BF'ing 101

We went to Part I of a two part BF'ing class last night at the hospital. Wow! It was GREAT! When we first got there, she asked us to pick a number to rate what we thought of BF'ing. 1 being "I'm not interested at all," 10 being "I don't want to do anything else," and 5 being "I have no opinion one way or the other about it."

I was a 10. DH was a 5.

She spent the class going over the benefits of BF'ing, from financial to physical for mom and baby. She showed us different ways to hold the baby. She talked about some of the most common difficulties that can come up, and how to address them. She dispelled myths and explained in great detail the basic anatomy of it all.

At the end of the class, DH was a 9-10. It didn't bother me that he was a 5 at first, I know it's not something he gives much thought to. But it really made me happy to hear he was on the same page with me. I'm going to need that at 3am when I'm tired and frustrated and in tears and just want to give up. He's ready to throw out the sample formula we got for registering at BRU, so it's not a temptation to us. He's ready to help me get the baby to latch on (she showed us how he could do that, too). He's ready for a nursing baby momma.

We have our second one next week. She'll go over equipment and products with us, where to find lactation consultants, where to find support.

After the class I went to speak to her, because I do have concerns. My body didn't know how to get pregnant by itself. Now that it is, it's not handling all aspects of it well. I have no faith in my hormones to do what they need to do, and I'm concerned. She told me that usually the women who have hormonal challenges to BF'ing are those with PCOS. Which made me sad, but she went on to say, "It just makes it more challenging. If you're one of the few that has a hormonal problem, we'll figure it out." It set my mind at ease.

I've been afraid to say, "Yes, I'm breastfeeding my baby." I've been afraid to set myself up, only to "fail." I've tried to keep myself open to the notion that it will be more difficult than I can imagine, and I imagine it can be pretty difficult. But now, I actually feel like I can do this, and I will do this.

And I'm looking forward to the rest of my baby care classes, too!

damn damn damn

What's more cruel than a woman getting pregnant through IVF after years of IF, only to lose the baby?

Her getting pregnant a second time through IVF, after a textbook-perfect cycle and with excellent beta results, only to lose the baby again. Possibly an ovary, too.

Damn it! What do you say to someone in that situation? How do you keep believing that God really does have a plan for us? I can't even begin to see the possiblity of any good in this situation at all. My heart is breaking for her, and I'm pissed as hell at whoever decided this was how this should go.

I *heart* my hospital and OB!

I have an active baby. So much so that every tech and doctor has told us, "Wow, you're in trouble! This kid is active!!!" My doctor was laughing on Tuesday, because the baby kept kicking the doppler. I feel him move constantly.

Yesterday my parents came to help us with the house, and my mom has been begging for me to let her feel the baby kick. I'm sure she's thinking I'm just being mean, but seriously, I barely felt him move at all yesterday.

That's fine, it comes and goes. He'll have an active day, and then he'll rest the next day.

But today we had our 4D u/s, and he wasn't moving much again. They sent us to get lunch and take a walk, hopefully to wake him up and get him moving. I even had a Diet Coke. But nope, he was just snoozing away. He'd rolled over by the time we got back, but he wanted no part of any of it.

Of course, I started to get nervous. We could see the heartbeat, and he did roll over, so I knew he was okay, but there has been a serious decrease in the amount of fetal movement over the past two days. I didn't want to call my OB, as I've called him a couple times this week already, and I didn't want to ruin his Sunday by being a pest. So I called the hospital instead, and they said to come on in.

As it turns out, there was another couple there who'd already called in the OB, so he was already there. They hooked me up, checked me out, and again everything is fine. The doctor thinks that the baby just didn't like the heat, or it made him sleepy or something.

I had mentioned to the nurse that I didn't call the doctor, I felt like a pest and figured I'd just call the hospital since I knew they were working today anyway. She gave me a big long lecture about how I need to call any time I get nervous or scared, how I should definitely come in ANY time I had a question or concern, that if the doctor didn't expect to give up a Sunday here and there he shouldn't have become an OB. And honestly, the doc wasn't upset at all, was very reassuring. The nurse told me, "We're not going to think you're being silly. And if you happen to catch one of us on a bad day, and you feel like we're just rolling our eyes at you, it doesn't matter. This is your baby, things can go wrong very quickly, and I'd rather you come in here 50 times with nothing wrong than to sit at home the one time something does go wrong." She kept lecturing me for a good five minutes, and I finally told her that I was taking everything she said to heart, because we'd worked too hard and come too far to lose this kid now.

