I don't know why, but telling people I'm pregnant is the weirdest feeling. I'm 28. I'm married. So why is it so hard? Telling people I was engaged was so easy. I was excited, and for the most part, I knew what peoples' reactions would be to the news. Perhaps it's all the the other emotions that go along with having a baby that is making it so hard for me to share the news, or maybe I'm trying to prolong the inevitable - the unsolicited advice I'll receive from some people. Don't get me wrong, I am excited about this, too, but when I was engaged to be married, I could plan. Everything. To the minute. There was an itinerary, a guest list, a playlist (including dos and don'ts), tuxes, bridesmaids dresses... And, let's be honest here, I knew people would listen to me because I was the bride, damn it! Of course I was nervous about everything going "right" on our wedding day, but in the end, I knew that even if something went wrong, all that really mattered was that Mike was there and our families and friends were there to share the day with us.
When it comes to having a child, you can't plan. Well, you can, but there are so many variables that can change those plans, both good and bad. Someone can catch the flu and puke on you in the middle of the night, so you're up until 3am doing laundry, calming crying, and you still have to get up and go to work in the morning. Or someone can make the all star team, and instead of going to your high school class reunion next weekend (yikes!) you'll spend the weekend on the sidelines cheering them on and saying, "That's my kid!"
That's such a trite example, but do you see where I'm going with this? I guess what it comes down to is a fear of the unknown. I have about 29 weeks to prepare for the birth of our baby, and - no matter how many books I read - I will never truly be prepared for the experience. And then, when we bring our little bundle of joy home, there will be so much for us to learn, and so much for us to teach. And there will come a day... well, I'm not sure I'm ready to think that far into the future quite yet - because, even I know, there is no amount of planning that can prepare you for the teen years!
I guess when I think about it, all I can do is plan [as much as possible], prepare, take some deep breaths, remember to relax and have fun, and hope that everything will turn out just fine... the same thing I did on my wedding day.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Prenatal Visit #1
Picking up where I left off... My first prenatal visit was a week ago, and all-in-all, things went good. Most of the appointment was spent with Kathy, my OB's nurse, answering questions about health history. She went through a packet that was probably more than four pages long of things that "if I've never heard of, I've probably never had."
When my doctor came in, I had my annual cha-cha inspection (everything was fine, in case you're wondering), she explained some of the tests my blood would be drawn for, and then she said, "Let me go see if the ultrasound is available." She came back, ultrasound in tow, and I couldn't have been happier. I got to see the baby, and see it's little heart beating. It was pretty incredible.
I got in her chair, signed some paperwork, and she tied the rubber thingy onto my bicep. And she rubbed, and tapped, and pressed all over my arm. No luck. OK, let's try the left arm. Rub, tap, press. No Luck. Back to the right arm. "Have you had a lot of water to drink today?" she barked.
"No," I responded.
"Well, you should have known."
Whoa there tiger, I'm sorry I didn't realize I was dehydrated when I woke up at 6:00 this morning to get ready for my doctor's appointment, and still didn't know when I got to the doctor's office at 8:15, sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes, had my appointment that lasted an hour, and headed straight over here to have six tubes of blood drawn so I could maybe get to work before noon.
Anyway, she finally found two veins. One was on the underside of my forearm, and the other was on the underside of my wrist - yeah, as in teenage angst, want to slit your wrist, part of my wrist. And guess which one was a sure thing? She told me it would hurt, but I did not want to get poked twice, so I told her just to go for it. Honestly, the initial poke did not hurt all that much. She used the tiniest needle possible (which was OK with me), so it took a while to fill up all six tubes. And then came the painful part: apparently, the type of needle she used had a button on it that made it retract really fast (I had never seen this before). When she pushed the button, it made an awful noise, and it seriously felt like the needle broke off in my arm. She put a piece of gauze on my wrist, and proceeded to wrap medical tape 3/4 of the way around - oh yeah, she stuck it to arm hair.
So, aside from the crazy lady at the lab, my first prenatal visit was pretty great. My doctor is fantastic, the baby seems to be developing well and we got to take our very first baby picture.
When my doctor came in, I had my annual cha-cha inspection (everything was fine, in case you're wondering), she explained some of the tests my blood would be drawn for, and then she said, "Let me go see if the ultrasound is available." She came back, ultrasound in tow, and I couldn't have been happier. I got to see the baby, and see it's little heart beating. It was pretty incredible.
Find the baby, and you get a cookie!
