Almost before my first trimester was over, I had scoured the internet
and bookstores for information on pregnancy. I like to know what
information is out there and I like to read a lot of it to see all the
different perspectives. One "piece of advice" that came up time and time
again was to "remember you're not eating for TWO! You only need about
300 extra calories a day!" This advice always came, without fail, with
an example of what these three hundred extra calories would look like:
"that's the equivalent of a small bagel - WITHOUT cream cheese!" or "that's only a small apple and a piece of whole-wheat toast - NO BUTTER".
Maybe it's something about the way that this advice always felt so criticizing, as if pregnant women were so stupid that they needed to be told in the most basic terms that food, surprise, has calories.
I'm not saying that we, as a human population, don't have problems with estimating portion sizes and the amount of calories in a meal or snack. I am saying that the way to teach someone about portion sizes is not to wait until they are at their most emotionally vulnerable (aka being pregnant and hormonal and probably seeing numbers on their scale that they don't want to) and then start shouting about how many calories are in that bagel they ate for lunch. And don't forget to use all-caps when you assure this hypothetical pregnant woman that this calorie count is WITHOUT cream cheese. God help you if you added cream cheese to that bagel.
I don't know. At first I thought it just bothered me because it felt criticizing. I tried to rationalize it. I thought to myself, well, maybe a lot of women see being pregnant as a time when they really can eat anything and maybe we need to address that somehow.
But, no. Not like that.
While it is important to know that pregnancy doesn't require more than 200-400ish extra calories (depending on the individual person and the pregnancy), there's no reason we need to be so critical. I would argue that 90% of the reason that most women feel like they can eat anything while they're pregnant is because being pregnant is the only time in their entire lives that they feel like they don't have to be hyperaware of what they are eating and it is the only time in their lives that they feel like they can just enjoy what they eat.
As women, we spend a lot of time thinking about what we eat, and how much of it we should eat, and how much society will hate us if we eat the wrong amount of the "wrong" stuff. Aren't there always studies coming out about the high percentage of teenaged girls who say they need to lose weight and who say they have dieted within the last few months? Isn't it obvious that we are messing up girl's minds?
So then we have a problem. On the one hand, we need to fix society somehow and work towards having a healthy relationship with food. In the meantime, what do we do with this condescending eating advice for pregnant women?
This is the part where, if I were a smarter person, I would lay out a solution. I don't really have a solution.
Healthy eating (and living) starts with a simple concept - eat less and move more. Be mindful of what you eat and make an effort to move around during the day. And then it gets complicated by foods that taste really good but have a ridiculous amount of calories and by social norms and by entire industries (beauty, food, diet, etc) that might not have our best interests at heart. It gets complicated by the fact that each person will respond a little bit differently to the information they hear.
I do feel that if we could start with a healthier relationship with food, pregnancy might not be viewed as the only time that a person can "cheat" on their life-long diet.
With that in mind, I'd love to hear your opinion on whether or not I'm overreacting! Smiley says I might be reading just a bit too much into everything. I'm always game to hear what other people think!
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Friday, September 13, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Something Beautiful
Some will call me crazy and some will understand. There is something so beautiful about being pregnant and having a baby that it occasionally makes me speechless, overwhelmed by emotions stronger than I ever remember feeling. I realize it is like those moments where Silas smiles and becomes so happy that he has to look away or put his head down to deal with the raw emotion of the situation, and I rejoice that I get to feel this sort of intense emotion that perhaps I once felt as a new baby myself.
As Silas grows and begins to regulate his emotions, I wonder when I will stop seeing his raw reactions and start seeing his calculated responses.
I've been taking my pre-requisite classes to eventually become a nurse and then from there, to become a nurse midwife and I know that then I will be able to connect with women who feel as I do about pregnancy and birth and I will be able to help them feel confident in their ability to be pregnant and give birth. I know every woman is different and I don't expect every person to feel like I do! How boring life would be if everyone felt the same! But I do look forward to having a job that will ensure I work with people who feel similarly to me.
As Silas grows and begins to regulate his emotions, I wonder when I will stop seeing his raw reactions and start seeing his calculated responses.
I've been taking my pre-requisite classes to eventually become a nurse and then from there, to become a nurse midwife and I know that then I will be able to connect with women who feel as I do about pregnancy and birth and I will be able to help them feel confident in their ability to be pregnant and give birth. I know every woman is different and I don't expect every person to feel like I do! How boring life would be if everyone felt the same! But I do look forward to having a job that will ensure I work with people who feel similarly to me.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Waiting
I can't log on to my college website because my account is apparently locked. I can't log on to my college email to email someone about why I can't log on to my college website because I apparently am using the wrong password. If I try to reset the password, it loops me back to the college website. I might pull my hair out in frustration, but probably not; Silas does such a good job pulling out my hair if I forget to braid it that I don't really have much left to pull myself.
When I was pregnant, I could wear most of my clothes for the first few months, about half of my clothes for the next few, and then about three outfits until I gave birth. I looked forward to having variety in my wardrobe again, but somehow I guess I forgot about the next year or so that I planned to breastfeed. Having my desk next to my closet is this huge reminder of all the different outfits I can't wear for convenience sake. Part of me keeps wanting to just box everything up and donate it, and another part keeps saying "hey at least after you're done having kids and breastfeeding (figure six to eight years but don't put anything in stone), those clothes will be there and you won't have to spend any money on a new wardrobe. And, with any luck, fashion will have rotated through enough styles that maybe everything will be retro-fabulous."
If I didn't mention it before, Silas is actually teething with his second tooth and MIGHT be leading in to a third tooth (although I'm going to assume I'm just imagining teeth at this point because I can't deal with all of these teeth right now), so he has a horrible case of The Sad. The Sad is diagnosed by a sudden predisposition to random fits of inconsolable crying and a good dose of breaking his mommy's heart. Luckily, I've found that a steady regimen of hugs, sit/stand practice and baby stretches and massage seem to make it better for him. I've also found that he stalwartly refuses to teeth on any so-called "teething devices," preferring instead to gum down on anything else; the cloth part of a toy, his sleeves, my finger, my shoulder, anybody's shoulder, he really likes shoulders for some reason, and his blanket.
In any case, he's down for a nap now, so I have to use my remaining five minutes or so to maybe fold laundry while studying flash cards. Crappy website or not, I'm still going to learn the crap out of Anatomy and Physiology.
When I was pregnant, I could wear most of my clothes for the first few months, about half of my clothes for the next few, and then about three outfits until I gave birth. I looked forward to having variety in my wardrobe again, but somehow I guess I forgot about the next year or so that I planned to breastfeed. Having my desk next to my closet is this huge reminder of all the different outfits I can't wear for convenience sake. Part of me keeps wanting to just box everything up and donate it, and another part keeps saying "hey at least after you're done having kids and breastfeeding (figure six to eight years but don't put anything in stone), those clothes will be there and you won't have to spend any money on a new wardrobe. And, with any luck, fashion will have rotated through enough styles that maybe everything will be retro-fabulous."
If I didn't mention it before, Silas is actually teething with his second tooth and MIGHT be leading in to a third tooth (although I'm going to assume I'm just imagining teeth at this point because I can't deal with all of these teeth right now), so he has a horrible case of The Sad. The Sad is diagnosed by a sudden predisposition to random fits of inconsolable crying and a good dose of breaking his mommy's heart. Luckily, I've found that a steady regimen of hugs, sit/stand practice and baby stretches and massage seem to make it better for him. I've also found that he stalwartly refuses to teeth on any so-called "teething devices," preferring instead to gum down on anything else; the cloth part of a toy, his sleeves, my finger, my shoulder, anybody's shoulder, he really likes shoulders for some reason, and his blanket.
In any case, he's down for a nap now, so I have to use my remaining five minutes or so to maybe fold laundry while studying flash cards. Crappy website or not, I'm still going to learn the crap out of Anatomy and Physiology.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Silas's Birth Story
Well, it's just over a month out now, and I still haven't posted anything here as a birth story. I think I'll do that now.
The last few weeks of my pregnancy were the worst part of being pregnant. Though I don't recall it quite as clearly as when I was there, I remember texting my mom almost daily to complain about pain. I had sciatic pain and my right leg would often be the recipient of the shooting pains while I was sitting down.
I was also uncomfortable in general. Sitting, standing and sleeping took a special effort and walking had dissolved into a light shamble. Ok, fine, it was a heavy shamble.
However, as September rounded the corner and me with a due date of 9/24/12, I knew I had to be patient in waiting for my little baby.
At Smiley's workplace, his coworkers were telling him to expect me to go late; as a general rule, first time moms tend to give birth at 41w1d or something along those lines. Don't quote me. But the important part is, they go late. I think we both started mentally psyching ourselves up for that.
At my workplace, my coworkers were convinced that I would go early. Coworkers I hadn't known well would stop and ask if I were alright as I tried gamely to shamble from desk to bathroom and back again several times a day. I assured everyone they would be seeing me until September 24th or longer, if needed. They laughed.
