people end up giving birth when we do. Boo decides that I have somehow signed us into the reject group and is worried about the rest of our classes.
February 11, 2008: I have my first NST. It is easy peasy and I realize I am going to have plenty o' time to knit. We also have an infant care class. We still seem to be attracting the fruit loop contingent as classmates. Nonetheless, we pay attention and manage to put a diaper on a doll. We are so ready for this. If only it felt real!
February 16, 2008: We, and several of the fruit loop rejects, take a childbirth prep class. We watch a video of five births. Boo and I decide that the baby shall not be leaving my womb after all. We are both cool with this. She shall stay in utero until she is eighteen, at which point I will molt my skin like a snake and become and eighteen year old girl. I am told this is not possible. I think someone is lying.
February 18, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Jumbolia is ... still largeish. We meet with the doctor and there is discussion of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Nothing is set in stone but it does not seem like we will have to be induced at thirty-seven weeks so we are relieved. We still have no done anything about picking a name. People are getting peevish about this but it doesn't spurn us on.
February 23, 2008: We head to Jersey for a family shower. It still seems surreal because I don't feel pregnant. The shower is either close family or family I have met only once, at my father-in-law's funeral. I am worried this is like a big ole gift grab and tacky. No one else thinks this way though and I have a good time. I learn that one aunt-in-law is a Labor & Delivery nurse and offers any help or advice we might need. We ask her to live in our basement. She lives over three hundred miles away and doesn't want that kind of commute for to work. As if three hundred miles is all that far. Whatever. We also learn that you can throw away baby clothes if there is a blowout in public. We never ha thought of this. We think it's brilliant.
February 27, 2008: We begin the removal of the yarn from the yarn room. My awesome plan is not awesome. It sucks. Boo is doing ninety-nine point nine percent of the work, so I don't want to complain too much. But oy! What a pain in the ass.
March 1, 2008: I have my friend shower and it is fun! I wear the one shirt that makes me look preggers and everyone is impressed with the belly. I laugh knowing it is only the shirt. I bring home a lot of baby stuff and realize we have no where to put it. Huh, where is that furniture we ordered? Surely it has been two to four weeks.
March 3, 2008: We call the furniture store to track the dresser. We learn that there is no way to track the dresser and that it will arrive on or before April 5, 2008. Gee, great. As I have no nesting urges, I figure this is not a big deal. The stuff can stay in piles in the family room. Since my sleeping has started to suck, I wonder if being tired is why I have no nesting urge.
March 10, 2008: I have my first pregnancy pelvic exam and all is closed and normal. I am like a lock box. There is more discussion concerning delivery options and of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Still nothing is set in stone but it looks like I will be having a baby by forty weeks. Still no nesting urge and still no dresser. I do manage to organize the piles of clothes by size. I learn that there is no rhyme or reason to the sizing.
March 15, 2007: The dresser finally arrives and Boo and a friend get it in the room. Holy crap the room is small. Boo is excited and wants to put the stuff away. I want to take a nap and maybe eat a donut.
March 17, 2008: We have another ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is still large, but not too largeish. Assuming the calculations are right, which they may not be because this ultrasound is not so reliable. In fact, this is the least reliable ultrasound we are going to have. The doctor determines that Lady Bean is large enough that they will want her out at forty weeks so if I do not go into labor on my own, we'll be induced. I am officially full term so I might go into labor on my own, but since I haven't even had a practice Braxton Hicks contraction, I think this is unlikely. I mentally prepare for an induction. I continue to work out with my trainer who strikes a deal with Lady Bean that if she stays put while I am working out, PT will give her a gift later on. I still have no nesting urge and Boo takes the reins and does Lady Bean's laundry. Feeling guilty, I finally fold one load and realize I have no clue on how to fold something so small. I swear my granny panties are bigger than her clothes. Boo doesn't really know how fold it either, and I giggle at his months and months of Gap employment failing him miserably. We wing it.
For about a week I have wicked heartburn, pain in my right hip and butt cheek, and my sleeping sucks. I deduce that I finally feel pregnant but still don't feel like the whole 'having a child thing' is real. I am cool with feeling craptastic because so far the pregnancy has been smooth and there looks to be a real live human coming out at the end. I am also cool with more new stretch marks since I can play head games with myself and tell myself that I must have been thinner than I thought I was. It is crazy talk, but it works for me.