After my appointment, it was time to head over to the lab at Sierra Vista to pee in a cup (my second of the day, actually) and have my blood drawn. Now, of course I get a little nervous when I have to have blood work done - if you don't, I'm sorry, you're weird. I don't necessarily get nervous because of the pain - I have two tattoos, and at one time had 11 piercings (all above the neck, FYI) but because my veins are almost always hard to find, and I HATE the feeling of a needle moving around in my arm. *shudder* Anywho, the lab was pretty full when I got there, and seemed to be a little understaffed. There was only one phlebotomist in the lab when I got there, so when she started helping another patient, she called in a second for backup. Well, the lady who came in to help her did not want to be there (when she walked into the lab, she said in a thick accent, "I am busy! I have things to do.") And guess who was going to take my blood. Yay for me.
I got in her chair, signed some paperwork, and she tied the rubber thingy onto my bicep. And she rubbed, and tapped, and pressed all over my arm. No luck. OK, let's try the left arm. Rub, tap, press. No Luck. Back to the right arm. "Have you had a lot of water to drink today?" she barked.
"No," I responded.
"Well, you should have known."
Whoa there tiger, I'm sorry I didn't realize I was dehydrated when I woke up at 6:00 this morning to get ready for my doctor's appointment, and still didn't know when I got to the doctor's office at 8:15, sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes, had my appointment that lasted an hour, and headed straight over here to have six tubes of blood drawn so I could maybe get to work before noon.
Anyway, she finally found two veins. One was on the underside of my forearm, and the other was on the underside of my wrist - yeah, as in teenage angst, want to slit your wrist, part of my wrist. And guess which one was a sure thing? She told me it would hurt, but I did not want to get poked twice, so I told her just to go for it. Honestly, the initial poke did not hurt all that much. She used the tiniest needle possible (which was OK with me), so it took a while to fill up all six tubes. And then came the painful part: apparently, the type of needle she used had a button on it that made it retract really fast (I had never seen this before). When she pushed the button, it made an awful noise, and it seriously felt like the needle broke off in my arm. She put a piece of gauze on my wrist, and proceeded to wrap medical tape 3/4 of the way around - oh yeah, she stuck it to arm hair.
So, aside from the crazy lady at the lab, my first prenatal visit was pretty great. My doctor is fantastic, the baby seems to be developing well and we got to take our very first baby picture.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Cry Baby
Mike has just read the blog I wrote yesterday, and noted that I made it sound like he cried like a little baby when he found out I was pregnant. Let me go on the record and say, he did not cry, it was me. I apologize for the confusion.
OK, are we good now, honey?
OK, are we good now, honey?
I Love America
Totally off subject, but c'mon, these are flip-floppin' hilarious! Just what I want... Obama and McCain checkin' out my cha-cha.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Knocked Up
I haven't blogged in a while, and it's because I've been keeping a huge secret. And I'm horrible at keeping secrets. Just ask Mike, I don't think he's ever gotten a present from me without already having some idea what it is - except for the last birthday present I got him, but I digress.
Anyway, I've been keeping a big secret. I'm pregnant! Eight weeks to be exact. I had my first prenatal appointment today, and everything seems to be progressing normally. Before today, we've told a handful of people, and their reactions have ranged anywhere from my brother's complete speechlessness, to tears of joy, to total jump-up-and-down excitement. What was my reaction? Well, when I first found out, I was shaking like a hula girl on the dashboard of a big rig... and then I cried. It was a scene straight out of an after school special. I called Mike to the bathroom, and came out, ept in hand and said, "Well, I know why I haven't started my period..." He finished my sentence, "You're pregnant." And that's when the tears came. It was exciting, yet unexpected, and totally overwhelming. This was huge.
Let me back up a little bit here. Before we got married last October, we discovered that we had some fertility issues. I won't go into too many details, but the short version is that we were told by a specialist that we had a 2% chance of conceiving on our own. He had worked with another couple in our situation, and he said that it took them eight years to conceive without any fertility treatments. Well, after we got married, we decided that it would be OK if I went off of birth control - after all, it made me really moody, and with our apparent fertility issues, we weren't too concerned about pregnancy.
Fast forward to late July of this year. I just wasn't feeling right. My boobs were killing me, I was getting cramps, but no period. Hmm. I waited, and waited, and finally grabbed my calendar. I was about 10 days late. On my way home from work, I stopped at Rite Aid to grab some odds and ends, and also picked up a three pack of EPTs. When I got home, I said hello to Mike, and quickly made my way into the bathroom. I peed on the stick, and, well, you know the rest.
One thing that I've learned so far about being pregnant is that there is a lot to learn about being pregnant. Oh, and not to mention a lot to learn about giving birth and raising a child! It's all a bit overwhelming.
