Confessions of a Paranoid Parent

I'm baaaack!

2010-12-30T16:11:00.002-05:00

And boy, do I have a story for you!

("you" of course, means the computer-driven bots that leave spam comments on this blog, since no real people will ever see this post).

Since it's been a year since I last posted, I should catch you up on what's been happening here. The short answer is, "not much." Basically, we've been living our lives, enjoying our girls and looking forward to the future. I started thinking about going back to work, and we embarked on some major home renovations. A friend announced that she's having a third child, and both The Boy and I were able to express our heartiest congratulations, while both privately thinking "better you than me!" We're good at being a family of four, we like being a family of four, we are happy with two kids.

You already know what's about to happen, don't you?

Last week, we were in NJ for Christmas with my mom, and I felt lousy the whole time -- queasy and anxious. Naturally, I chalked it up to being with my mom (who could make anyone feel sick). Except that I still felt queasy after we got home. Add in the fact that I was about a week late, and I started thinking that maybe I should take a test, just for old time's sake. I already knew I wasn't pregnant. After all, I've been down this road before -- my period would be late, and a combination of wishful thinking and sheer delusion would drive me to the dollar store. Afterwards, sitting with the negative test in my hands, I'd feel like a jerk and promise not to do that ever again.

But still, I had a test in my cabinet from about a year ago, so I figured it couldn't hurt. At least I'd be certain and would be able to move on. So I took it, and got the shock of my life: a faint pink line. It was so faint I had to make my sister come confirm it was there. Which she did, so immediately called the Boy and ordered him to bring me FREDs.

When The Boy arrived home a half hour later with more tests, I immediately took another one, and the pee hadn't even finished crossing the window when a bright line popped up.

WHOA. This is impossible! For those of you who maybe don't know my history, I am infertile. I lost one fallopian tube to an ectopic pregnancy three years ago, and the other is so scarred and twisted that three separate doctors had told me I would never again conceive without the help of IVF. It is supposed to be physically impossible for me to get pregnant. And even if I did manage to somehow, miraculously, conceive, there was virtually no chance that the embryo would land in my uterus. I'd be looking at another ectopic for sure.

But here's the kicker -- not only am I pregnant , but it is NOT ectopic. We had an ultrasound yesterday, and there is a tiny little sac right where it should be. Miracle piled upon miracle.

At this point, it's way too early to determine whether this pregnancy is viable, but there is no particular reason to suspect it isn't. I'll go back in January for another ultrasound. And until then, The Boy and I will be trying to wrap our minds around becoming a family of five.

Consider our minds totally blown.

Wrapping up

2010-02-04T14:37:00.002-05:00

It's been what, like four months since I've posted here? I can't even imagine that there's anyone left reading (you know, out of the legion of fans I had before). Clearly, I'm not doing much blogging any more, so I think the time has come to wrap things up here. I figure I'll finish by tying off some loose threads:

My sister is doing much better. She's properly medicated and has been very receptive to treatment. There are still things in her life that are difficult and bad, but overall, I'm so damn proud of her. She's doing her very best to pull her life together, and so far she's doing a bang-up job. I hope and pray that I never, ever get that call again.

M, my M, is four years old now. She's smart and silly and cute and just all around great. She's old enough now that she has this whole secret life -- every day I ask her what she did in school, and she tells me she's keeping it a secret. And then, every few days or so, she'll say or do something that I had no idea she could do (draw a person, write her name, tell her lefts from her rights). She never fails to surprise, delight and exasperate me.

E is turning one next week. She's a tiny little dynamo -- short and small, and in perpetual motion. She started walking about a month ago, and I never get tired of seeing her stagger around. There are a dozen moments a day with her that fill my heart with joy, and I am glad every day that we decided that having a second child was worth the (emotional and financial) cost.

That said, E is definitely my last child (barring a miracle). As much as I love and adore her, The Boy and I both agree that, while a second child felt like a necessity for our family, a third child would be a luxury. And the resources that would go into that possible third would probably be better spent on the two we've already got. Add in the fact that I'm barely handling two, and we have a decision. One, I might add, that I'm actually 100% ok with. It feels really nice to know that our family is complete.

So that's the state of things here. Largely uneventful, just as I like it. Thank you to those people who have read this blog, especially through all of the "woe is me!" stuff. Just knowing you were out there got me through some really bad bits, and for that I am extremely grateful.

Recovery

2009-10-26T11:02:00.002-04:00

The good news is, my sister's ok (physically, at least). She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, but thankfully realized as she started getting sleepy that she really didn't want to die after all. So that's good, I guess.

I went up on Saturday, first flight out in the morning, last flight home at night. It's awful -- she's stuck in the er at a kind of crummy-looking hospital, just sitting there until a bed opens up, possibly today. So yeah, three days of sitting in a waiting room, staring at the walls. How very therapeutic.

At some point, I'm going to need to talk to someone about all this. Right now, I'm just struggling with the feeling that I should be there, even if it's just to stare at the walls together. But see, there are these kids, one of whom doesn't take a bottle and is still nursing. It's a catch-22. I can't take E to the hospital, but I can't really leave her, either. So I'm stuck with daytrips when I can arrange babysitting, and even those I'm hoping don't leave E to wean early. And then I feel guilty that I'm thinking about things like that when my sister is going through hell. I should be dropping everything to be there, doing whatever it takes, right?

I don't know. I'm a mess right now. (a thoroughly non-suicidal mess, just in case anyone thinks that I'm sounding worse than I am.) I hope that once we figure out where she's going to be long term, things will get clearer and easier.

wordless

2009-10-23T16:59:00.002-04:00

my sister tried to kill herself today. Thank heavens, she failed. But I've been on the phone woth the hospital trying to get information for almost an hour no, with no help. I cannot talk to anyone right now, so I'm posting here. i just needed to get that out.

It's like waiting for godot. "We can't help you here. Please hold. Please hold. Pleasehold. She's in critical, can't tell you anything. You can't find out information on a critical patient. Ok, when she leaves critical, who do I talk to? We can't give you any information then, either. You need to be here."

Am looking for flights now, but can't possibly get there until tomorrow (with E in tow). Oh, god.

Broadway Baby

2009-09-10T13:27:00.004-04:00

When I was little, I loved listening to Broadway musicals. It started with Annie, of course (wasn't every kid who grew up in the Suburbs surrounding NYC in the late 70s/early 80s obsessed with Annie?). But, spurred on by my involvement in a singing group, I was soon belting along to Grease, Chicago and Bye Bye Birdie. I never thought about what the words meant, I just sang. It wasn't until college that I learned what half of the things I'd so gleefully sung about actually meant.

I assumed the same would be true with M. I made her a mix CD recently of "princess music," consisting largely of songs from Disney movies. But I had some room on the CD, so I snuck in my favorites from Annie, Hairspray and Bye Bye Birdie. I (correctly) figured she'd like the music. My big mistake, however, was in assuming she'd just listen and maybe sing along without thinking about what the words mean. My folly has led to some interesting lines of questioning:

"What's a hard-knock life, Mommy?"
"Why are their lives hard?"
"What's an orphan?"
"But why don't orphans have Mommies and Daddies? Are they dead?"
"Are you half and orphan, since your daddy is dead?"
"Are you going to die?"
"when you go back to work, will I be an orphan?"

"What's a flasher?"
"Why does that girl's mom tell her 'no'"
"Why doesn't her mommy want her to dance on TV?"
"Can I dance on TV?"
(she also, incidentally, insists that the Tracey who sings "You Can't Stop the Beat" is a different girl then the one who sings "Good Morning, Baltimore," because they sound different.)

"Why are they on the phone?"
"Why are they singing on the phone?"
"but WHY?"

Seriously, if I'd know she was actually going to listen to the songs, I'd never have put them on the CD. The point was to get her to stop talking in the car, not to open up new and uncomfortable lines of questioning.

At this point, I'm just glad she's never heard any of my Avenue Q cd.

Stuff

2009-08-03T15:35:00.002-04:00

Just quick updates:

1. The baby is crawling. Not army-crawling, which she'd been doing for a while now, but actual, hands-and-knees crawling. I tell you, it's very funny to see this little tiny thing (she weighs 14.5 pounds at a week shy of six months) crawling. Plus, she's super proud of herself, so as she moves, she'll look up at me and crow. Adorable.

2. I'm back on some kind of diet -- since E was born, I've gained back all but 10 of the pounds I'd lost. Part of the reason is that I dove back into bad habits -- eating chocolate all day every day, for instance. So I've banned candy from the house and will be refocusing. I'm not fool enough to think I'll lose any weight, I just want to try not to gain any more before I end up gaining everything back.

3. My body continues to play with my head. Gr.

4. Two of my IRL friends, both of whom I like very much, are in a fight with each other. Each has privately confided in me, so I know both sides of the story. Aside from feeling dishonest because I haven't disclosed to either one that the other has spoken to me about the problem, I'm kind of frustrated because I feel like I should fix it. Mostly, it's been a problem of miscommunication combined with oversensitivity on both sides (seeing offense where none was meant). Unfortunately, I don't know how to fix it without betraying one or more confidences. Gargh. I'm not good at this kind of thing.

5. M continues to be a fantastic big sister. She adores E, who adores her right back. It's so nice to see the two of them playing so well together. Nice, that is, until M decides that she's big enough to pick up the baby and carry her around or move her to a different spot if M deems that E's too close to something M doesn't want her to touch. If there's a scarier phrase in the English language than "don't worry mommy, I''m moving the baby," I don't know what it is.

6. We're starting E on solid foods. So far, she hates rice cereal, will tolerate oatmeal, and doesn't really seem to like anything else. Mostly, she just doesn't like to eat because (a) mealtime means she's confined to a high chair, and there's nothing E hates more than being confined, and (b) I won't let her steer the spoon all by herself. If this keeps up, I fear that we're going to dealing with a very picky eater. That'll be a new experience, because M was a great, non-fussy eater from day 1. I've been very spoiled.

7. That said, if I place a plate of cheerios on the floor, E is about as happy as she can be. She LOVES cheerios, and if she can eat them while crawling around, so much the better.

8. I know this because I got tired of E picking carpet fuzz off the floor and trying to eat it. I finally figured that if she was so hungry, I'd give her something more nutritious than polyester to eat. So I put down a plate of cheerios, just to see what would happen. She devoured them with glee.

9. Am I a bad mom for feeding my 5-month-old on the floor like a dog?

WTF?

2009-07-14T09:17:00.003-04:00

Not pregnant (duh). No period. But I've been crampy, it's been a week now that my breasts have been sore, and I've been spotting.

What the heck is going on here?

My Body is Messing with my Head

2009-07-10T16:49:00.002-04:00

Did I ever tell you all that, when E was born, I asked the doctor that did the c-section to take a look at my remaining tube and tell us what she thought? No? Well, I did (ask, I mean). And then I felt bad, because she came into our room the next morning looking terrible, and hemmed and hawed and clearly thought she was delivering the terrible news that I am, indeed, infertile. We quickly reassured her that we knew that already, and that we were just checking in the hopes that, I don't know, maybe the tube had decided to become straight and unscarred while I was pregnant. But it hasn't, and that's ok. I think The Boy and I are both happy with the two kids we've got, and have come to terms with the fact that we won't have a son (heck, even if we did have a third, who's to say it wouldn't be another girl? Which, I hasten to add, we'd be fine with. I adore my girls and am glad that they are who they are).

Anyway, I know I can't conceive. I know this. And still, my body's messing with me. Specifically, these last few days I've been noticing that my breasts are sore. And so, even though I know that the chance I could be pregnant is infinitesimal, I'm still seriously considering buying a test. So far, I'm holding out, because I figure it's more likely that my period is getting ready to return and I'd feel like an asshole if I tested then got my period the next day.

But serious, when am I done with this? When will I really, truly accept the fact that we're done, there are no more kids coming, and that I will not be pregnant again? 'Cause I'd like to skip to that time, please. I have better things over which to obsess.

Oops

2009-07-07T15:22:00.003-04:00

Wow! I can't believe it's been over a month since I've posted. Life's been busy, what with the little one deciding that lying still is for chumps and the big one forsaking naps completely.

First, the little one: She'll be five months old this week. She remains rather easygoing, but at the same time absolutely hates being still. About the only time she complains is when she can't move around, either because she's strapped into her carseat or had run herself into a corner. Most of the time, she's happiest on the floor, where she creeps around, chewing on anything she can reach. She particularly likes the furniture, and has been known to take a casual tour of our family room, grazing first on the coffee table, then crawling over to the entertainment center for the entree, ending up at my computer chair for dessert.

She also loves paper and other chokeables. For instance, here's a list of things I have taken away from the baby just in the last hour (and yes, all of this indicates that I really need to clean up in here):

The newspaper
Three different hair elastics
Two pens, an index card, a tape flag and the packaging for the cards and tape flags (these were not lying around; I was working on a project on the floor and she raided my lap desk).
A child-safety outlet plug
M's hairbrush
a clothes hanger

Anyway, the baby's sheer mobility takes my breath away on a regular basis, and drives M plain up the wall. E's been army-crawling for at least a few weeks now, and has recently learned how to get up on all fours. She hasn't quite figured out how to coordinate her legs and arms for actual crawling (normally, she just rocks back and forth until she ultimately flings herself facefirst into the floor), but I know it's coming.

Meanwhile, M has gone and taught herself how to swim. She is now, for the record, a better swimmer than I am. It's crazy.

So, it's fair to say we're having a good time these days. There isn't much in the way of downtime, but the girls do a great job of keeping me amused, which is of course the whole reason for their existance.

Murder

2009-05-28T11:22:00.002-04:00

So, I drop M off at preschool this morning, and there's a small gaggle of moms clustered around one of the cars, peering under it and looking concerned. After I brought M in, I decided to give in to the nosiness and see what was going on. There was a copperhead snake hiding under the car -- apparently, it had crossed the parking lot right in front of one of the moms, then found a place it liked and was taking a nap two feet from the preschool's playground.

I'll admit, my first reaction was "oooh, cool! A snake! Let me see!" I've never seen a snake outside of a zoo before, so I was kind of curious. But as it was pointed out that copperheads are poisonous, I remembered that M would be the first kid to try to hug snakey should it ever venture onto the playground. Not so good. Clearly, the snake needed to move faaar away from the kid-infested area.

We called animal control, but they said that (a) it'd cost $150 for them just to come out, (b) it would take them at least an hour to get there, and (c) someone would have to stay and "babysit" the snake, because they'd charge extra if they had to search for it. So, lord forgive me, I mused out loud that maybe it'd be better if the mom whose car it was simply, oh, moved her car forward a foot or two and --ahem-- ended the problem.

So that's what we decided to do. One of the other moms queued her car up behind to do the actual rolling, and I was positioned between the snake and the playground with a garden rake, just in case he decided to make a break for the playground. Which, of course, he did. So I beat him to death. And then I burst into tears. I've never killed anything larger than a spider before (and even then, I feel a little guilty), and killing the snake was horrible. It didn't mean any harm and it couldn't fight back.

Ugh. I feel terrible and guilty and wrong. I keep telling myself that it could have bitten M or any one of the other kids at school, but it's really not helping.

How things change

2009-05-18T17:14:00.002-04:00

E is three months old now, and in many ways, it seems like she's just slotted effortlessly into our family. The schedule hasn't really changed much -- she's so easygoing that I can basically tote her around wherever we would normally go, and she'll do fine. And again, because she's easy, it definitely doesn't seem like there's much more work to do around the house (except for laundry. Adding one little person to the family seems to have added an avalanche of laundry).

However, there have been some changes on our lives (aside from the extra happiness of having a much-wanted, long-awaited bundle of cute hanging around). For one thing, my house is a mess. I feel like I should be getting back into the swing of things, but finding the time and energy to clean is proving difficult. More precisely, finding the time to clean at the same time I have the energy to do so is rough. M doesn't actually nap anymore, so my time is limited either to when she's in preschool (excluding travel time, I have 2.5 hours 2x a week) or when E is sleeping and M is watching tv or something. This happens surprisingly infrequently, and my preschool time is usually filled with errands and such. So the place is messy. Insanely so, even for me. I've really got to figure this out before the health department gets wind of us.

Of course, since I don't have time to do more than the most basic chores, many of my "me-time" activities have fallen by the wayside, too. As you may have noticed, there's barely any time for blogging these days. And I've gone from reading 3-4 books a week to being lucky to read one book a week. Heck, it's a miracle if I read one magazine a week these days.

Actually, the only leisure time activity that still claims as much time as it used to is, shamefully, television. That's the big indulgence for both The Boy and I. By the time we get both kids to sleep at night, it's usually close to 10 pm, and we're both shot. I know I could get a lot of chores done each night, but I just can't. It's almost all I can do to stay awake for an hour or two staring at the tube.

The funny thing is, as "busy" as things are, I don't feel busy. By and large, our days pass pleasantly, with lots of trips to the park or long meanders around the neighborhood. When M is busy, I get to spend time playing with E (who, for the record, can roll over both ways now, a trick she learned when she was still only two months old!). I manage to cook real dinners every night, and clean up a little bit here and there. And then the day is over and we do it all again the next day. It's a nice life, full of love and cuddles and laughter and play and heaps and heaps of joy. So it's ok that I'm drowning in clutter, right?

It's the little things

2009-04-30T16:18:00.002-04:00

I bought new shoes today. Two pair, in fact. I don't think I've ever bought myself two pairs of shoes at once, and it felt incredibly decadent.

Even better? They were these crocs and these, and I paid only $10 a pair. Now I'm sitting here admiring my pretty new shoes and contemplating whether I really need to go back to the store and collect more shoes in more colors. I can find somewhere to wear teal ballet flats, right?

Penultimate

2009-04-28T11:23:00.003-04:00

This one's for Rachel, who asked for a post about nursing:

Since M was born, I've had a love/hate thing going with nursing. I had a really hard time nursing M for the first four months -- I was in pain every single day, and the two of us just really seemed to have a hard time getting it right. I think M was well over four months old before I ever dared to nurse in public, let alone without a boppy or the My Breast Friend pillow.

For those first few months, we weighed M every few days and kept meticulous track of how often and how much she ate. I pumped pretty much every day, usually twice a day, just to make sure my supply would be adequate. I was miserable, but not quite miserable enough to quit. Instead, I told myself every day that if at the end of the day i really couldn't do it anymore, then the next day I'd go and buy some formula. That permission to stop somehow made it much easier for me to keep on going.

And then, suddenly, things worked out. Nursing wasn't hard anymore, and I wasn't in pain anymore. From that point, nursing became a matter of convenience more than anything. It had become easier to pull up my shirt than it was to prepare bottles. M was happy, I was happy, and there we stayed.

I didn't start out with the intention of nursing beyond one year -- in fact, I'd been of the camp that thought "if the child is old enough to ask for it, she's too old to be nursing." But once M turned one and showed no sign of interest in weaning, I figured it was fine to keep at it. Yes, she could ask to "nuss," but that turned out to be ok with me. She was on solid foods, of course, so we no longer needed to nurse in public, but it was something both of us enjoyed at home. To the best of my memory, she probably nursed about four-five times a day -- definitely before nap, before bed until she was about 13 months old (at which point we weaned her to a bottle of milk), and usually at least once in the middle of the night.

I seem to recall that from about 16-21 months, I halfheartedly attempted to wean M. I followed Dr. Sear's advice on weaning, which amounted to "don't offer, don't refuse." That didn't work so well, as M (like her mom) never, ever forgot to ask to eat. That was ok with me, though, because though I would have been fine if M had weaned, I didn't particularly care that she was still nursing.

Finally, though, our fertility situation became such that I had to wean M. We decided to start a cycle of clomid in October 2007, which meant that M needed to be weaned by the time she was 22 months old. So I stepped up my efforts -- when M would ask to nurse, I'd explain that my breasts were empty. To my surprise, that seemed to work (though my memory here could be faulty. I know I discussed weaning on this blog, so if you really want to know what happened, you might check my archives for September and October '07).

Once I did decide to wean M, I was shocked at how easy it was. I think I'd given myself a month to wean completely, but it only took a week or two.

With E, nursing has been easy from the very first moment. I had some pain for the first few weeks of her life (and a brief period of vasospasms), but nothing like the pain I was in with M. Plus, E latched really easily and was much sturdier at birth than M was. I've barely used the Boppy pillow at all, and only use the Breast Friend pillow when I want my hands free to do something else while E nurses. Instead, E literally eats on the run, either in the Ergo while we're out and about, or just in my arms while I do other things around the house. With M, I think I spent the majority of her first three months on the sofa, just nursing (and watching TV) because I felt like nursing required all of my focus. With E, if I'm not doing something else while she's eating, I feel like I'm being a slacker.

E's attitude towards nursing is also totally different from her sister's. M was definitely a comfort nurser. Every time she was sad or hurt or upset, she would turn to my breasts for comfort. E does not. When she got her two-month shots, she did not want to nurse. She was pissed off, and wanted to scream it out! E's attitude certainly requires a little more imagination and effort on my part than M's did, since I can't just rely on using my body as a handy pacifier. On the other hand, it's nice that E is a little bit more independent, even at this age.

I don't know how long I'll end up nursing E. I suspect it will depend largely on her. As with M, I'm in no particular hurry to wean, especially since I know E's my last baby. I'll be interested to see if she's as avid a long-term nurser as her sister was.

Look Everyone, No Hands!

2009-03-23T17:01:00.002-04:00

Ok, this two-kids thing isn't exactly hard, but it is intense. The girls seem to be staggering their needs so that I never have too much on my hands at once (with the exception of the fact that the second I start nursing E, 8 times out of 10, M will head straight for the bathroom, thus ensuring that I'll have to come clean her up rather than focusing on the baby). However, this also means that I have about 1 hour a day when I don't have one or the other of them demanding immediate attention. I've been using that hour for such frivolities as showering, cooking, cleaning and otherwise trying to pretend I still have a grip on my household responsibilities. So, not much posting here, at least until I figure this out a little bit better.

Fashion Mavens, I Need Your Help

2009-03-16T15:52:00.002-04:00

Usually on this blog, I give way more information about myself than anybody needs. I know this. And I also talk somewhat incessantly about how I'm fat, but I've always been cagey on exactly how fat. But now I need some advice, so here we go with the details.

I'm 5ft4 on a tall day, and I wear somewhere between a 20-24, depending on the clothing manufacturer and style. My body is definitely pear-shaped. I have smaller (proportionally) arms and chest, but a big belly and a huge bottom. Most of all, I have tree-trunk legs. Even when I was skinny, my legs looked fat. I don't really have ankles, and since I've been fat, much of that weight has actually settled in my thighs and calves. Seriously, my calves have a larger circumference than the thighs of the normal-sized people I know.

