Car Seat Shopping Can Be So Bittersweet

Last night we spent a few blessed HOURS at Babi.es.RUs. Because, dear, sweet, Lady Bug has outgrown her infant car seat. Yep..little girl is at the 98% for height and weight and has simply outgrown the thing. Her little legs project out past the end of it and are practically smooshed against the car seat. And, we can hardly cart the carrier around because her 21 pounds plus the carrier = hernia.

I swear, every time I go into that store its like I've stepped into some weird bizarro land. It's just so surreal. An acre or so of just kid crap makes your head swim. This time was even more surreal. Seeing all these pregnant girls there, setting up their registry with their husbands/significant others - it brought back so many memories. I remember it being such a blur. What do I need? Should I get this type of bottle or that brand? Which exersaucer, changing pad covers, sheets, diaper pail was the best? I remember feeling so completely out of my element. So completely unsure of what I was doing.

Seeing those girls, with their swollen bellies, so full of anticipation, so unaware of what was to come. I wanted to rush up to them and tell them, "it'll be okay! You'll be fine! Your baby will be fine! You'll make it! It doesn't matter which bottle or how many onesies you have! You'll be a great mom, and your baby will love you, and you'll step through this door into a new and wonderful, yet completely different and challenging part of life.

I also wanted to tell them to try to enjoy each and every minute. Because the sleepless nights and the tiny onesies will pass, and soon your tiny little sweetheart will be too big for her carseat, and so big you'll need biceps the size of texas to cart her around.

Birthing Class Reunites

I have no concept of time, whatsoever. Something happened during the birthing/infant process and I can no longer discern the passing of time...especially at night, when I get those precious few hours of sleep. I'm SURE that it has only been five minutes since my head hit the pillow and when precious baby decides its time to wake snoring mommy up for a little midnight snack.

And now, I can't believe its been a month since my last post. Goodness. My next one will be when she starts kindergarten. Or starts her period. Or starts her own family. Because *BLINK* and the day is over and a new one has begun.

Last night was our birthing class reunion. It was really fun to see real-time genetic experiments. You get to know these couples over a seven week cycle, then you get to see what kind of baby they produce (some of them more successful than others, he he). You also get to see what the gals look like without an extra 20-30 pounds, without stretchy pants, and without the perpetual waddle. We shared our birth stories (mine was the worst, I'm sure), bitch about the hospital, and whine about our postpartum issues. I think when it was over, everyone was a little reluctant to leave. There was this sort of team camaraderie, that we were all in for *something* but no one knew what. And then we're pushed out of the nest to discover for ourselves what this whole parenting thing is all about.

an update

It's been two weeks, albeit part time, back at work. I'm exhausted. It's been really tough transitioning from home life to work. Trying to get myself ready, LadyBug ready, the house at least approachable for whomever will be watching the babe...it's tough! And that's just the morning. Because BigB is up at 4:30 and out the door before I even get up, its all up to me. By the time I get to work, I'm already frazzled.

Trying to pump three times a day just adds to the stress. Squeezing (no pun intended) time in to sequester myself in the lactation room (really just a cinderblock, windowless, storage closet that smells like mildew), is impossible.

Then, when I finally get home, LadyBug is cranky from not getting any good naps, and there are no smiles left for me. I'm emotionally and physically spent. I wish I had something witty and funny to say, but its a drag. I know its just going to get worse when I got back full time.

End pity party.

We're going to the M's game tonight - we're takin' on the Yankees (boooo!). Looking forward to some great brawts & beers. Tomorrow is the Boat Afloat show (drooling over yachts), and painting the laundry room.

A day in the life...

First Day Back

Here's a little recap of my first attempt at reentering the workplace by trying to get out of the house by 12:30 so I can be to work by 1:00 (only working a half-day) - and yes, it does take 30 minutes to go 8 miles.

• 11:30 Shirt #1 is ruined by me dropping egg all over it. Wanted to have a high-protein breakfast/lunch so I wouldn't have a carb crash. Change shirt.
• 11:50 Shirt #2 is ruined by LadyBug barfing all over it. No salvaging it. Change shirt yet again.
• 11:55 Notice shirt #3 has coffee stains on it from the last time I wore it to work Pre-baby). Change shirt again.
• 12:15 BigB gets home from his half day to relieve me.
• 12:40 Going to be late for first day back because I have exhausted my work shirts that aren't maternity...trying to decide which one makes me look the least like I have done nothing for the past 10 weeks but eat bon bons takes way too much time.
• 1:00 Cry at sad country music song about singers little baby girl. Makeup runs AGAIN.
• 1:10 Arrive at work. Find balloons, dozen roses, card, and an iced mocha. Very sweet of my team.
• 1:11 Flood of Tears
• 1:30 Notice iced mocha has leaked all over my brand new WHITE pants. Niiiiiice. Especially when everyone and their mother is stopping by my office to welcome me back. I stay seated as I chat it up with them. I'm sure it seemed very rude.
• 1:45 Decide I can't make it through the afternoon with brown splatter stains all over the crotch of my white pants. Go to the breakroom and spray them with 409 and rub (my crotch) with a wet towel. Awkward.
• 1:48 Realize now everyone can see my underpants because of the water.
• 1:50 Go back to office and partially shut door, hoping people will stay away until my pants dry.
• 2:00 Have meeting with boss to review projects worked on (dropped the ball on) while I was away.
• 2:15 Have sensation that boobs are leaking through bra and realize that I forgot to put pads in.
• 2:20-2:30 Try to discreetly determine if boobs are in fact leaking and making quarter sized circles on my already less than flattering top.
• 2:31 Determine no leakage.
• 3:00 Stuff bra full of toilet paper because I'm sure the boobs will in fact leak as the admin who has the key to the lactation room is out for the day so I can't pump.
• 3:05 Look in the mirror and try to adjust toilet paper so they aren't lumpy and lopsided and totally obviously stuffed with t.p.
• 3:15 My admin stops me on the way back to my office and drills me about "what's it like to be a mom?"
• 3:18 Try not to cry as I try to explain how what's it like to leave your child at home and discreetly hide behind her massive desk so I don't expose my underwear see-through pants
• 3:30 Show video of little LadyBug for 400th time to officeworkers and hear teammates gag
• 3:45 Go through mile-high stack of mail and wonder what the heck I'm doing at work with my little Lady Bug at home.
• 4:59 Run out of office without a glance back and head home to my sweet chubby cheeks.
• 5:12 Cry at sad country music song. At least there's no makeup left to run anywhere.
  
• 5:35 Arrive home and grab my bundle of joy and hug her hard.

Back to Work, Queue Tears

Today I go back to work. It's the day I've dreaded literally since the day I found out I was pregnant. That nagging feeling in the back of my head has come full frontal and I am none too happy about it. I've had crying jags nonstop all week. I just can't help but be sad. It seems like BigB doesn't understand. I think he thinks I'm just feeling sorry for myself - and maybe I am.

Even a day of retail therapy didn't help. I had to buy a few new things since my pre-baby clothes aren't quite fitting. Every time I picked something up, it made me think about why I had to buy them: to go back to work = not being with my baby.

I'm going back part time, just two days per week and one day from home. For the first month, anyhow. I thought that would be easier than going full time cold turkey. My mom and my niece will be watching her, so she wont be with strangers, but I want her to be with ME.