Marsh 24, 2008: I go in for my weekly exam. I am dilated 3cms. UM, WHAT? I have dilated through the early part of labor and didn't know. I have had no contractions. Not a Braxton Hicks, not a nothing. I am somewhat shell shocked. The doctor thinks I could go into labor on my own, but if I don't, come next Monday we will schedule an induction. For the second time during this pregnancy, I walk out of the hospital with a wonky grin on my face. I call Boo as I exit and respond to his, "Hey Babe!" with, "My cervix is dilated 3cms." He is now shell shocked too. I am nothing if not willing to spread the love. I am scared to walk around. What if this baby falls out of my gaping cervix? We wonder whether this will kick into gear my as of yet non-existing nesting urge. I sort of feel like this pregnancy might be real after all. I immediately go home and read some of the books we have. I learn heartburn and back pain usually accompany contractions in early labor. Well, I had two out of three. Go figure. I wonder if my yarn fatality that morning caused my gaping cervix. I vow to be more careful with my yarn. Boo comes home and we decide we should pack a hospital bag and think of a name. I offer up Justice Mariano. I note Justice is a tribute to my legal career and Mariano is a tribute to Boo's beloved Yankees. The name is voted a total dud. We decide to table the name discussion a little bit longer. We also don't pack a hospital bag. I go to bed with my gaping cervix and sleep better than I have in a week.
March 25, 2008: The shell shock of having a gaping cervix has worn off (though the joy of saying gaping cervix has not). I no longer feel the need to pack a bag or think of a name. The pregnancy has returned into that surreal realm and I go about my day like normal. I work out with my trainer. She reminds Lady Bean of their agreement wherein Lady Bean does not fall out at the gym.
March 26, 2008: Boo is entering crunch time for a huge project at work. A project that will effect seventy-billion-gazillion viewers, or some shit. I worry our baby is going to fall out at an inopportune time. I decide I shall put myself on my own version of bed rest which involves a lot of time on the couch. This does not suck. I start to ponder what type of jewelry I should wear during delivery. Do I go with my locket that has a picture of my mom and my dad, the same locket that I wore to pass two bar exams? Or, do I go with my mom's diamond flower necklace that I wore during our wedding. I realize that normal people would be practicing breathing or planning the items for their hospital bags. I am a freak.
March 28, 2008: I visit my clients in jail for the last time. In the car, while I am on the way, I tell Lady Bean that this will be the thirty-ninth and final time that she ever visits a prison AND I'M NOT MESSING AROUND YOUNG LADY, I MEAN IT! I'm not sure that she understands, but I have hope. I "pop my cork" so to speak. Scientifically it is kind of interesting but in reality it is odd. I still haven't had contractions, and though I am relieved that I am not contracting while Boo is working, I wonder if my uterus is broken. I go to our safe deposit box to get peruse my jewelry and end up sobbing over an old watch. I realize my hormones are really flying.
March 30, 2008: Boo's project is successfully launched. We have met the goal of not letting Lady Bean fall out while he was working. We celebrate by running errands to finish getting what we need for her arrival. We get nothing of importance and instead spend money on things like room decor. I still have no nesting urge and Boo is mentally fried so we go to dinner and plan to do the real stuff later.
March 31, 2008: The doctor determines everything was pretty much the same (I am thinking this could be because I spent my entire weekend reclining on the couch like a lady of leisure fearful of going into labor while Boo was working). In any event, if nothing happens on its own, I/we will be induced on Thursday, 04/03/08, at 5:30 a.m. Personally I think it is cruel to do anything at 5:30 a.m. other than sleep. I very circuitously, and with a whole lot of verbiage doing my legal education proud, asked the doctor, on average, understanding that there is no exact science to know how long these things take, but maybe he could make a guesstimate on how long it could take based on his years of practice and general experience on all things baby delivery related, factoring in me and whatever my medical files tells him, and considering same if he could make such a guesstimate when he thought we'd have a baby ... he says 6:20 p.m. I suspect he is laughing at me on the inside. I tell all this to Boo and explain that we will have a brand new baby at 6:21 p.m. on 4/3/8. Boo says, he would prefer 4/4/8 and that I should hold her in. He is the first, but not the last to tell me this. I hypothesize that I could name the baby Jamiroquai and get less shit than I am for not demanding the 4th. By the end of the day I am in a maudlin mood. I figure it is hormones.
April 1, 2008: I am in a better mood and survive my last full day at work. Crazy hasn't been talking to me so that makes things easier. I work out at the gym and feel really good. I think the exercise may have positive effects on my hormones. I hate exercise so this is a first for me. Once Boo gets home, we do some work on the house and I note that all of Lady Bean's decorations are bird themed. I worry she is going to have issues.
April 2, 2008: I am working my last three and a half hours with a grin on my face. Crazy, resumes talking to me having been silent for a week, and tells me she is going to pick on me and make fun of me and kick at me since I am leaving. I'd be confused except that her insanity doesn't faze me ... I only have to deal with it for three and a half more hours. Sweet! I get Dogbert and her bag and take her to daycare/boarding. I cry sob as I load her into the car. I feel as if I am abandoning her and ruining her little puppy life. I am a nut. A teary sobbing nut. Dogbert's tail is going a mile a minute at the thought of daycare and she is oblivious to my distress. I get through the dog drop off with mild to moderate humiliation. I work out one last time and then get a pedicure. I decide to go with red toes. Should something go terribly awry, I want to go out with red toes.