For this reason, I rarely wear skirts, but I do love nice, floaty dresses. Every spring I develop a hankering for them. I never actually buy or wear dresses, because I have absolutely no desire to cause traumatic blindness in everyone I encounter. But now Old Navy (pretty much the only place I shop anymore, despite my well-documented love/hate relationship with them) is carrying these, and I kind of want one. They're nice and long, and would cover up most (if not practically all) of my legs. And their empire waistlines seem like they'd be pretty forgiving of my belly.

On the other hand, these dresses make even the models look like they're hiding something. On a short, fat, girl, wouldn't it just look like I was wearing a mumu? Or worse, a housecoat, like Edna in Hairspray? And also, do you think these would be inappropriate for the park or a playdate? It's been so long since I've departed from my uniform of jeans or khakis with a v-neck t-shirt that I honestly have no idea how to wear anything else.

Help me, people who know how to dress. You're my only hope.

Back on the diet bus

2009-03-13T09:10:00.003-04:00

I knew it was too good to last. I've gone a little crazy since E was born (plus, I've been super-hungry), and so I've stopped losing weight and started gaining again. So, it's back to dieting for me. I think I'm going to go back to following (loosely) the GD diet, with some adjustments for the fact that I'm no longer pregnant (less fatty red meat; more fruits and veggies). Some aspects of the diet were quite difficult for me to adjust to at first (particularly the "wait at least two hours between meals/snacks instead of continuously stuffing your face all day" part), but I'm thinking they were also the wisest advice for someone like me.

I'm also taking things slow this time around. I have about 65 pounds to lose, and I'm giving myself at least three years to do it. In fact, my only goal for the rest of 2009 is to lose 14 pounds. I think (I hope?) it's possible that I can do that in the next 9 months.

No Good Deed

2009-03-11T17:59:00.001-04:00

During my IVF cycle (a year ago now), I ended up, as so many do, with more drugs than I needed. Specifically, I had an entire, unopened 900-unit vial of follistim left over, and the clinic wouldn't take it back. It sat in my fridge for almost a year, just in case we needed it.

As my due date approached and I started thinking that we may well actually have the baby, the presence of that vial started bugging me. If you haven't done IVF, then you should know that Follistim is very expensive. As in, hundreds (possibly a thousand) dollars for one little vial. I knew there were people out there who hadn't yet been as fortunate as we'd been, and who could really use what I had.

So, I posted a message on an IVF group to which I belong. I had extra drugs, whatever could I do with them? As expected, I soon heard from two women, both of whom were paying for IVF out of pocket and both of whom really, really wanted my follistim. I gave it to the first woman who responded. I would not, of course, be charging her for the drug, but we did agree that she'd reimburse me for my shipping costs, especially as it would need to be shipped overnight (Follistim needs to be refrigerated).

I lovingly packed up that Follistim box with several ice packs and a nice little note full of well-wishes, and sent it to the middle of nowhere (seriously, this woman lives so close to the back of beyond that the guy at the UPS store later called me to tell me he wasn't sure the town to which I was sending it even existed). Because she lived in a rural area and because I was shipping overnight, the shipping costs were exorbitant -- I'd been expecting to pay $20, $30 tops, but instead I spent over $70 to give her my drugs.

I tracked the package, and confirmed that she got it. She, in turn, told me she'd sent out the check. A few days later, she emailed me to tell me her envelope had been returned, so I re-sent her my address and she claimed to have remailed the check.

That was in mid-January. About two weeks later, I emailed her asking if maybe her check had been returned again, as I hadn't received it. She claimed it got lost in the mail, and that she'd send me a replacement via Fedex overnight. An entire month later, I still haven't received her check, and now she won't answer my emails. In the meantime, she continues to post to the IVF group -- my Follisitim worked for her, and she's now happily pregnant.

I have to say, at this point, I'm well and truly mad. I don't begrudge her the hundreds of dollars in drugs, but it really bothers me to have spent nearly $100 that I could have used on other things, and now she can't even be bothered to reimburse me. And for some reason, it's worse because her cycle worked. I think if she'd gotten a BFN, I would have let the issue slide completely, because why torment her? But she appears to be as happy as a clam right now, even as she fails to recognize the stranger who had a small part in making her happiness possible.

The mean, nasty part of me is tempted to call her out publicly, by posting to the group that I still haven't been paid. But what if she's telling the truth? What if, through no fault of her own (and as thoroughly farfetched as it seems), three separate checks sent by two different carriers have failed to make their way to me? Even more, what if she really is in financial dire straits, and the $70 that's an annoyance to me is her family's grocery money this week? I don't dare call her out without better information, but I'm still really mad. So I'm writing about it here, feeling angry and impotent and frustrated.

Any ideas? What would you do?

Changes

2009-03-02T14:23:00.002-05:00

Today I'm 3 weeks post-partum, and I find myself needing to get reacquainted with my body. Seriously, I'm changing on a daily basis these days. It's so weird!

First, I must have told you all a time or 10 that I didn't gain any weight with E's pregnancy. In fact, my final weight (at my last appointment, anyway) had me down 1.5 pounds from pre-pregnancy. I assumed that meant I could expect to see the scale dip 10-15 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight once E was born and things started to normalize.

Instead, as of this morning, I am down a whopping 34 pounds! I know a lot of it is fluid loss, but it's still pretty exciting to get on the scale in the morning and see numbers I haven't seen in at least 3 years. It's definitely keeping me motivated to avoid going back to my previous bad food habits, though I will admit that I'm not being perfect (how could I be, when it's Cadbury Mini Egg season?) It's also a little difficult because I seem to be ravenous a lot of the time, but I'm determined not to gain weight again like I did after M was born. I'm looking at these 34 pounds as a gift to spur my larger weight-loss efforts, and I don't want to just squander that gift.

Second, I find myself rather more well-endowed than I used to be. This shouldn't really be surprising, since most women's chests get larger when they're pregnant or nursing; but it's never happened to me before. When I was skinny, I was barely an A cup. As I got fatter, I went up to a B, and that's where I stayed through all of my pregnancies and through 2 years of nursing M. Now, however, I'm a full C, bordering on D. And I kind of like it. I hope it sticks around for a while.

All in all, things are going pretty well for me, self-esteem wise. Make no mistake, I'm still fat (it'll take me another 70 pounds to get comfortably into the healthy BMI range), but I'm skinnier than I've been in years. Plus, with my new rack, the rest of me actually looks a little thinner. For the first time in years, I feel like a healthy-ish weight is within my grasp. I'm clinging to that belief as I try to maintain this momentum.

And in the meantime, I've banned Mini Eggs from the house. I just can't be trusted not to eat an entire bag in a day.

Bliss

2009-02-16T15:35:00.002-05:00

E is one week old today, and I swear, I have never met a calmer, happier baby. She eats, she sleeps, she cries briefly if she needs a diaper change or we put her in the car seat, and she snuggles. I am blown away at how happy and sweet this past week has been. Of course, I still haven't been alone with both kids for more than an hour at a time (my in-laws, bless them, are taking shifts to come up and be with us because The Boy went back to work this morning), but still, things are good.

I think all babies should be second babies.

I"m working on the birth story,but the downside to having wonderful supportive help at all times is that I also lack privacy at pretty much all times, so maintaining this blog is a challenge. Things should be back to normal(ish) in a week or so.

The Birth Story

2009-02-12T08:31:00.009-05:00

So, I have a lot to say. I've written about 20 posts in my head in the last week, but today's the first time I've had a chance to sit down and type. I figure I'd better get the birth story up first. Warning, there's a fair amount of TMI here...

I woke up around 2:00 Monday morning (the 9th) and needed to use the bathroom. When I was done, I stood up and, well, there was still stuff coming out. I thought it was probably just some leftovers from the way the baby was pushing on my bladder and cleaned myself up again. Then it happened again. At that point, I figured out that my water had broken. Unfortunately, there was meconium in it, which freaked me out because I always thought that means fetal distress.

So I woke up The Boy and he called the doula. The plan was for her to come over and we'd head right to the hospital (our plan to wait as long as possible before heading in went out the window when I saw the meconium). The Doula (R) would stay with M until my mother-in-law could get here, then she'd come meet us at the hospital.

Made all of the phone calls, then called the hospital to let them know we were coming. The nurse calmed me down about the meconium. She said that I did need to come in, but that it's totally normal for full-term babies to have meconium in the fluid and that the baby was most likely just fine.

So when R got here, we decided just to wait for my MIL. By this time, it was nearly 3 am, and I'd started having contractions. Nothing too bad or intense, but they were becoming fairly regular. I drank a coke in the hopes of waking the baby, since I was still pretty paranoid that she was in trouble and I hadn't been feeling her move. The little stinker kept right on sleeping.

Got to the hospital around 4 am and headed to triage. The resident came in and told me they'd do an exam with a speculum to see if my water really had broken. Her nurse lifted up my gown, saw the chux pad underneath me and said "we have a gross rupture, you won't need the speculum," then proceeded to look horrified and apologized about 5 times for using the word gross. I assured her that I knew she wasn't calling me gross, and we all laughed. They hooked me up to the monitor and there was E's heartbeat, strong and healthy as ever. They also checked me and said I was 1-2 cm, the baby was at -2 and and my cervix was still quite thick.

So, on to the room. By this time, the contractions were getting stronger, but still totally doable. The attending on duty told me they'd give me 4 hours or so to labor on my own, then check to see if I was making any progress. So that's what we did for the next four hours, as the contractions got stronger and closer together. The Boy and R were great, giving me counterpressure and focal points and everything I needed to get through the contractions.

At around 8:30 am, they checked again. 100% effaced, and 3-4 cm! We were progressing exactly as we were supposed to. I spent the next few hours trying different positions and places, getting through the contractions. Ultimately, I liked either hanging onto The Boy or leaning over the birth ball, which was on the bed, during contractions, then sitting down in the rocking chair in between. I also tried the shower, but frankly, it didn't help that much.

And then the Megas began. I'd have a contraction, but instead of ending, it would just kind of ramp down to about 50% intensity for a few minutes before a "new" contraction would start. Whereas before I had a minute or two to sit and regroup between contractions, now I couldn't move. The pain never went away long enough for me to do anything but keep doing my deep breathing/moaning in between then yell for counterpressure as the new peak began. This went on for about 45 minutes, until the L&D nurse noticed that I never seemed to stop contracting. She told me it wasn't normal and called the attending.

And I should say right here, thank heavens for my L&D nurse, D. She was absolutely amazing, from beginning to end. She was totally supportive of my wish to go natural; in fact, she said she was really excited to be with me because most of her moms get epidurals early on. She was able to help us realize that the Megas were a bad thing and to get us help.

So anyway, the attending came in and checked me, and I was at 7.5 cm! Unfortunately, he decided I was actually only about 75% effaced, not 100% as he'd previously told us. He agreed with the labor nurse that the mega-contractions weren't normal, and he offered me a shot of Terbuteline (sp?) to try to space them out. I took it gratefully, and it kicked in in a few minutes. Not only did I start getting breaks between contractions again, but the terbuteline also made the contractions I did have a lot less intense. I was able to sit, breathe and talk, and celebrate the fact that I was getting close to transition.

Terbuteline, unfortunately, is both a quick-acting and quick-clearing drug. I got a good 45 minutes to an hour of relief, but then another mega-contraction began. This time, I got the Terbuteline about 30 minutes into it, but the drug took much longer to work -- it was at least another half hour before I got any relief. In the meantime, I literally could not speak, even "between" contractions. Things just never backed off to the extent that I could do anything besides hang onto my ball for dear life and moan. By this time, I was feeling a little panicky -- I desperately wanted some relief, but could not even muster the words to ask for it.

Finally, the Terbuteline kicked in, and I announced that I wanted my epidural RIGHT NOW. Again, my L&D nurse was wonderful -- she knelt down, looked me in the face and told me she was concerned -- she said I was handling the individual contractions just fine, but that it seemed to her that I was tensing up and worrying about what was going to happen, as opposed to what was actually happening at any given moment. She was right, and I knew that, but I still wanted the drugs. My rationale was that if another mega started, I wouldn't be able to ask for help, so I'd rather have it in place before that happened. To their credit, The Boy, the nurse and R all realized I was serious and were very supportive. They called the doctor to let him know I wanted the epidural.

When the doctor came in, he checked me and told me I hadn't made any progress at all since my last check (that had been at around 1:00 pm, and it was now around 4:00 pm). He told me he thought I had cephalo-pelvic disproportion and that I should skip directly to a c-section. He also started outlining all of his concerns that I would rupture, because I was laboring for so long and so hard and not making any progress, and he decided to tell me about all of the ruptures he'd seen and the babies he'd seen die. I didn't know it at the time, but behind my back, The Boy and R were rolling their eyes at Dr. Doom. Frankly, I didn't care -- I knew he was full of shit (cephalo-pelvic disproportion is a fancy way of saying "we think the baby is too big for you to get her out," and I know damn well it's a crap diagnosis that's often pulled out when a mom takes longer than average to progress during labor), but the only thing in the entire world that I cared about at that point was making the pain stop. I asked if I couldn't just get the epidural and see what happened (figuring that if I needed a c-section, I'd get an epidural anyway, so I had nothing to lose), but he explained that this hospital doesn't use epidurals for c-sections, but rather spinal blocks. He agreed to leave us alone for a little while to make our decision.

The following 20 minutes or so were, no kidding, some of the most difficult ones of my life. Rationally, I knew there was no reason I couldn't keep trying to deliver the baby vaginally. I knew that each individual contraction wasn't so bad. I also knew that it was really ok that I hadn't progressed in a few hours -- labor often slows or stalls when a woman is feeling panicky (as I was), and I figured the Terbuteline was also making my contractions less effective. At the very least, I figured, the epidural would help me deal with the mega-contractions and we wouldn't have to use any more Terbuteline.

However, at that point, I was very close to being beyond rational thought. All I could think about was the pain and my fear of another mega-contraction. Plus, The Boy had spoken to the doctor and had been assured that at this hospital, it was policy not to separate the baby from her parents unless absolutely necessary -- at the very least, The Boy would be able to stay with her at all times. Since the main reason we wanted a VBAC in the first place was not wanting to be separated from the baby like we were with M, this knowledge made the c-section very seductive. The pain would be over, the baby would be safely out in a matter of minutes, and we'd be able to keep her with us. Finally, I knew that if I had an epidural, I'd need to wait for two other women in line ahead of me to get theirs before I got pain relief, and at the time I believed that I'd have the c-section very shortly after we made the decision. So, we decided to go with the c-section.

No sooner had we made the decision, of course, than we learned that both of the ORs were full at that point, and it would be an hour before we actually got the c-section. Boy, was I pissed! But there was nothing we could do -- I took it one contraction at a time and made the doctor promise to check me again before I got wheeled back, because if I'd made progress than I'd skip the c-section and keep trying for a VBAC.

At around 5:00, it was time to go - the doctor checked me and told me I'd only progressed another half a centimeter, so we went forward with the section. I walked to the OR and they gave me the spinal. Within minutes, I was feeling great -- I couldn't feel anything at all below my breasts, and for the first time in a good 6 hours, I wasn't in pain. It felt wonderful. I did end up getting sick at one point, and since I had a cold and was totally flat on my back, my nose stuffed up to the point where i couldn't breathe at all. But it wasn't so bad, and the OR staff could not have been kinder. They brought The Boy in and got started.

It seemed to take forever, but finally, she was out. My memory of the moment is a little fuzzy -- I remember them holding the baby up, but all I could catch was a glimpse of her leg before they brought her over to the warmer for evaluation. At that point, she let out her first cry, and I absolutely lost it. I couldn't stop crying and laughing. My girl was here, safe and alive. I think that, until she was born, I really hadn't let myself believe that she'd be ok, so the feeling of relief and joy was overwhelming.

While they stitched me up, we watched them evaluate E, clean her up and take her footprints. Then the pediatrician held her up and guessed that she weighed 7 lbs, 15 oz. I was pretty impressed -- she was off by less than two ounces (so much for that 37 week ultrasound that estimated her at 8 lbs 12 oz, huh?). Eventually, they wheeled me into the recovery room and handed E to me. She began to nurse almost immediately. It was amazing -- we were allowed to keep her with us for an entire 24 hours before we finally decided to relinquish her for her first bath.

Overall, my birth experience wasn't what I had hoped, but it really doesn't bother me at this point. I'm quite proud that I made it to 7.5 cm without any pictocin or pain relief. And while the c-section wasn't ideal, at least I know I wasn't bullied into it. I knew darn well that the reasons the doctor gave for recommending the c-section were bogus, but I also knew that whatever happened, it was my decision. I think that's why having had a c-section isn't bothering me much. This time around, I was able to make an informed choice. From one perspective, I suppose it seems like I gave up or sold out (and, well, I kinda did), but that's ok, too. I can honestly say I'm comfortable and satisfied with how things shook out, and that's not a small thing.

She's Here!

2009-02-11T16:26:00.000-05:00

Just dropping in to say that our wonderful, perfect daughter, E, arrived on Monday afternoon. My water broke at 2:00 am, and she was born via c-section at 5:50 pm. She weighed 8 lbs exactly and was 20 inches long. She nursed like a champ 20 minutes after she was born, and has been doing wonderfully ever since.

I'll write full details later, but for now I should say that we are all fine; great, even. The c-section wasn't my first choice, but I'm definitely ok with how things shook out.

Nope, not yet.

2009-02-08T14:17:00.004-05:00

But you know what? It's ok. I've decided to be a little bit zen about it. If the kid's not ready to come, she just isn't. Nothing I can do (short of pictocin, of course) is going to force her to come before she's ready. (Oh, and Rachel, my doula did suggest acupuncture, but The Boy is skeptical, and since I'm both cheap and needle-phobic, we decided not to pursue it. I may change my mind tomorrow).

In the meantime, it's in the 70s and sunny out today. I dare anyone to be anxious or worried on such a day. Even better, my in-laws took M last night so The Boy and I could have a night of uninterrupted sleep (we've all had colds, so we've all been awake a lot). We slept "late" (until 8:30), then took our time reading the paper, then ran some errands. Just being outside and feeling the sun on my face is like a balm. It reminds me of the spring to come, and of my favorite time of year here in NC. And no matter what, come spring, this child will be here (well, barring horrible and tragic things). Today, I'm choosing to focus on that positive note instead of freaking out over my still-pregnant state.

(which is not to say that I won't be back to my normal freaking-out self tomorrow, of course).

Now off to get some more "exercise" by doing some triple-coupon shopping. This is what passes for recreation here in my world, folks. Try not to expire from the excitement of it all. :-)

Back in the Cage

2009-02-06T08:31:00.002-05:00

So, today's my due date, and this kid isn't anywhere near ready to come out (for those who keep track of such things, still 1 cm, 50-60% effaced, baby hasn't engaged yet). So I find myself back at square 1, choosing between a possibly-dangerous induction and a fervently unwanted c-section.

That's not to say that all of the doctor-changing angst has been for naught. To their credit, the practice I switched two has been really great about explaining exactly why it's a bad thing that I am about to be post-dates. Nobody has so much as whispered concerns about the baby's size; rather, the concern is that post-dates babies, especially those of gestational diabetics, are at a much increased risk of sudden and unexplained (and therefore unpreventable) fetal death. The risk is still small -- somewhere between 4 8 out of 1000 for a well-controlled GD like me, but it does still exist, and I can't really blame the doctors for wanting to do anything possible to eliminate that risk.

Still, I can't say as I'm happy right now. While the greatest part of me is mindful of exactly how lucky we are even to be having this beautiful, healthy little girl, there is a small part of me that wants to lay down on the floor and throw a temper tantrum. I just wanted one thing about having this second child to work out like we'd dreamed, you know? I really wanted the chance to learn from the mistakes we made from M's birth, and to see if my body was indeed capable of doing something normal and right for once. I guess we know the answer now.

All is not totally lost. We are probably going to try for the induction, but even if we can't do that, the c-section isn't until next Thursday (the 12th). There still remains a chance, however remote, that I will go into labor by myself before then. To that end, I'll be taking M to the mall and marching around for hours to encourage the child to drop, then doing all of those other "natural induction" things that they say could help. I figure I have nothing to lose at this point.

I'm going to be pregnant forever, but that's not necessarily a bad thing

2009-02-02T14:03:00.002-05:00

Well, still pregnant over here. I've had tons of contractions that are a mite too painful to be called Braxton-Hicks, but nowhere near intense enough to be considered real, but they're sporadic and clearly not signs of actual labor. Seems like this kid is settling in for the long haul.

And I think that maybe I'm ok with that. All weekend, she was super-squirmy , which I love. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she's responding to me when I rub my belly in the general vicinity of her bottom or when I speak to her. Plus, she's big enough now that the rolling of my belly is visible from across the room. I love feeling and watching her move, even when she's head-butting my cervix.

Plus, M has kicked up the love for baby Dep (yes, she still calls her that). First thing every morning, she comes into our room and kisses the baby hello. This is something I didn't teach her to do, because frankly, I think it's kind of creepy (in an endearing kind of way). She also tickles and hugs my belly, and keeps telling Dep that it's time to come out. It's super-cute, and I fear that this devotion will end as soon as Dep is a real, crying human being who is taking Mommy's attention.

And finally, the longer this kid stays in, the longer we have to brainstorm names for her. Right now, we have three names on the list, each of which we loved at one point but are no longer that crazy about. I keep hoping that a fit of inspiration will strike and we'll come up with the perfect name -- classic, lovely, normal-ish, and with lots of nickname possibilities so that she can choose what she wants to be called someday. But seeing as The Boy's top choices still include such gems as Winifred, Penelope, Esme and Gwendolyn, I don't see any new names coming down the pike that we'll agree on. (not that there's anything wrong with these names. They're perfectly fine for anyone who is not my kid). And in fairness, I should point out that I'm attracted to my fair share of strange names -- for a while, I was trying to convince The Boy that Aiofe (pronouce Ee-fa) was a perfectly reasonable middle name.

False Alarm

2009-01-31T11:03:00.003-05:00

Woke up yesterday morning sick as a dog. Made The Boy stay home from work, MIL came and got M. Started having contractions (tiny little ones) around 10 am, but they were sporadic. In the meantime, I couldn't keep food or liquids down to save my life.

By 6 pm, I'd had two really good stretches of strong, evenly-spaced contractions. Still clearly early labor (didn't hurt much), but we thought something was happening. But we sent the Doula home because we figured we'd be in for the long haul.