I really wish we were financially able for me to stay home with her. But, $35K in fertility treatments aren't going to just magically disappear. Neither will the mortgage or the car payment. Oh how the green monster (jealousy) has been knocking on my door. I am SO jealous of my SAHM friends. Even though I don't think I'm cut out to be one, I would still like the option to choose. Or at least stay home another month or two till I'm good and ready to go back.

I leave in another hour. I'm waiting to put my makeup on till the last minute - I know its just gonna get smeared all over from the tears.

Don't take your weight issues out on my baby!

There are six girls in my close circle of friends. Five of us had girls in the past year - isn't that crazy? For four of us, its our first baby. It's fun being the last as I have LOADS of hand-me-downs, we really haven't had to buy anything at all. It also kinda sucks being the last because LadyBug gets compared to all the other babies and their milestones.

She kicked their azzzes on her 2 month checkup. She's in the 97 percentile: 14 pounds, 2 ounces for her weight. She's 75% for height and 90% for her head. She's a BIG girl which is supposed to be good for brain development. She'll be very, very smart if its based on the size of her thighs and her wrist rolls! The doctors aren't worried, but my girlfriends seem to be. Most of their babies only weigh a few pounds more, and they are 4-10 months older. It's really hard not to compare and freak out a little, but I know she's just fine. BigB and I are both tall, and he was a big baby who thinned out as soon as he started crawling and walking. It's a teency annoying, though, when even strangers comment and say, "I just love a big baby!"

We went to a birthday party this week for one of our friends whose baby just turned one. I made her a special birthday cake and decorated it for the occasion. Here's a pic of it before, during, and after.

Is this your first?

One thing that has struck me as a little odd, is that practically every stranger that encounters me and LadyBug and takes the time to oooh and ahhh over her, asks "is this your first?"

How do they know? Do I have "rookie" emblazoned on my forehead and I just can't see it? Is it the carrier that still smells like plastic and hasn't seen the wear and tear of previous siblings? Is it my deer-in-headlights smile? Is it the puke that has found its way once again down my cleavage? (I SWEAR that she thinks its a garbage chute - because there's an awful lot of places she could spit up, but she almost always chooses the breast slot).

I surely don't look young enough to be a first time mom - and this point I'm old enough to have 18, just like whats-her-name on tv. But it IS my first and it makes me think these people are clairvoyant. Maybe its just because there isn't a toddler hanging onto my sleeve or the stroller is for one, and not two? Do second-time moms get this, too?

Milk Lady is in the House!

I've been taking Reg.lan the past week in hopes of increasing my milk production - just can't quite make enough for LadyBug to get her fill. The meds seem to be doing the trick - as long as I drink a LOT of water. It also seems to be doing the trick of creating a truckload of gas, for both me and the babe. It's not uncomfortable or painful gas, but it sure does have some, um, velocity! Poor Kate just rips 'em all day. In fact, as we speak, she's grunting a few big ones.

There are some side affects from Reg.lan, including tremors and depression, luckily I haven't experienced either of them. You're on it for just two weeks with the expectation that once you're off it, your milk supply will drop a little, but it will be higher than where it was before you started taking it. With me returning to work just two weeks (insert pouty lip and tears here), I'm even hopeful of getting a small supply of frozen milk treats for the sweet little thing.

Yesterday I was feeding her and she came off my boob for a second and I looked down and there was what I thought was a big string of drool from my boob to my pant leg. But it was a stream of milk! It was totally crazy. Maybe this is what normal gals experience, but I have never seen such a copious amount! I was so in awe. The milk stand is in business!

So many theories, so little time.

There are WAY too many books on childrearing available. Not to mention the almighty internet. What's a girl to do? Honestly - one book says feed your baby every two hours, another says feed her when she's hungry. One article says put your baby to bed at 7pm and let her wail until she falls asleep, another says let her make her own sleep schedule. Pacifier or no pacifier?

I just don't want to Create A Monster. Ya know? Things are fine now, but what about in a month or two? What we're doing now could totally have a bad, really bad, rebound affect. It's mind boggling to think that my decision to Let Her Cry or Let Her Sleep could affect how well she learns or sleeps when she's a high schooler. However, I think we've taken the best approach - just cross our fingers and hope for the best. That's responsible parenting, isn't it?

Here's something that one book frowns upon and another grins:

LadyBug loves to fall asleep in her swing. Especially outside in the shade with the warm breeze while her parents work diligently pulling weeds and drink cool refreshing beer.

But one thing we do know, a good nap for her produces these kinds of smiles:

Let there be smiles and rolls in the hay

Went to see FancyOB yesterday - she gave me the green flag for exercise and sex. Not that they have to be mutually exclusive, I suppose. That exam HURT like hell! FancyOB said that hormones (its always the hormones, isn't it?) are causing the lining of the vagina to be really thin and thus ultra sensitive. Sex will probably be uncomfortable at best until I stop breastfeeding. I've been holding BigB back, using the C-section green flag as an excuse - really I just have no energy or desire to whooop it up in the sack. I thought perhaps the mojo would return in those magic six weeks after birth, but it continues to evade. Now I'm scared. More pain! I'm going to have to just go for it and hope for the best. BigB has been a very patient man but I can't string him along like a 16 year-old virgin forever.

LadyBug is now smiling - dang I'm glad. When she busts out that ear-to-ear grin, it makes all the puke on my clothes/furniture/hair and that ever-present curdled milk smell worth it. She's also found her fist and loves to suck on it. Super cute. At what point does your fist outgrow your mouth? I've seen a few adults who can cram their hand inside their yapper, but it doesn't look comfortable or natural. LadyBug just slurps away, happy as can be.

She's grown out of her newborn clothes and onesies. And has even grown out of most of her 0-3 month stuff. She seems to be pretty big for a six week old, but what do I know? I have nothing to compare her to. Her cheeks are getting nice and puffy, and the rolls on her thighs are cavernous. FancyOB says a pudgy baby is best - all that extra fat (that we as adults abhor) really help her brain development - she's going to be one smart little girl!

Still having a hard time believing that she's not going anywhere. That she's here to stay for at least another 18 years. When does it start to feel permanent and not just a temporary thing?

Dijon diapers and the Insatiable Appetite

Wow. Has it really been more than two weeks since I last posted? I don't have a good reason. Lots of inadequate reasons, but nothing good. Let's just say that my life has revolved around changing diapers filled with something akin to Dijon mustard, feeding a baby that seems to have an appetite that challenges Paula Dean's, and seeing just how little can be done during those 30 minute cat naps Lady Bug loves so much.

But here I am. I swore I would write something, anything, and then just hit "post" as aforementioned wee one wakes up.

She is starting to smile. That means SO much. It's hard to change diapers, feed on command, get little sleep, rock back and forth a kajillion times with no response other than that of not screaming. The first month was hard! But, now in her fifth week (has it really been that long already?), she is starting to respond. She makes the occasional coo instead of just crying, and seems to respond to my silly sing song voice.

I've started to get out of the house by myself which is totally scary. You just never know when she's going to have a total meltdown. It's the worst when you're driving and there's no where to pull over and you just have to listen to her wail away. It breaks your heart AND drives you cuckoo at the same time.