As I pack the hospital bag, I intentionally try not to think about my mom and aunt or the fact that Boo and I are basically on our own. My family is almost non-existent and twelve hundred miles away. His, though larger, is also far. Neither one can ride to the rescue if we need a break or want to have dinner out. I have no doubt that we can do this, and do it well, all by ourselves. Nonetheless, I try to ignore the fact that we have to and swallow any bitterness that I have about it. We have our final dinner together, just us, and then Boo goes to get a new camcorder. We will NOT be recording the birth, but since it has been given to us as a gift, we figure we should get it.
April 3, 2008: I wake up at 3:45 a.m. and am tired. I'm not nervous, but this is probably because I am so tired that my brain can't function. Why the fuck does this have to start so early? I am a little put out because I haven;t had a chance to prrof read my ramblingbbgs but I figure guck it, I'm going to have a baby, I deserve some leeway.
Overall this pregnancy thing has been pretty easy and I am lucky. Getting pregnant, not so easy, but once we got there, I can't complain. Physically, it has not been difficult. The hardest part for me, emotionally for sure, has been re-mourning the loss of my mom, dad, and aunt. Sometimes that hurt is so fresh it surprised me. In any event, the overall experience has been pretty damn cool, and gloriously uneventful.
Even now, heading off to go birth this baby, it still seems somewhat vague or unreal. The best example I can come up with is a long planned vacation ... We've never been to Italy but we hear it's great and we are excited at the idea of going. For two years we talked about going but we couldn't afford it, couldn't make it work. And then, nine months ago, we won the lottery. We had the cash, we could finally take our trip. We booked airline tickets, reserved hotel rooms, and planned day trips for some great location in Italy. So for the last nine months we have talked about our trip and played the what-if game; we've discussed dining options, entertainment ideas, the weather and what to wear. We've taken classes on Italian and boned up on cultural stuff, but still there is no sense of reality. It is kind of one-step removed. All the prep work was just prep work. Even now, stepping on the airplane, I can't quite wrap my brain around this huge journey we are about to embark on. Intellectually I know that we're going to another country and it is going to be like nothing we have known before. But the reality is not real. I suspect that once we land in Italy, things will click. In the meantime, I am hoping the flight is smooth and terrorist free!
September 25, 2005: We make the big decision (which is actually recorded in my calendar) ... "You wanna have a baby?" "Um, sure, okay." "Let's do it. Let's have sex." "Heh. Sex!"
September 25, 2006: A year later, and we have made no progress ... "Um, are you sure we're doing this right ... we ain't got no baby." "We're doing it right, let's try a little bit longer."
May 2007: Now it's just getting ridiculous ... "Fine, I give up. I'll go see a doctor ... Um, the soonest I can get in is July." "I guess we can have more sex." "Great, more sex."
July 2, 2007: "Sorry, we have to cancel your appointment with the doctor today. How about August 9?" "Greeeaaatttt, more sex." Well, we can try one more time. I mean sex is fun, right?
July 21, 2007: We decide to re-do the small bedroom and create a yarn room since there is no baby in sight. We start the process of wall repair and painting and so on. We don't worry about perfection because fifteen years from now when we finally have a kid via some black market adoption, we will have to redo it again anyway. We adopt a motto of "Better than Before" and chant it during each step of our remodeling.
July 28, 2007: "My period never came today." "That's odd." "Maybe we're pregnant. HAHAHAHA." "Wake me up in the morning before you take the test."
July 29, 2007: It's early in the morning and I totally have to pee ... "You wanted me to wake you up when I had to pee." "M'kay. I'm up." "No period, I'm peeing on a stick." ... tinkle tinkle tinkle ... wait wait wait ... "Um, that's weird, I think it says we're pregnant." I crawl back in bed thinking the stick is messing with me, "You go look." Boo crawls out of bed and glances at the stick ... "Yah, I think you're right. It says you're pregnant. How bout that?" He pees (there is a lot of peeing going on that morning) and comes back to bed. "I'm tired." "Me too" and back to sleep we go. We are more skeptical than excited because come on, our one last chance before I go and get poked and prodded, whatever.
July 30, 2007: I'm still not a believer. "Another test, another positive." "Weird."
August 1, 2007: Still not convinced, I plunk down more of our hard earned money on outrageously expensive home pregnancy tests. "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Do you feel pregnant?" "Nope, I'm bloated like I'm going to get my period." "Huh."
August 4, 2007: We continue to work on the yarn room. We rip up carpet and beginning staining bookcases. We joke that this might all be futile because, haha, this could be a baby's room and maybe stain isn't the best thing in the world for a pregnant person to be inhaling but ha, come on, us and baby. Hardy har har.
August 6, 2007: "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Ya feel pregnant yet??" "Nope!"
