...just ridiculously busy. The perils of having three jobs.
I go to see the nurse midwife on Thursday. Of course, this appointment has triggered mild bursts of anxiety that Bruiser has somehow managed to kick the bucket on the sly. Or that I'll have to beg for an ultrasound to keep myself sane. I always get increasingly paranoid before doctor's appointments.
I seem to have misplaced my waist. It happened all of a sudden. If you see it, let me know.
My husband is staying remarkably sane, thanks to the Lex, as we lovingly call it. Not one single bout of dread and cancer terror since he started taking the stuff. Amazing.
We're in the home stretch of completing the Endless Renovation of '08 (and now '09): laying a bamboo floor in our family room. Our second bathroom is much improved--tile floor, new vanity, new paint--and someday soon I look forward to not living in a construction zone.
We've drafted a budget. It's an absolute necessity, now that our income will basically decline by 40% when I stay home. Hubby's got a second job working for the census, and is applying for others. I may teach a half-semester class before giving birth. We'll be living very modestly, but we'll make it.
That's all. Nothing much to report here. I know, it's like watching grass grow.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Stupid Things I Have Done, Part IX (Early Childhood Edition)
Too many of my bloggy buddies are suffering through various waits and difficult aftermaths, and I have become incredibly boring. But, friends, I assure you: It was not always so.
The following is a family story about me, something that happened when I was about two or three that I don't remember myself. First, you should know that I'm a third-generation PK (priest's kid), and no, I'm not talking about the Catholic Church. I'm talking a Baptist and two Episcopalians.
When my father was fresh out of seminary and starting his career in the church, he served as an assistant at my granddad's church in a certain city in the Southwest. I remember that church surprisingly well: it looked out across a highway at a drive-in, and you could watch the movies at night from the church parking lot. I also recall being amazed when I saw my first tarantula crawling through the playground.
One year, the church made the unusual decision to schedule a kids Halloween party and a special healing service at the same time. That year, I had departed from my previous Halloween choices (I think I was a pink ghost the year before) and decided to go as the devil. This being my granddad's church, I naturally felt very at home. The party was a bit dull, so I wandered off through the building until I came to the sanctuary.
There, my granddad was blessing the wine and bread for communion, facing the altar, with his back to the congregation. Thus he had no idea that I was striding confidently down the aisle. When I reached the front pew, I turned around, made my hands into little claws, and announced, "I'm the Debil!"
During the most sacred moment of the service, laughing is pretty much out of the question. But the congregants were stifling their guffaws as my granddad stood there, flabbergasted. Then, an older women stepped out, took me gently by the hand, and led me back to the party. She told my family later that she was thrilled to get to throw the devil out of church.
The following is a family story about me, something that happened when I was about two or three that I don't remember myself. First, you should know that I'm a third-generation PK (priest's kid), and no, I'm not talking about the Catholic Church. I'm talking a Baptist and two Episcopalians.
When my father was fresh out of seminary and starting his career in the church, he served as an assistant at my granddad's church in a certain city in the Southwest. I remember that church surprisingly well: it looked out across a highway at a drive-in, and you could watch the movies at night from the church parking lot. I also recall being amazed when I saw my first tarantula crawling through the playground.
One year, the church made the unusual decision to schedule a kids Halloween party and a special healing service at the same time. That year, I had departed from my previous Halloween choices (I think I was a pink ghost the year before) and decided to go as the devil. This being my granddad's church, I naturally felt very at home. The party was a bit dull, so I wandered off through the building until I came to the sanctuary.
There, my granddad was blessing the wine and bread for communion, facing the altar, with his back to the congregation. Thus he had no idea that I was striding confidently down the aisle. When I reached the front pew, I turned around, made my hands into little claws, and announced, "I'm the Debil!"
During the most sacred moment of the service, laughing is pretty much out of the question. But the congregants were stifling their guffaws as my granddad stood there, flabbergasted. Then, an older women stepped out, took me gently by the hand, and led me back to the party. She told my family later that she was thrilled to get to throw the devil out of church.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Giveaway!
