Wednesday, June 30, 2010


I just witnessed a solid 10 minutes of unabashed squirrel porn. Two wily little critters were going at it, uh, squirrel-style in my front yard. And clinging to the tree trunk. And in the flower bed. Dude. They wrestled, groomed, banged, ate a nut, banged some more, etc. Hot.

I took my glucose test today, and was surprised that the sugar solution wasn't that bad. It tasted like a hybrid of orange Gatorade and flat Fanta. Nom nom nom. I don't know when I get the results, but I'll probably be in NYC already if they call tomorrow or Friday.

I'll be in NYC! We're leaving tomorrow afternoon and staying until Monday. I lived there for a while after college, and sort of vaguely remember my way around the city. Fortunately, the iPhone has subway apps so you don't have to drag your map around, which just serves as a de facto "mug me, I'm a tourist" sign. I am suspending my OB's instructions to me today to watch my weight gain, as we are planning to get breakfast at the Doughnut Plant and eat bona fide NY-style pizza. (Sorry, Chicago, but your deep-dish pie is just too much for me right now.)

This will be the last trip KB and I take together as two adults. [sigh] Life is a-changing.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

I am boring. I suck. My life is a recorded loop right now. So it goes.

Sleep remains the same (about 2-3 hours per night, standard; 4 hours on a good night). I have adjusted. I keep my magic bottle of sleeping pills in the cupboard as a talisman to scare away the evil insomnia sprites who threaten to keep me up all hours of the night -- not sure if that's a success, but I seem to be functioning in a manner similar enough to fellow humans to walk amongst you, undetected. You'd never know I was a brain-hungry zombie.

The new symptom on the block is reflux -- hip, hip, hoo-fucking-ray! It's not bad, mostly just a little acidic/biley urpiness (I dunno which, although I would if I kept pH paper around the house). I guess I'll ask about Prevacid at my next OB appointment since Tums are no more effective than eating a breath mint. And less fresh.

Speaking of appointments, I get tested the for The Diabetes next week. I had better pass. Or else. (Or else what? Exactly.)  Then I switch to every-two-weekly appointments. Meh. Nothing new ever comes out of OB visits, except fresh symptoms for which to beg for drugs to treat. An end to that routine is certainly welcome.

And then, just to break the monotony, KB and I are taking one last vacation this year. (I refuse to call it a "babymoon" because that's wicked ruh-tah-ded.)  We're heading to NYC for a long weekend over the Fourth of July holiday. Going to see a Broadway musical! Going on a river cruise to watch fireworks! Going to museum(s)! Our hotel is about a block from Grand Central Station, so hopefully we can avoid too much hoofing it to get from place to place. I suppose we'll just cab it if we need to, even though I loathe cab drivers in New York. It's like they watched The Fast and The Furious to prepare for their driving test. And then somehow passed.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Prenatal Yoga is Not for the Weak or the Proud

Prenatal yoga may as well be prenatal rugby. Shit is hard. I had my first class last night and was stunned at how difficult it is to perform any yoga poses with this growing belleh in the way. I mean, dude. Here are a few of my favorites, re-interpreted.

Oink-Moo: Because nothing looks more like a tasty side of beef or bacon-ready piggy than a dangling belleh swaying in the breeze. Comfortable, though.

Lump-Squat: Ironically, also called the child's pose. There is no way in hell to get all the way down to the ground with a belleh in the way. Fail.

Help-Me-Jesus: Also known as the pigeon pose, this one is just effing ridiculous. Tuck my leg under my belleh and then take my hands off the ground? Also called the "I'm coming, Elizabeth!"

         Testing Newton: Obviously.
         Gravity won.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


Due Diligence: My doctor has officially moved my due date up by one measly day to October 3. I know this because I sneaked a peak at my chart while the nurse was doing her nurse biznazz at my unscheduled what-the-fuck visit this week. One whole day. Really? Well, at least it's one less day I have to be pregnant since I will buy some weird, skanky herbs from Chinatown and make some weird, homeopathic tea or whatever to start my own goddamned labor if they won't induce me by my due date. Not interested in overtime.