8:00pm, I went in to go to sleep, and did manage a short nap. But I noticed that I was again having contractions regularly, and these were definitely of the painful variety (though not incredibly so). I waited until 9:00, then called The Boy. He came in and timed them for 1.5 hours, and sure enough, every 3-5 minutes, lasting around a minute each! So we called the doula back.

By 12:30 am, the contractions hadn't stopped. They'd been steady and consistent for a good 4 hours, so we decided to head into the hospital.

Got to L&D, got strapped in to the monitor (me contracting all the while), and the resident checked me. One centimeter. ONE F'in CENTIMETER! False labor, so we got sent home, still contracting all the while.

Got home around 4:30 am, and went straight to bed. Seems like the contractions stopped the second my head hit the pillow, and they haven't started again. So now we're feeling sheepish and silly, and calling back everyone on our list to say no, sorry, we're really not in labor. Oops?

The good news is, the doctors at the hospital could not have been kinder or more compassionate. They told me we absolutely did the right thing by coming in, and that they could see that I really was having good contractions. They also let me go home, which is a huge deal to me. They said that they could keep me there, but then everybody would start getting antsy and we'd all be tempted to do things to move labor along, which (a) isn't necessary, and (b) and they know we don't want. That's such an amazing statement on a few levels -- first, that the doctors on call actually read my birth plan, and second, that they were completely respectful of our wishes. Both The Boy and I left feeling sheepish, but also really confident that we made the right decision in switching hospitals. That right there is the silver lining that practically dwarfs the cloud of feeling silly for thinking we were really in labor.

Is this it?

2009-01-30T06:51:00.002-05:00

It's 6:45 am. Woke up about a half hour ago with terrible stomach upset. Now I'm jittery and unable to concentrate on anything for more than about 2 minutes at a time, and I have a braxton-hicks every time I move.

Could this be it? I'll keep you posted as soon as I stop panicking.

The Posts You Never See

2009-01-28T09:03:00.003-05:00

I know that I don't actually post here every day, but believe it or not, I do actually write almost every day. It's just that sometimes, I read over what I wrote and decide it's not fit for public consumption. In that spirit (and so you can count your blessings), here's a list of the posts I haven't published in the last week.

- A post about my mom and her (lack of ) reading comprehension skills (too mean);
- The story of M's first nosebleed (too boring, even for me);
- A hormonally-induced post about how my kid is clearly the smartest, cutest, most wonderful child in the world (too nauseating, even for me);
- Various and sundry rants about everything from lack of sleep to my current cold to The Boy's job (there's only so much whining a person can do, and I suspect that I regularly exceed my limit);
- A description of M's first dance class. This one may eventually see the light of day, just 'cause the class was so cute.

Of course, I don't really know the point of this post, except to assure you all that I'm not always sitting here, obsessing over this baby and her upcoming birth. Really. I only do that for 6-70% of my day, tops.

Holding Pattern

2009-01-26T08:44:00.002-05:00

Still here, still pregnant. When I can get out of my head and its insane paranoia, I'm actually in a pretty good place. As anxious as I am to meet this little girl, I'm also well aware that I have no more than two weeks left to enjoy being pregnant, and then this phase of my life will be over. We won't do IVF again to have a third child (we're lucky enough to get two!), and our chances of conceiving naturally are slim to none. So this is it, my last days of being pregnant, ever. I'm choosing to spend my non-paranoid moments relishing the feeling of the baby rolling around inside of me and enjoying the anticipation that comes with having no idea who this kid will be.

This doesn't mean, of course, that I'm not impatient. We were so spoiled by M's surprise arrival two weeks early -- we thought she'd be born way closer to her due date, so the idea of going into labor at 37.5 weeks never even crossed our minds. This time around, of course, we expected to have given birth by now, so both The Boy and I are getting twitchy with anticipation. Will today be the day? Tomorrow? How will it happen? How will I know if I'm really in labor (assuming I don't get that telltale gush of water this time). It's both exciting and frustrating.

So that's it from here. We're in a holding pattern, waiting for something to happen while trying to live in the moment. I'll keep y'all posted.

But before I go...

2009-01-21T17:10:00.002-05:00

One more little rant:

I had an appointment scheduled with my "old" OB today, and decided to keep it because (a) I'm not actually a patient at the new clinic until they get my medical records, and (b) I won't have an appointment with the new folks until next week, and the baby could be here by then.

When will I learn? Why am I so stupid? I decided to go along with the ultrasound the doctor had ordered (despite my misgivings) because I figured that there's nothing the old OB can do with that information, anyway. And, I figured that this baby would be roughly the same size M 9born at 38 weeks exactly, weighing 6lbs,4oz) had been, given that I haven't gained any weight and that I've been kicking butt on the GD diet.

The tech estimated that this baby, at 37w5d, already weighs 8 pounds, 12 ounces. In other words, AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Now, I know full well that late-term ultrasounds are terribly unreliable. As in, they can be off by 2 pounds in either direction. But still, ahhhh! Even though I know it's irrational to do so, I'm kind of freaking out now. How am I going to birth a baby that big, especially since I'm not showing any signs of impending labor? I KNEW I should have cancelled the ultrasound.

And to make matters worse, when I saw the doctor afterward, he didn't even know I'd had the ultrasound. You know, the one he ordered? The one I spent two weeks fretting over, weighing the freak-out potential for me against his probable anger at my disregarding his order? He TOTALLY FORGOT HE'D ORDERED IT! I could have cancelled it and skated and he would have been none the wiser. I'm so mad at myself.

The good news is that the entire office could not have been kinder or more professional about my decision to switch. The Boy and I both thought we could discern a little bit of hostility under the doctor's calm demeanor, but he at least made the effort to make all of the right noises. And his staff made sure to get my medical records over to the new clinic asap, which I really appreciated.

So that's what's up here. Now I'm off to start obsessively googling "accuracy of ultrasound at 38 weeks."

Empowerment is a Good Thing

2009-01-20T15:30:00.003-05:00

I found a clinic nearby that's agreed to take me on as a patient. They have an entire midwifery unit, and a terrific reputation for being VBAC friendly. The only scary bit is that today's a snow day here, and I'm having a hard time getting all of the paperwork together, and the baby dropped last night. If I go into labor today or tomorrow, I may be stuck, but I have to believe this kid will hold on long enough for us to make the switch.

It's just been one heck of the day. We were up at 7 to marvel in the rare sight of snow in NC, and out playing at 8. M had a ball in what was her first real snow. And then I got to watch the inauguration, while M jumped up and down and screamed "Yay! Barack Olobama is our president!"

So, yeah, today feels great.

Less Talk, More Action

2009-01-18T15:14:00.004-05:00

I had a good talk with my doula this morning, and as a result, I think I'm switching OBs and hospitals. I'm terrified that it's way too late to be doing this (since M was born at exactly 38 weeks and I'm 37w2d now, and since I don't actually know to whom I'll be switching my care), but I also realize that I need to stop complaining about my current doctors and start working on fixing the situation. That way, if I do end up with a repeat c-section, at least I can tell myself I tried everything I could do to avoid it.

Wish me luck, please. I'm really, really not good at doing things that I know will piss other people off. And making that call to my current OB tomorrow is going to be one of the harder things I've done lately.

*Update, Monday morning* Apparently, today's a holiday. The clinic that's most likely to be able to help me is closed, except for emergencies. Do I dare claim this as an emergency? I don't think I can do that...

Trapped

2009-01-15T17:27:00.007-05:00

When I first got pregnant this time, I would often joke that I didn't care if they took this baby out with a melon baller, as long as she and I ended up healthy. Turns out, what I really meant is that I care really a lot about how, exactly, this baby is born. I seem to have skipped right past "being grateful that I even get to have another child" and gone straight to "fretting that this birth will be as bad as M's."

M's birth was, to put it mildly, unpleasant. To start, my water broke late in the evening, before I had a single contraction. We were advised to go straight to the hospital and, like idiots, we complied. As it happened, the hospital was insanely busy that night, and not only were all of their L&D rooms full, but so were the triage rooms, the family rooms and the overflow rooms.

(have I told you all this story before? I can't remember, and I'm too lazy to look it up. In case I did, here's the condensed version: no room (just a bed in the c-section recovery area), so no sleep, uncomfortable, OB antsy about slow progress, pictocin, epidural, more (and more and more) pictocin, push, push, push, push more, vacuum, push more, vacuum some more, c-section).

The upshot was that M was born around 2:15 am, after 30 hours of labor and a c-section. The Boy got to hold her for a few moments, but I was too busy throwing up to be able to touch her. Then they took the baby and wheeled me back to recovery, and The Boy spent the next two hours watching helplessly as M lay alone and largely unattended in the nursery. Hospital policy, it turns out, doesn't allow dads to have access their babies until Mom is done with recovery and moved to her post-partum room. It was 4:20 am before I laid so much as a fingertip on my daughter. To this day, I'm angry that M spent the first few hours of her life alone, and more than a little convinced that this had something to do with her jaundice and subsequent difficulties nursing.

So this time around, I'll do anything to avoid that long post-birth separation from the baby. That's the entire goal, right there. So, working backwards in a cause-and-effect manner, we've decided that the best way to accomplish this goal is:
a. Avoid repeat c-section, by
b. doing what we can to increase chances at a VBAC, which include:
c. Avoid epidural;
d. Ask for as much freedom of movement as possible during labor; and most importantly;
e. DO NOT RUSH TO THE HOSPITAL. STAY HOME AS LONG AS POSSIBLE, BECAUSE ONCE YOU"RE THERE, THE INTERVENTION TRAIN WILL LEAVE THE STATION WITH YOU STRAPPED TO THE ENGINE IF NECESSARY.

So The Boy and I worked up a nice little birth plan that basically says all of this stuff. I've been mentioning it all to the doctors for at least the last month, but this is the first time one of them was confronted with it in writing. First, she giggled. Then, she guffawed. And then she instructed me that I was to get myself to the hospital the split-second one of the following happens:
a. My water breaks, even if I haven't had any contractions; or
b. I have any painful contractions. That's right, any. No matter how few, no matter how far apart.

She also noted that once I get to the hospital, continuous fetal monitoring is a non-negotiable, and that if I refuse an epidural, then most likely they'll just give me general anesthesia and c-section me the second they detect any hint of fetal distress. So, basically, she wants me to go to the hospital before I'm even in labor, so I can be chained to a bed immediately and forced to remain motionless for the duration of my labor or until they manage to scare or browbeat me into another c-section, whichever comes first.

And we wonder why the c-section rate is hovering close to 30%? Patient's choice, my ass.

Now, I know my doctors mean well. With any VBAC, there is a real (if minuscule) chance of uterine rupture, and short of forcing me outright to have a c-section, the best way to avoid even that tiny chance is to have me where they can see and control me at all times. I totally understand where they're coming from.

At the same time, though, I feel trapped. A c-section is major surgery, complete with a long (ish) recovery time, tight restrictions on my ability to care for M for weeks afterwards and the very real (but also rare) possibility of complications with long-term consequences for both me and the baby. To me, the downsides far outweigh the less-than-1% chance of uterine rupture that comes with a VBAC. But getting the doctors to admit to any downside at all is next to impossible (to the contrary, one doctor actually told me that recovery from a planned c-section is easier and more convenient than recovery from a normal birth). It's clear that they want me to have a c-section, and while they claim to be willing to let me try for a VBAC, they will do everything within their considerable powers to back me into a corner where a c-section becomes unavoidable.

So, I'm about to do something that scares the hell out of me. For the first time in my entire life, I'm going to ignore an order from someone in a position of authority. I'm going to smile and nod when my doctors tell me I need to get to the hospital before labor begins, and I'm going to stay at home, instead. I have no intention of arriving at the hospital pushing, but neither am I about to spend my entire labor there, where I can be pushed and hurried and bullied into compliance with interventions that may or may not even be necessary.

This was not a decision that was made lightly. I've spent countless hours trying to get my hands on every study I could about the risks of VBAC and the risks of c-sections. The Boy and I stayed up into the night discussing it last night, and we finally came to a decision that I think we can live with. Once we're at the hospital, I will submit to the monitoring and the IV, but I hope that by then, I'll be far enough along to make it to delivery without any problems.

I'd be lying if I said I was comfortable with what we're about to do. The thought of risking this baby, even the tiniest bit, makes me physically ill. But I also don't see much of a choice here. Either I submit to an elective c-section, or I go to the hospital and submit to the exact same sequence of events that resulted in my last c-section (minus the pictocin, but that just makes the c-section trigger fingers even itchier). I don't honestly see any chance of my having a successful VBAC if I do the good-little-girl thing and do what I'm told.

So now I'm a rebel. A really reluctant, scared, pissed-off, trapped rebel. Wish me luck.

My Friends Braxton and Hicks

2009-01-13T15:05:00.002-05:00

So, for the last three days, I've been having a ton of braxton-hicks contractions. I know they don't mean anything, but it's still very exciting. It makes me feel like I'm making progress, even if there's not really anything going on.

Of course, I ferverently hope not to go into labor for at least another week. I can't afford to -- my doula's booked until at least Monday, and I have two preschool tours scheduled for next week. Can't miss the preschool tours, or M will end up going to "uncle Jed's place for larnen'" in the fall. (I say this with tongue firmly in cheek, since I think it's ridiculous that preschool enrollment happens a whole 9 months before the kids will actually start school).

Getting ready, but torturing myself

2009-01-08T16:02:00.003-05:00

When I was about 20 weeks pregnant with M, I started her journal. I wanted to chronicle my pregnancy and (ultimately) her life. I thought I was so smart, waiting until we were well past the 12-week mark to start writing, just in case we lost her. But once I started writing, I kept blithely on. The thought that her eventual birth and life were not a sure thing never occurred to me. And I am proud of her journal -- 65+ pages (so far) filled with the thoughts and fears and (most of all) joys of being her mother. I imagine giving it to her some day, a concrete testament to how important she is and has always been to me.

I haven't started this baby's journal yet. I keep trying to tell myself it's safe, that we've come so far and that we probably will get to meet her, but still something keeps me from opening a new document and starting to type. I just know so much more now. Since my miscarriage in 2007, I've found a community of women online who have experienced loss in all of its flavors, at all times during pregnancy and after. I know that pregnancy, even full-term pregnancy, does not always result in an actual, live baby. And while, intellectually, I know that the chances are excellent that everything will be ok, I still feel like doing something as concrete as writing in a journal will jinx us. Will guarantee that we'll lose our little girl, even at this late date. It's happened to other people, why would I ever believe it won't happen to us?

That same fear has kept me from admitting, even to myself, how very much I love this baby and how much I want her. For almost 9 months, I have forced myself to remain aloof, to not get too attached, to speak always in terms of "maybe" and "should" instead of absolutes. I talked to M all of the time when I was pregnant with her, but it's only in the last day or so that I've worked up the courage to address this baby.

Every concrete step we take towards getting ready for this baby alternately thrills and terrifies me. Two weeks ago, we turned The Boy's office into the nursery. It's a beautiful, calm place now, with lavender walls punctuated by yellow, green and pink polka dots. The crib and changing table are in there, and I've started pulling out M's baby clothes and receiving blankets. I love that room and can go as far as looking in the door, but I can't bring myself to go in there yet. Again, it feels like we're tempting fate by acting as if we're having a baby.

At the same time, I find myself so very excited for labor and delivery. I've been meeting with a doula and reading book after book on childbirth. I want to see what it's like, how it differs from my labor with M, whether I can give birth without needing another c-section. And most of all, I want to hold my little girl in my arms, to have her out here in the world, where I can see her and keep her safe. I can't help but feel like she'll be safer outside, where I can pretend at least to have a modicum of control over what happens to her. Where I can admit, at last, that she exists, that she is my daughter, and that I am prepared to love her every bit as fiercely as I love her sister.

Today (perhaps tomorrow, based on whose estimate you believe), I'm at 36 weeks. One more week until full-term; two weeks exactly before the time M was born. The time can't move fast enough.

Help me with a craving

2009-01-05T13:48:00.002-05:00

Back in my nanny days, the family I worked for had this old-school Betty Crocker cookbook. In it, I found a recipe for a chicken curry casserole. To call it Indian food would be stretching matters beyond all reason, but it was delicious -- a wonderful, mild creamy concoction that had curry powder, sour cream, regular cream, almonds and chicken. I loved that recipe so much I wrote it down and it traveled with me for several years.

Now I'm having a serious craving for that casserole, but I can't find the recipe anywhere. It's not in my stash, it's not online anywhere that google can reach and I (alas) don't have my own vintage Betty Crocker cookbook. I can't remember enough about the recipe to wing it, either.

So, can anyone help me? You'd be doing a pregnant lady an enormous favor.

New Year's, Unresolved

2009-01-02T14:08:00.002-05:00

I made a decision not to make any New Year's resolutions this year. It's all part of my plan to start taking life as it comes instead of railing against every unexpected discomfort or bump in the road.

That doesn't mean I don't have goals for the year, of course. For one thing, I want to start working on being a healthier person and a better role model to my girls. To do that, I'm taking a page from The Boy's book -- in the last four years or so, he's lost about 40 pounds. He's not doing anything special -- certainly no formal diet or exercise -- but apparently he's been making small changes that have helped him lose weight at a very slow but steady rate. I have a feeling it will take more than that for me, but still I want to focus on making sure that at the end of each year, I can claim to be a little bit healthier than I was at the beginning of that year.

But really, 2009 is going to be about enjoying what I have. The baby is due in about a month, and after that, I plan to spend every possible second relishing this, my last baby. I want to live in the moment, enjoying the incredible gift of being able to be home with my kids because in 2010, I go back to work. Now, knowing me, there will still be a fair share of whining along the way, but I do hope to keep it to a bare minimum.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who's been reading this blog. I hope your New Years are off to a happy, healthy, optimistic start.

I'm Making a List...

2008-12-22T13:13:00.003-05:00

I'm in an almost embarrasingly good mood these days. I think I really, finally have given over to the idea that we're almost definitely going to have a baby soon (in 5 weeks, if M's 38-week arrival sets any precedent). I seem to be kicking the diabetes' butt, and am down to monitoring my sugars every other day. The Christmas shopping is done, as is most of the wrapping, and The Boy has almost managed to clear all of his crap out of the room that will eventually be the baby's. We picked out and purchased paint for that room, and may even have decided on her name. We've hired a doula. Things are on track.

And, surprisingly, the one thing that could really be a pain in the rear is turning out to be kind of fun, too. I speak, of course, of the "no sugar" thing, during the holidays. To deal with it, I've been keeping a running list of the foods I'll be making/ordering (and eating, of course) as soon as the baby's born. As it happens, the list is making it really easy for me to deal with the temporary sense of deprivation. And here it is:

1. Brownies. Ooey, gooey, fudgy brownies.
2. Lasagne
3. Chinese food with lots and lots of rice.
4. Sandies, aka the best Christmas cookies ever. I'm drooling just thinking about them.
5. Fettucine Alfredo
6. Cereal. With milk.
7. Milk. Nice, icy cold milk.
8. Pretty much anything ever made on this site.
9. Ditto this one.
10. Tiramisu. I think I'll make this first. And often.
11. Pizza. I wonder if my local joint will deliver to the hospital?
12. Fried shrimp (welcome to my latest craving).
13. A Wendy's Chocolate Frosty.
14. Cupcakes, to make up for all of the birthday cupcakes I've skipped in the last month.
15. Orange Juice
16. VODKA! Lots of it (ok,well probably just tiny sips until the baby's old enough to be on a consistent nursing schedule, so as to not get her drunk).
17. A three-course meal at the Melting Pot.
18. Chocolate covered ginger snaps, which Trader Joe's is apparently selling this year. I haven't even tried one, and yet it makes the list because they sound so good.
19. Ice cream.
20. These incredible biscotti that a friend of mine brought over today that I couldn't help myself and tried and now I want to eat the entire bag.

That's all, I think. Chances are, I won't be posting here before Christmas, so Merry Christmas to whomever's reading. I hope you have a happy, relaxing and fun holiday.

Too funny, had to share

2008-12-17T15:25:00.001-05:00

So I mentioned before that M has these necklaces that she calls mermaids. She's named them all and can play with them for hours.

Anyway, the mermaids had been named Ariel (naturally), Piada and Prika. Yesterday, M found another necklace and promptly dubbed it Prika, too. At the time, she was grounded and I had taken the first Prika away. Today, she got Prika #1 back, and promptly re-dubbed Prika #2. The new name? Grilled Cheese.

Three-year-olds are weird, I tell ya.

I wouldn't be me if I weren't complaining

2008-12-15T15:26:00.004-05:00

I think after this baby's born, I will be looking for a new OB. I've had some issues with my current practice, mostly due to their stuck-in-the-50s view of childbirth (you will have an epidural, you will like it, you will shut up, grin and submit to any and all interventions that we consider useful, and no, we don't recommend that you have a doula with you at birth, because they tend to think they know more than us), but I haven't switched yet because it seems like their attitude is par for the course in this area. As much lip service is given to things like natural birth and breastfeeding, one definitely gets the feeling in this town that if the medical establishment could schedule every single pregnant woman for an induction and/or scheduled c-section, they would.

But I digress. The managed-childbirth thing, while not my favorite aspect of life down here, is something I can plan for, work around, live with. What I can't live with is discrimination, especially when that discrimination leads to giving crappy medical advice.

As I've mentioned a time or a hundred on here, I'm fat. Now, aside from upping my risk of GD, my weight has (or should have, anyway) little to no effect on my pregnancy. And, while I'm pregnant, I still need to put on a little weight, just not as much as a woman who's at a normal weight to start with. Every book, website, article, etc. that I've ever read (and I've read a lot) recommends that I gain about 10-15 pounds over the course of a pregnancy.

To date (32.5 weeks along), I weigh several pounds less than I did when I started my FET cycle. That's fine and doesn't really worry me too much, since I've been trying to eat well and the baby's growing right on target. What does worry me, though, is the fact that I keep losing weight. Of necessity, my diet is restricted by the gestational diabetes, but I should be at least maintaining my weight, not losing, not after almost 4 weeks on the diet. The fact that I am losing tells me something is a little out of whack and perhaps not the best for the baby.

And if the OB ignored the weight loss, or (as I've mentioned they've done before) merely congratulated me on it, I'd be mildly put out but not that annoyed. At least I have these here intarwebs to help me find information about maintaining a balanced diet. But today, the practice's nurse practitioner went too far. I made some offhand comment about how hard it is to believe that the baby's still growing while I'm losing weight, and she looked at me and said "that's what we want! You should not be gaining weight. The baby will get nourishment from your fat stores."