The last few weeks of my pregnancy were the worst part of being pregnant. Though I don't recall it quite as clearly as when I was there, I remember texting my mom almost daily to complain about pain. I had sciatic pain and my right leg would often be the recipient of the shooting pains while I was sitting down.
I was also uncomfortable in general. Sitting, standing and sleeping took a special effort and walking had dissolved into a light shamble. Ok, fine, it was a heavy shamble.
However, as September rounded the corner and me with a due date of 9/24/12, I knew I had to be patient in waiting for my little baby.
At Smiley's workplace, his coworkers were telling him to expect me to go late; as a general rule, first time moms tend to give birth at 41w1d or something along those lines. Don't quote me. But the important part is, they go late. I think we both started mentally psyching ourselves up for that.
At my workplace, my coworkers were convinced that I would go early. Coworkers I hadn't known well would stop and ask if I were alright as I tried gamely to shamble from desk to bathroom and back again several times a day. I assured everyone they would be seeing me until September 24th or longer, if needed. They laughed.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
More sleep deprivation madness!
Let's start off with some Yooper humor... otherwise known as, I have no clue if this is funny to anyone unfamiliar with the UP.
You may or may not have heard of a tale of a whale written many a year ago. It is called "Moby Dick." My full disclaimer is that I have never read this book. I only know the first line of the novel, and that's only if my teacher wasn't lying to us.
For reasons unknown to my brain, the first line of that novel will often pop into my head when I'm trying to relax and concentrate on things that are not bills or spit up.
Except, last night, while I was trying to take a 15 minute nap, I kept misremembering the line as:
"Call me Ishpeming."
Um. Yeah. Hilarious, right?
In other news, I want to have another baby. I mean, like right now. I'm pretty sure this is also the sleep deprivation talking. But the way I'm looking at it is, I'm already really tired. How much more tired could I possibly be with another pregnancy and another kid?
My brain is all up on the rationalization of this, reminding me only of the easy parts of my pregnancy - I didn't throw up except once, the second trimester was easy, and I went into labor three weeks early and ended up with a healthy baby. Women everywhere are telling me I look great for having just given birth and it's going to my head.
CLEARLY, this all indicates that I should totally get knocked up again. Luckily for me, Smiley, though he is as tired as I am, is a bit more logical about this all. He's there to remind me of the countless nights that I woke up, sore and uncomfortable and desperately searching for my lost bottle of tums. He can remind me how in the first trimester, all I did was sleep and how I wouldn't be able to do that while taking care of Silas.
And then I say, yes, I understand. These are all valid points and I vaguely remember the discomfort of trying to walk in the third trimester. And then I look at Silas and at his tiny socks and tiny diapers and logical Dani is completely replaced by tired-and-hormonal Dani and I want to have another baby RIGHT NOW.
Never mind that I remember clearly stating that I wanted to wait at least 2 years as to space out our children as I figured it would be really tough on my body to go through back to back pregnancies. Forget about the copious amounts of shambling that I participated in those last few months. Even the fact that I sat down to write this post around 10:30 am, and then had to feed Silas at about 11am and that when I finished feeding him, burping him, and changing his diaper (it took about an hour all in all), he started to root around again in hunger.
So if you notice a crazy gleam in my eye, just know that there is a large part of me this moment that wants to have another baby and maybe you could take a minute to dissuade me from this madness! From these tiny socks! From the cutest expressions I've ever seen on a little baby and the cutest noises! Oh, madness. I am overcome.
You may or may not have heard of a tale of a whale written many a year ago. It is called "Moby Dick." My full disclaimer is that I have never read this book. I only know the first line of the novel, and that's only if my teacher wasn't lying to us.
For reasons unknown to my brain, the first line of that novel will often pop into my head when I'm trying to relax and concentrate on things that are not bills or spit up.
Except, last night, while I was trying to take a 15 minute nap, I kept misremembering the line as:
"Call me Ishpeming."
Um. Yeah. Hilarious, right?
In other news, I want to have another baby. I mean, like right now. I'm pretty sure this is also the sleep deprivation talking. But the way I'm looking at it is, I'm already really tired. How much more tired could I possibly be with another pregnancy and another kid?
My brain is all up on the rationalization of this, reminding me only of the easy parts of my pregnancy - I didn't throw up except once, the second trimester was easy, and I went into labor three weeks early and ended up with a healthy baby. Women everywhere are telling me I look great for having just given birth and it's going to my head.
CLEARLY, this all indicates that I should totally get knocked up again. Luckily for me, Smiley, though he is as tired as I am, is a bit more logical about this all. He's there to remind me of the countless nights that I woke up, sore and uncomfortable and desperately searching for my lost bottle of tums. He can remind me how in the first trimester, all I did was sleep and how I wouldn't be able to do that while taking care of Silas.
And then I say, yes, I understand. These are all valid points and I vaguely remember the discomfort of trying to walk in the third trimester. And then I look at Silas and at his tiny socks and tiny diapers and logical Dani is completely replaced by tired-and-hormonal Dani and I want to have another baby RIGHT NOW.
Never mind that I remember clearly stating that I wanted to wait at least 2 years as to space out our children as I figured it would be really tough on my body to go through back to back pregnancies. Forget about the copious amounts of shambling that I participated in those last few months. Even the fact that I sat down to write this post around 10:30 am, and then had to feed Silas at about 11am and that when I finished feeding him, burping him, and changing his diaper (it took about an hour all in all), he started to root around again in hunger.
So if you notice a crazy gleam in my eye, just know that there is a large part of me this moment that wants to have another baby and maybe you could take a minute to dissuade me from this madness! From these tiny socks! From the cutest expressions I've ever seen on a little baby and the cutest noises! Oh, madness. I am overcome.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
11 work days until maternity leave!
It's not that I'm counting down the days to my maternity leave because I hate my job or anything - heck, despite what my paperwork says, I'll be doing my best to show up at work until I'm giving birth so that I don't miss a day with my (guaranteed to be adorable) baby.
But that aside, I am counting down the days I have left until my maternity leave because, well, sitting in an office all day really hurts. I feel for all pregnant women who have to work until their due date or as late as possible or however they do it. Whether you're standing all day or sitting all day, there is just a lot of pain involved.
(By the by, if you're a pregnant woman who worked on your feet or sat all day and didn't have pain, please share all your secrets.)
I've found that the best way to deal with the random back pain, sciatic pain and general achiness is a good combination of movement, sitting, and standing. I've also found that coworkers look at me weirdly when I randomly half jump out of my chair when the baby kicks (or punches?) me in the sciatic nerve. And I've further found that if you shamble your way to the bathroom enough times in a day, people will start asking you if you only have a week left and make apologetic sounds when you assure them that you have until the end of the month, and that's IF he decides to come on time.
Which, coincidentally, he won't, because he's going to be stubborn like his dad.
And his mom.
Still, I can't help but hope that his little baby lungs are getting all matured up in there, because I am really tired of complaining about my pain to anyone kind enough to ask how I'm feeling. I'm trying hard at this point to be a model pregnant woman, capable of doing anything and feeling great, but it's not working.
And I know for a fact that being complain-y in a non-humorous way (see above) will not get me internet famous, so I'm going to go lie down.
But that aside, I am counting down the days I have left until my maternity leave because, well, sitting in an office all day really hurts. I feel for all pregnant women who have to work until their due date or as late as possible or however they do it. Whether you're standing all day or sitting all day, there is just a lot of pain involved.
(By the by, if you're a pregnant woman who worked on your feet or sat all day and didn't have pain, please share all your secrets.)
I've found that the best way to deal with the random back pain, sciatic pain and general achiness is a good combination of movement, sitting, and standing. I've also found that coworkers look at me weirdly when I randomly half jump out of my chair when the baby kicks (or punches?) me in the sciatic nerve. And I've further found that if you shamble your way to the bathroom enough times in a day, people will start asking you if you only have a week left and make apologetic sounds when you assure them that you have until the end of the month, and that's IF he decides to come on time.
Which, coincidentally, he won't, because he's going to be stubborn like his dad.
And his mom.
Still, I can't help but hope that his little baby lungs are getting all matured up in there, because I am really tired of complaining about my pain to anyone kind enough to ask how I'm feeling. I'm trying hard at this point to be a model pregnant woman, capable of doing anything and feeling great, but it's not working.
And I know for a fact that being complain-y in a non-humorous way (see above) will not get me internet famous, so I'm going to go lie down.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
"Just wear your husband's clothes"
So when people approach buying maternity clothes, it's usually with an attitude of "well, yes, it would be great to have a whole new super-stylish pregnancy wardrobe but unfortunately I don't have all of the money in the world." This gives ways to tips on how to make the most out of what you have, how to buy super-versatile pieces and almost always, the tip to "raid your husband's wardrobe."