She/we are starting to see some type of routine/schedule develop. Thank goodness she goes into perpetual melt down mode when BigB gets home from work and then seems to calm down around 10:30, just in time for us to go to bed. I get about four hours of sleep, nurse her a bit, then BigB gets up with her a few hours later, and I get another four hours of sleep, so not too bad.

This is the mundane post. There will lots of better ones. I promise. There's just too many hilarious and mind-bending things going on right now NOT to post them!

 

My milk supply is seriously inadequate (more on that to come). So, I'm pumping to try and increase the flow. Pumping sucks. I'm just gonna lay it out there. In researching "how to increase milk," I come across this picture:

There is nothing fun or pleasant about pumping (except maybe the 15 minutes I get alone). I don't know how much they paid this woman to look all happy and comfortable with her hands-free pumping bra, but its a bunch of crap.

You cannot sit cross-legged on the floor and pump. You have to be in some kind of a sturdy chair and you basically can't move because you've got tubing that tethers you to 12 inches of a pleather bag encasing your pump. Not sexy or fun.

The bra itself looks like some sort of Madonna-lingerie gone bad. Instead of sexy pointy boobs, you've got projectile bottles full of a sticky substance that seems to find its way onto every surface within three feet of you. But hey, at least you can talk on the phone and write in your day planner. Let's make a date! I can pump! Let's close that million dollar deal - I can pump!

I'd like to hear the conversation with this woman's agent:

"Hey! Becky! Guess what? I've got a sweet gig for you! My client is looking for a gorgeous thirty-something business type woman for a discreet lingerie photo shoot. Nothing showing but the bra - very modest. You'll love it."

Then, when she shows up, they toss her the ensemble that will cast her into b-rated horror flicks for the rest of her life: the hands-free pump bra.

Oh, and by the way, there's no way in hell that woman has had a baby recently. Look at her six pack abs. My abs are somewhere around my knees and show little to no promise of ever returning.

I made my own hands-free wonder. Took an old sports bra and cut two holes in it. It's totally sexy. See for yourself:

Warning Graphic Pictures

Just thought I'd share something fun: Kate's first poop.

I don't think I'll ever make brownies again cuz this stuff looks just like brownie batter. Thank GOD it doesn't stink. Although her farts sure do. That's because she takes after her father.

the birth story

So here's the backstory:

A week ago Tuesday, I went in for my 40 week check  up with Dr. FancyOB. She said I was still sealed up tighter than Fort Knox and if she had to make a bet she'd guess they'd induce me on the 29th. So, I was all geared up for another 10 days of waiting. Maybe a good time to start yet another house improvement project, right?

On Thursday at work, I was having a lot of back pain. Chalked it up to the all the time I spent the night before sweeping and moping floors from the construction mess. That night, my back was still hurting. It kept me awake. So I thought I'd take a hot shower to help calm it down- but it didn't phase it. It's one in the morning, and I'm folding onesies. I feel a gush "down there" and it seemed like a lot of non-pee fluid in the crotchal area and it was tinged pink. It was such a surreal moment. Thinking, "this is probably it. This is the beginning of the end that will bring my little daughter into my arms. Oh, and it's gonna hurt like a mutha.

I got BigB out of his comatose sleep, and gently warned him that I thought my water had broke and thought I was having contractions. We called the doc and she told us to go to the hospital and they'd check everything out. Here's a play by play from there:

4:30 a.m. Arrive at Hospital

5:00 a.m. Get settled into room and get hooked up on monitors. Definitely having contractions about 3-4 minutes apart and feeling them big time.

6:00 Test says my water didn't break, I wasn't dilated, but the contractions were the real deal. Let's wait and see what happens.

7:00 Staying in hospital. Dilated to 1. Contractions getting worse and almost all of in my back (back labor). Thought there was supposed to be some easing into the painful ones.

9:00 Still not much progress. Contractions unbearable. Doesn't matter which little tricky position or mind games we tried (ball, on all fours, ice, jacuzzi tub, the dance - every thing) nothing would ease or lessen the pain.

10:00 I am ready to die. I ask please for the Lord to help me every 1 minute. I tell BigB that I am done now and I would like to go home please.

11:00 They give me morphine. Nothing happens. I am pissed.

12:00 They give me some other drug. It makes me sleepy. I sleep for one to two minutes until the next contraction begins. This sucks big time because I would relax and then it was like someone sticking an electrical current in my back.

1:00 pm Doctor determines that I am the whiniest gal in the ward. She concedes to an epidural even though I am only dilated to about 3. The nurse who has been with me all day is  about to have a nervous breakdown of her own.

1:30 pm Holy crap I am in heaven. Worried about the epidural shot? Forget it. It is nothing.  I have decided if this is what having a baby feels like, I'm having one every frekin' day. Nothin' wrong with this. 

2:30  What's on tv?

3:00 Think I'll take a nap.

3:30 Nurse checks me for dilation. Ummm.....still a 3. let's jack up the pitocin!

4:00 Watch rerun of some ridiculous movie

6:00 Eat 500th cup of ice chips. Can't have anything but water till baby is born. Su-ucks. Niece brings BigB a hamburger and I make him eat it in the lobby. 

6:30 Nurse checks my innards again. I'm mayyyyybe a 3.5

7:00 Listen to neighbor screaming in pain (get the epi, get the epi!)

7:30 Doc inserts some kind of saline solution line back into my business. Apparently little Lady Bug is showing signs of distress via her heart rate, so pumping more liquid to her sac helps her feel a bit more comfortable.

8:00 All family members are present. Just waiting for the action part of the evening to begin.

9:00 Doctor checks progress. 3.8. She calls it a 4 just to make me feel better because this is getting o-o-o-l-d.

9:30 Doctor explains situation. LadyBug is sunnyside up (facing the wrong direction), is HUGE, and will probably never make it through the infamous canal without a lotta heartbreak and medical intervention. Recommends the "c."

9:31 I agree. Let's get this show on the road.

10:00 BigB is geared up in some sweet white scrubbies. I am wheeled down the hall to surgery room #1.

10:15 After getting my epidural all maxed out, they begin cutting into my abs. It is awesome. Not really. the whole thing was pretty disgusting to think about. I'd rather not recall those sawing motions or the way they grabbed my junk and tossed it like a Caesar salad andwhatnot.

10:53 I hear crying of a little baby.

10:54 I see said crying little baby. Brian shows me her. Although I am sideways, I can tell she's healthy.

11:15 I am wheeled back to my room where my darling husband has our little sweetheart.

11:25 I try to nurse little LadyBug. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but she sure does. Loves the food just like her mom.

11:45 Parade of family members ensue. Secretly wishing they would all go home and go to bed.

Day 2-4 Lots of visitors and relatively little sleeping.

So, nothing real exciting. Just kind of your normal 18 hours of labor with nothing to show except a big c-shaped scar above my pubes. Oh, and that perfect little girl that is my daughter.

Let me introduce you

As I sit and type this, I have an almost 9 pound bundle wrapped in a fuzzy yellow blanket sitting on my lap. I can hardly believe it and the tears well in my eyes as I think of the shear amazingness (is that a word?) of it all.

Kate Geneva was born last Friday night after 18 hours of labor (more on that to come). She is healthy. She is beautiful. And she's mine. 