Shower Power Showdown: My mother-in-law is hosting my shower (great!) but is a major, major, major control freak (less great). Even my ideas (which pertain directly to what I, the guest of honor, like and desire) are subject to being shot down. She freaked out because I already had a super-awesome invitation picked out, that I've had my eye on since before I knew for sure I was even having a shower hosted by anyone, and the sample text in the picture didn't include "hosted by____." She didn't snap at me, but another relative, insisting IN A VERY SHOUTY VOICE that her name MUST APPEAR ON THE INVITE BECAUSE IT'S HER PARTY. Oh, boy. I wasn't there for this love-fest but heard all about it later. So, it's been explained to her that the sample text (key words) can and will be changed when we order, so that it does not also invite our guests to a fictitious Meghan's shower for which you can RSVP to a random invented phone number or email address. She told me last week that I could pick out decorations but then barked at the same relative, AGAIN IN A SHOUTY VOICE and in my absence, that SHE would pick out decorations for HER party. Yikes, dude. Am I carrying her baby? She totally means well, but is a tad territorial about things. I'm going over to her house this weekend to smooth it all over, because that's what needs to happen. The freshmaker. Or the peacekeeper. Or maybe just the suckah. But I am getting my super-kickass-awesome invitations and decorations to match the theme*. (Spiteful side note: I went out after hearing about all of the shenanigans and bought decorations, to fight assholiness with assholiness, but I won't tell her about that. It can wait until later. When I find a way to make her think it was her idea -- which by the way, it effing was. She told me, just keep the receipt. And FYI, the shower will be at my house, so I sort of feel justified in having a say in what gets taped to my walls and ceilings and whatnot.) Also, just for giggles: my mother-in-law apparently planned originally (a few weeks ago) to schedule the shower for mid-September. Yep. Two weeks before my due date. Uh, fuck no. That would interfere with my daily begging-for-scheduled-induction schedule. I even wish it was a little sooner than end of August, when it is now planned, because I will be huge, hot, and sweaty by then...but it's an improvement. Copacetic is my middle name.**

Who Needs Sleep?: I have not tried the Ambien yet. I've progressed to about 4 or 4.5 hours of sleep per night for the past week, which is a big help, so I'm going to keep riding it out to see if sleep improves any further. So, I guess KB will have to hold his breath for super-secret sleep-sex.***

*Theme = onesies.

**Don't mistake my kvetching for ungratefulness, because she is doing a Very Nice Thing and I do appreciate it endlessly. But seriously, can the mother-to-be have a little say?****

***After a 4-month arid-extra-dry spell, sex was had about a week ago. Not fueled by Ambien (it's not for everyone, mainly just philandering golf pros). It was sufficiently awkward with the growing belleh, but still long overdue. I'm guessing I'll give up my delicate flower [snort] again before I birth the baby, but don't bet the farm.

****I realize I am equally stubborn and control-y, and that I could just as easily let her plan the whole thing without a word. But to quote Woody Allen, the heart wants what it wants.***** And I want my one and only baby shower to have my stamp on it. Can't help it.

*****Yeah, I know what an inappropriate quote that is. But I couldn't think of anything else that fits my repurposed context. "Can you smell what the Rock is cooking?" just doesn't work.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Little Things

Lately, I've been trying to get KB's hand in the right spot with the right pressure, so he can feel little kicks and punches. For some reason, it's become a mission to help him experience that.

Then this morning, I was getting pummeled with a series of particularly powerful kick-punches and put his hand in just the right spot...and he felt it. For the first time, he unselfconsciously talked to the baby, calling it "my baby," and I had a brief moment of pure happiness and peace. It's the little things, sometimes.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Much Ado About (Next To) Nothing

My cervix remains closed and elongated. I have been instructed to drink more water than is humanly possible (I swear to gawd I am urinating pure, potable water at this point). I have to call the answering service if I think I've had more than three Braxton Hicks contractions in an hour. Other than that, I am declared fine. I wish I felt fine. But, you know, I'll take what I can get.

Braxton Hicks

Ugh. That several-times-daily familiar tightening and relaxing of my growing gut has been happening all day today, since early this morning. It usually kicks up just a little at night, so this early start caught my attention. And the baby has been thoroughly kickboxing the shit out of me most of the day, which is also a bit off (but reassuring). I called the OB's office and spoke with the nurse, and we debated for a few minutes whether I should come in to see the OB or just go to the hospital. We settled on seeing the OB first, since I can't say for sure how many contractions are happening in any defined time period (it just feels like it's most of the time). I've also been feeling sort of nauseous all day, despite eating enough and on time, so my gut is (literally) telling me something isn't right. Well, shitty-shitty-bang-bang.

So, I had a good cry a little while ago since I am only 24 weeks and this has to stop and be okay, and now I'm trying to shift my attention toward work for another hour or so until I go in to find out what the fuck my uterus thinks it's up to. I told KB he doesn't need to come to the appointment because I would feel awful if he left work early for absolutely nothing. I realize it would be brighter not to tempt fate, like refusing to bring an umbrella just so it will fucking rain. But, whatever. Here's hoping I don't wind up in the hospital tonight. If they could start an IV in the office and pump a liter into me to see if rehydration helps, I would be so grateful. We shall see.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Friend with Benefits

Several things I did not specifically know about Ambien:
  • May cause me to prepare food in my sleep
  • May result in me having sex while not fully awake
  • May cause me to not remember having sleep-sex
So, in short, it looks like Ambien may make me a better wife! If only it caused folding of laundry in my sleep....