I just don't get that last one. Unless I'm missing something here, becoming pregnant does not change your body in such a way that you become more like a man. For example, most women I know are anywhere from a few inches to a lot of inches shorter than their husbands. Which means that their husbands are wearing shirts that are several inches longer, but not just in the stomach area that maternity clothes would be. In all the areas. So the shoulder seams are farther down, the arm holes open farther down, nothing works.
Or maybe your husband is the same-ish height as you. But now, that still won't work. If he's slightly bigger than you, his shirts probably won't be cut to accommodate a growing belly and bosum. If he's larger than you, his shirts might fit you in the belly and the chest, but the sleeves are going to be a hilarious mismatched, awkwardly bunched up piece of fabric, with the shoulder seams probably hanging down past your shoulders.
But, I will say I did find one article of clothing I can borrow from my husband - his undershirts. He has some extra long tank tops. The tank top stretches a little awkwardly on the bottom (I'm getting around this by using a black one so the shadowing isn't too noticeable) and the cut is still not designed for women, but it's comfortable. Still, it's hardly the money-saving, wardrobe-stretching tip that's this one's made out to be.
So I guess someone must have had success with this at least once for it to continue to be a thing. Tell me about it.
I just don't get that last one. Unless I'm missing something here, becoming pregnant does not change your body in such a way that you become more like a man. For example, most women I know are anywhere from a few inches to a lot of inches shorter than their husbands. Which means that their husbands are wearing shirts that are several inches longer, but not just in the stomach area that maternity clothes would be. In all the areas. So the shoulder seams are farther down, the arm holes open farther down, nothing works.
Or maybe your husband is the same-ish height as you. But now, that still won't work. If he's slightly bigger than you, his shirts probably won't be cut to accommodate a growing belly and bosum. If he's larger than you, his shirts might fit you in the belly and the chest, but the sleeves are going to be a hilarious mismatched, awkwardly bunched up piece of fabric, with the shoulder seams probably hanging down past your shoulders.
But, I will say I did find one article of clothing I can borrow from my husband - his undershirts. He has some extra long tank tops. The tank top stretches a little awkwardly on the bottom (I'm getting around this by using a black one so the shadowing isn't too noticeable) and the cut is still not designed for women, but it's comfortable. Still, it's hardly the money-saving, wardrobe-stretching tip that's this one's made out to be.
So I guess someone must have had success with this at least once for it to continue to be a thing. Tell me about it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Well apparently I hit the walking limit
You know, I've heard a lot of stories about moms-to-be in their third trimester who run whole marathons and such, but I've never actually seen it. After today, I know I won't be anywhere near that group of women.
Ever since the end of the first trimester, when I was finally able to pick myself off of the couch and not fall asleep the moment I got home from work, I've been incorporating walking as my basic form of exercise. Certainly, I've done some small amount of yoga here and there, but (and don't laugh, because I know how pathetic this is), I've kept my goal of walking for at least 10 minutes a day.
Some days, I've even walked for 15 minutes!
So you can imagine my surprise when today, after walking for about 12 minutes, I headed back inside to my work building and quite suddenly couldn't walk any more. It was as though my hips and legs had revolted against movement and decided that they preferred to stay put. I sort of limp-walked my way to a small table in the seating area between the two cafes in the building and pretended like I had to check a cell phone message. I tried to stretch my legs a little, covertly. Which is kind of hard to do sitting down with a dress on, so that didn't accomplish much.
I shifted my hips back and forth a few times, but the pain wasn't letting up. I was coming to the end of my lunch break and had to get back to my desk, so I stood up, using the table as leverage and plastering a strained smile on my face.
If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is showing weakness to people I don't know. This burst of contrariness got me down the hallway into the sectioned off area for my department. Inside this area, there was no one, and my legs automatically knew it. They froze up stiff again, and I leaned against the wall as I shuffled forward in a motion some may refer to as... shambling.
Once I turned the corner, there were people in view again and so I switched to taking the smallest steps I could, as slowly as I could. I tried to assume an air of nonchalance, as if I always shambled to my desk like this. No one seemed to look, or care. I got to my desk and gripped the armrests as I lowered myself into the chair.
Then I needed to use the bathroom.
I took a deep breath and waited as long as I could before I absolutely had to get up. Sadly, sitting down for a half hour didn't provide me with much relief, and I began to shamble my way towards the bathroom. One of my coworkers looked up at me and asked if I was alright.
"You never move that slow!" she said. "Are you feeling ok?"
I laughed and sort of shrugged as I told her that my legs were just a little stiff today. She seemed to agree that this was reasonable and went back to her work. I got to the bathroom and then, outside of the view of coworkers, my legs froze up again.
Luckily, it wasn't that hard to basically throw myself in the direction of a bathroom stall, take care of business and lurch across the way to the sink. It was just the thought of walking back to my desk seemed overwhelming beyond belief.
I tried to stretch my legs gently, using the sink to balance against. Nothing seemed to help much though, and I started to entertain how I was going to explain to my supervisor that I needed to go home because I couldn't move. How would I leave the bathroom to tell her? Why had I parked across the parking lot like I do every day? Would I have to ask a coworker to bring my car around for me?
Another coworker came into the bathroom and the knowledge that someone might know I was in pain spurred me forward to the door and I seized that burst of energy to make it through the door and back towards my desk. Once back in my chair, I didn't get up again until it was time to go home. Sadly, my legs had not magically healed and my hips still felt like pain.
Still, I managed to make my way down the stairs and out into the parking lot, where I then shuffled oh-so-slowly across the whole damn lot to get to my car. How could I have not predicted that today I would hurt myself walking and that I should have parked right outside the staircase? How could I have been so foolish as to think that I would be able to walk across the parking lot today, like I have every other day this week? I cursed my stupidity and trust me, I had a lot of time to do so, because I had to stop every twenty feet or so to regroup.
Once I got to my car, getting in and driving wasn't too bad. In fact, the overheated leather seats actually felt a little bit nice. Since I've been home, I've been trying to gently stretch out with my yoga ball but it wasn't doing that much to help, so I gave up and shambled over to my desk to write a really long, whiny post about how much my stupid legs hurt.
What bugs me the most is that I didn't do anything any more strenuous than I've done as recently as yesterday! And I have been walking daily so it's not like I suddenly decided to add exercise and then overdid it. I'm currently imagining how I'm going to deal with work tomorrow if my legs don't get their act together and I'm really, once again, amazingly impressed with not only the marathon-running pregnant ladies, but the ones who have jobs where they are on their feet all day long.
I remember back when I worked at Jewel that one of the cashiers was expecting, and she worked until the week she went into labor. She made it look practically effortless and I just can't imagine how at this point.
Well, that's enough complaining for one day. For a week, really. But we'll see.
Ever since the end of the first trimester, when I was finally able to pick myself off of the couch and not fall asleep the moment I got home from work, I've been incorporating walking as my basic form of exercise. Certainly, I've done some small amount of yoga here and there, but (and don't laugh, because I know how pathetic this is), I've kept my goal of walking for at least 10 minutes a day.
Some days, I've even walked for 15 minutes!
So you can imagine my surprise when today, after walking for about 12 minutes, I headed back inside to my work building and quite suddenly couldn't walk any more. It was as though my hips and legs had revolted against movement and decided that they preferred to stay put. I sort of limp-walked my way to a small table in the seating area between the two cafes in the building and pretended like I had to check a cell phone message. I tried to stretch my legs a little, covertly. Which is kind of hard to do sitting down with a dress on, so that didn't accomplish much.
I shifted my hips back and forth a few times, but the pain wasn't letting up. I was coming to the end of my lunch break and had to get back to my desk, so I stood up, using the table as leverage and plastering a strained smile on my face.
If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is showing weakness to people I don't know. This burst of contrariness got me down the hallway into the sectioned off area for my department. Inside this area, there was no one, and my legs automatically knew it. They froze up stiff again, and I leaned against the wall as I shuffled forward in a motion some may refer to as... shambling.
Once I turned the corner, there were people in view again and so I switched to taking the smallest steps I could, as slowly as I could. I tried to assume an air of nonchalance, as if I always shambled to my desk like this. No one seemed to look, or care. I got to my desk and gripped the armrests as I lowered myself into the chair.
Then I needed to use the bathroom.
I took a deep breath and waited as long as I could before I absolutely had to get up. Sadly, sitting down for a half hour didn't provide me with much relief, and I began to shamble my way towards the bathroom. One of my coworkers looked up at me and asked if I was alright.
"You never move that slow!" she said. "Are you feeling ok?"
I laughed and sort of shrugged as I told her that my legs were just a little stiff today. She seemed to agree that this was reasonable and went back to her work. I got to the bathroom and then, outside of the view of coworkers, my legs froze up again.
Luckily, it wasn't that hard to basically throw myself in the direction of a bathroom stall, take care of business and lurch across the way to the sink. It was just the thought of walking back to my desk seemed overwhelming beyond belief.
I tried to stretch my legs gently, using the sink to balance against. Nothing seemed to help much though, and I started to entertain how I was going to explain to my supervisor that I needed to go home because I couldn't move. How would I leave the bathroom to tell her? Why had I parked across the parking lot like I do every day? Would I have to ask a coworker to bring my car around for me?