I can hardly believe it. There are times when I am overwhelmed with the magnitude of it all. What a journey this has been and I know there is so much road left to travel.

I'll let a few pictures tell a million words that I cant:

Go ahead, take your time

Nothing going on. Nada. Zilch. Just continuing to wait and go CRAZY.

Oh wait, I already am crazy. Crazy for agreeing to this stupid remodel days before I'm due to give birth. There's that whole "nesting" thing that is in complete competition with the dust, dirt, sawdust, mayhem that has taken over my house.

I can't help but freak out. I'm supposed to be creating a serene, clean, inviting environment for this new little life and I can't even do a load of laundry because the W&D has been disconnected.

On top of everything else, BigB is completely overwhelmed at work so he's working long hours and bringing work home. So he can't help cook or clean - so I'm left to doing those things all by myself. I wish I could just ignore it, but I can't! I'm totally overwhelmed. And, I can't relax when it looks like a bomb has gone off in our house.

So, I guess I'm thankful LadyBug hasn't made her grand entrance yet. I need the weekend to get things figured out, cleaned up, and a little more peaceful.

Stop, Drop and Turn!

Awwww, loooook. Wouldn't ya know it. She already loves her daddy more than me (I knew this would happen). Of course she complied with BigB's demands and turned head down and even dropped. I have a feeling that this will be a common theme for the next 18 years. Ignore mommy and get daddy wrapped around her little finger by doing whatever he says.

So, no c-section for now. Just wait, wait, and then wait some more. Um, patience is NOT one of my virtues.

Not only did FancyOB tell me that LadyBug was turned and headed south for the border, but that I had gained NINE pounds in water weight. Isn't that crazy? How does that happen? I know my fingers are swollen and it hurts to hold a pen, and that my face resembles Veronica Salt, but nine pounds? It's also been hotter than Satan's armpit in Seattle this week (to us Seattleites 85-90 degrees is HOT), so maybe that has something to do with it.

T minus 15 days

Didja look at that countdown? Only 15 days left! It's really hard to comprehend. A different two week wait altogether. My feeble mind is unable to make the cognitive connection that the thing inside my belly will be OUT in a few weeks (maybe less) and that it will be a bayyyyybeeeeeeee that I can hold. And rock. And sing to. It's a super strange concept. But, I'm ready. WAY ready:

Bloated fingers? Check.
Bloated ankles? Check.
Hormones en fuego? Check.
Nursery ready? Heck no.
Bag packed? Ummmm, no.
Birth plan complete. Whatsa birth plan?

I'm ready mentally. Maybe not so much otherwise.

Get this - "we" decided last minute (i.e. Sunday) to have a contractor come in and redo the stairs that go to our basement/family room/laundry room. BigB is renting a jackhammer and smashing up the cement ones that are there now. For whatever reason, the steps were originally built for people with Lilliputian type feet. They are so narrow that every time I go down them (at least 10 times a day), I fear for my life. AND there's no handrail. AND the walls are ensconced in beautiful stained-pine panelling which make me feel like I live in an old nasty cabin.

Not sure why we waited until the last minute to get this done, but it seemed like a good idea to have a safe set of stairs considering we'll probably be traipsing up and down them with a BABY in a few weeks. It just took us awhile to figure that out.

I'll also get new flooring in the laundry room (hardwoods). Yay! And new light fixtures. Yay! But, a little stressful on the timing.

This afternoon we have another appointment with the OB. We'll see if LadyBug has decided to comply with all of BigB's pleadings (he's been sticking his face way down by "my business" and talking with her, as he was told this would "call" her toward his voice and make her go head down. Kind of cute, kind of weird). Can't wait to find out!

Some things dont TURN out like you planned

Yesterday I had an exam with my OB. I was so excited! I was JUST SURE that there was some dilation going on. After all, I practically sent BigB into hysterics at Costc.Ho on Friday night. I told him, "not to freak you out, but this could be It." I was feeling all sorts of contractions and they didn't feel good.

So, when my little fancy-dressed OB (she's WAY too cute to be a Dr.) had me hop up on the exam table, I couldn't wait for her to tell me I was on my way to seeing my sweet little Lady Bug.

Um. NO. Denied.

Not only am I sealed up as tight as a the vacuum seal on a jar of pickles, but Little Lady is probably breech. Waaaa? I did NOT sign up for the breech deal. Fancy OB isn't 100% sure (they couldn't get me in for an ultrasound), but there's definitely a chance that the big bump I can constantly feel isn't her sweet little bottom but her genetically huge head (inherited from BigB).

Fancy OB told if LB IS in fact breech, I could do "version" (a.k.a. physical manipulation which feels like your belly is being wrenched and supposedly hurts like hell according to my very strong/pain tolerant sister) or a c-section.

We're going to wait and see next week if she really is breech.

Other than that, I somehow lost five pounds. Which is weird. I think the scale was just whacked. But, I've felt since then a sort of license to eat. I mean, five pounds! Bring on those frozen girls.cout cookies. Bring on those Klond.ike bars. I've got five freebie pounds!

Babymoon and ICLW

Here we are, almost done with ICLW and I'm just now posting. L-A-M-E. I know it. I had this great plan to write about our anniversary trip/babymoon, and I could not, for the life of me, download the pics. Just couldn't carve out 5 minutes to do it.

So, here it is, albeit late.

We went to Victoria, B.C. for our anniversary/babymoon. We took the Clipper, which is basically a huge, high speed catamaran thingy that gets there in two hours. It was beautiful, and thankfully, pretty smooth. The little girl sitting across from me hurled (repeatedly), but luckily, my cookies stayed down.

Victoria is really beautiful, but it is a walking town. Going on vacation with no car when you're three weeks from delivering might not have been the best move. The sun was out, it was warm, and my feet ballooned up like little sausages. I had to buy my first pair of "mom shoes." But, I was more than willing to abandon all concept of fashion to find something that wouldn't feel like a vice grip squeezing my feet.

We didn't do much while we were there (walking = exhaustion), but we did visit the Butch.art Gardens. SO amazing. We took a little picnic and ate it on the lawn. Later, we went swimming at the hotel. Why haven't I done that before? It felt so wonderful to have all that pressure released. Maybe now I'll actually go to my gym - I can't believe I have a pool membership and haven't used it.

One observation is that Canadians aren't as gregarious when it comes to pregnancies. No one really commented on my huge belly. Lots of looks, like, "holy crap, that girl is gonna pop any second, get me outta here." But, not the endless questions of "how much longer?" Or, "your first?" Or, "is it a boy/girl?" Which of course are always followed by their harrowing birth stories.

My advice for fellow gals thinking about babymoons? Do it earlier when you can still walk around. Go somewhere where you don't have to do anything except lay around and drink fruity cold drinks. But, we were glad we did it and will have lots of fun memories. Happy ICLW!!

Plight for Day Care

Today I went and toured the day care center across the street from where I work. They don't take infants, but they do take one year-olds once they can walk. So, I had to take a tour and put down a DEPOSIT to be put on the waiting list for a possible start date of December 2010!! December! 2010!! Isn't that insane?

On the application they asked for the date of birth of the child: TBD?? Approximately? They also asked for a name. Does Baby Girl count? How 'bout Lady Bug? There was another woman there expecting twins. I soooo wanted to make sure my app got in the pipeline before hers. She's taking TWO spots! It would be so great to have the little button across the street, though. Not that I'd go and visit her, because i guess that really screws up their schedule, but just knowing she was yards away would be nice.