August 7, 2007: It is the fifteen year anniversary of our first date. We celebrate with another test, and another positive. "This is so weird." "Maybe we really are knocked up?!?" Then we go to dinner and I have swordfish. I later learn that this is a high mercury fish and that I am an asshole for eating it.
August 9, 2007: We have our first doctor's appointment where the nurse cheerfully tells me that the stick turned pink and I am at the right appointment. We are given a bunch of information and we meet the doctor who looks eerily like my college president, Donna Shalala. "Congrats! Now I need a gallon of blood." We walk out laughing at the thought of Donna Shalala delivering our baby.
We look through the stuff they give us, including the food list and I start mourning the loss of sushi. Then I see that swordfish is bad and wonder how hard it is going to be to raise a child with an extra-ear growing out if its forehead.
August 13, 2007: I finish the yarn room and lurve it. It is, indeed, 'Better than Before.' It is also going to be a huge pain in the arse if we have actually have this kid and have to move it.
August 17, 2007: I'm almost seven weeks along and am sent for my first ultrasound. It seems that yes, there is a baby-to-be in there, though I think it looks like a bird. Or a bean, with a beak. There is only one, and it has a heart beat. I walk out of the office with a wonky, shit-eating grin because hey, I have a bean in my belly! I also wonder if the swordfish gave the bean a beak. I toughen my resolve to avoid sushi.
For the next few weeks I feel exactly the same as I always have. The pregnancy doesn't seem all that real. Sometimes I am a little sleepy, sometimes I am bloated, sometimes I am crampy. But for the most part I feel like me. I think, "This whole pregnancy thing is easy." I'm at a high risk for developing gestational diabetes so I get extra monitoring which is actually nice because I get reinforcement that the bean is still in there and growing.
September 17, 2007: I catch a cold. I realize that the pregnancy thing is not easy since I can't take any decent drugs. I am nasty and grumpy and Boo becomes scared that the next nine months of his life are going to be pure torture.
September 20, 2007: We fly to Florida for BeFri's wedding. I leave my doctor prescribed antibiotics in Connecticut. I am an asshole. Several calls later a new prescription is waiting for me in a twenty-four hour drugstore, in the Miami ghetto. I marvel at the possible irony of getting killed while picking up antibiotics. I survive the antibiotic pick up. Even though we are only twelve weeks, we bring one of the ultrasound pictures and decide to tell my uncle in person that we're having a baby. Even though we tell him and it is very exciting it still doesn't feel all that real. I also miss my mom and aunt and try not to dwell on the fact that they aren't around for the big news and to answer questions and tell me what their experiences were like.
September 24, 2007: We have the first trimester screening ultrasound. The bean is breech and uncooperative but they decide all looks well. Boo is surprised I can't feel all the hurkey jerky movements we see going on during the ultrasound.
October 6, 2007: We are fourteen weeks and out of the first trimester. It still feels unreal, but we go to Jersey to see Boo's family and tell them the news in person. Everyone assumes that we are pregnant and gossips that this is why we are visiting so we tell them we are moving to Ireland. The family is shocked about our move and we are smug. Heh, don't mess with us! We do finally tell them the truth.
Over the next few weeks we tell our friends. I am worried about jinxing things but Boo isn't and tells me to chill. I say I do, but I don't really. I still feel bloated and sometimes crampy. I have some sort of ligament pain which I am told is normal. I'm not stressed over the discomfort because it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy ride. Even acknowledging this whole pregnancy thing doesn't make it any more real. I wonder, shouldn't I feel pregnant?
November 1, 2007: We are eighteen weeks and have our level two screening. We are hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is uncooperative and we don't get gender, or good measurements. We have to go back in a few weeks. Boo, still surprised I can't feel any baby movements when they are so obvious on the ultrasound, thinks maybe I am an alien.
November 7, 2007: My favorite work pants are tight when I sit down. I don't look any different and I haven't gained any weight (but the doctors say this is normal and okay considering I could stand to lose a few anyway) but something must have shifted because the pants don't work when I am sitting.
Around week twenty, I have still not felt the baby move. I conclude that there is no baby. It is all a ploy. Boo thinks I am insane. I conceded that maybe there is a baby and I just can't feel it do to residual numbness from my gall bladder removal surgery or because I have belly flub. Though I don't feel the baby, I have developed a shooting pain in my left hip and butt cheek. My first real pregnancy "symptom" is sciatica. I am not stressed over this new discomfort because, again, it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy thing. I do wonder if, however, my mom or aunt ever had similar pain. I try not to dwell on it. We start getting gifts from friends which is awesome but also weird because hey, are we really having a baby?
November 22, 2007: I am sitting at my vanity getting ready for a trip to Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner and I feel the baby move for the first time. I interrupt Boo's shower to tell him this. We both are psyched. Kind of a cool way to ring in Thanksgiving.
November 28, 2007: Crazy tells me I am developing a gut. Boo who sees me naked on a daily basis disagrees.