Another coworker came into the bathroom and the knowledge that someone might know I was in pain spurred me forward to the door and I seized that burst of energy to make it through the door and back towards my desk. Once back in my chair, I didn't get up again until it was time to go home. Sadly, my legs had not magically healed and my hips still felt like pain.
Still, I managed to make my way down the stairs and out into the parking lot, where I then shuffled oh-so-slowly across the whole damn lot to get to my car. How could I have not predicted that today I would hurt myself walking and that I should have parked right outside the staircase? How could I have been so foolish as to think that I would be able to walk across the parking lot today, like I have every other day this week? I cursed my stupidity and trust me, I had a lot of time to do so, because I had to stop every twenty feet or so to regroup.
Once I got to my car, getting in and driving wasn't too bad. In fact, the overheated leather seats actually felt a little bit nice. Since I've been home, I've been trying to gently stretch out with my yoga ball but it wasn't doing that much to help, so I gave up and shambled over to my desk to write a really long, whiny post about how much my stupid legs hurt.
What bugs me the most is that I didn't do anything any more strenuous than I've done as recently as yesterday! And I have been walking daily so it's not like I suddenly decided to add exercise and then overdid it. I'm currently imagining how I'm going to deal with work tomorrow if my legs don't get their act together and I'm really, once again, amazingly impressed with not only the marathon-running pregnant ladies, but the ones who have jobs where they are on their feet all day long.
I remember back when I worked at Jewel that one of the cashiers was expecting, and she worked until the week she went into labor. She made it look practically effortless and I just can't imagine how at this point.
Well, that's enough complaining for one day. For a week, really. But we'll see.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Paying Bills Makes Me Feel Alive
Very recently (like, one week ago), my husband and I decided that maybe he should handle paying bills for awhile. Today, I crumbled and scheduled our bill payments for the beginning of the months and planned our payments for our student loans.
I don't know what it is. Bills, on the one hand, make me sad. I don't like paying away money each month. But it's not hard to understand that they are a requirement if I want the lights to stay on and if I want to be able to blog from the comfort of my a/c-cooled, internet-capable home.
So since bills have to be paid, I like to view them as a puzzle, based around what we need to pay each month and what we'd like to get each month. Sometimes, it's a stressful puzzle when unexpected needs suddenly mount up. Sometimes, it's really enjoyable because through hard work and careful planning, we make up for those unexpected needs.
Also, I should probably mention that I keep a spreadsheet with all the payment information. It might be said that I enjoy spreadsheets. One time, I made a spreadsheet designed to show the value of various pizza brands and sizes per square inch. (We ended up buying a 30" pizza and that was our lunch and dinner for a week. Value is not always glamorous).
With a baby on the way, though, each month brings us closer to having financial responsibility for another human being and budgeting doesn't seem fun, but scary. Getting close to - or going over - our goals, whether weekly, monthly or yearly, is stressful in a way that it never has been before.
I cried one time because although I had budgeted for a bill, I had forgotten to actually pay it. It wasn't late at this point. I just didn't pay it on the time schedule that I usually stuck to, and I had been so excited to see our bank account staying at a high number - until I realized that number was due to a distinct lack of paying a bill.
So last week, my husband suggested that perhaps he should take care of the bills for awhile. Being that I can see how ridiculous it is to cry over a bill that did not break our budget and was not late and did not incur any late fees, I agreed.
But then I started to wonder. How would I know when to enter items on the spreadsheet? I know my husband wouldn't be worried about it, but I really like having data to analyze. I love being able to say with confidence what we spent at the grocery store each month.
And I mean, yeah, I was stressed about the partially forgotten bill from the other week, but that was a week ago, and I was more stressed wondering which payments my husband would choose to schedule when and from which accounts and then I wouldn't know which card to use to pay for groceries and I needed to buy groceries today so...
...today I crumbled and paid our bills and well, it felt great.
I might be addicted to managing finances.
I don't know what it is. Bills, on the one hand, make me sad. I don't like paying away money each month. But it's not hard to understand that they are a requirement if I want the lights to stay on and if I want to be able to blog from the comfort of my a/c-cooled, internet-capable home.
So since bills have to be paid, I like to view them as a puzzle, based around what we need to pay each month and what we'd like to get each month. Sometimes, it's a stressful puzzle when unexpected needs suddenly mount up. Sometimes, it's really enjoyable because through hard work and careful planning, we make up for those unexpected needs.
Also, I should probably mention that I keep a spreadsheet with all the payment information. It might be said that I enjoy spreadsheets. One time, I made a spreadsheet designed to show the value of various pizza brands and sizes per square inch. (We ended up buying a 30" pizza and that was our lunch and dinner for a week. Value is not always glamorous).
With a baby on the way, though, each month brings us closer to having financial responsibility for another human being and budgeting doesn't seem fun, but scary. Getting close to - or going over - our goals, whether weekly, monthly or yearly, is stressful in a way that it never has been before.
I cried one time because although I had budgeted for a bill, I had forgotten to actually pay it. It wasn't late at this point. I just didn't pay it on the time schedule that I usually stuck to, and I had been so excited to see our bank account staying at a high number - until I realized that number was due to a distinct lack of paying a bill.
So last week, my husband suggested that perhaps he should take care of the bills for awhile. Being that I can see how ridiculous it is to cry over a bill that did not break our budget and was not late and did not incur any late fees, I agreed.
But then I started to wonder. How would I know when to enter items on the spreadsheet? I know my husband wouldn't be worried about it, but I really like having data to analyze. I love being able to say with confidence what we spent at the grocery store each month.
And I mean, yeah, I was stressed about the partially forgotten bill from the other week, but that was a week ago, and I was more stressed wondering which payments my husband would choose to schedule when and from which accounts and then I wouldn't know which card to use to pay for groceries and I needed to buy groceries today so...
...today I crumbled and paid our bills and well, it felt great.
I might be addicted to managing finances.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Being pregnant in Florida in the summer pretty much sucks
The other day, our power was knocked out when yet another neighbor's tree fell on the lines across the street and even though it was the evening and our house was staying roughly around 80 degrees, I was so blasted uncomfortable. Frustrating!
So instead of being hyper aware of food cravings, I've actually had a location craving since then. I desperately wish that I could be up in Michigan, vacationing on Lake Superior. You might know how when you have a craving for a certain kind of food, nothing else seems like it will make do? That's what this feels like. I find myself fantasizing about getting into the car and starting to drive and then magically being there.
I remember the summer Smiley and I got married, we went up to Michigan with my family for our "honeymoon." The weather was a little chilly a couple of the days and of course Lake Superior was extra cold, but I recall it being nice.
Mostly, I recall people complaining about the humidity. At the time, I'd been living in Florida for just over half a year. I was honestly surprised by how much of a difference it made for me. I felt like I could actually breathe the air outside in Michigan. That I could walk outside and not instantly hate life.
...
Sorry, I just had to go glance at a few pictures of the snowbanks that pile up during the winter. I was about to lose my mind or something.
But the idea of going vacation up in Michigan for a few weeks right now? That sounds absolutely wonderful.
So instead of being hyper aware of food cravings, I've actually had a location craving since then. I desperately wish that I could be up in Michigan, vacationing on Lake Superior. You might know how when you have a craving for a certain kind of food, nothing else seems like it will make do? That's what this feels like. I find myself fantasizing about getting into the car and starting to drive and then magically being there.
I remember the summer Smiley and I got married, we went up to Michigan with my family for our "honeymoon." The weather was a little chilly a couple of the days and of course Lake Superior was extra cold, but I recall it being nice.
Mostly, I recall people complaining about the humidity. At the time, I'd been living in Florida for just over half a year. I was honestly surprised by how much of a difference it made for me. I felt like I could actually breathe the air outside in Michigan. That I could walk outside and not instantly hate life.
...
Sorry, I just had to go glance at a few pictures of the snowbanks that pile up during the winter. I was about to lose my mind or something.
But the idea of going vacation up in Michigan for a few weeks right now? That sounds absolutely wonderful.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
I know it's cliche, but it happened
Today I had to get a bit of dental work done. My teeth have long let me know that they'd prefer to be cavity riddled and sensitive despite my efforts to keep them happy with brushing and flossing. So, I had two fillings today, on teeth 30 and 31 (or whatever the last two numbers are).
Everyone knows that these days, (thankfully), fillings are done with a lot of novacaine. And novacaine is great; I love it. Don't get me wrong. I will gladly take a pinch of pain to the mouth to avoid the pain of drilling later. But the side effects!
For those of you who have not had to get multiple fillings, well, first off, I'm jealous. More importantly, you might not know that there's this nerve in the back of your mouth and dentists aim for it when they need to numb the bottom back of your mouth. It is a good thing when they get it, but it does mean that half of your face will feel numb. I kept checking to make sure my glasses hadn't fallen off my face because I was numb up to my ear.