So they sent me home again. Told me to drink a lot of water, take it easy, and to come back at any time if I feel him move less than three times in any hour.

Tonight he's been moving again, after I took a nap, had something to eat, and sat in a cool room.

Of course, right in the middle of a kicking spree, he stopped suddenly as soon as DH put his hand on my tummy. Now DH thinks Baby G just doesn't like him. ;-)

And we go back in a week to try the 4D u/s again. They gave us a free session, since we didn't get any good shots. Oh, other than a very VERY clear shot of his boy parts. There is absolutely no doubt whatsoever, he is all boy!

I love my hospital. I love my doctor. They actually put me in a L&D room, and it is nice! And the nurse spent a bit of extra time with me, keeping up the u/s after the doctor left and talking to me, even though it was a very busy day for them and they were understaffed. I feel comfortable going back for any reason, if I need to, and I'm just so grateful that, if this kid is going to keep scaring me like this, I have a place to go that balances concern and calm in just the right mix.

a successful day all around

I think I'm doing trekking through Ikea for a while. It's just too much walking anymore.

But, we got our crib! My parents and sister bought it for us, and they're going to help us pimp it out. My dad came over and helped DH patch a mess of holes in our walls left over from when we had our house rewired, including the big holes in our family room ceiling which had insulation hanging out. I picked paint colors for the bathroom and nursery. I cleaned the bathroom and replaced the toilet seat.

I'm exhausted. I pushed myself too far. I will relax for the rest of the weekend.

Oh, tomorrow at noon we're doing our 4D u/s. I wasn't sure I wanted to at first - it seemed kind of like the bride and groom seeing each other before the wedding. But we did that, too, and it turned out to be better than I ever thought it would be. And now I'm really looking forward to this. And I'm really glad that my part consists of laying on a table.

My blood sugar levels stayed low today, too. Right on target, actually, a nice steady range. maybe a bit low from time to time, but nothing soared over the top even when I had fajitas on flour tortillas, corn chips, and all the fixin's.

Overall, a very successful day.

no more melting

We bought an HVAC system last night. Or, in more common vernacular: Heating, Ventilation, Air Conditioning. Ours also has a powerful air-filtering system, to help with dust, dander, and allergies. It will be installed within the next two weeks.

It's gonna be a great summer! Whee!!!

items one through four

Lessee, where to start.

Item the First. Diabetes sucks. I cried tonight because I gave in and had a glass of milk with the all-protein-and-veggie dinner I made. I thought it would be safe, with all that chicken and all those dark leafy greens. It was the only part of dinner that I enjoyed. Then DH went into the kitchen to get a bowl of ice cream for himself. I cried. But it wasn't the ice cream, so much, as knowing that the milk I drank was going to make my numbers go too high. Which it did. Why don't I learn? I can give up candy and cake and cookies, but leave a jug of milk in the fridge and I'm drawn to it like a junkie to crack. And I had to buy a watch for the first time in 15 years, one with an alarm to remind me to test my blood sugar one hour after each meal, because I kept forgetting. I had very strict requirements - I wanted a women's watch that was analog (digital watches are just so lazy), with an alarm on it, that wasn't ugly. DH searched and searched, and came up with two options that met all my criteria. I chose the Casio Waveceptor, and replaced the leather band with a metal one. So far, I like it. Just not the fact that I had to buy a watch because of my health, and not for aesthetic reasons.

Item the Second. Spotting sucks, too. The doctor says he's not concerned. It isn't a lot. It comes and goes, and the baby is bouncing like a little gymnist in there all the time. But still, every time I see a tinge of red, my heart skips a beat and I start to think unhappy thoughts. Doc says to stay off my feet, take it easy, and try not to stress. I'm having a hard time with that last one, thanks to GD and work and the spotting. He said if I can't destress in the next two weeks, he's going to put me on disability. I think it might be a good thing. I'm importing a Pregnancy Meditation CD into iTunes right now, and I'm going back to meditating. I hope it helps. But going on leave now is still probably a good idea.

