Saturday, April 28, 2012

First of Many

I had my first OB appointment this week, at 10 weeks 1 day. Le bebe is a wiggling little thing measuring 10 weeks and has a heart beating away at 160 bpm. My OB informed me that second labors tend to go about twice as fast, and you push half as long, as the first. So this one should be about 6 hours of laboring and 45 minutes of pushing. I requested he sign a legally binding affidavit to ensure this labor goes so well, but he declined. Jerk.


Tuesday, April 24, 2012


Since I am insatiably hungry and yet also nauseous and constipated all the time, I had a sudden stroke of genius. If I need to eat like I have a second and third stomach, and also to eliminate this grazed-upon food, how about SALAD. Easy to believe I have a PhD, isn't it? Thank goodness my fondness for all things savory makes this genius plan possible. Balsamic vinaigrette, come to Butt-head. Because I am tired/exhausted/wiped/lazy, I asked KB to pick up a big bag o'salad that I am owning right now. I should be a sated, champion shitter in no time. And this will help immensely with my returning hemorrhoid (we'll call her Rose McGowan).


Monday, April 23, 2012

Honesty is One Policy

So here it is. There have been a few recent days when I felt so utterly shitty, so nauseous and constipated and exhausted and overworked by clients and toddlers and dogs, that I just broke down. Took shots at KB. Just cried. Cried to KB. I admitted to him that on those days, I wonder if we made a mistake, if we (I) can't handle being pregnant again and worse than that, can't handle raising two kids. I don't feel that way deep down, but the physical misery can be all-consuming and fuck with your head and your heart. I needed to hear that, despite his shared worry about how we will make this all work, it's going to be okay. And so he told me that. It's going to be okay. Sometimes you just need to hear it.

One of the things that I lamented in my tearful tirades was the fact that, despite having KB's family close by, we don't really get any help. Instead, it feels more like we get additional expectations piled on us, like it's OUR responsibility in whole to make sure THEY get what THEY need from US. Outside of KB's mom bringing us food for the first week or so after we brought Jackson home (which was much appreciated, lest you think I'm a completely ungrateful sow), there have been no offers to do anything truly useful. The only exception is her (thankfully, waning) requests to babysit (I just typed babyshit, FYI) which have always included her expectation that we take Jackson to her completely un-baby-proofed stair- and fireplace-filled house when SHE has availability. I would've loved it if she had ever volunteered to come over to our house and watch him long enough for me to take a shower or run to the store, or even come with me, but that was never mentioned because it didn't suit her needs. She complains about the drive to our suburban house being horrible but has no problem hitting the freeway to downtown Detroit (a real paradise, as you can imagine) to join her friends at the casino. And KB's over-80-year-old aunt who is hard of hearing and has increasingly creaky bones has expressed disappointment over not being allowed to babysit, but come on. KB's sister has offered but it's a hollow gesture only because her husband travels a lot, leaving her to single parent a very busy 8-year-old. She has no time to actually make good on the offer. None of them has offered to change a diaper. None of them has offered to stop by and play with Jackson so I could take a nap/take a shower/do laundry/etc. I know for my part I absolutely give off an I'll-do-it-myself vibe, but that's mainly because I just can't appreciate the "offers" of "help" that come with specific strings attached. In my mind, if you really want to help then do what is needed, not whatever you personally want at my expense.

So anyway, the thought of our family piling on even more expectation that we'll accommodate their schedules and their needs to cart around TWO kids is mindfucking me. In my search for a new car, I've tossed around the idea of whether we need 3rd-row seating because KB's elderly aunt expects us to drive her to every family event (though she's perfectly capable of driving herself to church and weekly lunch with her friends). It's super great because Jackson will normally catch an afternoon nap in the car when we're out running errands, but KB's aunt insists on chatting for the whole drive in her hard-of-hearing voice, so we get no nap and a cranky toddler afterwards every time. And we've already begun discussing how we will care for Jackson while I'm in the hospital after labor with baby #2, since it's hard to imagine anyone in KB's family accommodating OUR needs, especially on short notice. We may end up hiring a nanny to stay with Jackson if we're in the hospital over the weekend. And then we have to lie to KB's mom about stuff like that because, despite the nonsense of it, her feelings get hurt. Blargh.