I can't stress enough how much of a good thing it is to be numb during dental work. But then, afterwards, that's when it seems like less of a good thing.
Like when you go with your husband to Kohls afterwards to see if any good maternity clothes are on clearance. And when he tells you to go ahead and go upstairs because he's going to grab a new wallet and meet you there. And so you go upstairs and decide to get a drink. But because half your mouth is still numb, specifically the half that is closest to the water spigot on the drinking fountain, getting a drink of water becomes an exercise in futility. And because your mouth is half numb, you can't swallow the water properly and you can't spit it out, and it ends up coming out of your nose, which is somewhat painful.
The somewhat painful sensation of water coming out of your nose might make you cough, which might make a nearby employee come over to make sure that you are alright. And then you might try to assure her that you are fine, only to find that the novacaine is wearing off just enough to make forming words next to impossible. And so you try to cough to cover up the fact that you sound like you're slightly mentally incapacitated. And then realize that coughing more is not going to get the employee to think you're alright, so you try to cough and talk at the same time so the employee will think that you are merely choking on water that went down the wrong pipe instead of thinking that you are unable to form words or drink water.
Thankfully, I think it kind of worked. The employee kind of glanced at me, and then at my pregnant form and then there was a sort of mental shrug in her eyes. I smiled, hoping that both corners of my mouth were working enough to convince her that I wasn't also a victim of a stroke, and casually hurried into the bathroom to continue coughing.
I'm doing much better now, hours later. My dear husband even drove me to DQ for ice cream, at my insistence. And the dentist said there's only a small chance that I'll need a root canal on my back tooth in the future.
...
I just want to take a moment to insist that I do, in fact, brush my teeth at least twice a day and floss almost daily. I have a package of floss in my purse to facilitate this. I drink orange juice with calcium since I don't like milk and eat yogurt and cottage cheese. I am unsure why my teeth hate me.
And that's the story of how at least two Kohls employees think that a somewhat "special" pregnant individual visited their store today.
Everyone knows that these days, (thankfully), fillings are done with a lot of novacaine. And novacaine is great; I love it. Don't get me wrong. I will gladly take a pinch of pain to the mouth to avoid the pain of drilling later. But the side effects!
For those of you who have not had to get multiple fillings, well, first off, I'm jealous. More importantly, you might not know that there's this nerve in the back of your mouth and dentists aim for it when they need to numb the bottom back of your mouth. It is a good thing when they get it, but it does mean that half of your face will feel numb. I kept checking to make sure my glasses hadn't fallen off my face because I was numb up to my ear.
I can't stress enough how much of a good thing it is to be numb during dental work. But then, afterwards, that's when it seems like less of a good thing.
Like when you go with your husband to Kohls afterwards to see if any good maternity clothes are on clearance. And when he tells you to go ahead and go upstairs because he's going to grab a new wallet and meet you there. And so you go upstairs and decide to get a drink. But because half your mouth is still numb, specifically the half that is closest to the water spigot on the drinking fountain, getting a drink of water becomes an exercise in futility. And because your mouth is half numb, you can't swallow the water properly and you can't spit it out, and it ends up coming out of your nose, which is somewhat painful.
The somewhat painful sensation of water coming out of your nose might make you cough, which might make a nearby employee come over to make sure that you are alright. And then you might try to assure her that you are fine, only to find that the novacaine is wearing off just enough to make forming words next to impossible. And so you try to cough to cover up the fact that you sound like you're slightly mentally incapacitated. And then realize that coughing more is not going to get the employee to think you're alright, so you try to cough and talk at the same time so the employee will think that you are merely choking on water that went down the wrong pipe instead of thinking that you are unable to form words or drink water.
Thankfully, I think it kind of worked. The employee kind of glanced at me, and then at my pregnant form and then there was a sort of mental shrug in her eyes. I smiled, hoping that both corners of my mouth were working enough to convince her that I wasn't also a victim of a stroke, and casually hurried into the bathroom to continue coughing.
I'm doing much better now, hours later. My dear husband even drove me to DQ for ice cream, at my insistence. And the dentist said there's only a small chance that I'll need a root canal on my back tooth in the future.
...
I just want to take a moment to insist that I do, in fact, brush my teeth at least twice a day and floss almost daily. I have a package of floss in my purse to facilitate this. I drink orange juice with calcium since I don't like milk and eat yogurt and cottage cheese. I am unsure why my teeth hate me.
And that's the story of how at least two Kohls employees think that a somewhat "special" pregnant individual visited their store today.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Almost a Year!
Well it's taken me almost a year, but according to my stats page, I have gotten just over 2,000 hits to my blog. While that's a heck of a lot more hits than "zero," I won't pretend to think I'm on my way to total blogger legitimacy yet.
But soon. Maybe.
As you might recall, I predicted my lack of internet fame with AMAZING accuracy. Let's go back and check out if what was holding me back last year is still holding me back!
Ok, let's check out reason number one. Dani from the past writes:
1. I am absolutely horrible at staying up late. I mean, I often go to bed around 10 each night, except on special occasions, and then I go to sleep as late as 11! I think there is a connection between being a night owl and having the creativity needed to be a famous blogger. I sadly do not seem to have this connection.
Dani from the future says:
My bedtime is one of the most consistent elements in my entire life. I still go to bed around 10 each night, so I have not yet developed that "night owl" element that I seem to think is holding me back. However, there is hope! I will soon (well, in about two months) have a potentially constantly-squalling little spawn to help shake up my bedtime routine in a way that is practically guaranteed to make me expel creativity from all of my pores!
Sounds good. Dani from the past has another reason why I am not famous. Let's check it out:
2. I am good at many things but not excellent at one thing. Famous bloggers? They got there because they can do something (or a couple somethings) really dang well. I can sew a little; I can write and draw a little; I can take care of animals reasonably well; I can bake a tasty cake - but I don't excel at any of these, so while I'm sure I can offer a tip or two, I don't have the expertise to really shine amidst those who do.
Dani from the future says:
Yeah, still true. In the past year, I think the only thing I've truly excelled at is being pregnant. According to the internet and other trusted sources, I think I'm doing pretty dang good on the "not being a sick, throwing-up hormonal mess for nine months" front. However, I'm not sure how this is a marketable skill besides sparing my husband from having to deal with large quantities of puke.
Oh wait, past Dani has something else to say:
2.1 (As a counter point - I do excel at one thing: writing really, really long sentences because I'm a huge fan of semi colons and I hate using periods. But I'm not sure that there's an audience for people who like writing really long sentences for fun.)
Hm. Well. I mean, I do still like really long sentences. But I'm still pretty sure there's no audience for that. Tell me more, past Dani!
3. I don't have a good camera. Famous bloggers tend to have pictures on their blog. I'm either going to have to learn to draw better or find a new cheap camera, because my current one only takes clear pictures at noon with all of the lights on and even then, preferably with the object I want to take a picture of on fire.
Oh boy. Not only have I stopped drawing pictures almost completely for my blog, I've actually received a camera - as a gift all the way back during CHRISTMAS - and I don't think I've used it to post a picture yet. Well, this is awkward, because this is the one point that I have actively done worse in. Definitely not a recipe for internet success.
I do have a new excuse though! My computer, which my dad kindly built for me in the dinosaur ages (about the time I went to college, I believe), is beginning to show its age. When I try to draw in photoshop, my computer often protests. For example, I'll try to draw a curved line. Photoshop will disagree that I want to draw a curved line, and it will "fix" my drawing by rending that line as a straight line across the page. So there's that.
Well, rest assured Past Dani, I am working hard (sometimes) to continue my journey towards internet fame. Who knows? If I work hard enough, I might even get three thousand hits by next year! And then the sky's the limit!
Or maybe not. I mean, I heard it's hard to breathe up in those higher altitudes. We'll see.
But soon. Maybe.
As you might recall, I predicted my lack of internet fame with AMAZING accuracy. Let's go back and check out if what was holding me back last year is still holding me back!
Ok, let's check out reason number one. Dani from the past writes:
1. I am absolutely horrible at staying up late. I mean, I often go to bed around 10 each night, except on special occasions, and then I go to sleep as late as 11! I think there is a connection between being a night owl and having the creativity needed to be a famous blogger. I sadly do not seem to have this connection.
Dani from the future says:
My bedtime is one of the most consistent elements in my entire life. I still go to bed around 10 each night, so I have not yet developed that "night owl" element that I seem to think is holding me back. However, there is hope! I will soon (well, in about two months) have a potentially constantly-squalling little spawn to help shake up my bedtime routine in a way that is practically guaranteed to make me expel creativity from all of my pores!
Sounds good. Dani from the past has another reason why I am not famous. Let's check it out:
2. I am good at many things but not excellent at one thing. Famous bloggers? They got there because they can do something (or a couple somethings) really dang well. I can sew a little; I can write and draw a little; I can take care of animals reasonably well; I can bake a tasty cake - but I don't excel at any of these, so while I'm sure I can offer a tip or two, I don't have the expertise to really shine amidst those who do.