Item the Third. I know I'm supposed to take it easy, but tomorrow is a busy busy day. Contractors in and out all day, giving us bids for various fix-up projects around the house. One contractor is coming to strip the wallpaper in the nursery, which was applied directly to the drywall otherwise I'd take my parents up on their offer to do it for us. He comes at 8, and I'm running all day. But I'm looking forward to getting this stuff moving, and really I don't have to go anywhere or do much else than say "It's open!" when the doorbell rings all day long. Dad is coming over Saturday to help DH patch holes in our walls left over from electricians rewiring our house. Mom is coming to... I'm not sure what she's going to do. Maybe we'll pick paint for the nursery. Maybe I'll just take a nap and let them all figure it out. After all, I'm supposed to take it easy and stay off my feet, right?

Item the Fourth. I also have an endocrinologist appt tomorrow. I'm going to tell him that the class he sent me to was useless. The nurse teaching it even told me it was irrelavent to my situation. I'm going to tell him that I told my OB on him, and he's sending me to another class that will actually help me, a one-on-one deal with a Gestational Diabetes Nutritionist at the hospital. Which the endocrinologist was supposed to have done in the first place. I'm going to tell him that I'm not happy this is taking so long to figure out, I realize it's not a precise science, but there HAS to be a better answer than "Just experiment and see what happens."

I am becoming more and more pregnant every day. I am weepy and irritable and uncomfortable. But you know what? I love being pregnant. It's not just the idea of it, the thought that I'm going to have a baby. I love feeling him move. I love having a doctor who is dedicated to keeping me and my baby safe. I love picking out little bitty socks and hats. I love waddling, believe it or not. I did not love waking up the other night, screaming in pain with what I can only assume was the first of many braxton hicks to come. But I loved knowing that this is all going as it should, and I'm getting near the end. Birth pains and all of that, right? I have never felt more like a woman in my life. And I love that.

I guess that was Item the Fifth. Here's one last thing to leave you with. I'm getting an IKEA crib, and I'm gonna pimp the shit outta it!!! Check it. I'm adding my own flair to it, of course, but this is the inspiration and the general gist. I'm thinking espresso paint, but the rope lights are a very nice touch.

big anger

I have anger. Big anger.

We need a new president. There is no such thing as too soon.

It took me three gas stations today to find gas. THREE. And I ended up paying $4 a gallon, for the mid-grade stuff.

I am angry at the man who said this war had nothing to do with oil. I am angry with everyone who believed him, and voted for him. I keep seeing that clip of him smirking, laughing at the reporter who told him that gas was headed to $4 a gallon. "Heh, that's news to me! I haven't heard any reports of that!" Really? *I* could have fucking told you that, and I am neither an economist nor an oil expert.

I am angry at the oil companies for taking advantage of the situation. I am angry at the dumbasses who decided to fly planes into the World Trade Center. I am angry at gas stations who gouge us, because they can. One would think that Mobile gets its gas from one source, and could sell it for the same price consistently from station to station. Apparently, one would be wrong.

Three. Fucking. Tries. To get gas. $4 for mid-grade. And I was practically on empty, so I really had little choice.

Won't be happening again. Next time, I start looking at half a tank, and I keep that baby filled up.

And I'm counting down the days 'til a new president steps in. Honestly, I don't even care which one of them it is at this point. Just get this idiot out of the White House. Stat.

random ness

Random thoughts of the day:

• People who are rushing in a hurry look funny. Everything is exaggerated. Wouldn't it actually be faster to move less frantically? It's got to take up time and energy to be so dramatic.

• This is going to be a long weekend. Funeral, housewarming party, mad dash to clean and prep the house for contractors next week. I'm actually looking forward to it, though it's going to be exhausting. I'm taking two days off next week to recuperate.

• I am an interior designer, but I am notoriously "off" when it comes to choosing paint colors. I've painted my bedroom twice, and I'm still not happy with the color. Same with my family room. I need to choose colors for my bathroom (I'm thinking a light brown) and for the baby's room. What color should I use with this? I want to do white wainscotting along the bottom 2/3 of the room, with the paint for the walls and ceiling. I was thinking the blue color in the set. Would that be too dark? Or okay, considering the amount of white and the fact that one entire wall is window? Oh, the furniture is going to be white and espresso. See this for my inspriation. Basically that, with the bedding linked above and a darker color for the paint.