I have a 300 IU unopened pack of Fol.listim. I'll send it to anyone in the U.S. for free, if you give me your coordinates (leave an email in the comments or a link to your blog). It's from this last cycle in late January and has been in the fridge this whole time, so it should still be a-okay.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
It wasn't until I got a recommendation for the same OB practice (the one I've mentioned before, with a nurse midwife and two well-liked OBs) that I realized I'd been thinking like an IF. Out of a sense of misplaced loyalty, I'd decided I'd just go see my old gyn doc at the terrible Bump Barn of Despair. Where the staff is stupid and rude and blissfully unaware of their profound suckitude. Where the OBs are a rotating cast of characters, only one of whom I know.
I realized how stupid I myself was being. I was willing to shortchange myself, I felt, but why?
Because I'm a pregoposeur. Someone who got knocked up despite the clear declaration of "Nature" to the contrary. This continued feeling of inadequacy meant that I had decided, in some twisted way, that I didn't deserve the best prenatal and birth care. I would just have to take whatever crap I got. I had already forfeited my rights to anything vaguely resembling my old dreams for myself in the reproduction department. Man, how deep these things go.
When I saw that, I knew what I had to do. I canceled my appointment at the Bump Barn and somehow managed to get an appointment with the nurse midwife, though sadly enough not until April 4. They said that I likely wouldn't get an ultrasound, if I'd already had several scans to check for viability. I was flabbergasted: You mean, you guys have faith that everything's just fine up there? That this little guy will take care of business on his own? It was a whole other world.
On another front, my husband and I have talked about it, and I'm going to stay home with our theoretical child for several years, just keeping my freelance work and wrapping up my dis if necessary. And my sister-in-law, who's awesome, is most likely going to move back to Hippytown and live with us for a while (we have more than enough room). And she'll bring her awesome dog. So it will be quite a lively household, with lots going on. I'm really looking forward to it. Though I'm still skeptical and scared sometimes, I'm starting to let myself just enjoy this.
I realized how stupid I myself was being. I was willing to shortchange myself, I felt, but why?
Because I'm a pregoposeur. Someone who got knocked up despite the clear declaration of "Nature" to the contrary. This continued feeling of inadequacy meant that I had decided, in some twisted way, that I didn't deserve the best prenatal and birth care. I would just have to take whatever crap I got. I had already forfeited my rights to anything vaguely resembling my old dreams for myself in the reproduction department. Man, how deep these things go.
When I saw that, I knew what I had to do. I canceled my appointment at the Bump Barn and somehow managed to get an appointment with the nurse midwife, though sadly enough not until April 4. They said that I likely wouldn't get an ultrasound, if I'd already had several scans to check for viability. I was flabbergasted: You mean, you guys have faith that everything's just fine up there? That this little guy will take care of business on his own? It was a whole other world.
On another front, my husband and I have talked about it, and I'm going to stay home with our theoretical child for several years, just keeping my freelance work and wrapping up my dis if necessary. And my sister-in-law, who's awesome, is most likely going to move back to Hippytown and live with us for a while (we have more than enough room). And she'll bring her awesome dog. So it will be quite a lively household, with lots going on. I'm really looking forward to it. Though I'm still skeptical and scared sometimes, I'm starting to let myself just enjoy this.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Not much to report
- I'm still tired, but nothing like before. I actually asked my husband to go for a walk with me. That hasn't happened in weeks.
- My class is also proving not to be as heinously exhausting as I thought. I think I'm going to make it, and even enjoy myself.
- We had our last RE ultrasound today. Bruiser is growing perfectly, has a great heartbeat and the freakishly large head of a near-fetus.
- Spring weather! Indian food! Good day!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Bright Side
Though I still feel some lingering sorrow and misgivings--I mean, if you can lose one, you can lose two, right?--my heart feels better today. I realize that I have to be strong for this little living child, and not dwell overmuch on what I can't do or don't have.
In fact, I started to reimagine my life, thinking about being able to carry one child on my back while hiking the hills near our home, of walking without a lot of logistical planning around our little town, of the freedom and closeness I'll be able to have with Bruiser, that might have taken a lot longer to achieve with two babies of the exact same age. It will make our farm dream, which we understood we'd have to delay with twins, into something a year off, not years off.