Better Living Through Chemistry

I had my second-to-last monthly OB appointment today (they switch to biweekly soon) and FINALLY, my blood pressure decided to act up while actually in the office. Sitting comfortably, I was hypertensive (around 150 over something equally too-high), and after lying down for 2 minutes I was hypotensive (around 100 over something equally much-lower). A-ha! I said. Orthostatic. And the OB's reaction was....drumroll, please....completely nonplussed by my concern. As was her response to my impassioned plea for something, anything, to help me sleep. I received the most helpful of suggestions to cure all that ails me: drink water! eat protein! small, frequent meals! don't nap during the day! lay in bed quietly at night and wait for the magical fucking sleep fairy to sprinkle dream dust on your eyelids! go fuck yourself! But like any good boy scout, I was prepared. I calmly but firmly informed her that I had done all these things and more, including acupuncture and pregnancy-friendly sleep aids, and that all were failing. And I told her that while dizziness and low pressure may be common in pregnancy, and likely to get worse (motherfucking yay!), I don't feel that means I should have to suffer, and that my recent rash of getting dizzy with tunnel vision while driving ought to concern her more. Word.

So I am now the proud owner of a prescription for sexy-ass, knee-high compression stockings (combined with a nursing bra*, I don't see how KB will be able to keep hit mitts off of me) and a prescription for Ambien. I had to talk in circles to get the sleeping pill script. I have a mothertrucking doctorate from the University of Michigan medical school, so I know it's a scheduled drug with addiction potential and that limited studies have been done to determine toxicology in pregnancy and breastfeeding. But, dude. Two hours of sleep per night while working full time and trying to keep up with laundry enough to at least have clean underwear is defined as unlawful torture in the goddamned Geneva Convention, so cut me some slack. I didn't quite have to beg, but I was prepared. You'd think I was a junkie trying to get a fix. Please drug dealer doctor-lady, give me some pills so I can get fuuuuucked my sleep. I'm totally going to crush it up and cook it in a spoon and maybe speedball it. Maybe mix it with some vodka in my eye (did you know kids are doing this? pouring vodka in their eye? thinking it will get them drunker? instead of blind and stupider?).

I can appreciate (and actually, do) that my OB practice is largely non-interventional. That's why I picked them, in part. But when you get beyond holistic approaches to remain a functional human being, let alone a happily existing one, I expect the big guns to come out. The conversations about scheduled induction are being plotted in my head to start around 32 weeks or so. I don't see the problem, really; today I measured 25 weeks, two full weeks ahead. So we can potentially induce two weeks early, by my logic! We shall see.

Next up is the super-awesome glucose tolerance test. I can hardly wait. Delicious orange corn syrup, nom nom nom.

*Nursing bras are comfortable and practical for their purpose, but also strange. I simultaneously excited and weirded KB out by showing him how one works. I'm pretty sure I'll use them after I finish breastfeeding, for my traveling burlesque act, coming to a city near you in fall of 2011. Compression hose will also be featured. Ba-da-boom!

Monday, June 7, 2010

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


In the span of two weeks, I went from wondering, "is that maybe a cute little kick?" to being sure that a team of Romanian gymnasts is vaulting in mah belleh. Dude. The kick-punches are actually kind of rare, but the rolling, turning, twirling, and somersaulting is growing common. Especially at night. Happy happy joy joy.

Now, you say, don't be a Debbie Downer. I should be excited to feel the kid sucker-punching me from the inside. Well, I'm here to dispel the myth that it is always pleasant-feeling. The turning and twisting is particularly uncomfortable, and sweet baby jesus forbid my bladder or other vital organ should get in the way. Also, did this kid, like, triple in size in two weeks or something? Was I bitten by a radioactive spider? I seriously was not even sure last week if those twee little twinges were baby kicks or a fart-in-transit, but there is absolutely no mistaking it now. And the fact that the kid is a night owl is less than awesome. I'm pretty sure last night, s/he tapped (*punched*) out the Morse code message: "Sleep is for suckas."

[sigh] Even the milestones of pregnancy kind of suck for me. The "mind over matter" approach was helping, but sleep deprivation while working full-time while aching and paining daily while feeling nauseous while getting dizzy and while feeling like most people just think you're a pussy is leaving me a little want for comfort. Like a big bowl of ice cream. Except that bolus sugar rushes make me sick. [double sigh] I am going to start being waaaaaaay more insistent with my OB at regular visits that this is NOT normal to feel this shitty every single day, and that there MUST be something we can do to mitigate it. No more "suck-it-up-sweetheart" smirks and nods. Bolus IV fluids? I'll take it. Ambien? It's class B. Something stronger than "bite this knife" for pain relief? Bring it.

I am also thinking very seriously about proposing to my OB that we schedule an induction on or slightly before my due date. My hopes for a "natural" childbirth, since this could be my only experience, are being slashed and burned by the reality that the pregnancy itself is proving to be pretty depleting. If this is knocking me down a rung or seven, what the hell will contractions and labor and delivery do to me? As soon as this kid measures big enough and is in the right position to get birthed, I want to get it on, bang a gong. Sign me up for scheduled induction and an epidural and get this kid out of me. I don't want to be pregnant one day longer than is necessary. That's where I am right now, people. At barely six months. I remind myself every single day, that each passing day brings us a little closer to the finale, and that this will not last forever. But it's not yet more concrete than abstract. If patience is a virtue, I am a bad, bad girl.