• I am starting to really hate a certain someone. Today the bosslady called, and Designer J told her that Designer N was out sick today (after being out all week for her husband's surgery), and he was just so grateful that I was here all week. He told her this because I told him she gave me grief last night about working today, "Isn't Designer N supposed to be back, why are you working?" Allegedly, I'm supposed to be here part time. Turns out, Designer J never told them he only wanted me here part time, as they told me he did. Turns out, he wants me here every day. Turns out there's just too damn much work here for two people, and he thinks I'm a saint and a half for working so hard and so fast and so competently. I heard this response as part of the phone conversation: "No, she's doing great. Yeah really, everything is fine, she's doing a great job. She's working her butt off. She's awesome. I don't know what we'd do without her." I can only imagine the scepticism with which she asked him how my performance was. She's not the one I'm hating. It's the one who led her to believe I'm an incompetent lazyass who can't do anything right. Designer G. Bitch.

• I've decided to start calling this baby inside me Audrey Too, because he's hungry All. The. Time. "FEED ME, SEYMOUR!!!"

God's plan for boys

Okay, and THEN he goes and does something just too damn cute, like reach out and touch my belly for the first time. He's done it when I've invited him, but he's been mindful of my space. But I just tried on a dress for my shower (because I have to look super-cute, of course), and he apparently liked it. My belly sticks WAY out, and he said he just couldn't resist. "It was there."

Boys. What are we going to do with them? All I know is, God makes them cute so we don't kill them. ;-)

frustration

Now I'm frustrated. Mildly.

He always waits until I'm ready to get going before he puts the kabash on things. I've been talking for at least a week now about getting contractors in here for bids on plaster work, wallpaper stripping, painting, floor refinishing, tub reglazing, and heating and air installation. Tonight he says to me, after I've made the contacts and just have to call them to set up appointments, "So how are we going to pay for this?" Now he suddenly wants to paint ourselves, get my dad to patch the walls, and then refinance before doing anything else.

He did this when I switched showrooms, too. I talked about my plan for weeks on end, and when it finally happened he said, "We never really discussed this, this is all rather sudden."

I'm getting estimates anyway. We do need to refinance, but he's been dragging his feet on that for months now. He's been spending his time building this music server thingy, instead of actually doing anything on the house. And I'm to blame, too - I haven't done squat to the house either.

But now I'm ready to go. I'm chomping at the bit, I'm hearing the tick-tock of a clock quickly approaching D-Day. And *now* he wants to put the breaks on?

Frustration.

We need to get on the same page. I don't think we're far apart on this, just approaching it from different angles. But we need to snap into alignment here, or nothing is ever going to get done.

faît accompli

Accomplished this weekend:
Got hair done, finished baby registry*, selected and purchased stroller and baby seat, had a date with DH.

Not accomplished:
Cleaning out the nursery so I can bring in tradespeople to do some work.

It was 102° F today. 102°!!! I'll let you guess what I decided the "F" stood for. As a result, I let DH off the hook of cleaning out the nursery, which is currently our Cat Room. It was just too F-ing hot! So we went to a movie and then dinner instead. Having a date was just as productive.

*If you are in Baby Registry mode, a couple of words of advice: (1) When registering at Babies-R-Us, start the registry in the store and then do any clean up work online. I started it online, and there was a snafu with the registry. Seems about four different registries were melded into one - mine. I spent the better part of the evening deleting items we never said we wanted. And (2) Bring a well-experienced mom with you. The advice you'll get is invaluable. I was spared registering for the gimicky crap that baby stores just want to sell, and I was enlightened on the true use of things I didn't realize I really needed. There are such things as wedding planners - there should be baby planners to help us through this overwhelming maze of product and information.

back to injectibles

I had my followup appt with the endocrinologist this morning. He was pleasantly surprised with my blood sugar levels over the past week, and I've lost about seven pounds. He said he was impressed with the control I had, and the progress I've made. I haven't met with the nutritionist yet, I have a GD class the next two Monday evenings, and I'm anticipating that my numbers will get even better after that.

Despite my progress, my numbers are still too high, especially in the morning. Since my numbers at lunch and dinner are just fine, there's really no way to control that with diet. And since my ER scare earlier this week, excercise is very limited.