Dani from the future says:
Yeah, still true. In the past year, I think the only thing I've truly excelled at is being pregnant. According to the internet and other trusted sources, I think I'm doing pretty dang good on the "not being a sick, throwing-up hormonal mess for nine months" front. However, I'm not sure how this is a marketable skill besides sparing my husband from having to deal with large quantities of puke.
Oh wait, past Dani has something else to say:
2.1 (As a counter point - I do excel at one thing: writing really, really long sentences because I'm a huge fan of semi colons and I hate using periods. But I'm not sure that there's an audience for people who like writing really long sentences for fun.)
Hm. Well. I mean, I do still like really long sentences. But I'm still pretty sure there's no audience for that. Tell me more, past Dani!
3. I don't have a good camera. Famous bloggers tend to have pictures on their blog. I'm either going to have to learn to draw better or find a new cheap camera, because my current one only takes clear pictures at noon with all of the lights on and even then, preferably with the object I want to take a picture of on fire.
Oh boy. Not only have I stopped drawing pictures almost completely for my blog, I've actually received a camera - as a gift all the way back during CHRISTMAS - and I don't think I've used it to post a picture yet. Well, this is awkward, because this is the one point that I have actively done worse in. Definitely not a recipe for internet success.
I do have a new excuse though! My computer, which my dad kindly built for me in the dinosaur ages (about the time I went to college, I believe), is beginning to show its age. When I try to draw in photoshop, my computer often protests. For example, I'll try to draw a curved line. Photoshop will disagree that I want to draw a curved line, and it will "fix" my drawing by rending that line as a straight line across the page. So there's that.
Well, rest assured Past Dani, I am working hard (sometimes) to continue my journey towards internet fame. Who knows? If I work hard enough, I might even get three thousand hits by next year! And then the sky's the limit!
Or maybe not. I mean, I heard it's hard to breathe up in those higher altitudes. We'll see.
Friday, July 6, 2012
In Which I Tell My Husband What Labor Might Be Like
My third trimester began this week on Monday, so it's kind of getting to the point where I have to acknowledge that at some point in the now not-too-distant future, a baby will be theoretically setting off the chain reaction of hormones in my body needed to start labor.
I asked Smiley if he's prepared himself for my labor.
Of course, he looks at me with that constant grin on his face. "Well, yeah, I'll be there for you," he says.
I made a face back at him. "Well let me give you an overview of what to expect."
We're sitting at our computers in our aptly named computer room. He's in between rounds of Tribes Ascension and I'm stalling before I go to the kitchen to make something to eat.
"There's basically three stages to labor according to the internet," I said. I knew I had to keep it short and simple. "In the first stage, I'll maybe have noticeable contractions but theoretically be able to walk and talk through them without too much pain. Then there's the second stage, which I guess is active labor. It'll be harder to deal with contractions and there might be angry words on my part.
"Finally, the third stage is transition. If I understand what I've read correctly, at this point I will be in quite a bit of pain, angry, and possibly delirious depending on whether or not I get to eat or drink anything during labor. Your job will be to pat me on the head and tell me I'm doing a good job and my job will be to rip your arm off for touching me. As I understand it, the arm gets replaced some time after the delivery of the baby."
So as any casual observer can see, my husband and I are fully set to handle this childbirth thing.
But I'll admit to still being a little nervous.
I asked Smiley if he's prepared himself for my labor.
Of course, he looks at me with that constant grin on his face. "Well, yeah, I'll be there for you," he says.
I made a face back at him. "Well let me give you an overview of what to expect."
We're sitting at our computers in our aptly named computer room. He's in between rounds of Tribes Ascension and I'm stalling before I go to the kitchen to make something to eat.
"There's basically three stages to labor according to the internet," I said. I knew I had to keep it short and simple. "In the first stage, I'll maybe have noticeable contractions but theoretically be able to walk and talk through them without too much pain. Then there's the second stage, which I guess is active labor. It'll be harder to deal with contractions and there might be angry words on my part.
"Finally, the third stage is transition. If I understand what I've read correctly, at this point I will be in quite a bit of pain, angry, and possibly delirious depending on whether or not I get to eat or drink anything during labor. Your job will be to pat me on the head and tell me I'm doing a good job and my job will be to rip your arm off for touching me. As I understand it, the arm gets replaced some time after the delivery of the baby."
So as any casual observer can see, my husband and I are fully set to handle this childbirth thing.
But I'll admit to still being a little nervous.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Maybe Overreacting
Some days just have a way of building up a lot of little disappointments into major annoyance and possibly uncontrollable violence. The idea of a "sneaky hate spiral" is something I read about on another, much better blog: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html. Well, there go all of my page views.
My biggest problem, I suppose, is that I never get to the uncontrollable violence stage because I always wonder if I really ought to be upset or not. And then I figure I might as well be rational and that if those disappointments really were important, I wouldn't have to think about it.
The other day was one of those days. It started out so innocently. I had gotten lab papers at my 22nd week doctor appointment to go take a glucose tolerance test (which tests for gestational diabetes) sometime during my 25th week of pregnancy. I promptly put those lab papers on a table and didn't look at them again until the evening before I planned to get the test done at the nearby lab.
The lab papers included a small set of instructions on what to do to prepare for the test. Don't eat or drink for 3 hours beforehand, don't eat ALL OF THE CARBS in the days leading up to the test - that sort of thing. At the bottom of the paper it said "we suggest calling the lab and making an appointment for both the 1 hour and 3 hour glucose tolerance test."
Well, hm. I definitely didn't get that far in my reading when I first got the paperwork. It was about eight pm, so I tentatively looked up appointment information on the lab's website - according to the online scheduling, they were booked solid until next month. I was worried but then I saw that the lab's website said that an appointment wasn't necessary.
So I pushed the conflicting information out of mind and figured I'd just call in the morning and see how awfully I'd messed up the testing schedule. All night, Wilford Brimley kept popping into my dreams, warning me about the complications of "diabetus." I slept somewhat fitfully.
Upon waking the next morning, I found myself running all sorts of contingency plans in my head. I thought about how I had already gotten time off of work for this morning and wondered if I could switch my time off to Friday if I just went into work today. My supervisor was nice - she'd understand, right? But what if I couldn't test until next week? My monthly doctor's appointment was next Friday and I had no clue how long test results take to arrive.
The lab opened at seven according to the website, so I called them at promptly seven. It turns out the number the lab's website listed no longer connected to the lab and a recorded message instructed me to call an 800 number instead.
I called the 800 number and the woman who answered the phone told me as long as I go in before eleven, it shouldn't be an issue to just walk in. So the phone call was a little roundabout but I got my information. Crisis averted.
Smiley drove me to the lab since I had inadvertently fasted for about 12 hours and was feeling tired and hungry and not at all drive-y. Now that I didn't need to worry about whether I could do the test today, I started worrying about the next item on my list - whether or not the drink would be disgusting and whether or not I would throw up orange drink everywhere.
There was nothing exciting about that part. The orange drink, in fact, was not disgusting and simply tasted like a thick, syrupy version of orange pop (it had 50 grams of glucose, which I believe is about double the sugar). I was able to drink it in the required five minutes and although my stomach toyed briefly with the idea of making me nauseous, it welcomed the glucose and prepared it for my brain. My brain was thankful.
There was nothing exciting about the next part either - I had to sit for an hour before I could get my blood drawn. Oh wait, there was something exciting. At about fifty minutes into the wait, my phone started ringing. I didn't recognize the number and the person left a voicemail that consisted of them hanging up. I shrugged and then my phone started ringing again. Still didn't recognize the number, so I didn't pick up. I don't know who had my phone number before me, but a lot of debt collected called the number regarding that person's supposed debt and I was in no mood to explain to a debt collector that I was not, in fact, the person they wanted and I didn't even know whoever it is and stop calling me.
But the another voice mail was left, so I listened to it - and mentally smacked myself for not answering the call.
On the voicemail, my supervisor's voice came through. She said that she was calling because she had me down to arrive at work at 7:30am that morning and it was now past 8:30am and she was just making sure that everything was alright because this was completely unlike me.
I scowled. Of course it was completely unlike me because I had emailed her to ask for the time off last week. I remembered her return email and wondered if I had asked for the wrong day off.
But, no need to panic. I had a few minutes before they called me to draw my blood. I could call her back and explain the situation and it would all be good.
Except, wait. I called the number back and then remembered that the number displayed on my phone was the generic phone line that showed up on caller ID when anyone in my department dialed out.
Ok, still no need to panic. I'd just look up her number in my contact list.
Except, wait some more. A while back, Smiley had attempted to fix my broken phone screen and had rendered my phone unusable in the process. I had gotten a new phone and had, so I thought, transferred my contact list over. Well, I must have done it wrong, because her number was nowhere to be found.
This darn cell phone age! Leaving me alone in the mercy of not remembering the cell phone number. I tried to picture the list of phone numbers for my work team, but all I could remember was the first five digits that all the phone numbers shared. I couldn't for the life of me remember the last two.
