My Own Personal Hell

It is my opinion that the three hour glucose tolerance test* is an evil plot to test not the glucose tolerance of a pregnant woman but her ability to cope under stress while starving.  Today's test technically started yesterday at 7:30 PM when I began fasting.  For the most part that wasn't so hard but when the morning time rolls around I am ready for some breakfast.  My first thought in the morning is typically how fast can I get ready so I can go eat?  (Answer:  Not nearly fast enough)  Today was different though.  I couldn't eat breakfast.  As I walked out the door, headed to the lab, I swear the banana's called my name.  Bastards.

In my mind this was how the morning would go:  I would arrive at the lab at 8, get started right away, be done by 11, then go to the DMV to renew my license. 

This is actually how the morning went:  I arrived at the lab at 8:30.  Yes, it was half an hour later than I originally planned but in the end my inner Rojek clock, i.e. 15-20 minutes slower than others, was a God-send.   Upon arriving I quickly discovered that the lab had not received the orders for my test.  They were nowhere to be found and the doctor's office would need to send them again.  One problem.  The doctor's office didn't open until 9.  So, I made my way back home (not such a bad thing since we live all of two minutes from the hospital and its surrounding buildings) and waited until 9 to call the doctor.  As it turns out my doctor did send the paperwork.  So, back to the lab I went and once again, the front desk could not find my paperwork.  And once again I called my doctor's office and once again they informed me that the paperwork had been sent.  Again, I went back to the front desk and this time, as if by magic, my paperwork appeared. 

Holy shit.  It takes a lot to get me riled-up, even now being pregnant and all hormonal, and I'm not typically a crier but it took all of my control to fight back the tears.  I hate throwing the pregnancy card out there and really pregnant or not, holy shit!  They're expecting a lot from a pregnant woman who hasn't eaten in almost 14 hours.  As my frustration slowly dissipated I settled into the chair for the next three longest hours of my life.

After the first vial of blood was drawn I was informed of the recliners in the back that I could take advantage of if I so wished.  Instead, I opted to sit in the waiting room and read my book while secretly people watching.  People watching in the waiting room of a lab is akin to people watching in an airport terminal.  There were at least four other women taking the glucose tolerance test (though, and this is mean, it was hard for me to determine that they were even pregnant which secretly made me feel better about myself).  There were a number of drug testers which I was able to pick-out only because the door would be closed to the testing room when they went in.  There were also quite a few babies and children.  The babies and children were the funniest because while sitting in the waiting room all was fun and games but the minute they were in the back a loud wail would erupt followed by five minutes of uncontrollable sobbing.  While it was painful to hear them in such agony I couldn't help but chuckle to myself.  Call me sadistic.  It's OK.

While waiting I also got a lesson in toddler.  First, I'd just like to say that if we have a boy his name will not be "Tyler" or "Aiden" as I discovered just how annoying those names are when yelled every two seconds.  Second, I'd like to say that I applaud the mother of little Tyler.  He was everywhere, taking off down the hallway full-speed ahead, trying to get out the door, and climbing on chairs but at every turn so was his mom.  She didn't let him get away with much and while her constant "Tyler!" was obnoxious at least she was up and with him at all times.  Aiden's mom took less of a hands-on approach.  Aiden was really no more active than Tyler but he had one more ability and that was he could open doors.  His mom also had an uncanny ability for sitting on her ass and yelling...and yelling...and yelling...and yelling...you get my point.  Aiden's mom would just yell until I wanted to scream "Clearly, your grating voice is not working.  Please.  Get off your ass and get him and spare us all your obnoxious lack of interest in parenting your child."  Lesson in Toddler 101:  I will be a Tyler mom and not an Aiden mom.

Finally, three hours and four blood tests later I was released out into the world.  I immediately made a bee-line for food (Chick-fil-A in case you're wondering) and while eating lunch I discovered that it is possible to eat and never once take a breath.  That was the first bright star in my otherwise dull day (for clarification the bright star was eating without choking to death because I didn't properly chew my food and instead opted to inhale it...sort of like a puppy dog does).  My second bright star was when I got home and discovered that some of the maternity clothes I had ordered arrived and all of which fit.  That alone called for a hearty "Huzzah!" and a full wardrobe change before heading out to the DMV.  As I drove to the DMV I was preparing for the worst, something I think we all do when a DMV trip is inevitable; I was ready for the worst.  I got my number and wonders of wonders before I could even sit down I was called to the window.  A third bright star! 