The pressure is crazy. Now we're thinking about preschool and grade school. Do we need to get on a waiting list for those, too? I thought that only happened in Manhattan and L.A.

The gal who gave the tour totally hinted that "sucking up" really helps you advance on the list. She basically told us to come volunteer at their events and send them notes and emails reminding them of "our special one." It goes against every grain of my being, but I have a feeling I'll be dropping by with baskets of brownies or muffins soon.

Learning the Stages

Last night was our second installment in our birthing class. So far, it's been a little uneventful, other than the video which showed actual vajj's with actual babies coming out. I kept peeking at BigB, wondering if he was a) going to pass out, or b). was a little too interested in someone else's crotch.

The whole night was spent on the various stages of labor. Here's what we learned:
Early Labor:
Women are pretty much excited and euphoric and perhaps a little confused if they're actually in labor. Women want to clean house and may get a backache. Duh. It could last for days maybe weeks. Waaaaa?

Active Labor:
This apparently is the "this is really starting to hurt and as a result, I could hurt you so step away, please" phase which you probably would yell at your SO if you could squeak a word out. 8 hours or so of this fun time. You may want to get a massage or sit in jacuzzi - which really sounds more like a spa appointment and who is kidding its no spa appointment.

Transition:
This is the"if you get anywhere near me, I'm going to rip your freaking head off. Don't touch me, don't count for me, just get the hell away" portion of delivery. There is often grunting, and shivering, and vomiting. Even a little pooping. Because, hey, you've got a 7 pound watermelon passing through your pelvis.

Pushing:
More of above, but you get to push.that.thang.out for up to a couple of hours. Get ready for SO to turn green. Ripping can ensue.

Placenta Delivery:
Mmmmmm. Yummy. I had never seen one until this video. Suuuu-ick. Don't worry...I don't want that thing inside me any longer than it has to. Brrrrp.

After all that, my question is, when do I get the meds? Because, then all of that is moot, right? I'm all for natural if you can swing it. This girl can not. Unnatural sounds good. Right after that euphoria/house cleaning bit, please.

Prom Queen

I was tagged by Amy over at A Different Kind of Southern Girl to show off my prom pic. Please do not judge me by the height of my hair. During the late 80's (1988 to be exact), the higher the bangs, the hotter you were. I was apparently very , very hot.

Here are the rules for the game:

1. Upload your prom picture.

2. Don't forget to include the year it was taken. Again, don't be shy. The older the better.

3. Grab the "Prom Queen" button on my sidebar and add to your post.

4. Copy and Paste the rules to your blog

5. Tag 5 others!

Here's my tags:

Martha - A sense of humor is essential

Jen - Despite the Best Laid Plans

Embryo Motel

2 infertiles Journey to 2 pink lines

...might just be enough

Think before speaking! Please!!

This weekend was was of those weekends where you have nothing planned, but it ends up being busy anyhow. Our "to do list" before LadyBug arrives is starting to dwindle - thankfully! We knocked a few items off the list over the past few days - but our house is still a complete disaster but I have no energy to do anything about it.

On one of our chore outings, we went to the dry cleaners. The owner took a look at my protruding massiveness and said, "when's baby due?" I told her seven more weeks. She gave me this crazy look and said, "only one?" Yes....only one. Stupid lady.

Then Sunday, while looking at strollers at the dreaded BabiesR.s, this older man looked at me, looked at the stroller, and said, "ya know, that one only holds one." I let out this crazy laugh.

So much fun.

Had my shower at work yesterday. About 4 hours beforehand, I started getting really dizzy and nauseous. I had to lay down in one of the conference room and take a nap with the lights off. I was determined to get through the shower. It was fun, but I jammed through it in like 45 minutes. More onesies!

Now I'm at home. Sick again. Sore throat, congestion, earache. So much fun. Poor BigB. I was such a whiny little ninny last night. I was miserable. Still miserable. Coughing like crazy - i wonder what the baby thinks of it. It must be pretty loud in there.

I'm watching back to back episodes of "A Baby Story." Thankfully all of them have been positive and made the whole birthing event seem easy. We start our birthing classes tomorrow night. I'm sure we'll hear lots of stories. But...just seven more weeks!

Friends Award and 32 Week US

I'm a little slow on getting this up, but appreciative nonetheless!!

I received the Friends Award from Martha and Are You Kidding Me. I feel so loved!

Here's my eight friends I'd like to forward to (sorry if there's repeats!). Just send the award to 8 of your friends!

Wade and Erika

Are you Kidding Me

Kristin O

Leslie Lane

Jen

Virginia

Faith

And Anyone Else who Happens to Read this blog!

On a slightly different note, we had our 32 week OB appt and ultrasound. Got to see Lady Bug in 4D! It was awesome. Although, the umbilical cord was in front of her face which made her look like she had huge Angel.ie Jol.ie lips. I'm talking HUGE! She definitely didn't get those from me. Lipliner has been my friend for a very long time.

She is a big girl. They estimate she's at 4 lbs 7 oz. Already! And we've got eight (gulp!) weeks to go. So...they're thinking somewhere in the 8.5 pound range. Whew. That's big. But then again, we're not slight people. BigB is 6'2" and quite broad (with a head the size of Texas, to boot). I'm 5'8" and "sturdy" as I like to describe myself.

While the tech had the probe thingy on my belly, Lady Bug gave it a huge kick. The tech's hand literally bounced into the air. She said she didn't think she'd ever had a baby kick that hard before. Yeah! We've got a feisty one on our hands!

Then the Doc came in and said she was "very healthy" and that I should focus on eating protein and drinking water. Hmmmmm. Does that mean he knows my obsession with all things baked and bread related? I suppose he's right. Delivering a watermelon doesn't sound like fun. Although, I read somewhere that having a big baby is good because they practically crawl out.

Our bi-polar weather has swung to sunshine this afternoon. Yay! It was grey and rainy this morning and yesterday, 70 on Tuesday. Just plain crazy. But, like I always say, if you don't like the weather in Seattle, just wait an hour and it'll change.

Saturday was a bittersweet day. BigB's grandmother passed away about a week ago, and we went to the memorial service in the morning. Just a few hours later was my first shower, with both sides of our family in attendance.

BigB's grandma had just turned 90, and had lived by herself in her house up until four or five months ago. She was such a sweet, caring person. Her life revolved around her four boys and her OVER 500 foster kids. In her 40's, she became a licensed short-term foster care provider - the place they took kids when they were first admitted to the system, before they found more permanent living situations. Can you imagine? Having so many children pass through your doors - sometimes for a night or two, sometimes for months. And she was a single mom. Doing this all by herself. Needless to say, the service was emotional. She had wanted to "go home and be with Jesus" for at least the past few years, so everyone was glad that she was where she wanted to be and that she had passed away peacefully in her sleep.

Later that afternoon my friends and family had my first baby shower. It had been planned weeks before Grandma passed away, so it would have been difficult to change the date. Plus, having all the family up for the memorial allowed them the opportunity to attend the shower - otherwise they probably wouldn't have made the trip.