Some other first trimester tidbits: "Morning sickness" is the biggest misnomer. Who came up with that anyway? I haven't had "morning sickness," I've had bouts of nausea on and off throughout the day, accompanied by what I like to refer to as "hangover burps" - you know, the ones that make you feel better, but you still feel like you could puke at any moment? But, I haven't puked at all. And believe me, there have been times where I've just wished that I would. Blech. I'm exhausted. At the end of a work day, all I want to do is come home, eat dinner (I'm hungry all the time, too, and when I get really hungry, I also get really nauseous - which in turn makes it hard to eat) and go to bed. At 9:15, I'm usually ready to hit the sack. The other night, Mike said, "It's barely past 9!" To which I cleverly responded, "Uh, I'm growing a person over here. It makes me kind of tired." Ah, hormonally induced humor - gotta love it.
Anywho... speaking of exhausted, I'm done. Brain is ceasing to work. More later... including details about my wonderful trip to the lab for blood work - stupid tiny veins. Ouch!
Anyway, I've been keeping a big secret. I'm pregnant! Eight weeks to be exact. I had my first prenatal appointment today, and everything seems to be progressing normally. Before today, we've told a handful of people, and their reactions have ranged anywhere from my brother's complete speechlessness, to tears of joy, to total jump-up-and-down excitement. What was my reaction? Well, when I first found out, I was shaking like a hula girl on the dashboard of a big rig... and then I cried. It was a scene straight out of an after school special. I called Mike to the bathroom, and came out, ept in hand and said, "Well, I know why I haven't started my period..." He finished my sentence, "You're pregnant." And that's when the tears came. It was exciting, yet unexpected, and totally overwhelming. This was huge.
Let me back up a little bit here. Before we got married last October, we discovered that we had some fertility issues. I won't go into too many details, but the short version is that we were told by a specialist that we had a 2% chance of conceiving on our own. He had worked with another couple in our situation, and he said that it took them eight years to conceive without any fertility treatments. Well, after we got married, we decided that it would be OK if I went off of birth control - after all, it made me really moody, and with our apparent fertility issues, we weren't too concerned about pregnancy.
Fast forward to late July of this year. I just wasn't feeling right. My boobs were killing me, I was getting cramps, but no period. Hmm. I waited, and waited, and finally grabbed my calendar. I was about 10 days late. On my way home from work, I stopped at Rite Aid to grab some odds and ends, and also picked up a three pack of EPTs. When I got home, I said hello to Mike, and quickly made my way into the bathroom. I peed on the stick, and, well, you know the rest.
One thing that I've learned so far about being pregnant is that there is a lot to learn about being pregnant. Oh, and not to mention a lot to learn about giving birth and raising a child! It's all a bit overwhelming.
Some other first trimester tidbits: "Morning sickness" is the biggest misnomer. Who came up with that anyway? I haven't had "morning sickness," I've had bouts of nausea on and off throughout the day, accompanied by what I like to refer to as "hangover burps" - you know, the ones that make you feel better, but you still feel like you could puke at any moment? But, I haven't puked at all. And believe me, there have been times where I've just wished that I would. Blech. I'm exhausted. At the end of a work day, all I want to do is come home, eat dinner (I'm hungry all the time, too, and when I get really hungry, I also get really nauseous - which in turn makes it hard to eat) and go to bed. At 9:15, I'm usually ready to hit the sack. The other night, Mike said, "It's barely past 9!" To which I cleverly responded, "Uh, I'm growing a person over here. It makes me kind of tired." Ah, hormonally induced humor - gotta love it.
Anywho... speaking of exhausted, I'm done. Brain is ceasing to work. More later... including details about my wonderful trip to the lab for blood work - stupid tiny veins. Ouch!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
"Commutication" Problems
Q: What's worse than being stuck on 41 behind a VW Vanagon?
A: Being stuck on 41 behind a VW Vanagon atop a flatbed tow truck with a driver who refuses to use turnouts and speeds up when there is any break in the yellow line and destroys any hope you have of passing. Fuckwit.
If there's one thing that sours my mood at either end of the day, it's bad drivers on Hwy 41. It can be a treacherous road, but if you have driven it a few times, and it is not pouring rain or socked in with fog, you should be able to keep your speed at least at the 55 MPH limit (heeding the [CURVY ARROW] 35 MPH signs, of course *smirk*). If you cannot, use the turnouts, and quit ruining people's days. Seriously, some of us actually want to get home at the end of a hard day, or actually need to get to work at a reasonable hour of the morning.
