Friends rule!

We just had a ten day visit “back East” to visit family and friends and I already wish I could do it again. I love my friends. I love my family too, but we can talk about them some other time. My real friends are amazing. They look at my new belly and smile but don’t make weird comments about it or look at it sneakily like I would scold them for doing so. They know they can partake in my new life. My real friends acknowledge how hard this must be for me, even if they really have no clue because they haven’t been there themselves. They ask how I’m doing and I know they mean in my heart, not in my uterus. Or if they mean my uterus then I can tell the difference because they make it clear. They want to see photos of Wyatt and tell me how excited they are for another Josephine baby. They don’t say things like “oh, I know you’re going to be fine this time” because that is not true nor does it make me feel better. They ask questions excitedly. They give good hugs. I am glad for my friends and I hope Nugget gets some just like them someday, although I’m not sure how anyone could be so lucky. 

and who doesn't love triplet bear cubs
in their parents' backyard?

More testing!

So I’ve started a weekly regimen of non-stress tests(NSTs). As far as tests go, I suppose they aren’t that stressful. However, I still  dread the day when, for whatever reason, they become stressful. But there’s nothing I can do about that day until it happens, so in the mean time I will tell you about my new friend the NST. My high-risk doctor friend recommended we start NST-time “at the time of your last loss,” and since I am now the most pregnant I have ever been we commence.

Basically, you lie down in an exam room and you get a giant elastic belt strapped around your ever-expanding belly. Then someone lubes up a big paddle which looks for the baby’s heartbeat. Said paddle is strapped underneath the aforementioned elastic. Baby’s heartbeat hopefully fills the room like a wild stallion stampede. You can zone out or listen, whatever you like. But you do have to push a button when you feel Baby move. If you see a doctor who has updated his equipment in the past 20 years then you a) probably have more high tech gadgets than I do and b) might even have an ultrasound do the button-pushing for you by visualizing the actual movements. A chart is automatically filled out which shows Baby’s movements and heartrate (it should go up as the nugget moves, naturally). If you are lucky, like me, Hubby comes and plays on his smartphone in the corner so you are not alone with the stallions and computer that reminds you of playing “Chopper” on a floppy-disk in 1^st grade. The doctor will check the chart after 10 minutes or so, and hopefully you can be on your way because all is well. Since Nugget passed its first test, this was our experience. I hope we can keep it up for 11 more weeks. At least this baby will get some practice and be able to own other babies at NSTs by then. 

The heartburn is back

I am sure I ranted about heartburn when I was pregnant with Wyatt. That was the first time in my life I had experienced such a lovely bodily reaction. It’s like bugs which are on fire are slowly crawling up your esophagus. Yum! I specifically remember driving across the country in our enormous U-Haul (+trailer), eating barbecue chips from the gas station and instantly regretting it. Except they’re so delicious, what’s a girl to do?

Anyway, it’s back with a vengeance. I’ve had to resort to medicine, avoid certain foods, elevate my sleeping position, and try all the tricks. But the bitch is still somewhat unpredictable! Luckily, Pepcid is on the list of “ok” medicines to take while incubating. And luckily, when I found this out, we had some generic Pepcid just waiting for me in the medicine drawer. The fact that we had such advanced science at our disposal (because normally we have absolutely no drugs available except for Walmart Nyquil)  is because of the dog’s mid-winter stomach troubles—just a bonus fun nugget of info for you there. Anyway, I welcome my friend heartburn because it means Baby2 is growing and doesn’t give a poo if it pushes all my organs around and makes that little doohickey in my belly open so the acid can do whatever it wants, including mimicking fire-bugs crawling their way to freedom. You do what you gotta do Baby. 

Super Doctor

She’s not really a super doctor, like some super hero or something, but her office is pretty super compared to our regular one. And she gives tons and tons of information, citing “the literature” and such. The ultrasound machine is pretty super too, but in the end that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we went back to the high-risk doc (she had the same old, brown, ski racing, hooded sweatshirt on) and all was well. Nugget was measuring exactly, to the day, as it should be. Nugget was moving all around. Nugget still had four heart chambers, two brain hemispheres, a full spine, all the necessary limbs and appendages, and even got the hiccups for us. Good job Nugget! I was told my heartburn medicine is acceptable, I can play golf if I want, and that there’s still no reason to think what happened “last time,” as they tend to say, should occur again.

Since I wanted to throw up on the drive over there, it was an extra good appointment. (Minus the 45 minute wait in the lobby with literally three copies of old Popular Mechanics issues and one pamphlet on menopause to read. And no windows.  But who’s complaining?). 

