Thursday, March 23, 2006

30 weeks. HURRAH! A milepost. CS=3/4

Ha HA! I have hit the 30's. It's a miracle I have done so without inflicting bodily injury on anyone.
Oh my land I just ate a rather large but exceptionally tasty cinammon roll from the bakery downstairs (which luckily for me is closing tomorrow) and my blood sugar is in the toilet. Would it be inappropriate to crawl under my desk and lay my head on my shred bin for a little nap post-vomit? Bird woman nutritionist would be SO disappointed in me. You can tell that I care. A lot.

So it occurred to me that what everyone probably wants to know about our Colorado trip is...did we do the deed and buy a house? Answer: yes. Well sort of. We "ordered" our house. They are going to break ground within the next week or two, and it should be done by Aug. 1 barring any acts of God - the contract actually says that.
Anyway - we got to do all the fun things like pick out our cabinets, flooring, lights, etc. etc. I have to say though, it was fun for the first hour, but on hour 4...gads. It is BAFFLING how many choices there are! "Do you want laminate countertops? If so, do you want standard, upgrade or upgraded with variation? Or tile? What kind of tile? Porcelain, slate, travertine, granite? Granite brick or slab? On the diagonal or straight? 6" or 12"? By the end, I felt like screaming JUST COVER THE WHOLE BLASTED HOUSE IN CHARMIN FOR ALL I CARE!!!
It actually really was exciting. Now if I can get over my very minor case of FREAKING OUT I'll be just jim dandy.

*Sidenote: I read my disclaimer from yesterday, and it sounds a wee snarkier than intended. Woops. Know that I love and appreciate everyone who has said nice and comforting things to me. I promise to become a much more pleasant and sane individual after the birth of this unnamed girl child. When I've had lots of sleep with a newborn. Ha!

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

29 weeks, 6 days CS = 3

La la la I am back from Tatooine! This blog has been on hiatus as Ammon and I went for a little please-come-to-our-school-so-we-can-get-more-grant-money at CU Boulder this last weekend.
I have to confess that as excited as I was to move to Colorado, I was REALLY alarmed upon landing at DIA and driving out of the airport that it actually does (as Ammon said) look like Tatooine (is there a dictionary to help us spell all words Star Wars? Probably, and how sad.). It is as brown and flat as...something really amusing. I am at a loss. I blame this partly on the pregnancy hormones and partly on not sleeping for a week, but I literally cried when we flew back in to Seattle and saw the lovely greenness of it all. I am going to have a seriously hard time on this move. Ah well. Life is change, no?

Sidenote: did you know that there are approximately 1800 country music stations in Colorado? This could prove problematic. If I start quoting Kenny Chesney lyrics as pearls of wisdom within the next year or so, would someone please stage an intervention?

On to the recap. So, while Ammon was schmoozed at CU, my skin slowly began turning into parchment due to the seriously decreased amount of humidity in the air compared to Seattle. It was like going from a very cold sauna to a dry vacuum. So I have been itching and scratching like a fiend since Friday. Argh! Is there anything more irritating? This is not just due to the dry CO weather, but the acquisition of yet ANOTHER fun and strange pregnancy related ailment: PUPPP.

If anyone is interested, PUPPP stands for: Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy. Since this is totally incomprehensible, I would like to suggest the following name instead: Particularly Unacceptable and Peevishly Painful Paroxysms of Prickling. OK so I added another P. Sue me. Basically this just means that you get a crazy bad rash that will drive you mad, which there is no cure for except giving birth. Wonderful.
According to my very kind and sympathetic dermatologist, most women only get this during the last two weeks of pregnancy, but you know me...the overachiever...I just HAD to outdo everyone I know and get it at 27 weeks. Trust me, it's been a hoot. So anyway, the ridiculous dryness of Colorado has, as I mentioned, caused my skin to shrivel up like old parchment. Gross, I know, but I now have little scabs all over the place from my incessant scratching. I know, I know. I can't stop! It's like drugs! Or candy! I MUST PARTAKE OF THE SCRATCHING.

That's enough for today, but I must post one disclaimer:

**This blog is not intended to elicit sad and mournful emails/phone calls/text messages from friends and family who want to condone on my sad state of affairs. While I appreciate the thought, how many times can one respond to "so, how are you holding up?". Hence the blog. It is a way for me to let you all know that I am doing fairly wretched most of the time, but I am finding humor in the sheer and utter bizarreness of it all, which is helping to keep me sane. So what would help me most? Just tell me how hilarious you think this is and how dearly you love reading my blog. If someone else can get a laugh out of this too, that will make me feel much better than an endless stream of "I am so sorry you are going through this you poor thing what can I do I feel so bad but you will be so happy to have a baby yada yada yada".