So I'm back to injectibles - this time it's insulin. I'll take one shot before dinner, and one at bed time. They sent me home with two vials and a box full of syringes.

In my head, I know that this is not my fault. I know that I have done and will continue to do everything within my power to control this. My baby comes first, way before my desire for dessert or a glass of milk. I can do the shots - hell, I needed shots to get pregnant in the first place. I'm an old pro at the pinch-and-stick.

But I feel like such a failure. I *know* I'm not, but I *feel* like I am.

I'm so sick of my body failing me. It couldn't get pregnant on its own, needed intervention and help. Now, it's responding to the pregnancy like this. It's all the same issue - PCOS affects blood sugar, or vice versa, and it comes as no surprise that I ended up with GD. I knew that going in. I didn't know it would be this severe. And yes, it's still manageable and not as bad as some, but it's only going to get worse as the pregnancy progresses.

I know I'll be fine. I know the baby will be fine. I know I can do this.

In the waiting room at the doctor's office, a young woman kept shooting me dirty looks. I assume it was an IF issue. I was sitting there, all pregnant and looking at my Baby Bargains book, making notes for my registry. And the room was crowded, the only place to sit was in her line of sight. I wanted to tell her, "Don't judge me, I worked hard for this." But I've been there, and I know how it feels. I wanted to tell her that, just because I'm pregnant, doesn't mean that I'm not still dealing with IF. But she wouldn't have appreciated it, and probably wouldn't have understood.

I'm just so sick of fighting my IF. It's the same issue here, just manifesting itself in a different way. But having a baby was "supposed" to heal this. Instead, IF just finds new and creative ways to keep wounding me. And I know I'll come up against these issues throughout my life, in one form or another. And it still sucks.

barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen...

Yes, today I was a stereotype.

I am a kitchen designer, and today I spent most of the day without my shoes on. My feet didn't hurt, but I was hot and the cool tile felt good.

This afternoon I noticed that someone had parked behind my car, blocking me in. Our parking lot is way overcrowded. It looks like a used car lot. But we have four spots reserved for the three of us that work here and a client space. I'm so sick of it - I wanted to get out to go get something to eat. So I went to the business next door and asked to speak to someone about the parking. The guy I spoke with was very nice, but then the owner of the company got involved.

Imagine a 6'4", 350lb, hairy smokey man with a beer gut. Rides a motorcycle. He decides to get in my face. "Look, lady, this is a temporary situation." I wasn't having any of that. "No, this happens every day. At least once or twice a week someone is in my spot, or blocks me in." He interrupted me to say, "No, I mean we're leaving in a few months, so it won't be a problem anymore."

That's great, but what am I supposed to do in the mean time? What if I go into labor? What if, like earlier this week, there's an emergency and I need to get out quickly? The first guy said, apologetically, "You have to understand... We have maybe 30, 40 people working over there..." To which I responded, "That is not my problem. MY problem is, I can't get my car out!"

Big Mean Owner Guy got in my face, AGAIN. Smoking. "I'M WAITING FOR THE TRUCK TO MOVE!" Yeah, well, I don't care. And don't try to intimidate me, you jackass. I'm angry, I'm pregnant, and I don't give a flying fuck what you think of me. No, I didn't say all that, I just stared him down and talked louder than him 'til he gave up and walked away.

When I went back into the studio, I heard the two of them out there talking smack about me. Well, Owner Guy was talking smack, the other guy sounded like he just wanted to get back to work. I couldn't care less what he thinks of me. I told him as my parting shot that, if I had to get out in a hurry, I'd either run over his precious motorcycle or just take it. Either way, he wasn't keeping me from going where I needed to go.

Why is it that some people, when confronted with a legitimate complaint, respond in anger? I didn't start the anger cycle, I was very polite and trying to be understanding. Until I got a face full of smoke and jackass.

My coworker, N-- was laughing hysterically at me when I got back. "Were you barefoot the whole time out there?!" Yup. Barefoot, pregnant, and pissed as all get-out. There's a reason it's a stereotype. ;-)

milk connection

I made a connection just yesterday.

I am a big milk drinker. Love milk, it's my drink-of-choice for dinner. It tastes good, and it helps ease my stomach acid. I have been known to have three or four large glasses of milk with dinner. DH and I go through two gallons of milk every week.