What else could I do? I vaguely recalled the number "20" and started dialing the number, first ending in 25. My coworker didn't pick up. Then 24. Nothing. Then 23. More voicemail. 22 wasn't in commission. I tried 26 and one of my teammates picked up.
Feeling ridiculously stupid, I babbled on for a minute about how I thought I had requested off time but I guess I mixed it up and can you tell our supervisor that I'm fine and that I'll be to work in about an hour and that I'm sorry for calling and interrupting your work but I couldn't remember her number and -
My coworker quickly assured me she'd say something and gave me our supervisor's number.
I got back to the lab lobby just in time to be called to draw my blood. That part took less than a minute. Here's hoping I passed!
Once outside, I called my supervisor to let her know I wasn't dead or anything and that I could have sworn I had emailed her about this and that I was terribly sorry for any confusion. She said it was no big deal and that she was glad I was ok, but I still felt uneasy. I try hard to be a reliable employee and even a miscommunication feels like I'm doing something wrong.
But, there was nothing I could do until I got to work and checked my email to see if I put in the wrong date. Smiley and I decided to stop at McDonalds to grab breakfast on our way home. We were going to pass two McDonalds on the way and I asked him to stop at the one closest to our house because I typically had a better experience with the quality of food there.
If only I knew how much I was setting myself up for failure yet again.
When we got to the McDonalds, I wasn't feel very good because all I had "eaten" in the past 13 hours or so were 50 grams of glucose, so Smiley volunteered to go inside and order. I wanted the same thing I always want when we get McDonalds breakfast - an egg mcmuffin. Confident that there would be food in my near future, I hung out in a half-comatose state in the car for a few minutes.
Smiley returned with a bag and a look on his face.
"There was an issue," he says to me.
I braced myself.
"They were all out of english muffins so they had to put it on a biscuit."
I think I let out a visible sigh of relief. That wasn't a big deal! I could roll with it. I felt so darned proud of myself, not letting the little things get to me, even when I was hungry and stressed out about work. "As long as it has a real egg and not that icky egg foam that they put on some of their breakfast sandwiches! That's all that matters to me," I said.
We got home and sat down for breakfast. I pulled out the first sandwich - Smiley's bagel - and handed it to him. That's when I noticed the hash brown and a "this isn't right" went off in my head.
"Did you get a hash brown?" I asked. I knew Smiley liked them alright but it wasn't something we normally got. Still, I was hungry and I had a quiet thought that maybe they tossed one in for free due to the egg mcmuffin being on a biscuit.
I grabbed my sandwich out of the bag and instantly I knew what had happened.
They didn't give me an egg mcmuffin. There never was an egg. Or Canadian bacon. It was a sausage biscuit - which is one of my least favorite breakfast sandwiches on the menu. I started blankly at the sandwich, feeling my ability to roll with the punches crashing down around me. I was tired, hungry and hormonal.
Smiley looked at the sandwich. "I ordered an egg mcmuffin," he told me, fishing out the receipt. The receipt clearly read "sausage mcmuffin" and I shook my head.
"No, I guess that's what I get for saying that I prefer that McDonalds. That's how my life works." I quickly spun a shell of self-pity. "I hate their sausage patties. They're so greasy and disgusting. All I wanted was the egg to be an egg." I pouted, looking down at the offending sandwich.
It was one of those moments where I wondered if I had a right to be upset and maybe move into "uncontrollable violence" stage.
I sighed. It just didn't seem worth it to be upset, not when I thought about how Smiley had driven me to the lab and back and attempted to obtain a delicious breakfast for the both of us.
So, chances are you can tell for yourself that there was nothing that happened to me that was worth being terribly upset over. But at the time, it seemed awfully horrible.
I might have imagined punching a puppy once or twice, for example, but no puppies were harmed in the making of this blog post.
My biggest problem, I suppose, is that I never get to the uncontrollable violence stage because I always wonder if I really ought to be upset or not. And then I figure I might as well be rational and that if those disappointments really were important, I wouldn't have to think about it.
The other day was one of those days. It started out so innocently. I had gotten lab papers at my 22nd week doctor appointment to go take a glucose tolerance test (which tests for gestational diabetes) sometime during my 25th week of pregnancy. I promptly put those lab papers on a table and didn't look at them again until the evening before I planned to get the test done at the nearby lab.
The lab papers included a small set of instructions on what to do to prepare for the test. Don't eat or drink for 3 hours beforehand, don't eat ALL OF THE CARBS in the days leading up to the test - that sort of thing. At the bottom of the paper it said "we suggest calling the lab and making an appointment for both the 1 hour and 3 hour glucose tolerance test."
Well, hm. I definitely didn't get that far in my reading when I first got the paperwork. It was about eight pm, so I tentatively looked up appointment information on the lab's website - according to the online scheduling, they were booked solid until next month. I was worried but then I saw that the lab's website said that an appointment wasn't necessary.
So I pushed the conflicting information out of mind and figured I'd just call in the morning and see how awfully I'd messed up the testing schedule. All night, Wilford Brimley kept popping into my dreams, warning me about the complications of "diabetus." I slept somewhat fitfully.
Upon waking the next morning, I found myself running all sorts of contingency plans in my head. I thought about how I had already gotten time off of work for this morning and wondered if I could switch my time off to Friday if I just went into work today. My supervisor was nice - she'd understand, right? But what if I couldn't test until next week? My monthly doctor's appointment was next Friday and I had no clue how long test results take to arrive.
The lab opened at seven according to the website, so I called them at promptly seven. It turns out the number the lab's website listed no longer connected to the lab and a recorded message instructed me to call an 800 number instead.
I called the 800 number and the woman who answered the phone told me as long as I go in before eleven, it shouldn't be an issue to just walk in. So the phone call was a little roundabout but I got my information. Crisis averted.
Smiley drove me to the lab since I had inadvertently fasted for about 12 hours and was feeling tired and hungry and not at all drive-y. Now that I didn't need to worry about whether I could do the test today, I started worrying about the next item on my list - whether or not the drink would be disgusting and whether or not I would throw up orange drink everywhere.
There was nothing exciting about that part. The orange drink, in fact, was not disgusting and simply tasted like a thick, syrupy version of orange pop (it had 50 grams of glucose, which I believe is about double the sugar). I was able to drink it in the required five minutes and although my stomach toyed briefly with the idea of making me nauseous, it welcomed the glucose and prepared it for my brain. My brain was thankful.
There was nothing exciting about the next part either - I had to sit for an hour before I could get my blood drawn. Oh wait, there was something exciting. At about fifty minutes into the wait, my phone started ringing. I didn't recognize the number and the person left a voicemail that consisted of them hanging up. I shrugged and then my phone started ringing again. Still didn't recognize the number, so I didn't pick up. I don't know who had my phone number before me, but a lot of debt collected called the number regarding that person's supposed debt and I was in no mood to explain to a debt collector that I was not, in fact, the person they wanted and I didn't even know whoever it is and stop calling me.
But the another voice mail was left, so I listened to it - and mentally smacked myself for not answering the call.
On the voicemail, my supervisor's voice came through. She said that she was calling because she had me down to arrive at work at 7:30am that morning and it was now past 8:30am and she was just making sure that everything was alright because this was completely unlike me.
I scowled. Of course it was completely unlike me because I had emailed her to ask for the time off last week. I remembered her return email and wondered if I had asked for the wrong day off.
But, no need to panic. I had a few minutes before they called me to draw my blood. I could call her back and explain the situation and it would all be good.
Except, wait. I called the number back and then remembered that the number displayed on my phone was the generic phone line that showed up on caller ID when anyone in my department dialed out.
Ok, still no need to panic. I'd just look up her number in my contact list.
Except, wait some more. A while back, Smiley had attempted to fix my broken phone screen and had rendered my phone unusable in the process. I had gotten a new phone and had, so I thought, transferred my contact list over. Well, I must have done it wrong, because her number was nowhere to be found.
This darn cell phone age! Leaving me alone in the mercy of not remembering the cell phone number. I tried to picture the list of phone numbers for my work team, but all I could remember was the first five digits that all the phone numbers shared. I couldn't for the life of me remember the last two.
What else could I do? I vaguely recalled the number "20" and started dialing the number, first ending in 25. My coworker didn't pick up. Then 24. Nothing. Then 23. More voicemail. 22 wasn't in commission. I tried 26 and one of my teammates picked up.
Feeling ridiculously stupid, I babbled on for a minute about how I thought I had requested off time but I guess I mixed it up and can you tell our supervisor that I'm fine and that I'll be to work in about an hour and that I'm sorry for calling and interrupting your work but I couldn't remember her number and -
My coworker quickly assured me she'd say something and gave me our supervisor's number.
I got back to the lab lobby just in time to be called to draw my blood. That part took less than a minute. Here's hoping I passed!