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


I blame my mood today entirely on the LAME nutritionist I had to go see this morning. Lucky me, I have gestational diabetes, and so was ordered by my tender loving doctor (thhhpppffft) to go see Bird-Woman-Who-Has-Obviously-Never-Been-Pregnant.

Her first mistake was to begin our relationship with a weigh-in. While perhaps necessary, she should know that this is not a good way to form a lasting bond with a cranky pregnant woman.
Strike One.

She made her second mistake by following the weigh in with random comments about how I really need to watch my weight gain because I don't want to gain 60 lbs and have to have a C-section yadayadayada. (see more on C-section threat abuse below)
Strike Two.

Her advice on not gaining a lot of weight? Eating 1700 calories a day. You heard me. 1700.

Ummmm. Yeah. Survey says crack smoker?
I think the last time I only ate only 1700 calories in one day was when I was a prepubescent 9 year old. Not only that, but I presently have a living, breathing, giant 2.5 lb PARASITE in my uterus who I swear consumes that many calories on her very own in 24 hours. All those books and magazines that say you only need an extra 300 calories when you are pregnant are complete and utter HOGSWALLOP. I'm not sure what hogswallop is but it sounds like the equivalent of pooh, which is what I am going for.

Strike Three. Bird Woman is officially out. But does she stop there? Ohhhhhh no. This lady is an overachiever.

She asks if I know the risks of G.D. (answer: yes), and proceeds to tell me anyway, with great solemnity that 1) it increases the risk of Type II later in life (yes, yes, I know. If I don't lose this extra 50+ lbs 2 weeks after birth I will die at age 38),

and 2).....drumroll please....

it will make me have a really big baby and I might have to (GASP!!!) have a C-SECTION!!!!

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!! THE HORROR! The absolute utter awfulness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is a new war tactic I have previously been unfamiliar with that nurses/nutritionists/brothers in law, etc. like to engage in when attacking a pregnant woman. I like to call it the C-Section Threat. The C-Section Threat is great for the attacker because there is a dizzying miriad of applications. Is she gaining too much weight? Use the CST. Is she not exercising the requisite amount? The CST. Does she have bloated ankles, a puffy face, high blood pressure, a skinny pelvis, or you just really feel like she needs to put down that cinnamon roll? Or do you just think she is a wuss for not looking forward to labor? Again, use the CST.

As a pregnant woman who already knows, for very good medical reasons we won't get into on this blog, that she HAS to have a scheduled C-section, this is C-Section Threat ABUSE and it must stop!!! While I admit that having a C-section is not comparable to say, a picnic at the beach, it is not instant death and disbmemberment as we are made to feel.
You will not die, you will not have a 40 inch scar up to your forehead, your baby will be just fine, and life as we know it will continue on even if you do have to have the dreaded C-section.

For the LOVE, people, does having 50 stitches from an episiotomy sound better to you? Birth is traumatic no matter how it happens; you can bet it will be fairly unpleasant somewhere along the way at least in part.

I would just like to appeal to anyone reading this blog: do NOT assume that having a C-Section is as bad as having your legs ripped off by man-eating lions as everyone likes to make you think; and do NOT assume that the already emotionally unstable pregnant woman you are talking to needs a healthy dose of the CST because she COULD ALREADY HAVE TO HAVE ONE AND YOU ARE JUST BEING MEAN.

Thank you for your consideration.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

28 weeks, 5 days Cranky Scale = 3

Oh it's been too long. I think partly I've still been trying to process the horror that was my weekend. You know how you get really excited for the weekends, thinking of all the fun things you'll do, or the many long naps you will take on the couch in front of the TV (which is what I always looked forward to the mostest)? No more. For me at least, these little luxuries lose their luster (nice alliteration) during gestation.

For starters, doing anything other than lying in a prone position appeals about as much as sticking toothpicks in my eye, so that cancels out pretty much everything. Except going out for dinner. I will put up with a lot for food.
However, to add insult to injury, even lying on the couch has become a chore. Not only does it hurt your back while lying there (laying? lying? what are the mysterious rules of grammar here?), but watching TV sideways tends to give you a ripping headache after a while. And tell me, have YOU ever tried to sit yourself up with a 40 lb bag of flour strapped to your stomach? Not an easy feat. I feel more and more like my grandmother. This is the sweet woman who once tried to get out of one of those IKEA poing chairs, but had gotten herself so wedged in, that she ended up kneeling on the floor with the chair up in the air, still attached to her backside. I kid you not. It was oh so sad, but oh so hilarious at the same time. Poor woman.
Anyway. Take that visual and apply it to me everytime I get off the couch. If there isn't a person or crane there to hoist me, a good ten minutes of grunting and swearing ensues.