I also have to get up a lot at night to pee. My friend suggested to me to cut down on the amount of milk, and that seemed to help with me having to get up. Other drinks are fine, water doesn't affect me like milk does. But for some reason, lots of milk = lots of potty breaks.

I asked a doctor about this a few years ago, she had no idea why this would be. Said there was no medical reason, but if it seemed to work that way, to roll with it.

Now that I'm following a GD diet, I have dramatically cut down the amount of milk I drink. It wreaks havoc with my blood sugar. I'm still trying to find combinations where it will work, but so far it just isn't happening. And now I'm not having to get up every 1-2 hours to pee at night. Which is a bonus, especially if I have to give up something I love so much. Ice cream, cake, white bread, no big deal. But I'm really sad about the milk.

So I was reading my little booklet on GD, and it says that one of the symptoms of high blood sugar is frequent urination. Click click click. Milk causes my blood sugar to spike. A symptom of high blood sugar is peeing a lot. Therefore, when I drink a lot of milk at night, I have to get up several times.

Well duh. You'd think my nutritionist doctor would have made the connection herself.

fear factor

This baby of mine gave me quite a scare today. I woke up to cramping and spotting, and *freaked* out. I couldn't get a hold of the doctor because he was in surgery so we hightailed it to the ER.

Everything is fine. I hadn't felt the baby move in a couple of days, but as soon as they found the heartbeat and strapped on the doppler, the kicks started up again. It was a funny sound, kind of a "Ba-da-dum, Ba-da-dum, BAM!" Right on the doppler - it had to be adjusted several times as the baby kicked it off or moved out of range.

My doctor was in surgery at the same hospital, so he came by when he was done to finish up my care. Which was nice, especially when he said he was glad I didn't wait for him and just went in.

They don't know why there's blood. But the placenta looks just fine, the cervix is good, and the baby is moving and doing great. So they told me to rest as much as I can and sent me home. The nurse told me to come back if the bleeding/cramping got worse, or even if I just got scared again. "We'd rather you come in 50 times for no reason, than to sit at home scared because you think we're just going to send you home." That was reassuring, too.

Something really great that came of this whole terrifying experience, though? We got another ultrasound. I got to see my baby again. And the baby was much more cooperative this time - we got the reveal.

We are back on Team Blue. =) I couldn't help myself, when the doctor told me I pumped my fist and said, "Yes!"

Of course, the very best words he said all day were, "The baby looks good, just fine in there." I took the rest of the day off and crashed for a long nap. Fear is exhausting! I'll be back at work tomorrow, since I just sit most of the day and my job is a lot less stressful now that I've transferred to the other showroom. The spotting seems to have stopped, and the cramps are less severe. All in all, everything seems to be okay.

Three Tee

I've made it to the third trimmester (referred to as 3T in internet shortcut speak).

This has just flown by. I can't believe that I'm already six months along, just a few short weeks from my shower and then from holding my little one in my arms. I can't wait to see my baby's face, smell that baby head, cuddle and coo to my heart's content. What joy!

I will miss the feel of being kicked from the inside, but what a trade-off! I'll take it any day!

end of an era

As I was writing that last post, DH said, out of the blue, "I'm giving my car away tomorrow."

He has this beat up, rusted out, doesn't-even-run '78 Toyota Celica Hatchback. This car is not in good shape. It's got three clocks and two radios in it - none of which work. The back seat folds down, which is a good thing because that's the only thing propping up the driver's seat. Gas fumes leak up through the floor boards. For a while there, the driver's side door would fly open while in motion, which was especially scary on the freeway. The air doesn't work. You have to prop up the hatchback with a stick. For the past three years, it's been parked in the alley behind the house, and someone tagged it. Finally, we got a letter from the city that we had a set amount of time to remove it from sight, or we'd be fined.

I have hated this car. I've asked him to get rid of it for years. We have two other, operational cars. But. I understand the sentimental significance of this car to him. His First. One of the few happy memories of his family from when he was growing up. One of the very few momentos he has of his childhood. This is the first car DH ever had. He remembers going to buy it brand new with his family. It got him through college, through a move to Portland and back, through job changes and family changes and changes of address. It's been painted, had its plates changed at least three times (from moving out of state and back), and was the only way we could get around when we first started our long-distance relationship and I went to visit him in his neck of the woods.