November 29, 2007: We have our re-do of the level two screening and are still hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is, yet again, uncooperative and is breech. The ultrasound doctor, overwhelmed by the scent of our desperation, takes pity on us and really works hard. He determines that the bean is a girl bean. She's got "three lines." We giggle. Three lines. Now we must decide on a girl name. We decide we'll each submit a list of ten names come February. Three lines, hehe!
For the next month or so I still feel exactly the same. My sciatic pain has gone away and while I do feel the baby move, I often think it is phantom gall bladder pain, or gas. Every now and then she gets caught on my internal organs and reminds me that, "Yo, woman, I am a baby, NOT a gall bladder." She also likes to do a little River Dance on my cervix. I puke for the first time in the beginning of December, mostly because I messed up the prenatal vitamin taking schedule. Overall though, the pregnancy still doesn't feel real. I think I should feel more different. I feel fine and not-so-preggers. I have gotten stretch marks which is weird since I figured my body had stretched all it could since I have been heavier that I am now. My clothes, with the exception of my favorite work pants, still fit and I can't really tell a difference in how I look. Even my boobs are the same, much to my chagrin. I've had to start testing my sugar every other day and it is typically fine. I learn, however, that Panera Bread and Five Guys Burgers will raise my sugar, no matter what I eat. I still mourn sushi.
January 2, 2008: I wear my jeans and they fit fine. The pregnancy doesn't feel real.
January 3, 2008: I bend over to tie my shoe and vomit. I vow not to mess with the prenatal vitamin schedule ever again.
January 5, 2008: My jeans don't fit. Well, not if I want to sit down and breathe, at the same time. This makes no sense since they fit three days ago. I am confused but figure that I'm at twenty-seven weeks and pretty lucky that I haven't had to buy new clothes yet. I order maternity jeans which are ridiculous and so I return them. I then go through my wardrobe looking for all of my stretchy type pants and pants that were previously too big. I decide I have enough pants for now and so I don't bother looking for new ones to buy.
January 7, 2008: I am just over twenty-seven weeks pregnant and it is the first time a random person has noticed I am pregnant. I guess I am starting to show. Maybe my jeans were telling the truth. My boobs? Not bigger, still the same. Such underachievers.
January 8, 2008: My extra monitoring really kicks in and I have to schedule NSTs and ultrasounds for the next few months. I also start scheduling classes. I figure some of this will make the pregnancy thing feel real. It doesn't.
January 12, 2008: We start the registry process. I am sure this is a jinx and a bad idea but all of the books say we need to get on the ball. The registry process makes me cranky because not only do I fear the jinx, I don't know what any of the shit is and what we'll need. I mean come on, special towels for the baby? She is human right? What is wrong with my towels? We also look at a crib and dresser. We can't decide on anything so we put it off for a week knowing that it could take "up to ten weeks for delivery" and we have eleven weeks until Lady Bean's arrival. We feel no stress since Brian, the sales guy we spoke to, assures us that it usually only takes two weeks for furniture delivery.
January 22, 2008: We make a decision on the dresser and crib. Boo orders the dresser and is told that it will be in by April 5 - our due date. They assure him that it will probably be ready in about two to four weeks but they have to say ten weeks to cover themselves. The crib, however, is in stock so Boo brings it home. We look at the box and then prop it up against the wall. No need to rush to put it together, we have ten plus weeks.
January 23, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is big. Birthable, but big. This is Boo's fault since he was a big baby. Even knowing he was gig, I am somewhat surprised since I haven't gained any weight. Is she sucking the fat out of my ass? Am I making a baby out of butt fat?
January 29, 2008: It is my last girls weekend for a while and I have my first surprise shower. We now have baby stuff. Cool! Um, what do we do with it?
February 7, 2008: We have our first class. On breast-feeding. Nothing like jumping into the deep end. There are some odd ducks in the class with us. I'm impressed that a thousand year old woman can whip out her boob for a doll and not show a thing. I am angry that my peers can't do the same thing. I'm also bummed because I can't have sushi while I'm nursing. I'm just paranoid enough that I will follow the rules ... if only I hadn't had that damn swordfish!
February 9, 2008: We tour the Labor & Delivery area, as well as the Maternity area of the hospital with a group of morons. We realize that we might not know much, but we know more than the people surrounding us. We hope that none of these people end up giving birth when we do. Boo decides that I have somehow signed us into the reject group and is worried about the rest of our classes.
February 11, 2008: I have my first NST. It is easy peasy and I realize I am going to have plenty o' time to knit. We also have an infant care class. We still seem to be attracting the fruit loop contingent as classmates. Nonetheless, we pay attention and manage to put a diaper on a doll. We are so ready for this. If only it felt real!
February 16, 2008: We, and several of the fruit loop rejects, take a childbirth prep class. We watch a video of five births. Boo and I decide that the baby shall not be leaving my womb after all. We are both cool with this. She shall stay in utero until she is eighteen, at which point I will molt my skin like a snake and become and eighteen year old girl. I am told this is not possible. I think someone is lying.