The shower was good. Nothing too crazy. But, let me tell you, this kid has more onesies than should be allowed. You've heard the phrase "you can never have too many onesies" - I challenge that statement. At last count between new and hand-me-downs, she Lady Bug has over 100 onesies (size nb-9 mos). It's really insane and slightly nauseating. Between those, baby blankets, and little dresses, she is set.

A sample of onesies:

My belly...looking HUGE:

The cake:

A Little Room of my Own

Last night we took a tour of the hospital where we'll be delivering. It's a smaller hospital, only 18 maternity rooms, but seemed to have a much better reputation as far as being "friendly." The other option would be downtown Seattle, where they deliver a million babies a day - which seemed like we would be just another number without a lot of personal attention. Plus this smaller hospital is only two miles from our house - even in thick traffic we could be there in 15 minutes. Trying to get downtown, although only eight miles, in traffic could take an hour. Having a baby in the parking lot or on the side of the freeway doesn't sound like fun to me.

The maternity wing of the hospital looks, from the outside, like an abandoned grade school. It's actually quite alarming. Do I really want to deliver a baby at a place with peeling paint and a big dilapidated totem pole standing guard out front? Luckily, they've completely remodeled the inside. Total night and day difference or else I would have turned heel and ran like the wind.

There was one other gal there for the tour. I immediately hated her. She was around 25 and at least 6' tall. Maybe 6'1 or 6'2. Blond Nordic goddess. By looking at her belly, I guessed she was about 6 months. Oh no. She's due a week before me. Whatev. She looked better in her jeans at 8 months than I do without packin' a baby. I tried to ignore her and make sure I walked in front so I didn't have to stare at her perky little bottom and long non-swollen legs and compare her confident stride to my pathetic waddle.

I was pretty surprised to see how small the rooms are - especially for giving birth and recovery. You do all that in here??!! I also got claustrophobic thinking of all my brothers, sisters, in-laws crowding in the little room to get a peek of the "freshie" (as my sister likes to call newborns). "Crowd control," I whispered to BigB, practically reeling from the idea of all my peeps staring at me after hours of labor. My skinny-yellow-haired tour buddy was busy figuring out how she'd be able to Sky.pe her big moment, I was busy figuring out how I could keep from hyperventilating.

Apparently there is one huge "suite" that is filled on a first-come-first-serve basis. I want that room. With it's huge windows and big jacuzzi tub. I told BigB that he was gonna have to sit outside the room for the entire two weeks before my due date so we could nab it.

This hospital doesn't have a nursery, and requires that if you take the baby out of your room, it has to stay in a rolling bassinet. "So what do you do if you want the baby to go somewhere else because it is screaming and you're exhausted and ready to have a nervous breakdown?" I ask innocently. The tour-leading nurse looked at me like I should be admitted right then and there. "Too bad, " she shrugged. "You'll be fine," she insisted. I guess a lot of hospitals have done away with the stereotypical "nursery" with the big windows where you can see all the babies. Now you hardly know there's anything going on because everyone, including the baby, is crammed into individual rooms.

Of course, drill Sargent-tour leading nurse described all the horrible things that could go wrong during a delivery but how they were "uniquely prepared to handle it." That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I did brighten up with the snack room. All kinds of little treats for the mom and dad-to-be (no extended family, please!). Although I noticed a eminent lack of chocolate (we'll be bringing our own special snacks). We were also promised a "celebratory dinner" before leaving. Complete with steak! and chocolate-covered strawberries! and non-alcoholic sparkling cider!

It was a bit overwhelming. I'm glad we did it, but overwhelming nonetheless. To think The-Big-Day is 9 weeks away. Just crazy.

Bigger Doesn't Mean Better

Well, we did it. We traded my sporty little fast European car for a big ol' SUV made in the good ol' US of A. Used of course. But BIG nonetheless. And I'm talking HUGE. The kind of car (truck? rig?) that makes you wonder if you're actually spilling out of your lane into other lanes.

This comes as a bit of a surprise for us. We're definitely green-ish. Just last summer we were hell-bent on going hybrid and taking the bus as much as possible. This dream came to a pathetic halt a few weeks back when we stayed at a big house on one of the islands along with several other families. BigB saw how much crap they toted along in their SUVs to support their babies and tots and surmised that trying to fit two dogs and a baby + gear into one of our small "sedans" was a lesson in futility.

It just so happened that another one of our friends wanted to "downsize" as her kids are in high school and college, and she wasn't needing a vehicle with a third row of seats. We actually traded. Isn't that crazy!?! We didn't have to put our cars up for sale, didn't have to deal with strangers taking my car for a test drive. Didn't have to put up with used car salesmen. Etc. And, no car payment!

Yay! So, for the price of convenience, I am now the proud owner of one very large SUV and have thus become the epitome of the urban mom. I feel totally alien in it. I am waiting for the day when someone flips me off - most likely one of the million bicyclers in Seattle who commute via two-wheels. And I deserve it. I have no business sucking up gallons of gas just to get to work. Luckily, the windows are shaded and with my big sunglasses on, maybe they'll never I.D. me.

All said and done, I do have to admit that there is something just a teency bit thrilling about sitting up high enough to see into the cars all around you. Slightly voyeuristic. And there's something empowering about knowing you could practically drive right over those tiny smart.cars (although those things are super cool - especially when they park sideways). And, for whatever reason, the only music that seems appropriate to listen to while driving is country. Out goes NPR, in comes Carrie.Underwood.

Now I just have to decide what bumper sticker will make the look complete: "My dog is smarter than your kid"? Or, "Soccer Mom's Rule"? Or, "My other car is a Prius"?

Nothing Quite Like Family Guilt

Yesterday I wasn't feeling too hot. Several nights of zero sleep left me feeling foggy, nauseous, and achy. My older sister stopped by and within minutes was telling me all about a recent episode of Dr Phil that she had watched.

Apparently it was all about moms who go back to work after their baby is born so that they can support their 3,000 s.f. homes and brand new cars. My sister told me that I needed to stay home after little LadyBug is born and be with her. That nurturing my child was more important than anything else, and that I needed to do whatever it takes to stay home with her.

I was stunned. No one in my family has ever come out and chastised me for my decision to go back to work. I blubbered, "we don't have a choice! I have to work!" She retorted that there's always a choice. I told her we'd have to sell our house, and move into an apartment at least 30 miles away (apartments are super expensive in Seattle), and even then, we'd be lucky to pay all our bills each month.

She went on to say that she did it. She put her first baby in childcare, but when she had her second, she quit her job, stayed home, and opened a day care. "You just have to prioritize," she quipped.

Big Stream of Tears Ensued.

It's all so frustrating. BigB and I have worked our arses off to try and pay off our debt. We don't drive fancy cars, we live in a tiny home, we don't go on vacations, nor do we eat out more than a few times a month. On top of that, we have the whole overarching economy issue. Who knows if BigB will be out of a job in the next six months. It could totally happen. Now is not the greatest time for me to quit a steady job.

All that being said, I'm pretty sure I don't want to be a full-time SAHM. I can hardly stand being home all day when I'm sick. I have a sneaking suspicion that at the end of my maternity leave I'll be chomping at the bit to go back to work. I'm sure, too, that it'll be really tough to leave the little Bug and I'll be even more elated with every moment I'm able to spend with her. We're trying to be very creative with childcare solutions - working from home at least one day a week, having my mom watch her one day a week, etc, so we can maximize "us" time vs. "daycare" time.