So on to the highlight of my weekend...

After a probably too large breakfast of waffles and bacon (per my request), I proceeded to get violently ill in the kitchen sink. By the way I must mention that there is some value in becoming ill after a large meal. I enjoyed everything I ate, and after I'm done throwing up, I just go back and finish up (after the requisite teeth brushing/mouth cleansing of course). I'm starting to think that maybe those bulimics are really on to something. Anyway - bygones.

So, apparently this time, I became a little TOO violently ill, because after I was finished and went to the bathroom for said requisite cleanup, I took a look in the mirror and scared myself to death. I had thrown up so hard that all the blood vessels on my eyelids and under my eyes had burst, leaving me looking like a really puffy, crying vampire. Seriously - it was one of the more terrifying things I have seen yet.
You know how they say not to say that it can't get any worse? THEY. WERE. RIGHT. Don't ever say that or you will turn into a TURNIP! That seems like the next worse thing that could happen from here, but who knows? I'm sure my body will come up with something even better.

Friday, March 10, 2006

28 weeks, 1 day, many hours...CS= still 4

I am sitting here at my desk feeling a little nauseous, a little hungry, and a lot crabby. I was musing to my work email buddies about what would make me feel better. A chocolate milkshake? Fries? A knife?
One of them suggested I have a big fat doobie instead. While I applaud the originality of this suggestion (minus the obvious moral and health concerns), that would just make my munchies worse.

Is there a magic food that solves all ills? Is it chocolate? I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

28 weeks, 1 day CS=4

I think I need to institute a rating scale of crankiness for every day so everyone will know to come hither or run away v. v. fast.
The scale will be like this:
2= I actually feel pretty good today. I'm really excited to have a baby, and I can consider the idea of having another child at some future date without clawing my eyes out.
3= I am a large, bloated beast, but I have not thrown up or wet my pants, and I managed to put on shoes today.
4= I am tired, cranky, itchy, nauseated, hungry, whiny, yada yada yada. Probably best to postpone any non-urgent communication until I bump up to a 3.
5= If you value your life at all, please back away slowly without speaking, looking directly at me, breathing loudly, or making any noise whatsoever. I have a large kitchen knife and am looking for any excuse to use it.

What do you think? Should I tape a sticky to my head each morning so the world will know? I will at least include it in my daily blog title if you have an important matter to discuss with me and would like to know whether this is a good time. Today, not so much. You'll notice for today my Cranky Scale is a 4.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

28 weeks

So I thought that for my maiden blogging voyage it might be helpful to provide a detailed list of why I feel like my pregnant body has turned me into a toddler.

1. I randomly and violently (yes, still!) throw up - in the car, in the sink, in bed, on the bus (although that only happened once), etc.

2. I have become a pant wetter again. In my defense; only when I throw up. And NO, Kegel exercises have NOT helped so don't ask. We aren't just talking a trickle here either. It's as though my body has built an extra 4 cup capacity bladder reserved strictly for the moment I vomit.

3. I have developed cankles (calf/ankles for you unlearned ones). Sadly, these are not the cute rolly-polly cankles that babies and toddlers have, but they look more like a giant tuber starting at my cantalope sized knees that continue until they are violently cut in half by the strap on my shoes.

4. Ridiculously dumb things make me cry. For example, my husband was tired one night and didn't cuddle me after saying goodnight, which made me inexplicably (to me and him) burst into sobbing tears. Or trying to pull my pants up in the morning. Almost always guaranteed to send me into a tizzy of tears and cursing.

5. Apparently, I stink. Luckily this has not been caused by a dirty diaper, but not so luckily seems to be a new scent related to my ridiculously increased amount of sweat.

6. This once savvy shopper/high maintenance makeup fanatic now thinks of bathing and pulling on more than my housecoat as the ultimate achievement in grooming and fashion. Those who work with me will attest to this. I also HATE shopping now, which is shocking enough.

7. 95% of my meals must be prepared either by my caretaker (aka husband), or the person at Subway/McDonald's/Dairy Queen, etc.

8. I cannot put on or remove my own shoes.

9. Occasionally I can't even remember how to put on shoes.

10. When I think of something I want to eat, I want it NOW and will have hissy fits until I get it. The hissy fits are hopefully more silent in nature than a two-year old, but if you could hear what is going on in my head...

That's enough for today. As I think of more, or have more pointed out to me by my sweet, sweet husband (see # 5), I'll be sure to add them.