Excuse me, but bullshit. She has no idea what's nourishing the baby. Neither she nor anyone else is the practice has ever asked how I'm eating. It'd be different, I guess, if the office had ever once mentioned nutrition or exercise or ever said anything to me about maintaining my health (and the baby's) while keeping my weight in check. But no, all I ever got was a handful of prenatal vitamin samples and repeated congratulations for keeping my figure (such as it is). For all they know or seem to care, I could be living on slim-fast shakes and diet coke. As long as my blood sugars are low (and they are) and my weight continues to fall (and it is), there are no questions asked. It was bad enough when there was just tacit approval of my failure to gain, but for her actually to suggest that it would be bad if I did start to gain weight goes beyond the pale. At this point, it's clear that they don't see me as a person or an individual, but merely as a walking sack of fat cells with a uterus.

That's just plain wrong. At the very least, my GD diagnosis should be making them pay attention. They were all-fired to diagnose me in the first place, and they're plenty eager to describe the consequences if I let the baby get too big, but they couldn't care less how I'm actually dealing with the issue. I've mentioned to them at least three times that in order to keep my sugars in check, I've had to adjust my diet to include fewer carbs than the dietary guidelines suggest. Their only advice is that I should up my intake of protein to make up for it.** How very helpful.

Is it really my job to educate my own doctor about things like ketones and the risks they could pose to the baby? And what if I wasn't the kind of person who obsessively seeks information? What if I took the NP's "don't gain weight" admonishment to heart and started actively trying to lose weight right now? Or decided that simply cutting all (or almost all) carbs from my diet was the best way to go about keeping my sugars under control? Wouldn't you think they be at least a little concerned about these issues? But no. As long as the fat chick isn't getting any fatter (despite the baby who's supposed to be gaining a half a pound a week in her body right now), they couldn't care less about the rest of it. That, to me, is totally unacceptable.

And let me be clear -- I do not expect my doctors to ignore my weight or pretend that I'm healthy if I'm not. I would not be offended if they sat me down and tried to give me advice about losing weight or establishing a healthy lifestyle. They have the right (and perhaps duty) to bring up any concerns they have about my health. But to simply ignore my weight for the last three years, then come up with horrible advice during the one time of my life I shouldn't be worried about weight loss is wrong. It points to a serious lack of care and concern on their parts, and that's why I'll be looking for a new practice.

** Oh, wait, that's not accurate. I also mentioned in passing today that I've been eating graham crackers with peanut butter for a bedtime snack (part of a query about whether they have any suggestions for protein snacks besides peanut butter and cheese). It's literally the only "sweet" I've been allowing myself, and it's a snack that was recommended by the hospital's GD counselor. That little mention earned me a stern frown and an admonishment that I should only be eating whole-grain, unsweetened crackers. Even though my fasting numbers have been just fine. Argh.

Callerpittars, Chipbunks and Mermaid Necklaces

2008-12-11T14:26:00.002-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that three-year-olds are thoroughly random beings. How else to explain the fact that M has taken three plastic beaded necklaces she's gotten as party favors, given them names and has decided that they're mermaids? What's more, she can spend endless amounts of time playing with these necklaces (mostly when she's supposed to be napping), making up elaborate stories and scenarios for her "mermaids." It's odd, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it endearing, too.

I'm also enjoying the various ways that M manages to mangle the English language (the title of this post contains two examples). I suppose it makes me a bad mom, but I just can't bring myself to correct many of her mispronounciations. I figure there's time for that later, so for now I'd rather enjoy the cuteness.

In other news, I am about to be 32 weeks pregnant, and I now resemble nothing so much as a red-headed weeble. These last two nights, sleep has become nearly impossible as I can't seem to get comfortable with this beach ball that suddenly seems to have taken up residence on my torso. But the baby is kicking up a storm, my blood sugars are well under control, and I'm really starting to believe that we may end up with a second child. So things are basically good.

Stop Calling me Flounder

2008-12-04T08:27:00.003-05:00

Another bits 'n Pieces post:

- These days, M is completely obsessed with The Little Mermaid. It's my own fault, as on our last three roads trips, I've allowed her unfettered access to the DVD. And I'll admit that of all of the insufferable Disney princesses, she's the most tolerable. But really, would it kill the kid to call me "Mommy" once in a while? Instead, we seem to be living inside a perpetual game of pretend, where she's Ariel, I'm Flounder, and The Boy is Sebastian. And not only does she call me "Flounder" exclusively now, but she corrects me if I call her anything but Ariel.

On the other hand, she's been walking around the house singing "Part of Your World" and "Kiss the Girl," which is both hilarious and adorable (since she knows only about 3/4 of the words, and understands only about half of them). And she does have a tendency to walk up, give me a hug and tell me I'm the best fish in the whole world. So, not all bad.

- This year, The Boy decided we needed to give ourselves a "family Christmas present," and he really, really wanted a Roomba. It arrived yesterday, and I kid you not, The Boy spent the entire evening watching it clean the living room. I'm not as impressed by the concept as he is, but I do have to admit that this little robot does a great job of cleaning. We set it up on our already pretty clean living room carpet (it had been vacuumed just Monday afternoon), and I was amazed at how much better the carpet looked afterwards. The downside is that it takes FOREVER -- seriously, that think worked on one room for over an hour! So it's not the tool you want to pull out if company's coming in a few minutes, but it is a great little gadget for regularly-scheduled cleanings. I can't wait to see what it does with our upstairs hallway, which is constantly under assault from tracked kitty litter and which I never feel as if our regular vacuum gets clean.

- I'm proud to say I'm doing pretty well with the while GD thing. A wonderful, beautiful angelic woman on a GD message board I've joined pointed me in the direction of Dreamfields pasta, which has made my life much more worth living. It looks, feels and tastes just like normal pasta, but through some magic of chemistry, the carbs in it don't get absorbed into your body and they don't cause a blood sugar spike. Between that and the Almond Milk I've been guzzling in place of my beloved regular milk, I've been able to keep my blood sugars under control without feeling totally deprived. Although I am already thoroughly sick of eggs.

-- My neighborhood is filling up with Christmas lights. They're so beautiful and I can't wait to get ours up. Christmas this year already feels so magical and special that I've been finding myself tearing up regularly over the sheer joy of it all. And M hasn't even met Santa yet...

Happy Birthday, Bunny!

2008-12-01T10:10:00.001-05:00

M is three years old today. I know I'm biased, but she's the cutest, funniest, most wonderful kid I know. I've been sappy and sentimental these last few days, thinking of how insanely lucky I am to be her mom. She makes every single day of my life happier, even when I'm threatening to sell her on Craig's List.

So happy birthday, baby. I love you with all of my heart.

Updated: The party was all set. The favors were laid out. I was about to leave to pick up the cake and balloons when M started vomiting. Poor kid can't even keep water down now. Needless to say, the party was canceled. Bless her, she's taking it in stride, but we're all disappointed. What a birthday present.

Not so bad

2008-11-21T11:20:00.002-05:00

I had my diabetes education class today,and I'm feeling much better about things. Thanks to Rachel's tip about where to stick my finger, I got through that first blood test with a minimum of hysterics. I'd only had experience with (bad, painful, awful) office finger sticks, and was afraid that's what I'd be doing 4x a day, but the meter I have is small and it really isn't so bad. I can definitely do this for the next 9-12 weeks.

The diet, too, isn't as bad as I'd feared. My biggest worry was that my diet has already been so restricted this pregnancy, either by safety concerns (buh-bye, tuna fish and lunch meat) or food aversions (sayonara, chicken and other fish (because DH won't eat it)). I've been living on pasta, eggs and cheese, and was worried that 1/3 of my diet choices where going to disappear overnight. Luckily, the diet I got is much less restrictive than I remember the GD diet being when I was pregnant with M. I can eat pasta, bread, etc. It's really just sweets and fruit juice that are out. I can live with that.

In the meantime, M has turned into quite a lawyer. She argues with me over everything these days. Yesterday, she tried to get me to let her watch TV by claiming "but Mommy, my body needs tv!" It's hard to maintain a firm fascade when inside I'm screaming with laughter.

Shades of Blue

2008-11-19T20:52:00.002-05:00

I'm feeling a little bit down today. As expected, I failed my 3-hour glucose test, so I'll be treated for gestational diabetes from here on in. The rational part of my brain knows that this is so not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I'm still surprisingly bummed. Once again, it goes back to the guilt, for being fat and for not being as careful with my diet this pregnancy as I could have been. I figure I'll give myself two days to be blue, then get over it.

In the meantime, I am interviewing doulas, as we've decided to try for a VBAC (unless, of course, this GD thing is a one-way ticket to c-sectionville). I've enjoyed that process more than I thought I would. The women I've spoken to seem very cool and supportive, and I think we'll do well to have one of them at our side when this kid comes out. I'm even daring to start hoping that I can have this baby without surgery. This is, of course, the signal for whatever powers that be to swoop in and knock me down a peg, so I'm still not counting on avoiding another c-section.

Stuff and Nonsense

2008-11-18T14:10:00.002-05:00

Lots going on here, but none of it really all that interesting to talk about (unless you all really want to hear about the details of M's birthday party planning, but since it kind of bores even me, I'll skip it).

One item of interest (if only to me) is that I took M to a gymnastics class today. She's been hopping around the house doing "tricks" for at least the last month or so, so I figured she'd enjoy actually learning how to do those tricks instead of, you know, looking like her neck's going to snap every time she does a somersault. The class is for 3-5 year olds, so M's just a hair too young (she'll be three in two weeks), and it's also a non-parent participation class, M's first ever. To say I was apprehensive would be to understate the case wildly.

As usual, I need not have worried. M ran into the room without even a glance behind her, and she absolutely had a blast. Turns out most of the kids in this particular class are almost or over 4, so M's young by quite a wide margin. As a result, she's not as physically capable as some of the kids, and I think there were times when following directions was hard for her. But M likes to please and she really liked the teachers, so she responded really well to correction (all three teachers were college-aged women, so there was a lot of hero-worship going on). I was so proud to see her right in the thick of things, trying everything the class did and clearly enjoying being part of the group. I don't think she stopped smiling once the entire hour. And I was similarly impressed by the program, which broke the kids into skill-based groups for part of the class, so the younger kids could get more individual instruction without holding back the more skilled kids. Needless to say, I signed her up for the rest of the semester on the spot.

I've been fretting for months over whether I did the right thing keeping M out of preschool this year, but I'm starting think it was the right thing to do. Between playgroup, play dates, story times and now this class, she has plenty of interaction with other kids, as well as exposure to situations that require some discipline and separation from me. That's pretty much all I'd expect her to be getting out of preschool right now, anyway. That all said, I'm starting to research preschools now for next year. It's a daunting task, since I freely admit to being clueless as to what's out there and what kind of program would be best for M. I'm sure you'll hear more than you ever wanted to on the issue in the next several months.

Perspective

2008-11-08T20:34:00.001-05:00

Ok, I'm kind of ashamed at my temper tantrum in my last post. Let the record show that I know darn well how lucky we are. The Boy has a job that allows us to live a comfortable, one-income lifestyle. It's interesting and offers him a great chance at career advancement. Every day, he sees resumes from people who are nowhere near as lucky -- people who have been out of work for months, applying for entry-level positions way below their experience level just so they can bring some income, any income into their homes. Families who are currently struggling to pay the bills, regardless of how many hours they work.

So yeah, sorry about that.

No Nap + Boy Working Late = Crabby Me

2008-11-07T18:20:00.003-05:00

This is happening more and more lately, and I have to say, I don't like it. The Boy took a new job about five months ago, and he's made it home before 7:00 pm maybe once since then. About once a week, he ends up staying late and not getting home until after 8 or 9 pm. I'm honestly trying to be supportive, but it really sucks. 15 hours of solid, no-break, awake time with an obstreperous three year old is about 6 too many.

Add in the time change, which is clearly a governmental conspiracy cooked up by people who hate parents, and things are even worse. M's been falling asleep an hour later than usual, and waking up an hour earlier. Today, she woke up at 5:00 am, and although I was able to coax her back to sleep for another hour, my own sleep was over. I'm tired and cranky and really, really sick of playing supportive wife while The Boy works endless hours. For fewer benefits and barely more pay than he had at his old job. I must have been on crack when I agreed that he should take this job instead of the 9-5, more-money-but-less-scope-for-career-advancement job he was also probably going to be offered.

And did I mention that when the baby comes, he'll be taking exactly one week off of work? I find this deeply scary, since when M was born, he'd already been off for five days before I even left the hospital (I was in labor for 30 hours, then spent three days in the hospital post c-section). I friggin' hate his new company and its beyond-stingy vacation policies, not to mention its non-existent paternity leave policy. If The Boy goes back to work two days after I get home from the hospital and leaves me with a brand new baby, a three-year-old and (probably) a whole lot of c-section recovery left to do, I may start considering divorce.

Rats

2008-11-06T17:27:00.003-05:00

I found out this afternoon (right after biting into a delicious apple muffin) that I flunked my one-hour glucose test. I had pretty much expected to do so, given my size and the fact that I flunked my one-hour when I was pregnant with M. And I must admit that I took the news much better this time than I did with M. Back then, there was a festival of sobbing and hand-wringing and obsessive googling. This time, I merely threw out my (delicious!) muffin with regret and went ahead and scheduled my 3-hour test.

Looking back on my pregnancy with M, I can see how truly naive I was. I felt terribly guilty for being fat and for failing to get to a healthy weight before I got pregnant. I also thought I had some control over the outcome of my pregnancy. As a result, from day 1, I was obsessive about controlling my diet. The first thing I did when I found out I was pregnant was call a dietician, and for at least my first trimester, I followed a healthy diet with almost religious fervor, with the exception of one donut-fest. (I should point out here that by "controlling my diet," I don't mean I was restricting calories or trying to lose weight. I was just keeping track of what I ate, and doing my best to make sure I was getting the full complement of nutrients while avoiding junk food).

I calmed down significantly in my second trimester, but I was still eating pretty well. So, when I flunked my glucose test (and subsequently barely passed the three-hour test), I was floored and scared and horribly, horribly guilty. I thought I'd personally done something terrible to this little person I'd worked so hard to grow, and the regret was crushing. Plus, back then I was still deathly afraid of needles, so the thought of having to draw my own blood 5 or 6 times a day was unbearable. Combining needles with the prospect of a restricted diet, and I thought the sky was falling. Seriously, I cried for days.

As it happened, I didn't end up with a diagnosis of GD. Although the fat-phobic doctor in my OB's office was dying to treat me as a gestational diabetic based on my near-failure of the 3-hour test (this is the same doctor who, at my 20-week appointment congratulated me for not having gained any weight), one of the other doctors was much more sensible. There are test cutoffs for a reason, she figured, and if I didn't actually exceed any of those cutoffs, then I didn't have GD. The comprimise between the two doctors is that I followed the GD diet but had only intermittant blood sugar monitoring (this worked out to be one finger-stick in the entire last 10 weeks of my pregnancy). M was born at a whopping 6 pounds, 4 ounces, and all was right with the world.

This time around, I have been blessed with at least a little perspective. I know now that I have precious little control over any pregnancy, and that there are far, far worse things than avoiding stuffing at Thanksgiving. Moreover, months of IVF injections have (almost) cured me of my fear of needles. I happen to know that finger sticks hurt like a bitch, much worse than any PIO injection, but I also know that if I need to perform several a day for the next three months, the world won't end. My fingers will heal and in six months, I'll have forgotten all about them.

Still, and surprisingly, I find myself feeling guilty again. This time around, it's because I haven't been at all careful with my diet. In fact, if truth be told, I've spent this pregnancy largely eating like crap. In the beginning, it seemed like following a pregnancy diet would be inviting trouble, as if the acknowledgement of the pregnancy would signal its end. And then came the months of nausea, where there were entire days when I didn't want to eat anything at all, and other days when all I could stand to contemplate were the simplest of carbs. I think I lived on pasta for almost three months. Add in a serious aversion to chicken and safety-based restrictions on lunch meat and tuna fish, and it's a miracle I ate any protein at all. As I've gone through my second trimester, my habits have not, unfortunately, gotten that much better. I still find chicken repulsive, and healthy protein sources are difficult to find. There are only so many eggs a girl can eat, and beans just don't seem to fit easily into most meals. So I've been carbing it up to an alarming degree recently, even though I knew my glucose test was looming and what the result was likely to be.

So, yeah, guilty. I really need to get on the ball. I start my third trimester on Saturday, and this baby is definitely coming. It's time to start acting like it.

Yes, he Could

2008-11-05T07:21:00.003-05:00

I don't even really know how to write this post. I'm so proud and happy right now that our country has chosen Barack Obama to be our next president. Looking at the map, especially as compared to 2004, makes it clear just how broad Obama's appeal is and how very much things have changed in the US in the last four years.

Virginia went for a Democrat for the first time in 40 years. It looks right now like my adopted home state of NC will do the same. That's amazing.

McCain's speech last night, it must be said, was gracious. In it, he showed signs of the moderate, thoughtful candidate that I actually considered voting for in 2000. I wonder how this race would have ended if he'd stuck with that moderate message, instead of letting his campaign slide onto the low road. Although my opinion of him has taken a nosedive in recent months, I still think he's to be admired for his decades of service to our country.

It's hard to see how things won't be very difficult for this country in the next four years, but today I'm full of hope that at least we have the right person to see us through them.

Score one for the Cheap Girl!

2008-11-02T16:23:00.003-05:00

I am so proud of myself. Usually, unless I'm working, I shy away from confrontation or anything smacking of asking for special treatment. But I just went online to book our hotel for Thanksgiving weekend and found that our favorite place -- the hotel we've stayed at at least once a year for the past 4 years -- had almost doubled its prices this year.

So, I decided, what the heck? I did some research, learned that a hotel down the street was offering an almost-comparable room for almost $100 less a night, and called the hotel. I told them how we're loyal customers, how we really like their hotel and really want to be able to stay there again, but that we simply can't afford it at their current rate. Could they, pretty please, help me out? The nice gentleman on the phone came back with a rate $50 below the price quoted online. I (genuinely) hemmed and hawed and thanked him, but said I needed to talk it over with the Boy. Then I did some more research and learned that the room at the hotel down the street wasn't quite as good as we'd hoped (we usually try for a suite, so that M can sleep in one room while we hang out in the other, and the "suite" we'd booked turned out not to have two separate rooms, but was in fact just a single room with a half-wall divider). So I called back, thanked the guy again for helping me out, and asked if there was any way he could do any better on the price. He knocked off another $20 a night. Sold!

So, yay! We get to stay in our favorite North Jersey hotel, which makes Thanksgiving somewhat less of a painful slog and somewhat more like a real vacation. And we're not breaking the bank (too badly) to do it. All I had to do was ask nicely -- who knew?

(and a big MWAH to the nice guy at the Embassy Suites who's helping make our Thanksgiving that much nicer).

Birthday Etiquitte

2008-10-24T16:58:00.003-04:00

This year, M's birthday falls on the Monday after Thanksgiving. We'll be traveling the weekend before, and already have two birthday parties to attend the following weekend. So instead of a big weekend birthday party, I'd planned to do a small dinner on M's birthday, inviting only my in-laws and the four friends M plays with the most. I hadn't planned on inviting all of M's friends (basically, the whole playgroup), because for the third year in a row, we're doing a group party later on for all of the kids. Frankly, the dinner is just because I can't bear not to have any party for M at all, seeing as we skipped the parties for her first two birthdays.

But now we're starting to receive birthday invitations from the other kids in playgroup, some of whom we hadn't planned on inviting to M's party. It's nothing personal, I just wanted to keep M's party small. But I'm left wondering -- am I wrong not to be inviting all of the playgroup kids to M's party? Is there some kind of rule of inclusion or reciprocity? I know that I wouldn't be insulted if I learned someone else in the group had had a party and hadn't invited M, but given the events of the past two weeks, I'm feeling pretty sensitive about being a good friend. I really don't want anyone feeling left out or insulted.

So, should I rethink things? I still don't think a traditional weekend party is a realistic option, given the timing constraints. I could make M's weekday party bigger than I'd planned, do it during the day and order pizza instead of cooking a dinner, but then The Boy would miss out on M's very first "real" birthday party. Or I could just make the dinner party bigger and find a way to feed (and seat) up to 38 people (eek!). Or, I guess, I could skip doing a party for M again, and hope that next year things will be simpler. But I really hate to do that, especially since she'll be attending so many parties for other kids in the next month and she's already excited to have her own party.

Too much fun to pass up

2008-10-22T15:22:00.002-04:00

I saw this meme over at Mrs. X, and I couldn't resist participating. The rules are:

1. Go to musicoutfitters.com
2. Enter the year you graduated high school into the search function and get the list of 100 most popular songs of that year.
3. Bold the songs you like, strike through the ones you REALLY hate.

I graduated high school in 1993, and a lot of the songs from that year are irrevocably tied to my memories of my first semester of undergrad. Therefore, there are a few songs I will always love even though I acknowledge that they're really, really bad songs ( like the la la la la la song). Others I loved because of the videos (Crazy, I'm talking about you here). Surprisingly, there are a fair number of songs that I couldn't place if you paid me. Also, looking through the list, apparently I hate Whitney Houston.

(also, I have no idea how to do strikethrough. I'll just italicize the songs I hated).