We're probably going to engage in The Telling in the next several weeks, maybe on Mother's Day. I view it as something on a checklist. I'm in survival mode right now. Some days are better than others, but pregnancy is just not kind to me. It's a means to an end. And that fact that people who I wish could just offer genuine help seem to have their own agenda-in-a-bubble approach completely annoys me.

Maybe I should just chalk it all up to hormones.


Tuesday, April 17, 2012


Again, to the land of the living...and god bless Sir Alexander Fleming for being a sloppy scientist. Thanks to his carelessness (and the more recent development of the corporate conglomerate pharmaceutical industry), my sinus infection is nearly gone. My teeth still ache a little, but I can breathe and chew and sleep at night. All good things. All conducive to living.

My nausea has been intermittent, not helped much by the constant postnasal drainage from said sinus infection. The cough-gag-heave has been perfected. Thank goodness it's rare. I hate to think how many calories I'm consuming via ginger ale to deal with nausea (no diet drinks for me....I don't want the bebe to get rat cancer like all those scary chain email say we'll!). I'm avoiding taking Zofran unless the nausea is superbad, because it contributes to the constipation. O! the constipation. It, in turn, exacerbates the nausea. It's a tangled web we weave, oh bebe of mine. I've taken to announcing in grand fashion when I have a reasonable dump, because it's so rare and deserves fanfare. Bet you wish you lived with me. I'm a gem.

My mother-in-law will be back from her winter-in-Florida soon and it's pretty hard to hide my status anymore. I did manage to do so successfully at a birthday party over the weekend --  I was even asked if I had lost a couple of pounds which set off hysterical laughter that required no explanation as I shoveled pasta salad and hamburgers and cupcakes into my food hole. I have actually gained only a few pounds, which I expected, thanks to IVF (though falling short of its traditional 5 pounds from hyperstimulation) and the constipation (I'm also gestating a poo-baby) and, oh yeah, eating ALL THE TIME. I am so hungry, y'all. I would win the Hunger Games out of sheer determination to feed my face, no other skills required. I don't have any weird cravings, but like before everything savory is goooood. But back to my mother-in-law, we're thinking we'll tell her and the family around Mother's Day, when I'll be 12 weeks. If I can hide my chowing and discomfort and expanding waistline until then. Then the daily calls from her and KB's aunt (the mother-in-law's sister-in-law, but her busybody twin) can begin. Goody.

And now that I'm caught up with work (finally, let's hope it lasts) I have a million other chores to tend to. It's daunting. I should find most of it fun -- car shopping, shopping for new baby furniture and double-strollers, planting flowers -- but I am too tired to get excited. It just looks like more work. I'm hoping (expecting) to have a significant break in work (it may even be possible to take 1-2 weeks off with no client contact if I'm lucky) near the end of May, so most of that stuff can wait and it won't be too late. Except for the car. My lease is up May 14 and I haven't bothered to visit a dealership or test drive anything or really make any attempt to get that ball rolling. Blargh. Pregnant Jen is so lazy.


Friday, April 13, 2012

Wheel of Misfortune (But It's Not All Bad News)

New cold is now a sinus infection! And with sore gums, I feel like there could even be a tooth abscess. Oh, fucking yay! I'm giving the antibiotic a couple more days to kill this shit in my sinus cavity and if the pain and pressure isn't gone, I'll go see a dentist. Who can't do an x-ray to see what's in there. He would just have to poke and prod blindly. Sweet! I've had a million rabbit-hole-esque nightmares over the last few days imagining a root canal or tooth extraction without analgesics during or after the procedure (what am I allowed to have in first trimester besides useless-as-a-TicTac-Tylenol? Can they use novocaine? Would I be subjected to medieval barber-ish torture?). I've been taking sudafed for the sinus pressure but since I can only take half doses, it is a slooooow process of getting better. Crikey.

And finally the work on our master (only full) bath is done (I was dealing with that during the flu and the new mystery illness AND while trying to work -- good times), but now comes the negotiation over a ridiculous 70%-over-budget surprise invoice. Unh-uh. You got some 'splainin' to do. The contractor and his subcontracted plumber have sent us invoices that overlap a whole lot and they're both trying to say, "He went that-a-way." My advice: contractors are dicks. That's not advice really, but it's truth. They never even installed our new shower head (they left the temporary Motel 6-quality shower head in place) and they did not clean up the dry wall dust (which my doctor actually thinks is what is keeping me sick -- bonus!) AND the new tub has a removable front panel (to access plumbing) that needs some minor repair and clean-up from shipping damage and the contractor just told us to deal with it ourselves. Should I bill him for my time? Home improvement is over-fucking-rated. At least Jackson digs the new bathtub. It's like a little pool for him. So, a win in the end.