Once outside, I called my supervisor to let her know I wasn't dead or anything and that I could have sworn I had emailed her about this and that I was terribly sorry for any confusion. She said it was no big deal and that she was glad I was ok, but I still felt uneasy. I try hard to be a reliable employee and even a miscommunication feels like I'm doing something wrong.
But, there was nothing I could do until I got to work and checked my email to see if I put in the wrong date. Smiley and I decided to stop at McDonalds to grab breakfast on our way home. We were going to pass two McDonalds on the way and I asked him to stop at the one closest to our house because I typically had a better experience with the quality of food there.
If only I knew how much I was setting myself up for failure yet again.
When we got to the McDonalds, I wasn't feel very good because all I had "eaten" in the past 13 hours or so were 50 grams of glucose, so Smiley volunteered to go inside and order. I wanted the same thing I always want when we get McDonalds breakfast - an egg mcmuffin. Confident that there would be food in my near future, I hung out in a half-comatose state in the car for a few minutes.
Smiley returned with a bag and a look on his face.
"There was an issue," he says to me.
I braced myself.
"They were all out of english muffins so they had to put it on a biscuit."
I think I let out a visible sigh of relief. That wasn't a big deal! I could roll with it. I felt so darned proud of myself, not letting the little things get to me, even when I was hungry and stressed out about work. "As long as it has a real egg and not that icky egg foam that they put on some of their breakfast sandwiches! That's all that matters to me," I said.
We got home and sat down for breakfast. I pulled out the first sandwich - Smiley's bagel - and handed it to him. That's when I noticed the hash brown and a "this isn't right" went off in my head.
"Did you get a hash brown?" I asked. I knew Smiley liked them alright but it wasn't something we normally got. Still, I was hungry and I had a quiet thought that maybe they tossed one in for free due to the egg mcmuffin being on a biscuit.
I grabbed my sandwich out of the bag and instantly I knew what had happened.
They didn't give me an egg mcmuffin. There never was an egg. Or Canadian bacon. It was a sausage biscuit - which is one of my least favorite breakfast sandwiches on the menu. I started blankly at the sandwich, feeling my ability to roll with the punches crashing down around me. I was tired, hungry and hormonal.
Smiley looked at the sandwich. "I ordered an egg mcmuffin," he told me, fishing out the receipt. The receipt clearly read "sausage mcmuffin" and I shook my head.
"No, I guess that's what I get for saying that I prefer that McDonalds. That's how my life works." I quickly spun a shell of self-pity. "I hate their sausage patties. They're so greasy and disgusting. All I wanted was the egg to be an egg." I pouted, looking down at the offending sandwich.
It was one of those moments where I wondered if I had a right to be upset and maybe move into "uncontrollable violence" stage.
I sighed. It just didn't seem worth it to be upset, not when I thought about how Smiley had driven me to the lab and back and attempted to obtain a delicious breakfast for the both of us.
So, chances are you can tell for yourself that there was nothing that happened to me that was worth being terribly upset over. But at the time, it seemed awfully horrible.
I might have imagined punching a puppy once or twice, for example, but no puppies were harmed in the making of this blog post.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
As it turns out, I didn't win the internet
Well, that's enough about zombies for me.
Instead I'll direct your attention to something referred to as "pregnancy brain" - the idea that being pregnant takes up so much of your brain's time and energy that you begin to forget things at an accelerated rate. This idea is always tossed about on pregnancy websites and forums.
It is always followed by a claim that there is no scientific proof for "pregnancy brain" and then that is always followed by anecdotal evidence.
This is my anecdotal evidence.
I've always thought of myself as having an average memory span. I can remember groups of 7-9 objects as is the norm and I forget things when I walk through doorways - also the norm. However, the other Friday got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might be falling onto a spectrum of forgetfulness previously unknown.
Smiley and I were preparing to go to a dinner party at a friend's house. We had been asked to bring some folding chairs and I was planning on making a bean dip. Smiley texted me while I was at work to remind me about the chairs and I texted back, confirming that we would bring chairs.
Then I left work and went home and that's when things went wrong. Well, not at first. First, I made the bean dip (which is delightfully tasty and I need to find a way to make it in smaller batches) and put that on the counter with the bag of chips next to my purse. Then my husband and I made sure the doors were locked and headed out to the car.
We drove to our friend's house and it was only once we pulled into the driveway that Smiley remembered we had completely forgotten the chairs. Well, shoot I thought. Ok, I guess it's not the worst thing in the world, right? People can stand? I can volunteer to stand since we didn't bring any. We'll make it work.
So we go inside and I set down my prized bean dip and then go to open the bag of chips and realize, well, I had forgotten the chips. The chips that had been right next to the dip and my purse on the counter-top. The chips that were a huge variable in the enjoyment of bean dip equation. I made Smiley check the car. Then I checked the car. But it was futile - there were no chips.
Our gracious hosts happened to have some chips on hand (as well as some extra chairs) and so neither event ended up as a crisis of flavor or comfort. However, I did clearly feel the twinge of "how the heck can I forget things, such as chips, that are a vital part of the dish I am bringing to dinner?" and it wasn't pleasant.
Once we returned home for the evening, I saw the bag of chips staring at me from the kitchen counter, a sadness reflected in the defeated wrinkles of its packaging. I turned the light off in the kitchen and hung my head.
Then I made plans to make more bean dip since, why not? I've already got the chips.
Instead I'll direct your attention to something referred to as "pregnancy brain" - the idea that being pregnant takes up so much of your brain's time and energy that you begin to forget things at an accelerated rate. This idea is always tossed about on pregnancy websites and forums.
It is always followed by a claim that there is no scientific proof for "pregnancy brain" and then that is always followed by anecdotal evidence.
This is my anecdotal evidence.
I've always thought of myself as having an average memory span. I can remember groups of 7-9 objects as is the norm and I forget things when I walk through doorways - also the norm. However, the other Friday got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might be falling onto a spectrum of forgetfulness previously unknown.
Smiley and I were preparing to go to a dinner party at a friend's house. We had been asked to bring some folding chairs and I was planning on making a bean dip. Smiley texted me while I was at work to remind me about the chairs and I texted back, confirming that we would bring chairs.
Then I left work and went home and that's when things went wrong. Well, not at first. First, I made the bean dip (which is delightfully tasty and I need to find a way to make it in smaller batches) and put that on the counter with the bag of chips next to my purse. Then my husband and I made sure the doors were locked and headed out to the car.
We drove to our friend's house and it was only once we pulled into the driveway that Smiley remembered we had completely forgotten the chairs. Well, shoot I thought. Ok, I guess it's not the worst thing in the world, right? People can stand? I can volunteer to stand since we didn't bring any. We'll make it work.
So we go inside and I set down my prized bean dip and then go to open the bag of chips and realize, well, I had forgotten the chips. The chips that had been right next to the dip and my purse on the counter-top. The chips that were a huge variable in the enjoyment of bean dip equation. I made Smiley check the car. Then I checked the car. But it was futile - there were no chips.
Our gracious hosts happened to have some chips on hand (as well as some extra chairs) and so neither event ended up as a crisis of flavor or comfort. However, I did clearly feel the twinge of "how the heck can I forget things, such as chips, that are a vital part of the dish I am bringing to dinner?" and it wasn't pleasant.
Once we returned home for the evening, I saw the bag of chips staring at me from the kitchen counter, a sadness reflected in the defeated wrinkles of its packaging. I turned the light off in the kitchen and hung my head.
Then I made plans to make more bean dip since, why not? I've already got the chips.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
This being pregnant thing is exhausting.
Or it could be the voluntary overtime hours that I'm allowed to work this month. In any case, I've been very lucky to be sleeping soundly through the night.
I'm at about 23 weeks and 2 days which is soundly past the halfway mark, even if I go overdue (please don't let that be the case). I have moments of being nervous but somehow manage to realize that taking it one day at a time is the best way to avoid stressing out. Also, I've had to get over the disappointment that I can no longer burst into song when someone asks how far along I am.
So far it seems like heartburn is my biggest complaint. I don't particularly enjoy feeling my esophagus being bathed in acid, especially when I don't eat spicy food to begin with. However, heartburn has shown me that where this is a will, there is a way and even drinking a cup of water can trigger that horrible burn.
In other news, my dad has updated my status from "pregnant with hamster" to "pregnant with 'the creature from Alien'". I'm, uh, thrilled.
I'm at about 23 weeks and 2 days which is soundly past the halfway mark, even if I go overdue (please don't let that be the case). I have moments of being nervous but somehow manage to realize that taking it one day at a time is the best way to avoid stressing out. Also, I've had to get over the disappointment that I can no longer burst into song when someone asks how far along I am.
So far it seems like heartburn is my biggest complaint. I don't particularly enjoy feeling my esophagus being bathed in acid, especially when I don't eat spicy food to begin with. However, heartburn has shown me that where this is a will, there is a way and even drinking a cup of water can trigger that horrible burn.
In other news, my dad has updated my status from "pregnant with hamster" to "pregnant with 'the creature from Alien'". I'm, uh, thrilled.
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