In the end my crappy day turned into a not-so-crappy day.  I did get a bill for the ultrasound that will cost a whopping $230 but I'm going to pretend like it doesn't exist for the next 24 hours thus making a complete great day.

*Just as an FYI over the course of 3ish hours they draw your blood four times.  Once before drinking the glucose test and then three more times every hour on the hour.

Discovering the Unpleasant Side of Pregnancy

I'm just going to go ahead and get it off my chest.  I've had to unclog three toilet's over the last 6 months.  That's about 3 more toilets than I would prefer to unclog and as a matter of fact have ever unclogged.  Rather than go into much detail about that aspect of pregnancy I will just mention that fiber is a girl's best friend.

One thing that is not a girl's best friend (at least at this very moment) is sweets.  My favorite line from the movie Elf, "We elves like to stick to the main food groups:  candy, candy cane, candy corn, and syrup!" can no longer be my mantra.  I had my glucose screening yesterday which checks for the possibility of gestational diabetes.  During the hour long test I prayed that my chocolate intake over the last few months had not hurt my chances of actually passing.  I think God didn't hear my prayers because I have to go back for the glucose tolerance test which takes a grand total of 3 hours and consists of having blood drawn 4 different times.  I'm not dreading it nearly as much as giving birth but I'm definitely dreading it.

There's also the other side of me that takes a little offense to being told I may or may not be diabetic.  Way to kick the pregnant lady when she's down and feeling overweight.

I Crack Me Up

Now that I am officially "showing*" I am absolutely dying for someone to look at me questioningly and for me to stop them before they have a chance to ask anything and say "I know what you're thinking. And yes, I am wearing new shoes" or something equally asinine. Oh, please, oh, please! I dream about it all of the time. At work I get up to use the bathroom and go to the kitchen and I walk with my belly protruding and lo-and-behold I pass not a soul. Apparently my peeing and eating schedule is significantly different from others. I find that hard to believe though since I pee a lot and eat a lot but whatever. *sigh* So, now it's just a waiting game for some sucker to fall for my silly tricks. Hopefully they have a good sense of humor.

* On a side note, sometimes I really do think I look just plain fat and not at all pregnant. The only time I feel that I look truly pregnant is when I’m wearing maternity clothes which as of lately is 9 times out of 10…and despite my earlier grumblings I’m pretty sure I’ll be wearing them for the rest of my life; the pants are so damn comfortable…minus the fact I have some sweet love-handles going on that push them down therefore forcing me to hitch them up on occasion. I imagine the belly will be doing most of the pushing down in the next few months.

Ultrasound

Monday was our 21-week ultrasound where we had the chance to get a sneak-peek of the baby.  It's really amazing the clarity with which you can see things...at one point the lips and nose were so visible I'm pretty sure the baby is going to look like Marcus.  The technician did a very good job of not letting on to what the sex is so we're still oblivious and at this stage will be until the baby is born.  All in all the baby appears to be the epitome of health and was kicking and punching the whole time the ultrasound was being performed.  At this stage it's cute...give it another month when the baby is bigger and it might not be as much fun.  Currently, the baby's weight is 14 oz. and I don't think we got a length but according to what I read it's about the length of a banana.  So, that's all.  I apologize for not posting something funny.  I actually went to bed last night with a great subject for my next post but I've since forgotten what that would be.  Hopefully I'll remember soon.