I guess it's just frustrating to not have a choice, and then to be totally guilted by a member of your own family. I never thought I'd see it. I thought my family would know our situation enough to understand our decision. It makes me wonder what all my SAHM friends are thinking. My boss is thinking. Not to mention strangers. Not that I care (well...maybe a little bit).

Ugh. This dilemma is futile. I'm going to go eat something made entirely of chocolate and pretend life is a bowl of roses.

One more shot for ol' times sake

Got my Rh shot yesterday because, lucky me, I am O Negative. I can give blood to anyone who desires...but can only take O-. Crazy the things you learn.
The shot was fantastic. I had actually missed dropping my drawers for people. A shot! In my rear! This I can relate to.

After said shot, the nurse, whom I just love, said, "and just think! You get to have these every time you're pregnant from now on!" It was fun to just giggle and believe for a moment that I was a "normal" woman who would have more pregnancies down the road and would have to think about such things.

This goes hand-in-hand with the question that my OB-GYN asked at my appointment last week. She said, "so...now's the time to be thinking about birth control - what you want to use after the baby's born." Whaaaaaa? Why would I want to use birth control? I suppose "normal" women contemplate such things, but me? Heck no. I want to know what I gotta do to get pregnant again. Pills? Shots? Temp charts? Fasting?

I guess we don't really hold out much hope for getting pregnant again. We certainly can't afford another IVF. And countless IUI's only resulted in MC. So, what type of birth control we would want certainly isn't in our vocabulary - because if it happened, we would be ecstatic. BigB doesn't even want to entertain the idea of talking about fertility stuff post-baby. He wants to "enjoy the moment." I totally agree, but there is this pressing deadline - like my 40th birthday - that is looming in the distance. It's hard not to get caught up in the future and what may or may not happen.

What has been fun is feeling the baby's head (or rump?). I still can't really figure out which end is which, but I can definitely feel something round and hard (like an orange) that moves around. Crazy!

Letting Go

In the spirit of spring cleaning and purging, what are a few things you just cannot seem to get rid of? And why?

Here's a few of mine (believe me, there are lots more):

The Lemonader - a machine that makes lemonade. Got it as a wedding present. Used it once and it left a nice sticky film all over my kitchen floor after it erupted. Made some darn good lemonade, though. Who knows when we'll have a plethora of lemons and might need to make some.

2 sets of hot rollers and 4 curling irons (including a crimper) - ya never know when my hair might grow long enough to use them and styles might come back where I'll need a LOT of these. In every shape and size.

Underwear - somehow I've accumulated enough underwear to clothe a small city of women. They just never seem to wear out. Some don't fit, but I don't want to get rid of them because I WILL lose weight. Plus, they never really go out of style, do they?

Grade School/High School/College memorabilia - how much is too much? I can't bear to let go of the little wooden name plates my campers made me one summer when I was a counselor. Nor all the diaries. Lord - there was a lot of drama back then. I can't just forget about all those boys I had crushes on!

Exercise Machine - it never actually made it out of the box. But I swear, someday I'll use that machine that attaches to a door a becomes a virtual gym. Really, I will. I mean, I ordered off an infomercial...it's GOT to be good.

Spring Purging, and Cleaning, and Sorting.

I've missed ICLW. I'm so bummed. It's the one time each month when I get more than 5 or 6 comments. For that one week I feel like a total rock star! Plus its a great motivator to visit all the other blogs out there. Owell...I guess there's always next month.

This weekend we spent pretty much all day Saturday and Sunday going through all the stuff in the "office" that will shortly become the "nursery." It has been quite a task. That little room has also been the emergency storage - whenever someone comes over and we can't quite get everything clean and organized as we like we just shove it all in the office and shut the door. There was a lot of crap in there that wasn't remotely related to an office. Pulling everything out and trying to find a new home for it has created a brand new chaos that's consumed the entire house.

I was raised by a mom who is totally anal about cleaning. She didn't let me have leg.os or any other toy with little parts because she didn't want me "making messes" all over the house. There were no posters allowed on my bedroom wall, and everything, and I mean everything had to be put away before we went to bed. To this day, her house is always perfectly clean (almost sterile) - if you put your water glass down, it'll be in the dishwasher by the time you go for another drink.

This probably isn't the ideal way to raise a family (rugs must be vacuumed in the same directions so the lines are parallel, bath towels must be folded and put in the linen closet with folded side facing out, etc), but, it has shaped my sense of what a house should be: clean and orderly. However, I'm just not as good as my mom. When I look around my house and see piles of crap or things laying around it drives me insane, but I just don't have the time to deal with it all (I work full-time unlike my mom who didn't work).

Our little house has become maxed to capacity. There is no room for anything. Every cupboard and closet is overflowing - one wrong move and "boobytrap!" (remember that game?). I get a little overwhelmed when I think about adding one more person to the mix, not to mention all the accoutrement that goes along with her.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

It doesn't help that BigB comes from a family where orderlineness isn't next to godliness. He doesn't "see" that pile of tools on the kitchen counter that belong in the garage. He'll let them sit until I ask him to move them. Getting him to throw things out is like pulling teeth.

More deep breaths.

I think I've relaxed a lot since we got married. But now without the fallback crap room/office being eliminated? What to do? I have this relentless urge to purge. Must make more room! Friends say that it's the nesting instinct and that it'll ease up once the little girl is here. I dunno. Will it? Maybe that's why my mom has a little supply of Valium in her bathroom drawer. I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Right? Eleven weeks and counting. So much to do...so little time.

Random Thoughts

I love daylight savings. It means a world of difference in the Pacific Northwest. All winter we go to work in the dark, and then by the time work is over, its dark again. With daylight savings it feels like we have a whole extra day when we get home from work. Although...it also makes me feel a lot more guilty about plopping my big bottom on the couch as soon as I get home.

I finished our taxes last night. Ugh. Do you know that you only "get back" about 15% of your out-of-pocket medical expenses? I guess its better than nothing. Although more would be better.

St. Pat's is really no fun without the beer. Why be Irish if you can't celebrate by getting smashed? This is my first National Ireland day without hitchin up me knickers and doin' a little jig. It was spent, instead, watching Idol. What is with that weird Adam dude? He pretty much creeps me out.

I passed my sugar test. No gestational diabetes for me. That actually came as a big surprise seeing as 40-50% of PCOSers get it. I thought for sure the writing was on the wall. Especially as I gained four pounds in one week. Now I can only blame it on eating relentlessly.

We spent the weekend with four other couples at a big house on Whidbey Island (San Juans). Even though the weather was totally bi-polar (sunny one minute, literally snowing the next) it was a great weekend with friends. We made a big St Pats feast and shared all our meals at one huge dining table. I made my "meat lovers" lasagna (four kinds of meat) one night. Mmmmm. It was a relaxing weekend and we hope to make it an annual event.

Drop and Roll

It's one of my favorite new past times. It's called, "See How Far You Can Get Without Your Pants Falling Down." This morning was a perfect example, I'm in the office parking lot, hands full, and as I walk toward the office, my wonderful, stretchy-panel pants start inching their way down my hips. I know good and well it will just be a matter of moments before said pants are around my ankles.
What to do? What to do? Do I chance it and see if I can get all the way to the entrance? Or, do I put all of my stuff on the wet ground, wrestle my pants up as high as I can wedge them while office mates possibly watch manoeuvres from office window? If my luck runs out, I also risk everyone seeing my lovely granny panties and blindingly white chicken legs. Nothing hotter.