Anywho, here's the list:

1. I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston
2. Whoomp! (There It Is), Tag Team
3. Can't Help Falling In Love, UB40
4. That's The Way Love Goes, Janet Jackson
5. Freak, Silk
6. Weak, SWV
7. If I Ever Fall In Love, Shai
8. Dreamlover, Mariah Carey
9. Rump Shaker, Wreckx-N-Effect
10. Informer, Snow
11. Nuthin' But A "G" Thang, Dr. Dre
12. In The Still Of The Nite, Boyz II Men
13. Don't Walk Away, Jade
14. Knockin' Da Boots, H-Town
15. Lately, Jodeci
16. Dazzey Duks, Duice
17. Show Me Love, Robin S.
18. A Whole New World, Peabo Bryson and Regina Belle
19. If, Janet Jackson
20. I'm So Into You, SWV
21. Love Is, Vanessa Willlams and Brian Mcknight
22. Runaway Train, Soul Asylum
23. I'll Never Get Over You (Getting Over Me), Expose
24. Ditty, Paperboy
25. Rhythm Is A Dancer, Snap
26. The River Of Dreams, Billy Joel
27. I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles), Proclaimers
28. Two Princes, Spin Doctors
29. Right Here (Human Nature)-Downtown, SWV
30. I Have Nothing, Whitney Houston
31. Mr. Wendal, Arrested Development
32. Have I Told You Lately, Rod Stewart
33. Saving Forever For You, Shanice
34. Ordinary World, Duran Duran
35. If I Had No Loot, Tony! Toni! Tone!
36. I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That), Meat Loaf
37. Slam, Onyx
38. Looking Through Patient Eyes, P.M. Dawn
39. I'm Every Woman, Whitney Houston
40. Baby I'm Yours, Shai
41. Come Undone, Duran Duran
42. I Don't Wanna Fight, Tina Turner
43. I'd Die Without You, P.M. Dawn
44. Whoot, There It Is, 95 South
45. Hip Hop Hooray, Naughty By Nature
46. Another Sad Love Song, Toni Braxton
47. Will You Be There, Michael Jackson
48. Comforter, Shil
49. Good Enough, Bobby Brown
50. What's Up, 4 Non Blondes
51. All That She Wants, Ace Of Base
52. 7, Prince and The New Power Generation
53. Dre Day, Dr. Dre
54. One Last Cry, Brian McKnight
55. Just Kickin' It, Xscape
56. I Get Around, 2Pac
57. Bed Of Roses, Bon Jovi
58. Real Love, Mary J. Blige
59. Here We Go Again!, Portrait
60. Cryin', Aerosmith
61. Cats In The Cradle, Ugly Kid Joe
62. What About Your Friends, TLC
63. I Got A Man, Positive K
64. Hey Mr. D.J., Zhane
65. Insane In The Brain, Cypress Hill
66. Deeper And Deeper, Madonna
67. Rain, Madonna
68. The Right Kind Of Love, Jeremy Jordan
69. Bad Boys, Inner Circle
70. That's What Love Can Do, Boy Krazy
71. Do You Believe In Us, Jon Secada
72. Angel, Jon Secada
73. Forever In Love, Kenny G
74. Again, Janet Jackson
75. Boom! Shake The Room, DJ Jazzy Jeff and Fresh Prince
76. When She Cries, Restless Heart
77. Sweat (A La La La La Long), Inner Circle
78. It Was A Good Day, Ice Cube
79. More And More, Captain Hollywood Project
80. How Do You Talk To An Angel, Heights
81. Rebirth Of Slick (Cool Like Dat), Digable Planets
82. What Is Love, Haddaway
83. To Love Somebody, Michael Bolton
84. Give It Up, Turn It Loose, En Vogue
85. Alright, Kris Kross
86. Check Yo Self, Ice Cube
87. Fields Of Gold, Sting
88. Ooh Child, Dino 89. Faithful w/ Go West
90. Reason To Believe, Rod Stewart
91. Break It Down Again, Tears For Fears
92. Nothin' My Love Can't Fix, Joey Lawrence
93. Three Little Pigs, Green Jelly
94. Livin' On The Edge, Aerosmith
95. Hey Jealousy, Gin Blossoms
96. If I Ever Lose My Faith In You, Sting
97. Anniversary, Tony! Toni! Tone!
98. One Woman, Jade
99. Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Taylor Dayne
100. Two Steps Behind, Def Leppard

The Suzy Homemaker Project

2008-10-20T08:08:00.003-04:00

This past weekend, we indulged in one of our favorite annual rituals -- we drove around our town, ogling the beautiful, expensive houses in the annual Parade of Homes. While generally the Parade fills us with the smug feeling that we love our own home and neighborhood, this year, The Boy and I each found a house that we'd seriously consider moving to (you know, if I went back to work tomorrow or if we won the lottery).

But as we drove away from each house, The Boy and I realized that part of what's so seductive about these Parade homes is that they're just so beautiful. They're professionally decorated and, well, nobody lives in them. There's no clutter, there are no toys, no mail piled on the kitchen counter, no cat litter box, no dust. I think what we really want is the idea of that house, or the magic bullet that will turn us into the kind of people who have a handle on clutter and mess; who have the time and the talent to decorate our space nicely.

And let's face it, the boy and I just aren't that kind of people. For starters, we don't decorate. We hem and haw and think about the kind of furniture we'd like to have in our home, then we look at the pricetags, blanch, and move on. Things like window treatments and accessories are a total mystery to me. I'm far more likely to put the bare minimum of functional (probably used) furniture into a room and call it done.

And there's the housekeeping issue. I've mentioned before that both The Boy and I came from messy families, and neither one of us ever picked up the habit of cleaning on a daily basis. We tend not to see the mess until it threatens to overwhelm us, then we do a weekend of intense cleaning. We congratulate ourselves on our nice, clean house and we comment on how pleasant it is to have a space where we don't have to dodge towers of junk mail. The house stays neat for a few weeks, then we get lazy again and the cycle begins anew.

For the last four months, I'll admit the issue has gotten worse. I used to at least spend an hour or so every day getting practical things done (laundry, decluttering, filing, etc). It didn't make for a perfect home, but it would generally keep things neat enough that I could invite people over on about 30 minutes notice and not be ashamed of what they'd see. But once I got pregnant, I let things slide. During that first trimester, there were entire weeks where the second M fell asleep for nap, I'd head straight for the sofa for my own bit of shut-eye. Once I started feeling better, I somehow got in the habit of using naptime as my own downtime. I'd watch some TV or catch up on Jezebel.com or work on the quilt I'm making for M. Anything but cleaning. As a result, the place is now a mess.

But that all ends today. Today, I begin The Suzy Homemaker Project. I sat down yesterday and made a list of all the chores that need to be done on a daily, weekly and monthly basis to keep this house pleasant, as well as a list of catch-up projects aimed at curing the neglect of the last several months. I have a chart to keep track of what I've done and what still needs doing. And I'm committed to making sure that chart is checked off every day. If I can manage to stick with it and if M cooperates by napping every day, then in about seven weeks there will be no rooms in my home that I can't show a stranger. The closets will be clean and organized, my desk will be empty, and I will (I hope) have developed the habit of cleaning a little bit every day instead of waiting until things are a total mess then feeling overwhelmed.

(oh, and lest you all think that my house is totaly disgusting, please let me assure you that's not the case. I have the basics of sanitation down -- the kitchen floor gets swept every day, the counters and stove get wiped down, dishes get done, M gets three cooked meals a day, I keep the downstairs bath nice and clean, etc. Our problem is mostly clutter and mess in the rooms people don't ever see, like the dust rhinos in my master bathroom).

Aftershock (and update)

2008-10-13T13:46:00.006-04:00

Thanks to Katrina, Joonie and insanelybusymama. I think you were all on the money with your advice, and had planned to follow it as soon as M went down for her nap. But the plot has thickened, and now? Well, now I'm mad.

Went to the park with a few friends this morning, both members of our playgroup. FWIW, both were offended by the original email that I responded to, starting this whole mess. One of them had sent her own semi-sarcastic email to C (for "crazy lady," since I'm mad now), asking why she wasn't coming to the event anymore, and C gave her a brief account of what had happened. We hashed it out a little bit, and agreed that I needed to be the one to make a conciliatory step.

But then, I got home and found an email from C. She basically said she was hurt that I'd attack her and "put her in her place" the one time (HA!) she tried to express an opinion, and then went on and on about how she's often offended by things people say to her in playgroup but she never expresses an opinion (again, HA!) and how she feels like now, she's afraid to say anything at all. Peppering the email were phrases in quotation marks (such as "put her in her place"), ostensibly from my emails, but that I never actually said. She also attacked me for the one conciliatory gesture I did make -- I'd said in a reply email that I hoped she'd change her mind about attending the event and said "[her kid] is a a great kid, and I'd hate to think of her missing a party with her friends just because you and I seem to be having a disagreement." (yes, that is a direct quote). C responded by listing all of the other activities her kid does, and said that "for you to imply that I'm in any way harming her is again,
just the pinnacle of condescending, and I'd like for you never to open
your mouth about her again."

I think I could have dealt with all of this, and gone on with my original plan of eating crow and apologizing in order to get her back in the group. But there's more: C didn't send the email just to me. She cc'd two other members of the group; one the woman I was at the park with this morning and another who had also inquired as to why she backed out of the event. As far as she knows, neither of these women has any idea what happened between me and her, nor do they have any idea that she sent me a vicious, hurtful email castigating me for just about everything I do or believe (and some things I don't!). And yet, she felt comfortable making public a private issue between me and her, complete with misquotes and misleading attacks.

As it happens, both women do have a pretty good idea of what went down, so I can't exactly play the retiring victim here. But still, now I'm well and truly angry. Forget conciliation. It's taking every ounce of my self control not to (at the very least) school her on the proper use of quotation marks, and then forward all of the emails to the other two women she's chosen to involve, so they can at least have the whole truth.

It's safe to say that I won't be replying in any manner for at least several hours. I still really need to cool down. But it sure is hard to find the high road when that mud puddle over there looks so tempting...

Ok, it's about an hour later. One of the friends to whom C sent her email clued me into something I hadn't known. C has a mental illness, she's in the middle of a manic episode now and is having a really tough time. That understanding nudged my compassion enough to produce a (sincere) apology to her for sending that first email and for hurting her (though clearly I still lack the maturity to delete the rest of this post). She replied with an apologetic email of her own. I hope this ends the issue.

Friendquake

2008-10-10T16:13:00.007-04:00

I've mentioned before that I belong to a playgroup. There are about a dozen of us, and we all have kids within three months of each other. It's a pretty random group of mostly stay-at-home moms who met at a hospital seminar, and I'll admit I'm shocked at how these dozen random women have become incredibly important to me.

In my mind, playgroup is one of the most unexpected and wonderful things that motherhood has brought me. We moved down here when I was six months pregnant with M, and I didn't have a job, a social network, or any real way of meeting people. I signed up for our hospital's new-mom program just as a way to get out of the house after M was born, and found myself with a dozen new friends. Over the almost three years that we've known each other, the women of my playgroup have been my sounding boards, supporters, confidantes and playmates. I'm eternally grateful for their presence in my life.

This is not to say that things are all sunshine and roses. With so many people, there are bound to be some personalities that mesh better than others, and I'd be lying if I said each and every woman in the group in my absolute bosom buddy. And I've certainly had moments of pique with some members of the group (and talked about it here as recently as last week). Still, I feel pretty fortunate to know all of them, and would proudly call each of them my friends.

Which is why I'm upset about what happened this morning. In the course of discussing options for an upcoming get-together, one of the women sent an email that rubbed me the wrong way. She had basically stated an opinion on a nearby kid-friendly place (perfectly fine and valid), then stated that the only way she could imagine someone feeling differently than her was if that person had never been there and therefore didn't know what they were talking about (not fine, not valid). I sent her a private email telling her that I did, in fact, disagree with her, and that I found it condescending that she'd imply that any opinion contrary to hers must be based on ignorance.

I freely admit that I shouldn't have sent that email. I knew that nothing I said would change her opinion, and I probably should have ignored the parts I didn't like and moved on. Really, I know this. I don't have an excuse for sending it anyway. It was not one of my best moments, judgment-wise.

But holy heck, was I shocked at what she sent me in return! A profanity-laced rant on how my email was the last straw (I had no idea there was even a first straw!). In the next several sentences, she castigated me on everything from the size of my home to my opinions on the Disney Princesses to my feminism to the kind of grass I have in my yard (wtf?) to the cost of preschool to the fact that I don't know what it's like to be poor (this I'll cop to, though I was homeless for a brief period in my life) to her perception of my opinions on whether women should be in the workforce, to my alleged opinions on the usefulness of doctoral dissertations (again, wtf?). And then she sent an email to the group pulling out of the event. (as I type this, I just received an email that she's pulled out of the playgroup altogether).

This is not good. When it was just a problem between me and her, it was bad enough. But now that she's no longer even in the group, it's way, way worse. I think maybe a face-to-face (or at least telephone) conversation is in order. I like this woman (not to mention her kids). I don't always agree with her opinions or how she expresses them, but absolute lock-step agreement has never been one of my criteria (criterion?) for friendship. I'm shocked and saddened that there's an underlying current of resentment in our friendship that I didn't even notice. Most importantly, our playgroup has been such a lifeline for me that I can't stand the idea of being the cause of someone else leaving the group and losing its presence in her life.

But where do I even start such a conversation? If she's willing to leave the group over an insignificant issue, then I have to believe that there's more going on here than a curt email or two. Even I'm not so self-centered as to think I'm the only reason she'd take so drastic a step. But the fact remains that I was a catalyst at the very least, and I need to to something to make it right.

So, I will call her. I'll apologize for sending her an email instead of taking up the issue face to face (there is nothing in the email that I would have hesitated to say if we were talking in person). But then what? I can't honestly apologize for calling her out on her attitude, because I stand by what I said. And I won't apologize for my lifestyle (I happen to like the size of my house) or my opinions, even where her perception of my opinions is incorrect. Besides, I think a point-for-point refutation of her email would be counterproductive.

I know I sound like a 12-year-old here. The truth is, I've never done this before. As a kid, I didn't have many friends -- my family situation ensured that all of my friendships were relatively shallow and largely confined to school hours. As an adult, I've mostly made friend in a work setting or within an easy context like school. But this is the first time in my life I've had real, close friends I didn't meet at work or school. And I've never had a friendship end with this kind of bang.

Should I suck it up and offer an insincere apology in service of the greater good? Should I just let the situation go and hope that she'll return to the group once she cools down? Both options seem kind of weaselly and childish. I know this blog isn't exactly a hotbed of commentary (though I am extremely grateful for those who do comment regularly), but I'm hoping there are at least a few lurkers out there who are willing to offer their opinions. Tell me how to (at least try to) save this friendship!

Baby Dep

2008-10-07T17:00:00.002-04:00

We told M about the baby a little over a month ago. She immediately (a) decided that the baby would be a girl, and (b) named her Dep. She was right on the girl thing, but we're working hard to disabuse her of the notion that the baby will actually be named Dep.

I've been amazed at how quickly M has embraced the idea of a baby sister. Already, if you ask her who's in her family, she includes Dep in the list. And at least once a day, she hugs or pats my belly and tells me she's saying hi to the baby. Or she tells me how much she loves her baby sister. Last week, at the library, the storytime lady complimented M's friend's new baby sister. Not to be outdone, M declared "my baby's in my mommy's tummy and her name is Dep."

I know that M's enchantment with the baby is unlikely to last long after Dep actually arrives, but I'm enjoying it while it lasts. I love her enormous capacity for love and her ability to imagine what's got to seem like a totally abstract notion (I mean, really. There's a baby, but it's in mommy's belly? How crazy must that seem to a toddler?). I have a feeling M's going to make a great big sister, and I'm so, so glad that we get the chance to make her one.

Enough Whining

2008-10-06T16:02:00.003-04:00

I had another whiny post up this morning, and after reading it again, I decided that the last thing this blog needs is another obnoxious post complaining about something insignificant. So, I deleted it.

Instead, I leave you with this moment in parenting, which is still making me giggle three days later:

M (over baby monitor): Uhrng! Ugh! (the grunt of a child exerting herself).
Me (wandering in to see M with her hands stuck between her bed and the wall): Hey baby, whatcha doing?
M: Uuuum, nuffin. Go 'way.

For the record, M was trying to rip the tags off of her mattress. I don't know what's with that kid. She hates tags on anything. But the "uuuum, nuffin" killed me then and is still killing me.

Is it possible not to like a child?

2008-10-03T11:43:00.008-04:00

So, M has this friend. We'll call her Z (I don't even feel comfortable naming her real first initial). We've known Z and her family since the kids were about six months old, but they were only passing acquaintances until last year. That's when Z's mom, who had been working full time, decided to give the SAHM thing a try and we started seeing her more often. Geographically speaking, she's M's closest friend.

Z is one of those kids who I really, really want to like. The idea of disliking a 2-year-old is a horrible one, since I really don't believe there are any "bad" kids at that age. But oh, man, Z tries my patience.

Let's start with the good stuff. Z has a beautiful smile, and is known to dole out spontaneous hugs and kisses. Physically, she's an impressive kid -- I don't think I know any children as daring and as confident as she is. She runs, jumps, climbs and moves better than many kids twice her age. She loves to dance and loves to be twirled around. She doesn't seem to be afraid of anything, and as best as I can tell, she's quite intelligent.

But then there's the bad. Along with all of that physical confidence comes aggression. She pushes. She hits. She pulls hair and clothes. She grabs kids around the neck and throws them to the ground. She chases the other kids around and pushes them down. She grabs toys. In short, she's a bully. She seems to thrive on chaos, and I'm pretty sure that, for whatever reason, she's a very angry child behind that charming smile.

I've tried in the past to cut Z some slack. She has a new(ish) baby sister, and I'm sure it hasn't been an easy adjustment. She's also had to adjust to a new home in a new neighborhood recently, and has made the transition from daycare to being at home full-time. Plus, she just started school. So I get it. Even one of these things can throw a toddler for a loop, and she's had to deal with all of them within the span of a year. But honestly, Z's antics are starting to make me dread playdates.

M isn't sure how to feel about Z. She often asks to play with her and seems really to enjoy the good times that they spend together (and when they're both behaving, they do have a good time). On the other hand, she knows that Z is aggressive, and it clearly worries her. We had a playdate with Z scheduled for this morning, and M spent a good 20 minutes asking me why Z hits people and what she should do if Z hit her today. And M's not the only one who's apprehensive about Z. There are at least two other kids in playgroup that flatly refuse to have anything to to with her.

As it happens, this morning's playdate was a doozy. Z tore through the playroom, pulling every single toy out and throwing it on the floor. She found a board game and dumped that out, too. She broke M's water table (this one, I must admit, really pisses me off. It's the only big-ticket toy I've bought new in the last two years, and the kid just broke it). Then, within a space of about 30 seconds, she pulled M's dress in an attempt to knock her down, tried pushing when the pulling didn't work, then hit M for good measure. The attack was totally unprovoked. One moment, Z was sliding down the slide towards a laughing M, the next moment, she was trying to hurt my kid. When her mom first tried to put her in time out then (that having failed) tried to take her home, Z threw the tantrum to end all tantrums -- kicking, hitting, hair-pulling, the whole 9 yards.

At this point, I just don't know what to do. Z's mom is trying, I know, but sometimes she's annoyingly clueless. The other day, she mentioned that Z had gotten in trouble at school for pushing another kid, "but, you know, we don't really know what happened. Z doesn't push other kids." I nearly swallowed my tongue when she said that. Has she ever even met her child? Z has a long history of largely unprovoked physical violence, and the problem only seems to be getting worse as she gets older and stronger.

If I were a better friend, I suspect I'd have a difficult conversation with Z's mom. Her kid is seriously out of control and her attempts at discipline are not working. But how do you tell a parent her child's a bully? It's not like I know what's causing Z's behavior or how her mom can stop it. I don't honestly think Z's a bad parent, but anything I say will smack of that accusation.

My current impulse is avoidance, but that, too, makes me feel bad. If I and the other moms we know all start avoiding Z, how is that going to help? It'll just isolate her and her mom, and isolation is the last thing I'd wish (or inflict) on any parent. Besides that, it's not like my own kid is a total angel. She exhibits her share of bratty behavior, so who am I to throw stones?

Spitting Mad

2008-09-28T19:51:00.002-04:00

Do you ever have one of those situations where you're mad enough to want to throw things and scream and basically be the bitch of all bitches? Only you can't do any of those things because you're an adult, and you can't even discuss why you're so mad because it would be disloyal and wrong to the person you're mad at?

That's me right now. I want to kill The Boy, and there is not a single person in the world I can discuss the issue with. I decided a while ago that since The Boy doesn't know about this blog, that it wouldn't be right for me to post negative things about him here. And it's too late to call any of my friends, with whom, BTW, I wouldn't tend to discuss The Boy anyway. So I sit, fuming, with nowhere to direct my anger.

(oh, and don't worry. He didn't cheat or ask for divorce or anything horrible or life-shattering. It's just one of those really annoying domestic situations.)

To Maternity or Not To Maternity?

2008-09-22T08:33:00.002-04:00

Here's a nice silly dilemma for a Monday morning. Should I be wearing maternity tops? I am now 20 weeks along, but due to my already rotund shape, I'm not really showing at all. All of my usual, non-maternity tops still fit me comfortably, and I have no expectation that they'll ever stop fitting. When I was pregnant with M, I never actually had to switch to maternity tops, and remained in my standard V-neck t-shirts the entire time.

This time around, I again have one maternity top, and I actually have worn it. Not coincidentally, it was while I was wearing this shirt that I was actually pegged by a stranger as being pregnant. When I'm in my normal clothes, people offer me alcohol.

I kind of like the idea that when I wear certain clothes, people can actually tell I'm pregnant. But my cheap little heart rebells at the idea of buying clothes I don't really need, especially since maternity clothing isn't inexpensive. I have no doubt that, like last time, I can make it through this pregnancy with the clothes I already own.

But then there's this little anecdote from late in my pregnancy with M. I was about 34 weeks along, and The Boy and I went to our prenatal education classes. I was, as usual, wearing a normal v-neck T and my brand-new maternity jeans. As we left the hospital the first day, The Boy noted wistfully how nice many of the women looked. They were, of course, all skinnier than I am/was, and were all wearing cute little maternity tops. I know that The Boy didn't mean anything by his comment (and in fact, he has no memory of the incident at all), but it stayed with me. I always assume that how I look is way less important to The Boy than what I spend (or don't spend). That comment, however, has had me thinking. Maybe it's worth a little money to look a little nicer?

Can we go back now? Please?

2008-09-17T17:06:00.006-04:00

So, we've been back from Disney for 5 days, and I think I'm ready to go back now. The trip was GREAT! Oh, sure, we were all tired and hot. And by our last morning (Friday), we were all seriously ready to go home after four days of concentrated park-hopping. But now that we aren't there, I can't wait to go again.

So, details and background. Back in April, when we were gearing up for our FET cycle and basically thought there was no way in hell I'd get pregnant (a prediction shared by my RE), I was feeling mad and devil-may-care and like the universe could go fuck itself. During one of those moods, I happened to stumble across a banner ad for a deal on Disney vacation packages. Seems we could get free meals during our stay if we booked a package. I mentioned the idea to The Boy, thinking it would probably go the same way as every other time we've ever planned a vacation -- an initial burst of enthusiasm followed by rationalization and, ultimately, the conclusion that we would be better off saving the money and vacationing with family again, instead.

As luck would have it, though, The Boy was in a funk similar to mine. His company had acquired another company, and had decided to abandon its local headquarters in favor of the acquired company's offices in Washington State. As a result, The Boy's perfect job, which he loved, was going away. As were the jobs of every single other person in his company's local office. Morale was low, and The Boy had just done a tally of exactly how much vacation time he had saved up. It was over two months, and, fortuitously, the Boy was feeling like it was time he actually, you know, took some vacation time. So he actually liked the Disney idea.