And Bebe Zwei is doing great. I apologize to him/her every day for still being sick and being such a miserable host, but s/he is hanging in there just fine. I guess zygotes are hearty. I just made my first OB appointment for 10 weeks, which is in 1.5 weeks. What. Wow. It will be the first one KB can attend, as all the RE appointments and ultrasounds were early while Jackson was still asleep (hard to get a babysitter at 6:30am and explain why you have a doctor's appointment when the sun isn't up yet). So this will be the first live ultrasound experience for KB with this baby. I doubt it matters as much to him (or any dude) but I'm glad he can be there. Then he'll be there for the 19-week scan and is off the hook until labor. Except for all the housecleaning and laundry I hope he'll help with, good chap that he is.

And as for my on-the-outside kid, Jackson is actively transitioning to the toddler room at school. He LOVES it. I mean, they have play-doh. So. He also likes pushing the swiffer around the classroom. They teach kids to clean! Hell, yeah. Sunday mornings in our house are gonna be all about swiffering from now on. Best game ever. He's adjusting well to the more structured eating and napping times, and I've heard no reports of any problems with the older kids (up to age 3). My bebe is growing up. He can say the words turtle and purple and potato. What a guy.


Monday, April 9, 2012

Not With a Bang But a Whimper

Or, uncle.

After recovering from the flu a couple of weeks ago, I had a respite of a week during which I only had pregnancy-related nausea (what a treat!). And then on Easter Sunday (thank you, sweet baby Jesus) my stomach started to feel decidedly not okay and a low-grade fever came on. I mean, come the fuck on. So now I have some stomach bug that is tolerable, I guess, but makes me feel like complete and total ass AND clients are lining up to hammer me with work-related garbage I cannot deal with today. Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Here's some funny for you, though (depending on where you fall on the spectrum of fucked-up-ness): over the weekend we went in to Jackson's room in the morning to get him up for the day, and he had unzipped his sleep sack and stripped himself naked right down to removing his diaper. Which was full of poo. Which he smeared all over the sheet and the crib rail. Yay! Super double yay! Emergency bath and emergency laundry and try not to barf from the smell of poo in your horrified nares, yay!  He's been removing his sleep sack and his pants every morning since, but so far has left the diaper on. Good boy.

And for some good news: my last PIO shot is tonight. Legitimate genuine yay! And my last RE visit is this week, then I graduate to regular pregnant lady status. Again. Whoa. And I have still managed to tell no more than one person, so I am happy for that. Until I stop suffering various biblical plagues and feel human again, I cannot handle increased human interaction. Not of the mother-in-law and well-meaning friend types. The daily annoying phone calls can wait. Indefinitely, for now.


Thursday, April 5, 2012

Ode to Zofran

How do I love thee, Zofran? Let me count the ways. I love that I just ate and didn't feel like vomiting with every bite. I love that you began working your magic right away. I love that I feel a little more human now with you in my system, and less like an alien host for a tiny monster.

Speaking of the tiny monster, the womb critter is doing just fine. I have one more week of ass shots (PIO, I do not love you) and one more RE visit, then I am cut loose. Again. Then 7 months of gestating my womb fruit until it is Time.

We have told very few people, just a couple of close friends who knew we were doing another IVF cycle. I asked KB if we could wait to tell his family until I feel a little better. I can't handle the daily phone calls from mom and his aunt, tag-teaming me with nosiness, to ask how I feel every. single. day. When I'm in survival mode and trying to get some work done on the side. When they ask about symptoms I don't have because they don't know there are more than the ones they remember (every day, last time: "How's your heartburn today?" "I don't have any heartburn. Just nausea." "Oh, your heartburn will go away soon like mine did." "Fine.").

Mostly I'm feeling like a hermit. I would like to hunker down for a few months to get past the worst part (until the next worst part in third trimester, when the insomnia and the pelvic pain turns up). I just don't have much use for humanity right now and respectfully request that they stay the hell away for a while longer. Please and thank you. Also, humanity, keep your germs away. Enough already.

And to end on a high note: here's some video of Jackson humping a balloon. You're welcome.