I always dreamed (literally saw in dreams, not thought wistfully about) of a single child, a large, vibrant little boy who looked eerily like my guy as a child (and this was before I even knew we would hook up and way before I knew what he looked like as a lad). Maybe Bruiser is this child. If so, he will be more than enough.
On a more practical note, I get one more u/s with my RE and Nurse Sweetie next Monday, and then he's passing me on to my old doc. I'm not wild about her practice, though she's great, and not quite sure what to do. But I did discover that our local hospital is super hippy (Labor like you want! Room in with your baby! Bring your favorite aromatherapy and music! Dim the lights!), so I feel better about my options.
Could this all work out in the end? I'm so ready for an anticlimax.
In fact, I started to reimagine my life, thinking about being able to carry one child on my back while hiking the hills near our home, of walking without a lot of logistical planning around our little town, of the freedom and closeness I'll be able to have with Bruiser, that might have taken a lot longer to achieve with two babies of the exact same age. It will make our farm dream, which we understood we'd have to delay with twins, into something a year off, not years off.
I always dreamed (literally saw in dreams, not thought wistfully about) of a single child, a large, vibrant little boy who looked eerily like my guy as a child (and this was before I even knew we would hook up and way before I knew what he looked like as a lad). Maybe Bruiser is this child. If so, he will be more than enough.
On a more practical note, I get one more u/s with my RE and Nurse Sweetie next Monday, and then he's passing me on to my old doc. I'm not wild about her practice, though she's great, and not quite sure what to do. But I did discover that our local hospital is super hippy (Labor like you want! Room in with your baby! Bring your favorite aromatherapy and music! Dim the lights!), so I feel better about my options.
Could this all work out in the end? I'm so ready for an anticlimax.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Bruiser Lives
...but alas, Runty does not. He did double in size, but no heartbeat that we could find today, even with some masterful wanding.
Bruiser is an embryonic bad ass, with a nice rapid heartbeat and a big ol' body. Not surprising, as my husband weighed around 10 pounds at birth, and I was in the 9-pound range.
I'm not sure what I feel at the moment, except tired. Some relief, some sorrow. I didn't want twins, but now I'm sad to lose a little dude. A whole mixed bag of emotions.
Bruiser is an embryonic bad ass, with a nice rapid heartbeat and a big ol' body. Not surprising, as my husband weighed around 10 pounds at birth, and I was in the 9-pound range.
I'm not sure what I feel at the moment, except tired. Some relief, some sorrow. I didn't want twins, but now I'm sad to lose a little dude. A whole mixed bag of emotions.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Well, it's not getting worse
I'm still spotting a touch, but it's still brown, still scant, still painless. I called Nurse Sweetie yesterday and she said she wasn't worried at all,described my discharge perfectly (what an interesting professional skill) and assured me that 30% of women have downright BLEEDING, forget a little brown goop. I've also read online that spotting is much more common with twin pregnancies.
So I'm feeling okay. Actually, ironically, my symptoms intensified right as this nonsense started, so I'm not really feeling okay, but that's okay. And I'm determined to hope for the best.
So I'm feeling okay. Actually, ironically, my symptoms intensified right as this nonsense started, so I'm not really feeling okay, but that's okay. And I'm determined to hope for the best.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Just when I was starting to relax...
I woke up this morning to some brown discharge. Not really spotting. Not red or pink. Not all that much. No cramps. No pain. And for the last two days, I've been even more tired and nauseous than previously.
But it's still enough to make me feel that my life is a load of shit.
Just when I was starting to have faith that my body knew what to do, that I'd get through this well, that maybe, just maybe, I could pretend that I was a more or less normal crazy pregnant lady.
But no. Of course, even Dr. Google says it's likely nothing, and I have an u/s already scheduled for Monday morning. Yet it still feels like a punch to the solar plexus. Can things just go smoothly for a while? Please?
Just FYI: my hair reaches down to my butt.
But it's still enough to make me feel that my life is a load of shit.
Just when I was starting to have faith that my body knew what to do, that I'd get through this well, that maybe, just maybe, I could pretend that I was a more or less normal crazy pregnant lady.
But no. Of course, even Dr. Google says it's likely nothing, and I have an u/s already scheduled for Monday morning. Yet it still feels like a punch to the solar plexus. Can things just go smoothly for a while? Please?