I did some research, picked a time frame, and we decided to book. Then I went out and borrowed every single Disney guidebook I could get my hands on. I started stalking touringplans.com and allearsnet.com (both great resources, btw). This was the first vacation I had ever planned, and I wanted to make sure it was the MOST FUN EVER! Along the way, we also decided to see if The Boy's parents would like to come, too. To our surprise and delight, they agreed.

Five months (give or take) of obsessive planning later, and we were on our way! We arrived at the Port Orleans Riverside resort on a Sunday. If you haven't been, it's themed like a Louisiana plantation/bayou, and the whole place is pretty. The rooms are fairly large and well laid-out, and the place has a great swimming pool area. We spent the evening at the nearby Downtown Disney shopping complex.

On Monday, we went to Epcot. Now, this was the only park for which I did not have a step-by-step plan made. The guidebooks make it sound like there's just not all that much to see in Epcot, so I didn't think it was necessary. WRONG! Epcot is huge, and it's difficult to figure out by wandering exactly where everything is and what there really is to see. We were there for about six hours, and I feel like we missed a good half of the things we wanted to see, simply because we hadn't planned.

We did manage to get on Soarin', which was really cool, and Living with the Land, which I found fascinating. After that, M decided she wanted to meet Mickey Mouse, so we wasted about a 1/2 hour at the Epcot Character spot. From there, we wandered into Innoventions, where M had a great time making a frog out of velcro pieces. Next up was The Seas with Nemo, which was the biggest disappointment of the trip. We skipped the main exhibits in favor of the ride there, thinking we'd get to see plenty from the ride. Instead, the first 2/3 of the ride was totally fabricated, and hyped-up, noisy and frenetic series of scenes from Finding Nemo. The last third of the ride was a pretty cool trip past windows into the main aquarium, but even then, the Nemo characters remained the focus. That ride made us all a little grumpy and it was almost noon, so we headed over to the World Showcase for lunch.

After a delicious lunch in Norway (oh my god, the Seafood soup. I could have eaten it every meal of every day and still not have gotten tired of it), we headed into Maelstrom. Another "eh" ride, which incidentally scared the pants off of M. She's still talking about the scary trolls. After a little shopping, we headed back towards the exit and the hotel.

To be honest, after Monday morning, I was a little worried the trip would be a bust. M didn't seem too impressed or interested in anything she'd seen, and as I mentioned, we were all kind of grumpy. I started seeing my meticulously planned trip devolving into a morass of sweat and crankiness.

Luckily, we had dinner at the Whispering Canyon Cafe that night. It's a kind of loud, western themed restaurant at the Wilderness Lodge (aka: one of the hotels where rich people stay). M got to ride a hobby horse around the restaurant, and the wait staff led sing-a-longs of toddler-friendly songs. We ate, we talked, I cried (I, um, cried a lot this trip. I do that. I get excited and emotional and have to dig my sunglasses out inside so people can't see my lameness), and order was restored to the universe. Then M spend a giddy 20 minutes running over and over the bridge in the lobby, then flinging herself into the rocking chairs nearby.

(by the way, am I giving too much information here? Not that it'll stop me, but please feel free to stop reading at any time or post comments asking me to shut up. I don't mind).

Tuesday, we went to Disney's Hollywood Studios. This is the park that I have the fondest memories of from my trip as a college student, so I was really looking forward to it. We (and everyone else) made a beeline right to the new Toy Story ride as soon as the park opened, and my MIL got us all fastpasses. Then I took M to see The Little Mermaid show while the rest of the adults hit the park's two thrill rides. Afterwards, we all did Toy Story. This was, without a doubt, my favorite ride in any of the parks. I wish I could have ridden it 10 times. It was fun, interactive, fast, cute and just overall great.

We also saw the Playhouse Disney show (eh), then headed over to a late breakfast/early lunch at the Play and Dine restaurant. The in-laws opted out of this meal, but M, the Boy and I had a blast there! Because of the strange timing of our reservation, the restaurant was only about 1/3 full, and M got to visit with each of the characters several times. Then she got to get up and dance with the Little Einsteins. She had a ball, and we had a great time watching her. I maybe cried again.

We finished off the morning with the Muppet 3-d movie. It's a long-time favorite of mine, but M was decidedly unimpressed. At least, I think that's what she was trying to tell us with her piercing screams and audible sobs. I left feeling like the worst mom ever for making her see it.

Tuesday evening, the in-laws headed off to a grown-up dinner in Epcot's France. DH suggested a short trip to the Magic Kingdom. I agreed, even though I knew the park would close early for the Halloween Party they host there. I'd begged and wheedled and tried to get The Boy to agree that we needed to get tickets to the party, but he disagreed. Something about bedtimes and responsibility. I dunno. I was too busy pining over the idea of trick-or-treating at Disney to listen.

Nevertheless, we went to the MK and picked up some Minnie ears for M. Then we headed straight towards Toontown, where M wanted to see Mickey again. Alas, he'd just left there to get ready for the Halloween party (see, Boy, SEE?). She did, however, have a good time exploring Minnie's house, then I made her ride the roller coaster (with The Boy, of course). I was a little apprehensive about that one after her response to the muppets, but I needn't have worried. As soon as the ride ended, I headed to the exit, thinking to collect my sobbing puddle o'toddler. Instead, I saw her get off the train, then turn around and get back on again. Since the place was empty, they allowed her to do that. After ride #2, The Boy pried her off, and she ran down the ramp to me and asked if she could go again. She rode it four times, then spent another 40 minutes running around the tiny playground in Toontown. Then The Boy dragged me kicking and screaming out of the park as the Halloween music started.

Wednesday morning found us back at the Magic Kingdom again. Fearing crowds, I'd forced everyone to be out the door at at the park 20 minutes before it opened. As it happened, there were no crowds at all. We walked onto every single ride in Fantasyland (some of them several times) before 10:00 am, then the rest of the adults walked onto Space Mountain. We played for several hours, then had lunch with Pooh and Friends in the park. Afterwards, I agreed to take M back to the room while the rest of the adults went to Animal Kingdom to hit the rides there that are not kid or prego friendly.

Sadly, it started raining and thundering while M and I were napping. The boy and his parents returned to the room having gotten to AK just as they were closing down all of the thrill rides due to thunder. They saw the bug movie, which creeped them all out.

Foolishly, that night we decided to go back to MK again, despite the rain. My in-laws wanted to take M on the Jungle Cruise. We got there, waited in line, and just as we got to the front, we heard that ominous rumble of thunder and they shut down the ride. Thwarted, we decided to grab some dinner instead. We ended up at the Pinocchio Village Haus for what was, undoubtedly, the worst meal we had all week. Seriously, this place stinks! But we did get entertainment in the form of M having a tantrum because she wanted to ride It's a Small World again, followed by my MIL having a tantrum because The Boy took M on IASM before dinner. Tempers were appeased when we agreed that the in-laws could have M all to themselves the next morning while The Boy and I explored on our own (oh, the sacrifice!)

So Thursday morning? ROCKED. The Boy and I headed back to MK yet again, to ride all the stuff we'd deemed inappropriate for M. We started on Buzz Lightyear, where we won dream fastpasses! Now, the park was nowhere near crowded enough that we needed them, but we were still happy to win. We zoomed through the rest of the stuff we'd wanted to see (I highly recommend the Carousel of Progress), then met up with M and the ILs after they finally got on the jungle cruise.

In the afternoon, the guys took M back to the room while MIL and I went to Downtown Disney for some shopping. Sadly, it started pouring on the boat ride back to the hotel and didn't stop for hours. We had dinner reservations in Epcot that night, so we slogged through the rain to get there. Luckily, dinner was delicious and because the service was so incredibly slow, we got out right in time to see the fireworks. M oohed and aahed, then as soon as the last firework had faded, she melted into tears that didn't stop until we were back at the hotel. Poor kid. Despite her daily two-hour naps and our efforts to enforce bedtime, she was exhausted.

Friday was leaving day. We slept in, packed, ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and finally got to swim in that great pool. Then we did one more quick shopping trip (to make good on our potty-training bribe to M. More on that some other time), and drove home. We spent the rest of the weekend sleeping and basically not moving.

Overall, it was a great trip and I'm glad we went. I don't see us becoming a "Disney every year" family, but I did get The Boy to agree we should go back in five years. And next time, even he thinks we should hit the Halloween party.

Taking my Daughters to Disney

2008-09-05T09:55:00.002-04:00

Today is a big day in the Paranoid family. In a few hours, we'll be heading to Disney (and trying to outrun a hurricane). And we had our big ultrasound this morning. The totcicle is a healthy little girl! I'm very excited that M's going to get the sister she wanted, though a little sad that, given all of the hand-me-downs from M and our other girl friends, there won't be hardly any new baby shopping this time around.

But anyway, the headline here is healthy. I'm so, so grateful that she's healthy.

And with that, we're going to Disney World!

90210! Eeeeee!

2008-09-02T19:25:00.002-04:00

Ok, so I'm a 33-year-old woman who is as excited as hell about the new 90210 show that's premiering tonight. Yes, I know it'll probably be awful. Yes, I know I should be ashamed of myself. But still, 90210! I have to watch it.*

I grew up with the original show. The West Beverly gang were my companions through high school, and graduated the same year I did (though they started out as Sophomores and just spent an extra year in 10th grade). Needless to say, the high school experiences on the show in no way resembled my own high school experience, but still, I found them absolutely fascinating. These kids got to date! And go places, like the mall! And date! And leave the house! And have jobs! And drive! And date! (have I mentioned before that my upbringing was strict to an extreme? It practically took an act of Congress for my parents to let me out of the house, even for school activities). I loved all of the characters (even Brenda. I never did get the "I hate Brenda" thing). I loved the story lines. I loved it all.

I took 90210 with me to college, where watching it was one of the top communal activities. On 90210 nights, everyone would gather with their friends and tune in. All along the hall, the doors would be open and when particularly funny or dramatic things happened, you'd hear the collective "oooohh" echoing through the corridor. (this phenomenon was not limited to 90210. I can still hear the screams of delight from when Kristen Davis fell into the pool and died on Melrose Place).

But it wasn't until after undergrad that I really, really started to love 90210. See, they graduated college the same time as me. And by the time the next season premiere rolled around, my life well and truly sucked. I was on my own in a strange city, working and going to law school at night, and all of the people I loved best in the world were still back in CT, having fun without me. I was so lonely that the night I went to see Rent, I spent the entire second act sobbing because all of the friendships in that show were SO BEAUTIFUL!!! So when 90210 came back and it turned out all of the kids' lives were sucking even worse then mine was, well, it was comforting. At least I never got shot. Plus, in later years, as my life improved and theirs still kind of sucked, it seemed like a sign that I was doing ok.

So yeah. 90210. Loved it.

*Alas, my damn TV is broken. Instead of enjoying the delicious, delicious badness, I will be sitting in my family room, hunched over the quilt square I'm working on, staring at a blank screen. Curses.

So, um, anyone who's able to watch it, come back here and fill me in, 'k?

(by the way, whatever fates are in charge of television repair must really, really hate me. The day our TV decided to kill itself was also the day M came down with a horrible cold and wanted only to watch television. Grrr.)

Paralysis

2008-08-29T13:02:00.003-04:00

I know I've barely been blogging lately. In fact, I haven't been doing much of anything lately. For reasons I cannot discern, I'm paralyzed these days. Absolutely non-productive, and by that I mean even more than my normal tendency towards laziness would indicate.

There's nothing wrong with me, I don't think. I'm reasonably happy -- still pregnant, still loving M, still giddy about our upcoming Disney trip. I'm certainly not depressed, but I sure seem to be acting like it. The second I have any free time, I beeline for the sofa and either sleep, read or whip out a Buffy DVD. I want to spend that time cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking dinner, etc. You know, all of the things that normal people do every single day. But I just can't seem to peel myself off of the sofa.

Part of it is, I know, residual of my first trimester. I felt like hell for a good two months, and spent at least one additional month being a zombie, so tired I actually almost fell asleep in the swimming pool once. So for twelve weeks, I gave myself permission to be a slug. I told myself it was only temporary and that as soon as the second trimester hit, I'd be back to normal. But here I am, well-settled in my second trimester (17 weeks tomorrow), and I'm still a slug.

Part of the issue, too, is that I have a lot on my mind. I have two news tickers constantly running across my brain -- one that obsessively analyzes every single twitch of my body, looking for evidence that I'm still pregnant or that I'm losing the baby. The other is constantly running with plans for the Disney trip, with which I may be a tad bit too obsessed. I"m trying to work out plans that will keep all 5 members of our party happy and make sure everyone sees everything they want to see, and it's making me a little nuts. Add in the fact that The Boy's been working super-long hours lately (leaving me with an extra 2-3 hours a day of M time to fill), and it feels like my mind is full already. There's no room for, say, sorting the mail. I'll start to plough through the pile, get a little way in, lose my concentration and wander off to do something else.

So, nothing's getting done. My house is a mess. Laundry is piled up, and I'm only cooking "real" meals 2-3 times a week. I seriously can't even concentrate on making a grocery list, so we don't have enough food in the house to make most of my standby meals (of course, the fact that our fridge broke and we lost most of our perishable staples isn't helping matters).

I've got to snap out of this, and I know it. I just don't know how. Every day, M goes down for her nap and I promise myself that this is the day I'll get something done. Then I look around the disaster of my kitchen, and it's just too big a job. I usually manage to do the dishes and then I need a break. And the break doesn't stop until DD wakes up, at which point she needs my attention and further cleaning is near impossible.

I really don't know what to do here. How do I break out of this fog? Any and all suggestions would be appreciated.

Boogity Boogity Boo. Poof!

2008-08-21T09:08:00.002-04:00

That's the magic spell M invented this morning. It summons dragons, which then dance with her. I tell ya, as crabby as I've been lately, she can still manage to crack me up and/or charm me on a regular basis.

The Question Girl

2008-08-13T17:40:00.002-04:00

This has been my day:

At Target:
Mommy, what did [friend] say?
I don't know, baby.
Mama, what did [friend] say when I wanted to go on the carousel?
(light dawning -- she's talking about an incident at playgroup a month ago)
She said the carousel didn't have a cat on it.
Mama, why did she say that?
Because she didn't know there was a cat.
Mommy, what did [friend's] mommy say?
I don't know, baby.
Mama, what did I do when [friend] said there wasn't a cat?
You cried.
Yeah, I did. Why did [friend] say there wasn't a cat?
Because she didn't know there was a cat.
Mommy, what did [friend] say?
She said there wasn't a cat on the carousel.
Yeah. And what did I do?
You cried.
What did [friend's] mommy say?
I don't know, baby.
Why did friend say there wasn't a cat?
Because she didn't know that carousel has a cat.
What did I do when [friend] said there wasn't a cat?
You cried.
Yeah, I did. Why did I cry?
Because [friend] said there wasn't a cat on the carousel.
Mommy, what did [friend] say?
FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, M, PLEASE STOP ASKING ME THE SAME QUESTION EVERY TWO SECONDS.
Waaah! Mommy, stop yelling! You scared me!
Sorry baby.

[beat]

Mommy, what did [friend] say?

In the car:

Mommy, what song is this?
I don't know, baby.
Why don't you know?
Because I don't remember this disk.
Can you find out?
Not right now.
Waaaah! Mommy, what song is this?
[make up name]
Who sings this song, Mommy? A boy or a lady?
A boy.
What does the boy look like?
I don't know, honey. There's no picture.
Is he a little boy wearing a hat?
Sure.
What color is the hat?
Red.
No, pink!
Ok, pink.
Why is it pink?
I don't know, baby.
Well, can you find out?
Not right now. I'm driving.
Mommy, what song is this?
[made up name]
Why is the boy singing?
Because it's his job.
Why is it his job?
Because it is.
But whhhhhhyyyyyy!
Because it is.
[beat]
What song is this, Mommy?

Does anyone know where I can buy a toddler-sized muzzle?

Glued to the Television (even more than usual)

2008-08-11T08:33:00.002-04:00

I've never been much of a sports fan. I mean, I liked to play sports back when I had time and energy, but I never really got into watching them. Every time the Olympics came around, I could be counted on to at least try to catch figure skating or gymnastics, but that was the extent of it.

So I can't explain why, this time around, I've been glued to the screen each evening, avidly watching such thrilling events as beach volleyball, swimming and synchronized diving (by the way, synchronized diving may be the flat-out strangest sport I've ever seen, but it's really, really cool). The bicycling I can explain -- they're racing right along the Great Wall, and the scenery is so amazing that I'm surprised any of the athletes can concentrate on the race. The allure of the other sports remains a mystery to me, and yet I keep watching.

Part of it is the stories. I mean, c'mon. Germany has a 33-year-old mom on it's gymnastics team, and she kicks ass. As patriotic as I am, I really, really hope this woman brings home a medal, just for sheer balls. She's competing against girls 20 years her junior (does any single person in the world believe that the Chinese gymnasts have even reached puberty, let alone the mandatory minimum age of 16? A glance is all it takes to see that most of the team is made up not of women, but of children.), and more than holding her own. And then there's the swimming, where victory is literally measured in hundredths of a second. Both medal races last night were heart-stoppers with such tiny margins of victory.

I know China has its issues, and it's been interesting watching that play out in these games. They've certainly done a great job of throwing an event, and there's no doubt it's a beautiful country. But then there's the cheating thing. And one really gets the sense that the athletes on China's team aren't having any fun at all. Their superstar diver tells about how the first time she dove, she was so frightened that her coach pushed her into the pool. It was pretty clear that the path she's on was not her choice, but something pushed on her by adults when she was too young to resist. One of the gymnasts apparently begged her parents to let her quit the sport a few years ago, but she was urged (forced?) to continue. It seems such a horrible, lonely life, especially if it's not one being lived by choice.

All that aside, though, it's been a great Olympics. I see myself being glued to the TV for the rest of the week. After all, I have to know how beach volleyball turns out.

I'm Growing Crochety in My Old Age

2008-08-07T15:10:00.003-04:00

Lately, I've been noticing that I've become crochety. I find myself disturbed by things that the rest of society appears to think are totally ok. And I start to worry -- isn't it too early for me to be this grouchy? I'm only 32, for heaven's sake!

Case in point: I was watching the Daily Show the other day, and Seth Rogan was on, promoting his new movie, a stoner flick. This guy's 26 years old, and not only does he still apparently smoke a lot of pot, but he talks about it gleefully on television. And Jon Stewart was right there with him, reminiscing about his own pothead days.

Now, I don't have all that much against smoking pot. Frankly, I think it should probably be legal. But still the fact remains, pot is currently an illegal drug. I find myself thinking that it's just plan wrong for two grown men to be sitting there, on national TV, happily discussing their frequent law breaking. And then I find myself thinking that next thing you know, I'll be shaking my fist at those "darn kids" on my TV screen.

Case in point number two: I have always had an inappropriate affection for tv shows aimed at teenagers -- I've been known to Tivo an occasional episode of DeGrassi, and it was while doing so that I stumbled across Queen Bees, a truly reprehensible "reality" show about mean girls. They've been nominated by their friends and families who think they're spoiled brats, and they have to learn to pretend to be nice, in the hopes of winning $25k.

In the very first episode of the show, one of the girls smugly recounts the story of how she was feeling neglected by her boyfriend, so she told him she was pregnant so he'd pamper her. Apparently, it worked like a charm, but after a few months, she tired of the charade and pretended she'd had a miscarriage. To this day, she bragged, her boyfriend has no idea what she did to him. The story resurfaced again in a later episode, with the girl bragging this time to the other girls in the house about what she'd done. As far as I could see, she's never expressed any remorse for her heinousness, nor has she confessed to her boyfriend (then again, I have only seen two episodes (plus the end of another), so maybe there was comeuppance in there somewhere). And worse, she's currently on track to win the show. Without apologizing. Without getting her ass kicked. Without any visible consequences for her actions. Apparently, on this show, redemption really is skin deep.

Ok, I know it's TV. And I know it's not meant to be real. But holy moly, what are kids learning from this? That they can do whatever horrible things they want to do, and as long as they later profess to have changed, then everything's ok? That true love means being able to rip your boyfriend's heart out with lies and never having to say you're sorry? That they need not be ashamed of anything they do, no matter how despicable? Yikes. If the kids on this show are even the tiniest bit representative of what real kids are like now, then we as a society are doomed.

Memories

2008-07-31T11:33:00.002-04:00

Exactly 9 years ago right now, I was on the DC metro, trying valiantly to choke down a donut as my best friend sat next to me, warbling "Going to the Chapel." She wasn't exactly accurate -- we were actually on our way to my parents' hotel, where I'd be getting ready for my wedding.

I never dreamed, as a kid, that I'd ever get married. My parents' marriage wasn't exactly an inspiring example, as they openly hated each other. My dreams of my adult life pretty much centered around two goals -- to become a lawyer, and to get away from my family. The possibility of marriage and children was simply not one that ever occurred to me.

So I remember being a little shocked that morning that I, at the (relatively) young age of 23, was about to get married. And what's more, that I was downright giddy about the idea. 2 1/2 years before, I'd met the boy of my dreams. The one who made my heart leap a little bit every time I looked at him. The one of whose company I never, ever tired. The one who knew, with just a glance, what I was thinking, and who usually had some snarky quip that would reflect my own thoughts so exactly that I'd have to laugh.

By now, my memories of our wedding day are mostly a blur (though a happy one). I remember leaving the hotel to meet my bridesmaids in the limo and the limo driver laughing at me because instead of carrying a dainty bridal purse, I'd slung my battered green backpack on over my gown. I remember that it was 105 degrees that day and that the chapel was inadequately air conditioned. I keep trying to forget that my parents were an hour and a half late to the wedding, but that I was too nice simply to go ahead without them. I remember being relieved that there hadn't been another wedding scheduled after ours in the chapel, because then we'd have been forced to get married without my parents there.

Our reception, I remember, was lovely, if simple. Since we were both just out of undergrad relatively broke, there were no fancy centerpieces or chair covers of meticulously matched linens (frankly, even if we'd been wealthy, these details probably would have been overlooked. I'm not exactly Martha Stewart). But the DJ was great, and we'd assembled a playlist of favorite songs that encouraged everyone to get up and dance. Our reception was held at the top of a hotel in Virginia, and the view from the room was spectacular -- we overlooked the Potomac and Georgetown University,where the ceremony had taken place. And, of course, there was good food and plenty of booze.