OK, rant over. Anywho, my brother left me a comment yesterday - something along the lines of "3 posts in one day = you must be bored." Yes and no. My husband was working last night, and I figured blogging (in essence, talking to you) is better than talking to myself... like I usually do. :) Oh, and he's working tonight, too, so be prepared for more commentary from the couch.
Speaking of the hubs, when I got home this evening, he said, "Someone called with an unknown number, and when I picked it up I could barely hear the lady and didn't understand a word she said. So I asked her to speak up, and she didn't." Long story short, his hearing is fine for the most part, but he just happens to have hearing loss in the range of the female voice - I call it 'selective hearing,' but he actually has documentation of this from work. Not being able to hear people speak irritates him to no end, and he went from zero to pissed in 3.2 seconds. Apparently, he said "Speak the fuck up!" to this poor woman (who he also said may have just been a recorded voice because she wasn't speaking up, and therefore wasn't listening to him - or couldn't listen to him being that it was a recording... got all that?).
My response to all this? "You said what to her?!? Are you serious? What if it wasn't a recording? What if it was your grandma? Your grandparents are pretty much the only people that call us at home with a blocked number." [BTW... he was 100% positive it was not grandma - if he was sure about anything, it was that, so not to worry.] So, here's me, thinking who could that have been? Who now thinks my husband is a raging a-hole, and what can I do to fix this? I tried as gently as possible to ask him that next time something like this happens to say, "I'm sorry, I really can't hear you, and I am going to have to hang up now." We'll see how that works... please call back.
And now, I leave you with this. Smart woman with a well-trained man, or sick puppy in need of a vet? Talk amongst yourselves.
A: Being stuck on 41 behind a VW Vanagon atop a flatbed tow truck with a driver who refuses to use turnouts and speeds up when there is any break in the yellow line and destroys any hope you have of passing. Fuckwit.
If there's one thing that sours my mood at either end of the day, it's bad drivers on Hwy 41. It can be a treacherous road, but if you have driven it a few times, and it is not pouring rain or socked in with fog, you should be able to keep your speed at least at the 55 MPH limit (heeding the [CURVY ARROW] 35 MPH signs, of course *smirk*). If you cannot, use the turnouts, and quit ruining people's days. Seriously, some of us actually want to get home at the end of a hard day, or actually need to get to work at a reasonable hour of the morning.
OK, rant over. Anywho, my brother left me a comment yesterday - something along the lines of "3 posts in one day = you must be bored." Yes and no. My husband was working last night, and I figured blogging (in essence, talking to you) is better than talking to myself... like I usually do. :) Oh, and he's working tonight, too, so be prepared for more commentary from the couch.
Speaking of the hubs, when I got home this evening, he said, "Someone called with an unknown number, and when I picked it up I could barely hear the lady and didn't understand a word she said. So I asked her to speak up, and she didn't." Long story short, his hearing is fine for the most part, but he just happens to have hearing loss in the range of the female voice - I call it 'selective hearing,' but he actually has documentation of this from work. Not being able to hear people speak irritates him to no end, and he went from zero to pissed in 3.2 seconds. Apparently, he said "Speak the fuck up!" to this poor woman (who he also said may have just been a recorded voice because she wasn't speaking up, and therefore wasn't listening to him - or couldn't listen to him being that it was a recording... got all that?).
My response to all this? "You said what to her?!? Are you serious? What if it wasn't a recording? What if it was your grandma? Your grandparents are pretty much the only people that call us at home with a blocked number." [BTW... he was 100% positive it was not grandma - if he was sure about anything, it was that, so not to worry.] So, here's me, thinking who could that have been? Who now thinks my husband is a raging a-hole, and what can I do to fix this? I tried as gently as possible to ask him that next time something like this happens to say, "I'm sorry, I really can't hear you, and I am going to have to hang up now." We'll see how that works... please call back.
In food news, starting this Friday, New York restaurants that are not following new law regarding calorie count postings will be fined up to $2000 starting Friday. I've got to say, although there are some times that I just wouldn't want to know, there are many more times where I would probably appreciate seeing these numbers posted in such plain sight. Perhaps it would help me make better choices and get rid of the weight I've put on since our wedding. Does anyone know if there's a clever little phrase for post-marriage weight gain? I mean, you enter college, and everyone tells you to look out for the "freshman 15." I haven't heard anyone say, "Look out for the 'newlywed 20,' it'll sneak up on you!" *sigh* Time to join a gym... again.
And now, I leave you with this. Smart woman with a well-trained man, or sick puppy in need of a vet? Talk amongst yourselves.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Uh, some help please?
OK, last post for the day, I promise. What the hell is this about? New-wave convenience snacks for toddlers. Yikes. What ever happened to a sandwich bag full of Cheerios and some real fruit?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