February 18, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Jumbolia is ... still largeish. We meet with the doctor and there is discussion of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Nothing is set in stone but it does not seem like we will have to be induced at thirty-seven weeks so we are relieved. We still have no done anything about picking a name. People are getting peevish about this but it doesn't spurn us on.
February 23, 2008: We head to Jersey for a family shower. It still seems surreal because I don't feel pregnant. The shower is either close family or family I have met only once, at my father-in-law's funeral. I am worried this is like a big ole gift grab and tacky. No one else thinks this way though and I have a good time. I learn that one aunt-in-law is a Labor & Delivery nurse and offers any help or advice we might need. We ask her to live in our basement. She lives over three hundred miles away and doesn't want that kind of commute for to work. As if three hundred miles is all that far. Whatever. We also learn that you can throw away baby clothes if there is a blowout in public. We never ha thought of this. We think it's brilliant.
February 27, 2008: We begin the removal of the yarn from the yarn room. My awesome plan is not awesome. It sucks. Boo is doing ninety-nine point nine percent of the work, so I don't want to complain too much. But oy! What a pain in the ass.
March 1, 2008: I have my friend shower and it is fun! I wear the one shirt that makes me look preggers and everyone is impressed with the belly. I laugh knowing it is only the shirt. I bring home a lot of baby stuff and realize we have no where to put it. Huh, where is that furniture we ordered? Surely it has been two to four weeks.
March 3, 2008: We call the furniture store to track the dresser. We learn that there is no way to track the dresser and that it will arrive on or before April 5, 2008. Gee, great. As I have no nesting urges, I figure this is not a big deal. The stuff can stay in piles in the family room. Since my sleeping has started to suck, I wonder if being tired is why I have no nesting urge.
March 10, 2008: I have my first pregnancy pelvic exam and all is closed and normal. I am like a lock box. There is more discussion concerning delivery options and of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Still nothing is set in stone but it looks like I will be having a baby by forty weeks. Still no nesting urge and still no dresser. I do manage to organize the piles of clothes by size. I learn that there is no rhyme or reason to the sizing.
March 15, 2007: The dresser finally arrives and Boo and a friend get it in the room. Holy crap the room is small. Boo is excited and wants to put the stuff away. I want to take a nap and maybe eat a donut.
March 17, 2008: We have another ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is still large, but not too largeish. Assuming the calculations are right, which they may not be because this ultrasound is not so reliable. In fact, this is the least reliable ultrasound we are going to have. The doctor determines that Lady Bean is large enough that they will want her out at forty weeks so if I do not go into labor on my own, we'll be induced. I am officially full term so I might go into labor on my own, but since I haven't even had a practice Braxton Hicks contraction, I think this is unlikely. I mentally prepare for an induction. I continue to work out with my trainer who strikes a deal with Lady Bean that if she stays put while I am working out, PT will give her a gift later on. I still have no nesting urge and Boo takes the reins and does Lady Bean's laundry. Feeling guilty, I finally fold one load and realize I have no clue on how to fold something so small. I swear my granny panties are bigger than her clothes. Boo doesn't really know how fold it either, and I giggle at his months and months of Gap employment failing him miserably. We wing it.
For about a week I have wicked heartburn, pain in my right hip and butt cheek, and my sleeping sucks. I deduce that I finally feel pregnant but still don't feel like the whole 'having a child thing' is real. I am cool with feeling craptastic because so far the pregnancy has been smooth and there looks to be a real live human coming out at the end. I am also cool with more new stretch marks since I can play head games with myself and tell myself that I must have been thinner than I thought I was. It is crazy talk, but it works for me.
Marsh 24, 2008: I go in for my weekly exam. I am dilated 3cms. UM, WHAT? I have dilated through the early part of labor and didn't know. I have had no contractions. Not a Braxton Hicks, not a nothing. I am somewhat shell shocked. The doctor thinks I could go into labor on my own, but if I don't, come next Monday we will schedule an induction. For the second time during this pregnancy, I walk out of the hospital with a wonky grin on my face. I call Boo as I exit and respond to his, "Hey Babe!" with, "My cervix is dilated 3cms." He is now shell shocked too. I am nothing if not willing to spread the love. I am scared to walk around. What if this baby falls out of my gaping cervix? We wonder whether this will kick into gear my as of yet non-existing nesting urge. I sort of feel like this pregnancy might be real after all. I immediately go home and read some of the books we have. I learn heartburn and back pain usually accompany contractions in early labor. Well, I had two out of three. Go figure. I wonder if my yarn fatality that morning caused my gaping cervix. I vow to be more careful with my yarn. Boo comes home and we decide we should pack a hospital bag and think of a name. I offer up Justice Mariano. I note Justice is a tribute to my legal career and Mariano is a tribute to Boo's beloved Yankees. The name is voted a total dud. We decide to table the name discussion a little bit longer. We also don't pack a hospital bag. I go to bed with my gaping cervix and sleep better than I have in a week.