Until I started typing this, I'd forgotten that after the reception, we went down to the hotel pool, where many of our guests had congregated. We had a blast splashing around and enjoying the company of the friends and relatives who'd traveled to share our special day. And when we returned to the room, we learned that the wedding coordinator (bless her) had delivered plates full of food and wedding cake to our room. Bliss.

Finally, I remember our first morning as a married couple. How we ate leftover wedding cake for breakfast and opened presents as we laughed together, hardly able to believe that we were a husband and a wife. And I remember thinking how very lucky I was.

Nine years later, I feel even luckier. I've never, not even for one second, had reason to regret marrying my Boy. And frankly, even if things went to hell tomorrow, I cannot imagine ever being sorry to have spent these last nine years with him. This kind of thing may sound blindingly obvious to normal people, but to me it's a big deal, since the one thing that most breaks my heart about my parents' marriage is that neither one of them ever made a secret of the fact that each dearly regretted ever having married the other. I look back at the last nine years and the happiness it's brought me, and I cannot imagine things ever being so bad as to erase that happiness and make the entire marriage a mistake.

But anyway, my point. I'm a lucky woman. I know I'm not exactly the ideal wife. I'm a little lazy, a barely-competent housekeeper, and I can be kind of a bitch. And I'm not exactly arm candy. But somehow, not only does The Boy love me, but he seems to think he's gotten the better part of the deal. Now, I know he's totally wrong. I'm the winner in the great marriage sweepstakes. I get to spend the rest of my life with my best friend.

Bits and Bobs (aka a whole lot o'bitching)

2008-07-30T17:38:00.003-04:00

Just a bunch of random stuff to report:

1. M has somehow gotten her mind around the idea of a royal family tree. The other day, she announced "I"m a princess!" Just as I was gritting my teeth and gearing up my usual "no, baby, you're not a princess" answer, she looks at me and says "And you're the queen!" Well, in that case, I guess it's ok. She also occasionally calls me "your majesty." Can't say I mind.

2. She's also started thanking me each night for dinner, a habit The Boy has somehow instilled. Put these two together, and you get "thank you for a lovely dinner, your majesty!" Just try to not giggle and melt at that one.

3. M's visit with her six-year-old cousin, which happened several weeks ago, continues to have reverberations. Unfortunately, they're mostly annoying. For instance, her (otherwise smart, articulate) cousin has one peculiar speech issue -- she does npt pronounce the sound "th." She says "s" instead, as in "I sink" for "I think." For some reason, this bugged me at the time, but it's a million times worse now that M has to be just like her big cousin. I've been correcting "sinks" left and right for three weeks now.

3. M's cousin was also in a kind of whiny phase when she was here, and it manifested in her claiming to be scared of almost everything she encountered. Little miss monkey-see-monkey-do picked up on that charming habit, so I'm also spending a lot of time talking to her about why her, say, crib is not scary and why she doesn't really need to scream when she sees it. She also proclaims herself scared every time I correct her in a voice that's not totally even and calm. And don't even get me started on The Boy, who decided to address M's professed fear of him by stomping into her bedroom, intoning "FEE FI FO FUM!" in his loudest, deepest voice. It took me five minutes to scrape my weeping, wailing puddle of toddler off the floor after that one.

4. The one area in which we wanted M to be influenced by her cousin is the one where she chooses instead to emulate her other cousin, who's six months old. Yep, she's pretty much never going to stop using diapers, at least for, ahem, certain functions.

Sorry for all the crank. In between petty annoyances, I really am enjoying the heck out of M these days. She helps me cook now, which is great because she'll totally eat whatever "she" cooks. And she's as cuddly and sweet as ever (you know, when she's not screaming or crying).

Bad Things

2008-07-23T14:03:00.003-04:00

Last week, a woman was murdered in my town. She allegedly went out for a run one morning, and a concerned friend called 911 when she missed an appointment several hours later. Two days after that, her body was found in a storm drain.

Because violent crime is fairly rare where we live, the case has received a lot of media attention, and the details that have emerged of this woman, her life and, ultimately, her death are deeply disturbing. On the outside, she was Just Like Me. A stay-at-home-mom, living in a nice suburban subdivision. Her family, including her identical twin sister, lived far away, and her husband works for a tech company. She appeared to have all of the trappings of a happy, prosperous life (our local paper was careful to report the brand of luxury car she drove and of the luxury purse she left behind).

As the days went on, though, the news reports have made it increasingly clear that, despite the official lack of a suspect, the media believes the dead woman's husband to be her murderer. Interviews with the woman's family paint a photo of someone trapped in this country, entirely dependent on her husband's immigration status. She wasn't allowed to work, and if she left him, he could have her deported (to Canada). Worse, her children are American citizens, and her husband had confiscated their passports so she couldn't take them back home with her if she did try to leave. A few days later, the woman's parents sought and won an emergency custody order for the couple's children. And today's paper quotes the initial 911 call, where the concerned friend implies that she's afraid the woman's husband may have done something to her.

The Boy is relieved that it appears the dead woman was the victim of domestic violence. In his mind, he'd rather not have a random killer running around lose. But frankly, I think random would bother me less than if this woman's husband actually did kill her.

I just keep thinking of their kids. Not only have they lost their mom at a terribly young age, but they may soon be dealing with the fact that it was daddy who killer her. My heart breaks for them. I can't wrap my mind around the idea of any parent willingly taking away his children's mother. I mean, even if he outright hated his wife, wouldn't you think love of his children would give him pause? How could any human being cause that kind of pain to his own family?

So, every day that the police declare that they have no suspect in this case, I hope. I hope, in a sick way, that it turns out this woman's death was the result of random chance, of a moment of violence committed by a stranger. That her children will at least have one parent remaining to them, who can help them seek justice for their mom.

(I, uh, hope it goes without saying that, whoever killed this woman, I hope they're caught and punished soon. I may be rooting for random violence over domestic violence, but that doesn't mean I relish the idea of a killer roaming our streets).

Hopelessly Behind

2008-07-14T17:18:00.003-04:00

I swear, I've been reading all of your blogs, and have even managed to comment on some. But for some reason, I cannot muster up the time and energy to post here these days. I have no real excuse, but here are a couple of things I have been musing on and haven't managed to write about:

1. Thank you, Girl Next Door, for the blog award. Right back atcha with the love. I promise I'll do the whole posting thing soon(ish), with the actual name of the award and passing it on and such. I just need some concentrated computer time to do it.

2. We just finished hanging out with The Boy's entire family for a week or so. It was fun, but also a touch exasperating. I'd dearly love to vent all of my feelings here, but I can't help thinking it would be mean, considering that The Boy still doesn't know about this blog. It's too much like talking about him behind his back, although he's not the one I'd be venting about.

3. The eighth anniversary of my father's death is today. I've been thinking a lot about him lately, wishing he could have met his granddaughter. Then again, if he were still alive, there's no guarantee we'd even be in contact right now -- our history was spotty at best. Still, we could have tried. I suspect there's a long post about this coming at some point.

4. Our Fourth of July was fun. M saw fireworks for the first time, and was delighted. She called them "fireworkers," and seemed to expect they'd be people. The whole time she was oohing and aahing at the show, she kept asking me "but where are the fireworkers, mommy?"

That's all for now -- computer time is over and the child calls.

Mother Nature's Diet Plan

2008-07-10T09:33:00.003-04:00

So you all know that in April, back when we expected our FET to fail, I started a diet program. I can't say I stuck with it perfectly, but I did give it a good shot. I lost somewhere between 3-5 pounds in the 8 weeks I was on it. Not exactly a ringing success.

Of course, the moment I found out I was pregnant, I went off the diet (and even stopped exercising, which I realize isn't a good thing). I am trying to be careful about what I eat, but only to try to get the nutrients I and the baby need, not to lose weight.

But, see, there's this nausea thing. And the fact that I just don't want to eat anything. And the fact that once I do find something that I want to eat, I feel full and bloated after only a few bites. Throw all of those things together, and since transfer day (May 22) I've lost somewhere between 6 and 8 pounds.

So it seems that all I need to do, once I'm actually ready to lose weight again, is find a way to replicate the hormonal cocktail of a first-trimester pregnancy. Of course, the tradeoff to that would be feeling like shit for the year or more it would take me to lose all the weight I need to lose. But still. I wonder if I could get a doctor to prescribe me large doses of progesterone for weight loss purposes.

In the meantime, I find myself in the odd position of trying to stop myself from losing weight. I don't think I've ever been here before -- generally, I gain weight by simply breathing. And I do want to exercise more this pregnancy than I did with M, but I think I'll keep giving myself a pass on that one until I get over the first-trimester fatigue.

Sick, Tired and Happy

2008-06-30T11:57:00.003-04:00

I decided to chill out about things on Friday. I figured I'd give it until today, and if I was still feeling fine, I'd call the OB and insist on coming in.

Luckily, it's not necessary. By mid-Saturday I was feeling like crap again. It's still not as bad as it had been early last week, but I'm sick enough that I'm more or less convinced I'm still pregnant.

I do have an OB appointment later this week. I know I'll feel much better after I get a glimpse of the baby. I know it's terribly naive to think so, but in my mind I keep feeling like if we can just make it to 8.5 weeks, we'll be fine.

The Freakout Begins

2008-06-27T15:17:00.003-04:00

My second pregnancy ended with such a whisper that I didn't know it was over until a month later. All I knew was that I felt great -- no more nausea, no more fatigue. The symptoms ended around 8 weeks or so, but since my morning sickness with M had faded at around 10 weeks, I simply assumed this pregnancy was easier and moved forward gratefully. It wasn't until my 12-week appointment, when they told me the dead fetus measured 8w1d, that things finally clicked into place.

Today I'm 7w6d. For the past two weeks or so, I've been sick as a dog -- queasy all day long. On Tuesday, it was so bad I needed to lie down just until my stomach settled. And as much as being sick sucks, I was relieved every second that my stomach revolted. At least it meant I was still pregnant.

Until yesterday. Last night, I realized that I didn't feel sick, and that I hadn't felt sick since before dinner. Not only that, but I wasn't tired, either. In fact, I felt downright energetic. Of course, I freaked out a little, but I reminded myself that pregnancy symptoms do ebb and flow, and decided it was just a short ebb. Problem is, I feel pretty good today, too. I actually have the energy to do some of the housework I've been neglecting, and I've felt at worst mildly queasy for part of the day. My pregnancy symptoms aren't gone, but they're much milder right now than they have been.

Maybe the reason I'm feeling better is that I've finally begun forcing myself to eat more protein after a week-long carb fest. I did notice that I felt sicker when I gave into my carb-loaded cravings, and would end up ravenous but queasy a short time later. Maybe my efforts to improve my diet mean my stomach's just not emptying as quickly and therefore not having a chance to become queasy? Or maybe this really is part of the normal fluctuation in symptoms. But what if it's not? What if the baby's dying?

I'd feel like an idiot calling my OB and telling them I'm worried that I feel too good. Not to mention that I already had to fight with them just to get an appointment next Thursday instead of at the end of July, which is when they initially insisted was the earliest I could be seen. Besides that, the office is closed for the weekend now, since they have early hours on Fridays. I have the feeling they would be less than amused if I were to page the on-call doc just because I don't feel sick today.

On the other hand, it's not like I've never been here before. And if I'd listened to my body a year and a half ago, maybe I wouldn't have carried around two dead babies for a month. And maybe I wouldn't have gotten the infection that messed up my tubes and rendered me infertile (though it's really just conjecture that my miscarriage caused my tubal issues).

I just don't know. Is this important enough to merit an emergency call to my OB? Maybe a quickie return to my RE, who released me last week? I wish I had more confidence in myself and my instincts, so I could know whether mine is a rational concern or just the freakout of a nervous hormonal chick.

On the Other Hand...

2008-06-24T17:56:00.002-04:00

Today I successfully trained M to say "mommy my love, please stand up so I can climb on you."

So things aren't all that dire over here.

Who is this Kid, and How Can I Get My Baby Back?

2008-06-23T09:36:00.002-04:00

Things M has said to me recently:

"go away, mommy! Go to another room and stay there. Don't bother me."

"No, mama. I don't want you!"

"I don't like you."

"NO! You NOT (whatever I happen to be doing at the time)."

"SILENCE!" (this last whenever The Boy or I say something she doesn't want to hear).

Add in the general attitude issues, the constant demands to go wherever it is she's obsessed with going at that exact moment (currently, the carousel at the mall), the flat refusal to cooperate with the most basic of tasks and the unrelenting (if paradoxical, considering how often she tells me to go away) demands that I spend every second of my time paying attention to her, and it seems we're in the thick of the terrible twos.

I suppose I deserve it. Until a few weeks ago, I was one of those annoying moms who claimed that two was the most easygoing, funny, charming age yet, and that I wished my daughter could be two forever. Why, I'd say, batting my eyes, I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't love a two-year-old! They're like little, cuddly, court jesters!

Then she turned two and a half, and like a switch had been thrown, I suddenly had a sullen 13-year-old on my hands, only without all the fun reasoning skills. She fights on almost everything. Seriously -- I offer her an ice pop, her favorite thing in the world, and she screams and cries "No! I don't want an ice pop!" But I turn to put it back in the freezer, and it's as if I'd just beheaded her favorite teddy bear. "Nooooo! My ice pop! Moooooommmmmmy! I want an ice pop!!!"

We're trying to give her room to figure out this autonomy thing, while at the same time leaving no question that Mommy and Daddy are in charge, but it's rough. I'm so tempted sometimes to give in to whatever her whim is just to buy a few seconds of blessed silence that I actually think I end up being stricter than I otherwise might be. Or we get into these ridiculous situations where I'll say no about something that doesn't really even matter, then end up not being able to back down lest I lead her to believe that a tantrum will get her somewhere.

Now, don't get me wrong. M is still pretty much my favorite person, and she has her moments of wonderfulness. But being with her 24/7 is not exactly my idea of heaven these days.

Flunking NaComLeavMo

2008-06-16T18:33:00.002-04:00

Ok, I didn't want to admit this, but I have to drop out of NaComLeavMo. We've had a sudden and persistent outbreak of two-year-old-itis in the last several days, and between the "Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEE"s and the pregnancy-induced fatigue, my computer time is severely restricted of late.

Thanks so much to all of you who have commented here from NCLM. I have really been enjoying visiting your blogs, and I hope to continue doing that. you all are a really interesting bunch! (and I don't mean that euphemistically).

And I hope to drop back in once things calm down a little here.

How I Got Fired From Express -- a True Story

2008-06-13T15:34:00.002-04:00

This one is for Sam,who commented asking how I managed to get fired from a retail clothing store:

It was spring of my Senior year of high school. I'd just quit the softball team, having realized at last that I had neither softball talent nor the patience to spend the season sitting on the bench so as not to bring down my team's chances at a state championship (they did, by the way, win that year. I like to think my absence helped a little). I knew I wanted a summer job, so when I saw that a new Express store was opening at our local mall, I applied.

For those unfamiliar, Express is a women's clothing store that, in the early '90s, sold trendy-ish clothes in French-themed stores. At the time, I thought their stuff was the height of coolness, despite the fact that that summer, one of their featured items was bikini/bra-style tops meant to be worn as actual shirts.

So anyway, I got an interview, in which I burbled on and on about how much I loved their clothes and how I was really responsible and how I was really looking forward to to working my first 40-hour-a-week job before I went to college (yes, I was a geek. I know). Inexplicably, I was hired and told to show up to help get the store ready for opening.

I showed up on the designated afternoon, got admitted to the still-under-construction store, and looked around in awe at the piles upon piles of brand-new, still-in-bags clothes. And at the scores of girls who had also been hired to man the store. Lots and lots of girls. Tons of us.

For the first week, or so, things were great. We were getting the store set up, and I had a blast. Moving boxes, tagging clothes and arranging them according to color and size, meeting the other girls, etc. In the meantime, I'd go home at night and describe the clothes to my mom, who was impatiently awaiting access to my employee discount.

The week that the store finally opened, I was so excited! I carefully picked out an outfit at "shopping night," and got all ready to start. The only fly in the ointment was that I was only scheduled to work 10 hours that week, but my manager assured me that hours were allocated according to who sold the most clothes, and that my hours would pick up once we opened.

I showed up to work on opening day, dressed in my brand-new dress and eager to get going. Instead of being assigned to the floor, though, I was asked to keep unpacking clothes back in the stockroom. Fine with me! I did that for eight of my 10 hours that first week. The next week, I was dismayed to be scheduled for only 10 hours again. Again, I quizzed the manager, who said "Well, hours are allocated according to who has the most sales, and your sales were really low last week." Wait, what? I didn't mind working in the back room, but I really, really didn't like being penalized for it.

Things would be ok, though. I finally got out of the stockroom and onto the floor. I'd do great! I just knew it! And besides, I couldn't work 40 hours a week right away, as school was still in session.

The thing is, I'm not much of a saleswoman. I had the obsequious part down -- I could offer people help and shuttle their things to the dressing room like nobody's business. But I hated "bothering" the customers, so I usually just let them into the dressing room and backed off, assuming they'd come to me if they needed something. In the meantime, they'd run across one of my more skilled colleagues and remember her name when they were asked at the register who'd helped them. My sales numbers were, accordingly, unspectacular. I was meeting my quotas, but only just barely. And I was sunk the next week when they upped the quotas.

In the meantime, there was the aforementioned employee discount. We were told in the beginning that it was strictly for our own personal use -- we weren't supposed to be using it for family and friends. I bought a few things, but didn't go crazy. Not so my greedy mom, who couldn't have cared less about the rules if there was a chance she'd get a deal. She'd go into the store, browse, then make out a list of things she wanted me to buy for her with my discount. I'd end up going into the store and picking up armfuls and armfuls of clothes for her (and no, it never occurred to me to refuse. Back then, one did not disobey my mother, ever, about anything. Not if one wanted to keep living in her house). The manager, who always checked out employees, would eye the huge pile of size-14 clothes and my (then) size-7 body, and ask if I was sure I didn't want to try them on? I'd just mumble something about liking my clothes big and hightail it out of there.

So this went on for about three weeks, me working 1 or 2 days a week, barely squeaking by on my quotas and buying my mom an entire new wardrobe of clothes, them assigning me ever fewer hours. All was calm, if not well, until prom weekend. I was scheduled to work the morning after prom, and I didn't want to rock the boat by asking to have that morning off, especially since it was the only day that week I was on the schedule.

Now, one thing you should know at this point -- although I was almost 18 at the time, I was not allowed to drive alone, and especially not to the mall. My parents always gave me a ride to work. That day, my dad drove me and then went to Sears to get some things.

Anyway, I arrived at the store that morning and reported to the manager. She glanced over at me in surprise and said "oh, someone was supposed to call you. We don't need you to work today. " Luckily, my dad was still at the mall, so I hightailed it over to Sears and managed to catch him before he left.

BOY, was my dad furious! I told him what had happened and he stormed over to Express and proceeded to ream out my manager in front of the entire store. I don't remember exactly what he said (I was too busy hiding in the corner, pretending I had no idea who this guy was), but I remember it being pretty angry and loud.

The next weekend was Father's Day. I hadn't been scheduled at all that week, but they called me on Friday to see if I could come in on Father's Day and fill in for someone else. I already had plans, so I said no.

Three days later, I headed into the store, clutching my graduation-present money in my hot little hands and ready to buy some clothes in my own size for once. My manager met me at the door. I'm sorry, she said, we can no longer employ you here. I asked why, and she said I just wasn't a team player, mentioning how I'd asked for more hours but had refused to come in on Father's Day.

So, that's how I got fired from Express. I don't know the real reason for my dismissal -- was it my poor sales skills? My gross abuse of the employee discount? The public humiliation of my manager? The fact that they'd hired over 100 girls to open the store, but didn't need nearly that many actually to run it? A mix of all of those reasons? Who knows?

The upside is, within a few days, I'd found a job working at a bakery -- to date, one of the more fun (and definitely most delicious!) jobs I've ever had.

Tagged!

2008-06-11T14:00:00.002-04:00

Mrs. X tagged me for this meme. Here goes:

1) What were you doing 10 years ago? Touring Italy with some law school friends. I'd just finished my first year of law school. In order to graduate in four years (I was in the night program), I needed to take at least one set of summer classes, and my school ran a month-long program in Florence. I'd get six credits and spend my non-class time in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Who could say no? I informed my boss that I'd be taking a leave of absence, and signed up. To date, it's the only really irresponsible thing I've ever done, and I've never regretted it.

(oh, and also, 10 years and about three weeks ago, I got engaged to The Boy).

2) What are 5 things on your to-do list today? 1. Get groceries and sunscreen, 2. Do M's laundry. 3. Fold M's laundry that I did last week (I am terrible at folding and putting clothes away), 4. Figure out what to make for dinner, 5. Try to create some semblance of order out of the mess that is my kitchen.

3) List some snacks you enjoy: When I'm being bad, Cheetos Puffcorn or Pringles Stix. When I'm being better, a Fudgesicle, a turkey sandwich on light bread, or fresh berries with a little whipped cream.

4) What would you do with a billion dollars?: Oh, so many things. First, pay off my student loans. Second, start a college fund for M and all of my nieces and nephews (and M's friends, if their parents wouldn't object). Third, hire a decorator, a personal trainer and a personal chef, and maybe someone to follow me around and make sure I don't eat everything in sight. Fourth, set up a scholarship at my undergrad university for kids like me, who find themselves with parents who, while technically able to pay tuition, choose not to. Fifth, pick a few causes that are really important to me and donate generously to each. And in all honestly, somewhere in there, I'd throw a ginormous party for all of our friends and family. And shop. A lot.

5) List the places you have lived: I've been an east-coaster all my life -- grew up in NJ, undergrad in Connecticut, law school in DC, and now I (gasp!) live in the South.

6) List the jobs you've had: summer maintenance worker for my school system, nanny, salesgirl at Express (only job from which I ever got fired), salesgirl at a bakery (yum!), salesgirl at college bookstore (for about three days), library clerk (briefly), resident assistant, secretary, legal assistant, paralegal, attorney.

I have to think about who I want to tag -- I know a lot of the people I would have tagged have already done this one or a very similar one. I'll update later with some names.

Yolk!

2008-06-10T13:38:00.002-04:00

First ultrasound was this morning (at around 5w3d). We have one yolk sack with a tiny little grain of rice inside. And it's in my uterus where it belongs!

Apparently, it's totally fine that there's no heartbeat yet. So I'm not going to worry for the next week. (aw, who am I kidding? I've already spent the last half hour searching for 5w3d ultrasound photos. Of course I'm going to worry.)

Anyway, next ultrasound is a week from Friday.