He is donating it to an animal rescue group. They will come tomorrow morning and tow it away to be sold as scrap. So tonight he cleaned it out.

I think his heart is breaking. I have rarely seen him cry, but tonight when I went to give him a hug I could feel him shaking and hear him sniffing. I asked him if he wanted to keep any part of it, rip off a side mirror or keep one of the plates, some souvenir. I have some pictures from when I submitted it to that show where they take someone's car and pimp it out. I could make him a scrapbook, or a shadow box. He knows that it isn't the car so much as the memories, but that isn't making it any easier to give it up. And he's sad that it will never be driven again.

He used to harbor the thought of fixing it up. But he's not a motorhead by any means, he's a computer geek. And though he could probably pay someone to fix it up for him, there are things he'd rather do with his money. Like build a home theater system. If he was ever going to do something with it, I'd say let's clear out the garage tonight and wheel it in. But he will never do anything with it. And he knows that himself.

I feel so bad for him right now. I can't reach him, can't comfort him, can't help make this better. I'm really glad that I never pushed too hard for him to get rid of it - if I had caused this, I couldn't live with myself. Not that this is in any way about me, but I'm glad that the City is the Bad Guy in this one.

Mostly, though, I wish I knew what to say, how to help him with this. I wish there was some way I could make it easier on him. All I can do is let him mourn, and be there for him.

bitch, moan, grumble

I feel like I've been doing nothing but complain about things for a few weeks now. I'm starting to get sick of the sound of my own voice, going on and on about things that are bothering me. But things are really bothering me, and maybe if I get it all down in one place I can start to let go of the little stuff so I can deal with the big stuff.

Little Stuff:
People really need to stop touching my belly. Especially when I ask them to stop. Boundaries seems to be a huge issue with some people, and I am always the Bad Guy for trying to lay any of them down. Please don't touch me unless you're invited to. Please don't try to butt in to events that aren't about you. Please don't push me when I say that yes, we do have names picked out, but we aren't sharing them with anyone. I'm going to stop being nice about some of this pretty soon now, and seeing as how I'm just about a week away from the 3T, I think I can get away with some justifiable bitchiness. I am not going to be leaving my baby anywhere, and yes I do plan on breastfeeding and cosleeping for as long as I damn well want. I'm the momma now, it's my turn to make these decisions, and what you think about it is really quite irrelevant.

I'm still waiting to hear about the job that I was supposed to have heard about last Friday. No call. They said they'd call either way. I've left polite emails ("Let me know if there are any questions or concerns I can clear up for you!") and phone calls ("Just touching base, I can't wait to hear from you!"), and nothing. Maybe they're just still interviewing and deciding. Maybe they just don't want me. Or maybe they don't want me yet. I'll tell you, though, the surest way to get me to want something really super badly is to tell me that I can't have it, or to make me wait. DH learned that in regards to the Wii for Christmas last year. "Isn't that cool? Yeah, you can't have one because they're impossible to get..." I never wanted something so badly as I wanted the Wii in that moment.

But I digress.

In the mean time, I am still at this other place. I am very thankful that it has gotten better - I'm in the nicer showroom, the people I work with are wonderful and they like me and they're so understanding of when I don't feel well or have a doctor's appointment. Even this "part time" deal isn't so bad, it gives me time to not feel well or have a doctor's appointment, as well as not straining myself too much by working all day, every day. But it's still not where I want to be. As I told a friend of mine, I'm not happy, but I'm not unhappy, and I'll take that for now.

And, last little thing, I'm sick. I got a cold last week, spent most of last weekend in bed, and it's still not getting better. I think it went from Head Cold to Sinus Infection. The doctor gave me a prescription for antibiotics and told me I could take Tylenol Sinus, as long as it wasn't maximum strength. It's helped a bit, and now I have that scratchy sore throat that indicates that the drippy phase of the sickness is almost gone, and I'll be coughing for the next couple of weeks. Joy.

Big Stuff:
Okay, here's what I need to deal with now. Gestational Diabetes. This is a Very Big Deal. Not that I have it - I expected that. I have PCOS, and had borderline insulin issues before getting pregnant, I'm not in the least bit surprised that GD is an issue for me. What *does* surprise me is the extent to which it is a problem.