For your viewing pleasure here are two pictures of Baby T:

Baby T Doing Aerobics; Note the Leg Up Near the Head

I Know I'm Biased But This Is THE Cutest Picture, Ever

Lasagna (The Cat Not The Food)

I’m going to take a little break from baby chat and talk about my other baby, Lasagna (you thought I was going to talk about Marcus, didn’t you?). She’s our 1 year old cat who came into our lives shortly after we married. How she came into our lives isn’t much of a story though it basically involved me calling Marcus’s bluff and actually proceeding with getting a kitten. For ages I had begged Marcus for a puppy or a kitten…life just wasn’t complete without a furry body to snuggle. Marcus relented, though only a little, when he said I could get a kitten after we married. So, about a month after we married I began searching through Craigslist looking for just the right kitten. I don’t know what drew me to Lasagna other than she was tiny and fluffy and looked rather pathetic and just dying to be adopted. There was also a catch to my getting a pet which was that I would be the sole provider while Marcus could simply bask in the joys of being a pet owner. This came back to bite him in the butt when I got pregnant and he was thus on kitty-litter box duty for the next nine months.

In my attempt to turn Lasagna into the kind of cat I dreamed of, the kind of cat that sits for hours on your lap and rubs affectionately against your legs, it is my belief that I over-loved her as a kitten. I loved her so much that as she grew she began to reject me and turn towards Marcus. As it is Marcus is of the “take her or leave her” mentality which probably prompted her to turn towards him even more; she had to work for his love and by golly she did her best! So now, a year later, we have a cat who could care less for me (other than when I forget to feed her), and who adores Marcus so much it’s sickening.

Case in point: Marcus is currently on travel in Japan. He’s been gone for a week now and it’s just been Lasagna and me hanging out, kicking back, and painting each other’s toenails. Or, it’s the complete opposite. Usually when Marcus is home Lasagna sleeps on the bed with us. You can typically find her curled up next to him. Occasionally I wake-up to find her next to me but I suspect Marcus puts her there to make me feel better. Now, with Marcus gone, Lasagna does not even try to sleep on the bed and if she is it’s on his side at the very corner of the foot of the bed. In other words: As far away from me as possible.

I’ve also noticed she’s grown a little paunchier as time goes by. Being a housecat probably compounds to any sort of weight gain but she has certainly filled-out over the last few months. I have two theories other than her simply being a lazy housecat: 1. She’s been overeating to drown her sorrows because her beloved isn’t around and she doesn’t know why or, 2. Unwittingly she’s packing on the sympathy pounds. Either way the fluff of a fat belly is hard to resist and it takes much self-control (of which I'm greatly lacking) to not pick her up and snuggle my face into the deliciousness. This of course has nothing to do with her continued hatred towards me. Nothing at all. It also has nothing to do with the picture below...

I can haz dignity back?

Feelings

Question:  If someone (anyone) asks how I'm feeling is it an acceptable answer to say "Scared shitless?"  Because that would pretty much sum up exactly how I'm feeling.  In two words it would say "Physically, I'm feeling fine, mentally, I'm about to poop in my pants."

Maternity Clothes - Hate Them Or REALLY Hate Them? The Jury Is Still Out

As I am a female it should come as no surprise to you that shopping is like breathing for me; it must occur in order for me to survive.  I thrive off of shopping as it fulfills my soul in ways other things can’t.  I take great pleasure in searching for just the right shoe (boots, heels, flats, you name it, I don’t discriminate) and Lord help me when a purse comes along that I don’t have (to be honest, every lady needs a ruffle purse in a neutral tone.  It’s classy and smart because it goes with everything...and no, that line doesn’t work well with the husband).  Shopping is also a source of stress release for me.  I might not even realize I’m feeling stressed until I get an overwhelming urge to spend money.  When the urge hits and I realize I’m stressed I head out to my tried and true pick-me-uppers and later, after a few hours of browsing and debit card abuse, it’s like a weight has been lifted.

I have not, however, ever been stressed-out about actually going shopping (Christmas shopping doesn’t count).  That changed yesterday when it became apparent that I was in dire need of maternity pants for work.  I still don't have a discernable bump and my fat girl pants still fit, though they are getting rather snug.  It will only be a matter of a week or two before maternity pants are a must.  I’d already bought two pairs of jeans online, and sent them both back, so it seemed the only logical thing to do would be to physically go to a store.  After a few hours of moping around the house, and unsuccessful attempts to try and guilt-trip the husband into going with me (even though I knew he would much rather be watching a football game with buddies), I finally managed to make it out of the house.  As I got in the car tears welled up in my eyes.  The typical pre-shop high was definitely missing.  To try and soothe my mind I stopped at Yankee Candle.  They were having a 50% off sale and I just knew my favorite scent would be on sale (Macintosh Spice, in case you’re curious).  Indeed they had my scent on sale and then some!  It goes without saying that Yankee Candle helped fight back the tears.