March 25, 2008: The shell shock of having a gaping cervix has worn off (though the joy of saying gaping cervix has not). I no longer feel the need to pack a bag or think of a name. The pregnancy has returned into that surreal realm and I go about my day like normal. I work out with my trainer. She reminds Lady Bean of their agreement wherein Lady Bean does not fall out at the gym.
March 26, 2008: Boo is entering crunch time for a huge project at work. A project that will effect seventy-billion-gazillion viewers, or some shit. I worry our baby is going to fall out at an inopportune time. I decide I shall put myself on my own version of bed rest which involves a lot of time on the couch. This does not suck. I start to ponder what type of jewelry I should wear during delivery. Do I go with my locket that has a picture of my mom and my dad, the same locket that I wore to pass two bar exams? Or, do I go with my mom's diamond flower necklace that I wore during our wedding. I realize that normal people would be practicing breathing or planning the items for their hospital bags. I am a freak.
March 28, 2008: I visit my clients in jail for the last time. In the car, while I am on the way, I tell Lady Bean that this will be the thirty-ninth and final time that she ever visits a prison AND I'M NOT MESSING AROUND YOUNG LADY, I MEAN IT! I'm not sure that she understands, but I have hope. I "pop my cork" so to speak. Scientifically it is kind of interesting but in reality it is odd. I still haven't had contractions, and though I am relieved that I am not contracting while Boo is working, I wonder if my uterus is broken. I go to our safe deposit box to get peruse my jewelry and end up sobbing over an old watch. I realize my hormones are really flying.
March 30, 2008: Boo's project is successfully launched. We have met the goal of not letting Lady Bean fall out while he was working. We celebrate by running errands to finish getting what we need for her arrival. We get nothing of importance and instead spend money on things like room decor. I still have no nesting urge and Boo is mentally fried so we go to dinner and plan to do the real stuff later.
March 31, 2008: The doctor determines everything was pretty much the same (I am thinking this could be because I spent my entire weekend reclining on the couch like a lady of leisure fearful of going into labor while Boo was working). In any event, if nothing happens on its own, I/we will be induced on Thursday, 04/03/08, at 5:30 a.m. Personally I think it is cruel to do anything at 5:30 a.m. other than sleep. I very circuitously, and with a whole lot of verbiage doing my legal education proud, asked the doctor, on average, understanding that there is no exact science to know how long these things take, but maybe he could make a guesstimate on how long it could take based on his years of practice and general experience on all things baby delivery related, factoring in me and whatever my medical files tells him, and considering same if he could make such a guesstimate when he thought we'd have a baby ... he says 6:20 p.m. I suspect he is laughing at me on the inside. I tell all this to Boo and explain that we will have a brand new baby at 6:21 p.m. on 4/3/8. Boo says, he would prefer 4/4/8 and that I should hold her in. He is the first, but not the last to tell me this. I hypothesize that I could name the baby Jamiroquai and get less shit than I am for not demanding the 4th. By the end of the day I am in a maudlin mood. I figure it is hormones.
April 1, 2008: I am in a better mood and survive my last full day at work. Crazy hasn't been talking to me so that makes things easier. I work out at the gym and feel really good. I think the exercise may have positive effects on my hormones. I hate exercise so this is a first for me. Once Boo gets home, we do some work on the house and I note that all of Lady Bean's decorations are bird themed. I worry she is going to have issues.
April 2, 2008: I am working my last three and a half hours with a grin on my face. Crazy, resumes talking to me having been silent for a week, and tells me she is going to pick on me and make fun of me and kick at me since I am leaving. I'd be confused except that her insanity doesn't faze me ... I only have to deal with it for three and a half more hours. Sweet! I get Dogbert and her bag and take her to daycare/boarding. I
As I pack the hospital bag, I intentionally try not to think about my mom and aunt or the fact that Boo and I are basically on our own. My family is almost non-existent and twelve hundred miles away. His, though larger, is also far. Neither one can ride to the rescue if we need a break or want to have dinner out. I have no doubt that we can do this, and do it well, all by ourselves. Nonetheless, I try to ignore the fact that we have to and swallow any bitterness that I have about it. We have our final dinner together, just us, and then Boo goes to get a new camcorder. We will NOT be recording the birth, but since it has been given to us as a gift, we figure we should get it.
April 3, 2008: I wake up at 3:45 a.m. and am tired. I'm not nervous, but this is probably because I am so tired that my brain can't function. Why the fuck does this have to start so early? I am a little put out because I haven;t had a chance to prrof read my ramblingbbgs but I figure guck it, I'm going to have a baby, I deserve some leeway.