My numbers are high. Too high. Probably too high to control through diet and excercise alone. I got my monitor today, and that's not so bad. A little finger stick, a little blood, a cool new electronic gadget to play with... I hate keeping logs, though. And I hate seeing that number so high. I feel like failure, even though it's day one and I haven't been given any guidelines yet.

The doctor told me to watch what I eat. Smart food choices and portion control. I asked him if he had any literature to help me determine what smart choices would be, and what portions should be, and he said that what he had was out of date and he didn't know where to point me. I mentioned that the whole thing sounded similar to the South Beach Diet, and he said yes, go with that for now, and got me a referral to a nutritionist. I'm supposed to be tracking my levels for the next week, but I have no idea when I can get in to see the nutritionist, and I'm flying blind here. Tonight for dinner I had a flank steak with cheese, green beans, and a small portion of brown rice. One hour later, my number was 178, when it was supposed to be below 120. In fact, it hasn't been below 120 all day, except for right before dinner, when I was starving because I took a nap and dinner was late. What I don't get is, it was 128 before lunch, and it was 127 one hour after lunch, and I know that lunch wasn't all "smart choices" (leftover taco salad).

I made the mistake of researching the risks of GD. I don't want to talk about that.

So I talked to someone who went through it, and that made me feel better. I went to a GD support board, and heard all the success stories of women who had it worse than this, and that made me feel better. I made DH tell me it would be okay, and that helped too.

I can do this, I know that. As someone told me, injections and diet, Ha! Big deal! I did that to get pregnant. And at least this time, I *know* there's a prize waiting for me at the end. A beautiful, wonderful, perfect little prize. That alone makes anything I'm going to have to do worth it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There. Hopefully I've gotten that out of my system. Because I want to focus on the good things, too. How it feels when this little one kicks me from inside. Finally settling on nursery decor. Buying the diaper bag I wanted at a pretty good price on eBay. Having a wonderful person planning a kick-ass shower for me and DH. Getting to the point where people don't have to ask me if I'm pregnant anymore, they just smile and give me an "Aaah! When are you due?" Little baby treats arriving unexpectedly in the mail. There's a lot of wonder and joy that goes along with this. I don't want to get bogged down in just the negatives.

just

I've been kicking this around for a while, trying to find the best way to articulate it. Nothing in particular sparked this post, and the examples used below are just examples. Probably true at one point or another, but nothing current.

The online dictionary that I use has 13 different definitions for the word "just." The first several, 1-8, refer to the word in adjective form, and basically mean the same thing. Fair, right, reasonable. Based on what is right and lawful. A just penalty, a just claim, just proportions, that sort of thing. In this form, I quite like the word.

The last five definitions given refer to it in adverb form. A brief preceding time ("I just got here"), exactly or precisely ("That's just what I wanted"), by a narrow margin ("That car just missed me!"), actually ("That is just wonderful!"), and only or merely. It's this last one that bugs me.

When used in this way, the word "just" is a cover-all cop-out that people seem to think excuses all sorts of behavior. "I'm just kidding," or "I'm just upset," or "He's just worried." And while being upset or worried can be justifiable reasons for acting unreasonably, they don't excuse anything and everything said and done.

The worst, though, is when it's used to justify acts or words that would otherwise be inexcusable, and the one saying it knows it.

"Wow, you're getting fat! Oh come on, I'm just kidding." This is just plain mean. No matter what is being said, if you have to follow it with "I'm just kidding," then you probably shouldn't have said it in the first place. It has nothing to do with the other person having a sense of humor, it has to do with using your filters to know what is off limits. I'd be tempted to give the response, "Wow, you're a real bitch! Oh come on, I'm just kidding." I believe it was a comedy special with Ellen where she said "If you're kidding, then we should both be laughing." And I agree.

Here's one that REALLY steams me. "I know you don't want me to bring this up, but I just had to ask you about..." "I know you don't like unannounced guests, but I was in the area and just wanted to say a quick Hello." "I won't bug you about your job, I'm just going to say that you should get a new one." Anything along those lines. Some seem more harmless than others. But it always involves the speaker (a) knowing where a boundary is, and (b) not giving a fuck.

Which is ironic, given the first set of definitions for the word.

I just had to get that off my chest.