Mother's Day

What a drag.

The past few weeks have been Mother’s Day this and Mother’s Day that. Every store has some giant poster in the window, every restaurant and spa is offering some deal, everyone is worried they won’t do their mom justice with whatever gift they decide to give. I was more nervous about making it through the day then I actually had trouble once it was here because of this commercial mayhem. Silly build-up.

Unfortunately, in the frenzy, some mothers get forgotten. And some "motherless" children too—they’re sad too, don't forget them. Well, screw that. Happy Mother’s Day to ME. I got sunburned on a snowy hike with my brother, Hubby, and dog, had a Shirley temple while watching some basketball playoff game in a bar, ate gross nachos, and watched a few episodes of Jersey Shore. Maybe nobody was here to give me a present, but maybe someday there will be. That will have to be enough for now. 

Jealous Me vs. Excited Me

I have this problem with other pregnant people: I am super excited for them or I am super jealous of them. I know I’ve mentioned before that there doesn’t seem to be any rationale behind who gets which feeling directed at her; it changes even for the same people. So really I guess the problem isn’t that I have and recognize these emotions but rather than I can’t figure out when which one is going to strike. It’s very confusing. I’ve given up trying to predict how I am going to react though. That would be even worse to get all mixed up every time my mind and heart pulled a fast one on me.  

So here’s an example: there’s a baby shower coming up. Luckily, I had a great excuse to turn down the invitation (I’ll be across the country!) and I didn’t have to spend any time agonizing over my decision and then agonizing over how to share that decision (because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have gone). So, this pregnant lady made me jealous of planning a shower and all the excitement people are having over the afternoon, the registry, and blah blah blah. I’m jealous because I can’t do it, I just can’t. I’m jealous because she gets to be normal about it. I’m jealous because everyone gets to share in her joy and anticipation. I’m not mad at her, just jealous. A little green, if you will. At the same time however, I can enthusiastically and happily and giddily shop for this mama-to-be. Oh yes. It doesn’t seem fair to my wallet now does it? But I spent some time considering the registry options (judging some of the choices, naturally), and I spent even more time perusing the racks at the Carter’s outlet store and making the book-page that was requested as part of one big shower gift. Baby girls’ clothes are way more fun to shop for than gender-neutral-surprise clothes. As a Leo, I am supposed to enjoy giving to other people anyway (I think). But it’s funny, that this shower can make my heart race in trepidation yet allow me a fun afternoon in the mall at the same time. Hmm. 

The Big Nursery Purchase

When you think of a baby nursery, I can guarantee you don’t think of what we have in store for this little Joey. Currently, this second bedroom is Hubby’s office and ski storage area as well as a place for my photo albums, arts and crafts supplies, and a bulletin board where I hang random things I need to remember but never look at. Stuff sits precariously on a too-skinny bookshelf which, I just noticed, is propped up on the uneven carpet with a folded piece of paper. There’s also a crappy old, stained, sea-foam colored swivel chair from approximately 1983; I’m not sure how this got from New England to Colorado but I vaguely remember my father refusing to deal with it otherwise when helping us pack the U-Haul. We do have a small red-painted dresser salvaged from my parents’ flooded basement and passed on to us as cute little baby furniture. It’s been collecting cloth diapers and dust, but not much else as we cautiously navigate Baby #2’s potential imminence. Hub’s clothes, ski passes, important legal documents, coffee mugs, and other detritus litter the floor. About once a week I walk by and notice the mayhem, so I ask dear old Hubby if he is going to clean up “his room.” Sometimes he does. I suppose he’s saving a good cleaning for “some day” when we might actually get to use this second bedroom as, well, a second bedroom.

Exhibit A
(except ours has a baby-saving rim
around the edge because it's awesome)

I am starting to believe, a little, that that day will come. Exhibit A: the changing table I bought on craigslist. Yes, it is used, yes, it was only $50, yes, it is a combination dresser so if we don’t actually get to change poopy messes on it it won’t be so glaringly obvious and sad and lonely and can still be used as something…but a changing table it is. First, I wavered on going to check it out. Then, I wavered on buying it. When I finally bit the bullet, handing over the cash, I felt unexpectedly elated. I was making future plans! I even made the couple selling it load it into my car because I’m pregnant and pregnant ladies don’t have to lift stuff and get to make other people do it. Sure, it then sat in the corner of the room, facing the wrong way for a week and a half before we did anything with it, but yesterday, when we moved it and unloaded diaper-stockpile-madness onto it, we loved it. And even today I love it still. It’s scratched, and needs a pad and all kinds of accoutrements, but it’s there. That has to count for something, right?