Overall this pregnancy thing has been pretty easy and I am lucky. Getting pregnant, not so easy, but once we got there, I can't complain. Physically, it has not been difficult. The hardest part for me, emotionally for sure, has been re-mourning the loss of my mom, dad, and aunt. Sometimes that hurt is so fresh it surprised me. In any event, the overall experience has been pretty damn cool, and gloriously uneventful.
Even now, heading off to go birth this baby, it still seems somewhat vague or unreal. The best example I can come up with is a long planned vacation ... We've never been to Italy but we hear it's great and we are excited at the idea of going. For two years we talked about going but we couldn't afford it, couldn't make it work. And then, nine months ago, we won the lottery. We had the cash, we could finally take our trip. We booked airline tickets, reserved hotel rooms, and planned day trips for some great location in Italy. So for the last nine months we have talked about our trip and played the what-if game; we've discussed dining options, entertainment ideas, the weather and what to wear. We've taken classes on Italian and boned up on cultural stuff, but still there is no sense of reality. It is kind of one-step removed. All the prep work was just prep work. Even now, stepping on the airplane, I can't quite wrap my brain around this huge journey we are about to embark on. Intellectually I know that we're going to another country and it is going to be like nothing we have known before. But the reality is not real. I suspect that once we land in Italy, things will click. In the meantime, I am hoping the flight is smooth and terrorist free!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
NaBloPoMo, xiii
Someone had a bee up her bonnet yesterday, huh? I have issues with all the fuckers in this world that think they deserve a hand-out, or even a hand-up, just because they are breathing. Lack of personal responsibility is one of my pet peeves, and with everyone telling me I should sue or something because my employer owed me more than two weeks, well, it got me going. But I'm over it. So there ya go. Let's move on to rainbows, cotton candy and knitted delights.
Why yes, those are some work-in-progress shots of my sweater! Not because the pictures are all that great or fascinating, or that my sweater sleeve is almost done; mostly because I am running out of things to say. I figure if I am going to say them again (i.e., I worked on the sleeve some more), I should at least provide pictures.
You'll notice, if you look very closely and squint, that the sleeve seems to be switching colors. This happened despite my knitting from two balls at once because I am the opposite of slick. That is to say, I did knit from two balls at once. It's just that I started at the same point, with each ball new, so that I ran out of each ball at the same time. So basically all of that switching was for not. I just created a bigger area before the color change. So, I'm a creating a new category, a new thing with knitting rules for my feeble mind, a section consisting of "notes-to-self." Now normally my note-to-self is something along the lines of, 'X sits bare-assed on public toilet seats; note-to-self, don't sit on seat after X.'* But I evolve, I learn, and I grow. So, I'm expanding my notes-to-self to include useful knitting knowledge in the hope that it prevents further calamities ...
Note-to-self, when using two balls of hand-dyed yarn to provide color uniformity or mask color non-uniformity in large knitted piece, start knitting the balls from different points so that you don't run out of the two balls at once creating one big block of what you were trying to avoid. If you mess this up you'll need to add a third ball into the mix and that is a royal pain in the arse.
Okay, well, hmmm, that is hardly a succinct little gem. I'll have to work on it. And, speaking of working on it, I found the missing jaywalker socks, so I could, hypothetically, start working on them too!
* That one is for BeFri. She was dating X and almost spit Diet Coke on me when that particular note-to-self came into fruition.
Why yes, those are some work-in-progress shots of my sweater! Not because the pictures are all that great or fascinating, or that my sweater sleeve is almost done; mostly because I am running out of things to say. I figure if I am going to say them again (i.e., I worked on the sleeve some more), I should at least provide pictures.
You'll notice, if you look very closely and squint, that the sleeve seems to be switching colors. This happened despite my knitting from two balls at once because I am the opposite of slick. That is to say, I did knit from two balls at once. It's just that I started at the same point, with each ball new, so that I ran out of each ball at the same time. So basically all of that switching was for not. I just created a bigger area before the color change. So, I'm a creating a new category, a new thing with knitting rules for my feeble mind, a section consisting of "notes-to-self." Now normally my note-to-self is something along the lines of, 'X sits bare-assed on public toilet seats; note-to-self, don't sit on seat after X.'* But I evolve, I learn, and I grow. So, I'm expanding my notes-to-self to include useful knitting knowledge in the hope that it prevents further calamities ...
Note-to-self, when using two balls of hand-dyed yarn to provide color uniformity or mask color non-uniformity in large knitted piece, start knitting the balls from different points so that you don't run out of the two balls at once creating one big block of what you were trying to avoid. If you mess this up you'll need to add a third ball into the mix and that is a royal pain in the arse.
Okay, well, hmmm, that is hardly a succinct little gem. I'll have to work on it. And, speaking of working on it, I found the missing jaywalker socks, so I could, hypothetically, start working on them too!
* That one is for BeFri. She was dating X and almost spit Diet Coke on me when that particular note-to-self came into fruition.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)