Just FYI: my hair reaches down to my butt.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The weird thing about empowerment
...is that always seems to be framed in crippling fear.
Let me explain. I'm a hippy: I've got long hair, eat organic food, don't wear make up, am often caught in linen. But I'm really, really sick of my fellow leftist treehuggers' obsession with scaring the shit out of themselves and others in the name of "empowerment."
Take child birth options. I picked up "Having Twins" at the library. It's got a positive message--just because you're having multiples doesn't mean you have to have a C-section or an early birth or an underweight baby--but it's so couched in all the terrible, awful, no-good things that the doctors will do to you if you dare venture into an L&D ward that it makes you reel with anguish. There's a self-righteous, preachy tone that grates on the nerves--especially when the author has a three-page diatribe against milk. I mean, come on, peeps. So, women who have complicated pregnancies, just like infertile women, are once again shut out from the nirvana that is "natural" motherhood.
Not every woman has birthing options. I live in a sophisticated but small town. There is one hospital that does births. There are no birth centers. Midwifery is illegal (though practiced on the sly) in my state. There is only one RN who is also a certified midwife in town. She's a busy woman, as you can imagine.
I'd consider a home birth, if it was something like what my MIL had, back in the late 1970s: A doctor came to her house! In a snowstorm, even.
So, it makes me think: How could we actually empower women to trust their bodies, not only in the rarified realm of the birthing pool, but in any and all situations? I think this is especially important for women whose bodies have not made conception and pregnancy easier. They need to be doubly empowered, not estranged because they can't play certain reindeer games.
It's like you only get to be empowered if you had the power of choice to begin with. And that's bullshit.
Let me explain. I'm a hippy: I've got long hair, eat organic food, don't wear make up, am often caught in linen. But I'm really, really sick of my fellow leftist treehuggers' obsession with scaring the shit out of themselves and others in the name of "empowerment."
Take child birth options. I picked up "Having Twins" at the library. It's got a positive message--just because you're having multiples doesn't mean you have to have a C-section or an early birth or an underweight baby--but it's so couched in all the terrible, awful, no-good things that the doctors will do to you if you dare venture into an L&D ward that it makes you reel with anguish. There's a self-righteous, preachy tone that grates on the nerves--especially when the author has a three-page diatribe against milk. I mean, come on, peeps. So, women who have complicated pregnancies, just like infertile women, are once again shut out from the nirvana that is "natural" motherhood.
Not every woman has birthing options. I live in a sophisticated but small town. There is one hospital that does births. There are no birth centers. Midwifery is illegal (though practiced on the sly) in my state. There is only one RN who is also a certified midwife in town. She's a busy woman, as you can imagine.
I'd consider a home birth, if it was something like what my MIL had, back in the late 1970s: A doctor came to her house! In a snowstorm, even.
So, it makes me think: How could we actually empower women to trust their bodies, not only in the rarified realm of the birthing pool, but in any and all situations? I think this is especially important for women whose bodies have not made conception and pregnancy easier. They need to be doubly empowered, not estranged because they can't play certain reindeer games.
It's like you only get to be empowered if you had the power of choice to begin with. And that's bullshit.
Monday, March 2, 2009
The Ultrasound of Destiny
So, all morning, I was strangling the massive butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach. I just knew something was going to turn out awful. I mean, that's what happens to people like me in this department, right?
Well, no. Wrong.
We have two heartbeats. In two embies, that is. One is a touch big for 6w5d, and one is a bit behind. Dr. Spunk thinks it's still very much a contender, but said he was "slightly concerned." I get a repeat u/s in a week (yeah!) and we'll see if Runty has made appropriate progress.
We celebrated by buying me some more bacon. For those of you in the right place for this, send your positive growing vibes to the Runt. Bruiser I'm not worried about, for some reason.
Well, no. Wrong.
We have two heartbeats. In two embies, that is. One is a touch big for 6w5d, and one is a bit behind. Dr. Spunk thinks it's still very much a contender, but said he was "slightly concerned." I get a repeat u/s in a week (yeah!) and we'll see if Runty has made appropriate progress.
We celebrated by buying me some more bacon. For those of you in the right place for this, send your positive growing vibes to the Runt. Bruiser I'm not worried about, for some reason.
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