Dreaming in Bright Orange

2008-06-06T09:15:00.002-04:00

You know how they say that if you give up junk food, in a few weeks or months you'll stop craving it?

They lie.

I haven't had a Cheeto (my favorite kind is the puffcorn) since at least March (maybe earlier). You'd think I'd be over them, right? But no. Instead, I'm craving them more than ever. Last night, I swear I even dreamed about eating a bag.

I hope the craving stops soon. I think The Boy would kill me if I fed his baby Cheetos at this point.

So, how about you? What's your junk food poison? And at what point after giving it up did you find the cravings had stopped?

Beta

2008-06-05T13:19:00.001-04:00

Just a quick note - my beta results are in. 1,211 at 14dp5dt. Happy is an understatement.

Two-Year-Old Logic

2008-06-05T11:58:00.002-04:00

An actual conversation:

M: Can you get me the green one Mommy, pleeeeeeese?
Me: What green one, baby?
M: My green Care Bear. It's upstairs. (she has three small Easter Care Bears -- yellow, green and pink)
Me: No, you can get it yourself.
M: Noooo, Mommy, you get it.
Me: No. You can get your own toys.
M: But Mooooooooommy (grabs other two bears), I can't get it! My hands are full!
M: Mommy? Why are you laughing? Mommy?

Well, That Didn't Suck (Too Much)

2008-06-04T14:42:00.002-04:00

I was supposed to go in for my beta tomorrow morning. The clinic called this morning, though, and asked if I could make it in today instead, because their hematologist will be out tomorrow and they have 7 retrievals scheduled.

Well, at the exact moment they called, I was laying out food for playgroup, which I hosted this week. Usually, playgroup winds up around 1:00, the absolute latest I could get my blood drawn today. So I said no. But when the playgroup girls heard about it, they insisted they'd clear our early and that I should go get my test.

Ok, fine. Managed to get there with minutes to spare. Unfortunately, in the words of the embryologist, "I didn't bring my veins." Five sticks later, including one in my hand (ouch!) and one in each wrist (Ouch! Ouch!), I was tired of pretending it didn't hurt so as not to scar a very interested M for life, and they were tired of poking me. So I have to go to the big blood lab tomorrow and let them give it a shot. In the meantime, I look like a toddler who's gotten into the band-aid supply. Tape and gauze all over the place.

The news wasn't all bad, however. My favorite nurse, A, asked me if I'd "cheated," and I admitted I had and that I got my first BFP at 5dpt. After scolding me roundly for knowing I'm pregnant for over a week and not telling her (Is that done? Are you supposed to call your clinic with HPT results?), A must have gone and made an announcement or something. My doctor showed just in time to put the kibosh on the arterial draw the nurse was planning to try next, looking as close to smiling as I've ever seen her. She said the fact that I had an HPT that early is "very encouraging," and that the beta is merely a formality now. And also? She agreed to give me a super-early ultrasound next Tuesday. She was so pleasant and clearly happy that I'm choosing to ignore the fact that she sounded really damn surprised that I managed to get knocked up.

So, good day. And based on my doc's optimism, I'm ready to call it official, even without the beta. I'm pregnant.

(although, I'll admit, there's a little tiny voice that adds "...for now." to the end of that sentence every time I even think it).

One Year

2008-06-02T14:07:00.003-04:00

A year ago today, I found out about my ectopic and entered the world of infertility. I've dreaded this day for months, because it marks an entire year since life has been anything close to "normal."
Fortunately, this current pregnancy (yes, I'm openly admitting to being pregnant, though with the caveat that it's (a) still unofficial until my beta on Thursday and (b) really, really early so we're not getting our hopes up too high) has turned what could have been a really, really bad day into just another day. I'm still sad about the babies we lost, but at least right now I feel like there could be a happy ending to my story. Frankly, that's more than I'd dared hope for.

But still, I couldn't let this day go by unmarked. And I definitely couldn't let a silly post about sunscreen be the marker.

So, here's to my embryo with the bad sense of direction. I wish I could have found out who you'd be.

Don't Do This

2008-06-02T08:05:00.002-04:00

I am a very, very fair-skinned person. I can get a sunburn on a cloudy day in February. Since it's an absolute necessity in my life, I am pretty savvy about sunscreen.

Problem is, I hate the stuff. I hate the greasy gloppiness of it, the way you can slather until your whole body is slick and shiny and still always miss at least one spot. The way even oil-free sunscreen makes my face break out. Ech.

About three years ago, Coppertone saved me from sunscreen hell with this. I love spray sunscreen -- it goes on easy and even and isn't gloppy at all. It takes about 5 seconds to apply, and the coverage is great. Sure, it makes a funky kind of film on your skin, and has to be applied outside because it gets everywhere. And yeah, one can only lasts about a week, so it's expensive. But it's totally worth it (Target also sells a store-brand version, which works out to be half the price).

Problem is, all sunscreen sprays are not created equal, and that's why I'm writing this post -- to warn you. Do not, under any circumstances, waste your money on this can o'crap. I bought it because we'd run out of Coppertone and were on the way to go swimming, and the store was out of my ususal stuff. I figured, "spray, SPF 50, no-tears formula, it'll be fine." Oh, how wrong I was.

First, this stuff is GREASY. It comes out of the can in a mist of oil, mixed with streaks of suncreen (you can tell the difference because the sunscreen is white, and the oil is clear. It doesn't spray evenly like other sprays; instead, it needs to be spread around. If you do one body part at a time (which you have to, because otherwise it runs all over), then your hands will be too greasy to hold the can and press the trigger effectively. And did I mention it's greasy? For hours afterwards, my skin felt like I'd been dipped in a tub of butter. Literally, M couldn't hold onto me in the water because I was too slippery. Oh, it's so gross.

Second (and worse), it doesn't work. We were in the water for 2 hours, something I've done before using normal spray sunscreens with no problem, and I got a fierce burn. My shoulders, neck and (argh!) chest are all a nice shade of lobster today, even though I slathered this crap all over them. I have never, ever worn sunscreen and still burned this bad.

So that's my PSA for the week. Steer clear of expensive, gloopy sunscreen that does not work.

Bothered

2008-05-30T15:53:00.003-04:00

Fair warning -- This post is probably going to be controversial. If you're reading and feel the need to comment but have nothing nice to say, then please move on. Thanks.

I belong to this social networking site for moms. I hang out a lot on the IVF board, and am a member, though infrequent visitor, to the miscarriage and pregnancy loss board. Basically, I've relied on these groups a lot in the past year for support and answers to my dumbest questions.

There's a girl on the IVF board who's as nice as can be. Always the first to chime in with a nice comment or a word of encouragement, always a sweet presence. We happened both to be doing our first IVF cycles at the same time, and she was lucky enough to get pregnant. Unfortunately, she found out several weeks later that her baby had a serious genetic defect and would be born with severe, incurable disabilities. She was as crushed as you would expect, and she ultimately made the difficult decision not to continue with her pregnancy.

A few days ago, she sought support on the pregnancy loss board -- she told her whole story, complete with warnings that she knew not everyone would agree with her decision and asking people to please, please not post mean comments if they disagreed.

And oh boy, did the horrible people come out of the woodwork! Someone told her flatly to go away: "this is a board for people who have had miscarriages, not abortions." Others told her that her presence on the board was a slap in the face to everyone there who didn't get to choose if they'd lose their babies. Still more declared self-righteously that they would have loved to have a baby with disabilities and would never have "murdered" it. Of course, each and every hypocritical, nasty one of them included a statement to the effect of "I'm not judging you, but it really hurts me that you posted on this board." As if their own self-inflicted pain gave them license to be rotten to another human being who was in a situation that none of them have ever experienced.

I've been stewing ever since the whole brouhaha erupted. Yes, I know it hurts terribly to lose a pregnancy. God knows, I've been there. But I'm incredulous that none of the mean posters even appeared to stop and think about how badly it must hurt to be infertile, to have to use all the technology we possess just to get pregnant, only to learn that one's possibly only shot at a child would be severely disabled. Or how much it must have hurt for that woman to have to decide whether she was able to provide the kind of care her child would have needed for her entire life. All they saw was their own pain and a way to release some of it by shooting vitriol at someone even less fortunate.

It's no secret that I am very much pro-choice. But I don't really think my reaction to this incident has much to do with politics. It's more about my disappointment with a group of women who profess themselves to be compassionate and supportive. Apparently, what they really mean is that they're compassionate to anyone who makes the same exact choices they think they would (even if they've never been faced with that situation). Anyone else? Not even worthy of sharing space with them on the web. Should just keep their mouths shut and suffer in silence, like they deserve. Should, preferably, just disappear from the face of the earth.

I don't know if this post even has a point. I'm just stewing.

Starting to Believe

2008-05-29T14:56:00.002-04:00

Today (7DPT), the line was a little darker. Plus, I burst into tears at TGI Friday's last night when I realized I'd forgotten I'm off caffeine and had ordered and drank almost an entire glass of iced tea.

Yeah, there's a chance I'm pregnant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today's NaComLeavMo discussion topic: what's the best vacation you've ever been on? Thus far, mine was my honeymoon. My in-laws gave us a cruise to Bermuda as a wedding gift. It was my first real experience going to the beach, and the first trip the Boy and I ever took alone together. We had such a great time that I'm toying with the idea of booking a 10th anniversary redo next year.

I will admit, though, that I'm hoping our upcoming Disney trip will blow our Honeymoon straight outta the water. It's ridiculous how exited I am for this, M's first major vacation.

Not Singing Yet

2008-05-28T08:56:00.003-04:00

This cycle, I'd planned to have a little self-control. But it happens that I'm married to a man even more impatient than I am. Monday night, he looks at me and says, "so, when can you test?" I told him we'd be 5dpt on Tuesday and could maybe test, but that I'd planned on waiting a few more days. He asked me to change my plans.

So I tested yesterday, using the dollar-store cheapie I had left over from the last cycle. I find those tests reliable, but really darn hard to read since the whole test strip tends to turn pink, with the line (or lines) only showing up near the end of the testing time frame. But there was no mistaking it -- once the pink cleared, there were two lines. The second line was as faint as it could possibly be while still technically being called a line, but it was definitely there. We grinned goofily at it for a few moments before trading assurances that of course, it's still early, and anything could happen.

Of course, I cannot leave well enough alone. Yesterday afternoon, I bought a 3-pack of First Response early tests and took one immediately. Again, faaaaaint line. The kind of line that you know is there only because you've seen so many of those FR tests when they're resoundingly negative that you know even the faintest line means something.

The second test, I'll admit, made me a little optimistic. I dared to think myself pregnant, and decided to be happy in that moment, no matter what may happen later.

But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't worry about something. This morning's test (6dp5dFET) was no darker than yesterday's, and could even be a little lighter, if such a thing is possible. So I'm no longer thinking I'm really pregnant, but I also don't necessarily think there's a problem or that this cycle failed. I guess we just don't know much more than we would if I hadn't tested.

Bottom line, if I'd waited to test tomorrow and had come up with a line like today's, I'd be thrilled. It's just the extreme faintness of the lines combined with the fact that they don't seem to be getting darker that's keeping me cagey.

So now I need to hear from you. Tell me about your tests and when you tested and how it all turned out. I'd especially love to hear from people who've done FET (no matter how it turned out).

Back to Real Life

2008-05-27T08:05:00.002-04:00

The Boy went back to work today after being off for five days (he took Thursday and Friday off last week, in order to make sure I stayed on the sofa). I kind of liked having him home, and I know he enjoyed all of the time he got with M. Too bad we're not independently wealthy and can't both be slackers.

This is also day 3 of NaComLeavMo. I hadn't realized until yesterday how difficult I find it to post on blogs I haven't read regularly. So, my apologies to anyone who's come here to return a lame comment I left.

But here, I'll try to make it easier for you by asking a question that invites comment: Tell me one of your favorite books or authors. These days, I'm loving light, fluffy fare from Meg Cabot, Janet Evanovich, Jennifer Weiner and MaryJanice Davidson (who writes about Betsy, the queen of the vampires. It doesn't get much fluffier than that). I imagine someday I'll go back to reading substantial, intellectually-challenging books, but for now I'm happy with easy.

This is the Life

2008-05-26T08:35:00.002-04:00

I've spent the last few hours sitting in the backyard, sipping my (decaf) iced coffee, reading a novel and watching as M and the Boy splash in M's newly-acquired, ridiculously elaborate wading pool. Only thing that would have made it more perfect would be a pitcher of some frosty alcoholic drink, but I'm abstaining for the moment.

How are you spending this Memorial Day?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And in other news, I sort-of promised myself I wouldn't be the kind of obsessive person who posts on every twinge. But I'm feeling crampy today -- nothing really painful, but also nothing I've ever experienced before. Implantation? Just plain cramps? Product of an overactive imagination? I can't decide.

Omens

2008-05-24T10:21:00.002-04:00

When I was 10 weeks pregnant with M, The Boy got a job offer and we learned we'd be moving to NC. This wasn't a surprise -- we'd agreed several months before that we'd start looking for jobs down here and that we'd move if one of us got an offer. But still, it felt like an omen, that everything was going to be fine, that we were literally starting a new life in a new place.

Right around the time we started IVF, we learned that The Boy's company had acquired another and that, much to the surprise of everyone who wasn't the CEO, the entire NC office would be shut down, putting almost all employees out of work. The Boy, luckily, was probably going to have a job at least for the next year, but around him people were dropping like flies.

At the same time, I decided to start dipping my toes back into the waters of gainful employment. I tried out for a freelance writing gig for a website I liked. I learned on March 17, the day of our transfer, that I didn't get it. At the moment I read that email, I knew our cycle wouldn't work (yes, of course that's ridiculous, but there you are).

And now there's this cycle. I can't say anything specific right now, but things are on the horizon, and they are good. This week feels like we have possibilities again; that a new life is once again ahead of us.

And did I mention I dreamed of a son on Wednesday night? I dreamed we were at a party, the Boy and I, the night before transfer. Only I was already 9 months pregnant, and in labor. I wasn't having contractions (at least, not that I could feel), but the baby was definitely coming. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and I reached down and my son fell into my hands. It's three days later, and I can still feel his warm, slippery body as I cradled him to my chest (all the while, by the way, frantically calling for The Boy to call the clinic and tell them not to thaw our embryos). I woke up crying with joy.

So yeah, omens. I'll probably feel like the world's biggest fool if this cycle doesn't work. But for right now, I really believe it will.

Good

2008-05-22T12:56:00.003-04:00

Ok, we have three embryos on board. I am surprised and grateful that all of them survived to be transferred, and cannot help but be very hopeful that this is the time when at least one will stick.

That's all for now. I have to get back to the sofa.

Countdown to Transfer

2008-05-21T20:28:00.002-04:00

As I type this, I'm a little under 13 hours away from our FET. Despite my promises to myself that I would be blase about this cycle, I find myself on edge. We have three embryos, and we're just hoping at least one of them survives the thaw. In the absence of any information about the successful thaw rate for 5-day embryos, I've been focusing on my RE's dire warnings about what will happen if none of them make it (in short, that would mean my embryos suck, and there will be no more biological children for us).

On the other hand, I'm happier today than I've been since about April 21. Not coincidentally, that's the day I started Lupron. It's only now that I'm off it that I realize what a terrible, awful, mood-altering drug it is. I spent the last 3 weeks in a funk: depressed, angry, hopeless. I connected the anger with the Lupron, but not really the rest of it until I woke up this morning and realized I felt happy for the first time in what seemed like months. I feel as if I've emerged from a fog.

I also suspect that the Lupron was wreaking havoc on my weight-loss efforts. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've lost three pounds since I stopped taking it (grand total: 6 pounds. Yeehaw!). And I definitely no longer feel the urge to harm my trainer at the gym. Today, I even ran for 3 minutes! Ok, it wasn't all at one time, but still. Progress.

So in short, I'm nervous, but also hopeful. I'll try to post tomorrow with the outcome. That is, if I can find time in my busy bedrest schedule to futz around on the computer (seriously, we're taking no chances here. I'll be on the sofa until Saturday, at least. I've collected a pile of enough books, magazines and DVDs to get me through my entire first trimester, should we be so lucky).

Tiny Little Argh

2008-05-17T09:20:00.002-04:00

We're doing a "spring cleaning" weekend over here at the house of Paranoid. Granny's got M, so The Boy and I have two whole days to whip this house into shape (no small task, given that we're both natural slobs.) I've spent naptimes this week trying to declutter so we can really work on deep cleaning this weekend.

Last night, the Boy comes home and commences sorting boxes that have been sitting, un-noticed, since we moved here three years ago. Most of it is total crap that he refused to discard when we packed it in the first place. I don't mind him finally deciding to get rid of this stuff, but he left it ALL OVER THE ROOM I JUST SPENT HOURS DECLUTTERING! And I know he's going to complain that it'll take almost our whole decluttering time allowance to clean it up again.

I know my Boy is wonderful, hardworking, considerate, capable and overall great. But just at this moment, I'd like to smack him around a little.

Theme Song

2008-05-14T08:19:00.005-04:00

There are certain songs that always evoke the memories and feelings from a certain point in my life. Play any song off of Aerosmith's Pump and I'm back in 9th grade. What's Up by Four Non Blondes and No Rain by Blind Melon whoosh me back to my first year of college, to that point the happiest time in my life. Life In a Nutshell by Barenaked Ladies bring back the night The Boy and I danced together in the parking lot of a friend's townhouse building, a few hours before out first kiss. Mm-Bop, in all it's glorious cheese, brings me back to college grad week. And thanks to my then-13-year-old cousin, I want it That Way by the Backsteet Boys will forever evoke my wedding day (to clarify: I was not a fan, but she sang it at the reception).

It seems that the soundtrack of my infertility journey is the entire Despite Our Differences album by the Indigo Girls. In particular, this song just seems to sum everything I'm feeling up. I know it's about a failed relationship (and the video is, hilariously, about a failed presidency), but so much of it is also true to how infertility has felt. I find myself listening to it almost every time I make the trek to the clinic.

It will be interesting, in the years to come, to learn whether music that features in the sad parts of life evokes emotion as strongly as the music from happy times. I kind of hope it doesn't, because I quite like this album and want to be able to listen to it in the future without becoming depressed.

The Anniversary Corridor

2008-05-12T10:33:00.002-04:00

A year ago today, I found I was pregnant with what turned out to be my ectopic pregnancy (for extra added pathos, I should add that May 12 last year was Mother's Day). In my mind, the next few weeks are like a tunnel, at the end of which is the actual loss anniversary (June 2). I know from going through the November-December-January tunnel of my miscarriage anniversary that I'll spend the next few weeks obsessing about how I felt last year at this time, and how much has changed since then.

I once read that you don't truly get over a pregnancy loss until you've carried a subsequent pregnancy to term. At the time, fresh off of my miscarriage, I wholeheartedly believed that statement. Of course, back then, I thought I'd probably either be pregnant or have a new baby by the time my loss anniversary rolled around. The possibility of that new life insulated me somewhat, allowing me to blunt the edge of my grief by believing it to be a passing pain. Even after the ectopic, I believed that we'd still manage to get pregnant again soon, if not naturally, then surely in our first round of IVF. Now, with the passing of an entire year since I was last pregnant, and with a new pregnancy nowhere on the horizon (at this point, I'm taking it for granted that next week's FET will fail), I find that deferred grief sneaking in.

I'm pretty sure that's why I've been so sad lately, although I suspect Lupron and Estrogen also have a hand in it. Though I have moments of happiness and pleasure, it's been a rough few weeks overall. Everything just feels so hopeless these days. What I'd really like to do is curl up in bed with a stack of books, my Gilmore Girls DVDs and a bag of puffcorn, and stay there until August 2 (the day after my twins would have turned one). Instead, I go to the gym and snarl at my trainer when she dares to suggest I pick up my dumbells and do upper-body while my treadmill's at an alarming level-10 incline. I spend a good amount of time imaging how I'd verbally eviscerate anyone who pisses me off at any given moment (I am not so far gone as to actually open my mouth, but in my head, I am a bitch of wheels). And I take M to the park, to the pool, to the bounce house; anything to keep her happy and keep her from sensing how I'm really feeling.

When Did I Become a Cathy Cartoon?

2008-05-07T09:53:00.003-04:00

3.5 weeks of self-discipline and self-deprivation: 3.5 weeks of counting every calorie, writing down every bite, and thinking about food every minute of the day. 3.5 weeks of chicken breasts, broccoli, and carrot sticks. 3.5 weeks of before-dawn workouts. Total loss: 2 pounds.

3 days of moderate, but freer eating: 3 days of a few fries with my small, no cheese, no mayo road-trip hamburger, 3 days of real bagels (w/o toppings), of hotel-buffet breakfast. No cheetos, no chocolate, a little cake. And ok, no fruit and no exercise, either. Total gain: 5 pounds.

Aaaaaak.

Seriously, though. This is why I don't tend to stick with diets. I work hard, I follow directions, I deny myself almost all of my favorite foods, and for what? To lose a pound or two that return, with interest, the second I ease up, even a little bit, on what I eat? Even worse, I'm told it's a "lifestyle change," which means I have to do this every single day for the rest of my life or risk ending up in a worse spot than where I started. No, thank you. As between "fat and deprived" and "fat and satisfied," I choose satisfied.

That all said, I'm not quitting. I have a specific goal in mind, and I will get there even if I have to perform liposuction on myself. But I'm done with grandiose schemes of getting to a "healthy" weight. I'll do what it takes to get to my 20-pound goal before my next fresh cycle, then I'm out. It may be true that nothing tastes as good as thin feels, but if I won't ever get to feel thin, then I might as well enjoy the things I could be tasting.

Tiny Little Milestones

2008-05-05T15:19:00.003-04:00

We went on a road trip to visit my family this weekend, and the trip ushered in some little milestones for me and M:

-- I actually managed to give myself my own Lupron shots twice this weekend, once in a moving car! Now, granted, the car was mostly stopped in traffic, but still. For a girl who until a few years ago was deathly afraid of needles, it's a big deal.

-- M has somehow learned to control her bladder. Twice this trip, she told us she needed to go potty, then actually held on (for as much as 6-8 minutes), while we found a place to get off the highway and get to a bathroom. I know that this is both TMI and not really a big deal, but The Boy and I were impressed.

-- M also watched The Little Mermaid for the first time this trip. Also for the second, third, fourth and fifth times. Frankly, the Boy and I both hated the idea of TV in the car, but for a trip that totaled 18 hours (round trip), we were willing to compromise our principles.

That's all for now. As usual, I have a lot of thoughts about the trip, my family and other things, all of which I will attempt to marshal into a coherent post once I've caught up on my sleep a little.