What makes it worse is the black trench coat I wear. Sans pants, I look like a pregnant flasher. Ga-ross. So lies the dilemma. I usually go for it, holding my thighs together as tightly as I can (which looks like a 3 yr old having to pee badly) while making a dash for it. Other times I just know that no amount thigh control will save me which means I have to hitch up my coat, then grab the pants and wrestle them up along with the large-sized panties. None of this is attractive for a grown woman. It's just wrong.

There has GOT to be a better alternative for maternity pants. I've got the bell.aband. It works sometimes. But there are days when nothing helps and I spend my entire grocery or mall trip scanning for empty aisles where I can hitch without being spotted. Sometimes I have no choice but to inflict young children and old men with my antics invoking nightmares across the Pacific Northwest.

BigB presented me with a pair of bright red suspenders. He said he was worried about the neighbors calling the police. They work well, but hard to coordinate with most of outfits (except my lumberjack ensemble).

Gimme some more samoas

It's that time of year when little girls, dressed in vests adorned with a zillion patches, appear at every public venue, grocery store, and work place. They come across so sweet and innocent, with their cheerful grins and promise of great hope for the future. They pawn their goods so deceptively! They lure you in with tasty memories and the threat that what they've got won't last for long.

I'm weak. I cannot pass them up. I cannot turn my eye. Their swift little daggers hook me. What's worse is that one of my goddaughters is part of the clan. How can I deny those bright blue eyes coupled with chocolaty goodness paired with a thin layer of mint? Or shortbread layered with caramel, chocolate and toasted coconut?

Soon, I'm faced with 12 boxes of madness. I promise myself that I will put them in the freezer, and take them out for guests. But somehow I convince myself that I'll have "just one," which always turns into three or four, then soon, the whole box.

It's a destructive cycle that I look forward to each year.

Just Your Typical Monday Morning

Well...whatever was causing the crazy jackhammer jaw sleeping syndrome has gone. At least I've been jackhammer free for three nights.

BigB was out of town for the last week. I can admit openly here that I had the best sleep EVER! And, boom, as soon as he came back, I'm awake all night long. I wonder how it would affect our marriage if I asked him to sleep in the guest room. Juz kiddin'. Sorta. There's just all that room in the bed for me and my copious pillows! And no snoring! And no flinging arms whapping me in the face! No alarm clock going off at 4:45 in the a.m.! Ahhhhh. It was bliss. To bad he wasn't a pilot. Then I could count on him being gone for weeks at a time a LOT.

Seriously, though, I did miss him. He's my best friend and I really feel out of sorts when he's not around. When he left last week, he gave me a little teddy bear that was holding a bag of my favorite Pep.Farm cookies and a sweet card. Awwwwwwwww.

Over the weekend I started getting this really crazy aching in my, ahem, netherregions. The same regions that a ginormous bowling ball (I mean baby) will be traveling through in a few months. I also had this nagging pressure in same said netherregions. It just felt so weird. So, of course I put the question to Dr Google and my myriad of pg books till I found an answer that made me feel a bit better. "Pains" like these are apparently common and are not to be worried about unless they don't get better with rest.

Friday and Saturday, the ache and pressure seemed to disappear as soon as I was horizontal on my (spacious without the BigB) bed. Last night was a different story...the aching and the pressure didn't relieve with a little snooze time. It just kept on comin. On top of that, little Lady Bug decided to burrow down somewhere in the lowest part of my uterus (like right on top of my pubic bone) and give me some kicks. Usually she's everywhere, trying out her tennis star backhand and her black belt karate chop all over the place. But yesterday and last night, I could only feel little tiny kicks and movements and they were all down there.

As previously mentioned, I got no sleep last night cuz BigB was back in town. That gave way for the perfect Trifecta. I obsessed all night that I was going into preterm labor. All the signs were there: aching in the vag wall area, pressure on what I guess was the cervix, and my little lady making her way head down for a smooth ride into the real world. Bad thoughts gone wild.

Of course at 8:01 I'm on the horn with the nurse, trying to hold back the tears. They graciously squeezed me in "just to be on the safe side." After hooking me up to a fetal monitor, a uterus monitor (?), an ultrasound, a pelvic check, and some bloodwork. They think everything is just fine and they "don't know why" I'm having these pains. Which makes me feel slightly better. I'm glad everything points to nothing, but I want something rather than nothing for an explanation!

While I was there, they gave me the awesome GTT. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Orange syrup. It wasn't all that horrible other than the horrendous sugar headache and sweats. And nausea.

What a way to start the week! But, on the bright side, it is gorgeous out today. My car told me it was 59 outside. 59! That's like a tropical heat wave! I'll take it and be thankful for sunshine and some good news.

I'm a snoring whack job

I've been having the craziest "dream" lately. I guess its not really a dream...more like a sensation. But its reoccurring, and happens almost every night, sometimes twice a night. 

Being knocked up, my nose is stuffy all the time, especially while I'm sleeping. This means that I have to sleep with my mouth gaping open like fish. Super sexy. 

With my mouth cracked open, I get this dream/sensation that my mouth is vibrating so hard that my teeth are clanging together.  Sometimes my teeth even feel like they're breaking apart in my mouth. It wakes me up, every time. It's SO weird. I know - I'm a whack job. But what is it? My only guess is that the whole open mouth thing makes me snore and maybe I'm sensing the snore?

It's the hormones. I blame everything on the hormones. 

My piggy is broke

Seeing as March is knocking at our door, I started the insane task of taxes. I don't know how I received this great honor in our household, but here I am. Once again faced with a looming deadline and the constant nagging that I did something wrong and good ol' uncle sam is going to beat down my door.

This year, we get to include expenses from fertility treatments because they FAR AND AWAY exceeded the 7.5% of our adjusted income. After figuring in treatments, co-pays, meds, parking, mileage, acupuncture, massage, blah blah blah...the grand total is *insert drumroll*...over $35K. That's right. Out of pocket. And that's just one year.

Don't get me wrong...you can't put a pricetag on a child - I will be the first one to wave that flag and stand behind it like a mac truck. But, come on, we need mandatory fertility coverage! This is just insane. Insurance will cover the treatment cost for drug or alcohol abuse (which starts as an individual, totally conscious decision), but it won't cover treatment for a woman who has a disorder preventing her from having babies that she never asked for or did anything to cause. (I know this isn't a great analogy, but its all I can come up with right now). It really doesn't make sense.

I get a little heated when I think of the billions of tax payers dollars (including mine!) it takes to support people who have made bad decision after bad decision regarding their lives as well as the lives of their children (welfare, foster care, medicare), and most IFers can't even get a prescription for a fertility drug paid for.

Sorry for the vent. I knew this day would come - the day I had to face the piper and the bill that comes along with him. For the last couple of years I was able to just hand over the plastic with a poop-eating grin and pretend that I had cash to pay it off. But reality has hit me like a ugly brick. I don't regret it for a moment, but dang, our system is more screwy than a lightbulb.