I made my way to the mall and parked and as I walked into the mall it occurred to me that maybe today was not such a great day for shopping at all.  A million children and their parents had also gone to the mall for Halloween festivities.  If one thing makes going to the mall an even more exciting occasion it’s a million clueless parents and their equally clueless children not paying any attention to anything other than themselves.  I walked as quickly as possible and in an attempt to get out of the crowds, and delay what was to come, I headed into NY & Co.  Admittedly, if one is to be pregnant now is a great time.  Tunics and leggings are all the rage and to be perfectly honest, if I could wear that same exact outfit every single day for the next 5 months I would.  In the end, and since I had a coupon thus deeming it irresponsible to not use it, I purchased a few tops that will hopefully make it through the pregnancy.

Finally, the inevitable was upon me.  I made my way through the throngs of trick-or-treaters and walked into Motherhood Maternity.  I didn’t immediately burst into tears as I suspected I might and my heart didn’t give out as I walked-in.  In fact, my newly self-diagnosed anxiety-induced asthma didn’t act up.  It was a very normal experience walking in.  The sales rep pointed me in the direction of the work appropriate pants and gave me some quick advice on what was what and left me to it.  I grabbed four pairs of pants and went into the dressing room which seemed to me to be a joke.  Their location alone wasn’t very private (no separate hallway off the store) and of all things the only “door” offered is a heavy curtain that in no way latches shut.  I suppose when they say that by the end of a pregnancy you’ve lost all sense of modesty they really mean it…and Motherhood Maternity is banking on that.  Naturally, the curtain doesn’t work very well especially when the only other woman who is in the store with her brood of 5 isn’t paying much attention as her young daughter throws back all of the dressing room curtains, including mine.  She was busy chit-chatting with the sales rep so it’s cool; I totally get it.  Mommy time is mommy time after all.  Everyone else can watch her kids.

In the end I walked out of the store with three new pairs of pants.  They all fit relatively well and other than the giant panel of stretchy material where my belly is they look normal.  As I left I asked the sales rep if there were any other stores that carried a maternity line.  She mentioned Target and Kohl’s.  To applaud myself for a job well done I ended up going to Target to see what they had.  Maybe she misunderstood me when I asked about maternity lines.  I must have needed to be more specific and asked if there are any other stores that carried more than one rack of maternity clothing.  OK.  Maybe I'm being mean.  They had about 4 racks of maternity clothing.  Not exactly a large selection.  As much as I love Target their giant red sign that reads “maternity” is horribly deceiving.  Also, might I add, placing the maternity “line” next to the plus size clothing does not help a pregnant woman’s already struggling body image issues.  And yes, I know, a pregnant woman is gaining weight because she’s pregnant so she shouldn’t have the same body issues a woman who struggles with her weight on a daily basis does.  In short, that’s just not true.  Besides, product placement is important and placing maternity clothing next to plus sized clothing is what’s called “poor product placement.”  One can even reverse my argument by saying that a woman who needs plus size clothing doesn’t want to inadvertently pick-up a piece of maternity clothing thus making her feel worse about herself.  It works both ways.

Well, as you can tell maternity clothing is quite a matter of contention with me right now.  In the end I’m still not sure if I’m ever going to enjoy wearing these clothes.  I’m sitting here right now in a pair of my new pants and while I can say that I’m more comfortable than I’ve been for a few weeks I’m constantly reminded of the fact they are maternity pants.  It could be the giant panel of fabric that reaches just shy of my breasts.  Or maybe it’s the “diaper butt,” bunched-up waist.  I can’t quite put my finger on just one hideous aspect.  What I do know is the house is probably going to be smelling and looking* a lot nicer since those items don’t have a “maternity” label on them.

*P.S. I may have neglected to mention my jaunt through the Target home goods section followed by a trip to Pier One.  What?  I had a coupon for 20% off!