Happy Birthday My Baby...A Year In Pictures

A WHOLE YEAR HAS GONE BY. I truly cannot believe that, even as I type. I mean, when I was pregnant, everyone told me to enjoy every moment because "it goes so fast". But as you may recall, it was a tad difficult to revel in the enjoyment while I was suffering from Le Puke Extraordinaire.



But they weren't kidding. I keep telling people that where the pregnancy felt like an eternity of endurance, babydom has been the blink of an eye. That's the thing about motherhood. Every cliché turns out to be true. You just have to learn how to wait out the painful parts...sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively.



As for this poor ghost town of a blog, there's really not much to say about the fact that it has SOOO fallen by the wayside, other than to mention I've been a wee bit busy. You other new mamas who still manage to post are to be commended. Seriously. I am in awe.



But I have just had a really hard time finding any free time anymore. Or as I like to say...any "me" time. It's one of the hardest things about being a full time Mom. I spend every waking hour...no scratch that...every waking, sleeping, breathing hour with my child.



I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. It's called Attachment Parenting. Feel free to call me a hippy.

I know it's not for everyone, but it works for me. Mr. Blogger, for as much as he would stop an oncoming train for Miss Keira, isn't quite as big a fan of the co-sleeping aspect of this philosophy as I am. But as I said when someone asked what I do about that conflict...um, well, I usually get my way. Yeah, I know. Bitch.



So I've learned to balance the fact that I don't sleep a whole lot, or get to blowdry my hair on a consistent basis (hello natural curls...goodbye 5-hour salon straightening sessions) with the plain-as-day evidence that Keira is thriving on lots of love.



Trust me, I consider myself neither saint nor martyr. Ask MB. He deals with one tired, weepy mess on a far more consistent basis than I would like to admit. And there is many an evening when he is greeted with "Here. Your turn. I'm taking a damn shower."

But in general...yeah. I love it. Every frizzy-haired, no makeup, all day in my jammies minute of it.

I love parent-baby gym class,



and playgroup with tons of babies crawling all over each other while Mommies can tell the truth to each other,



and music class where Keira gets to shake her bonbon, and the television permanently playing just the music channels (especially the Showtunes channel 'cause Mommy knows all the songs and Keira finds the re-enactments HILARIOUS).

We got to take her to her first UCLA game,



celebrate Halloween while escaping the fires all over San Diego County,



go to England with a baby on an eleven hour plane ride and survive,






And celebrate her first Christmas.





I am not fond of the teething, but I thank the gods that invented Gripe Water.

I could do without one illness after another being passed around the three of us, but I keep telling myself she's building up immunities. At least I hope so.

I wish to God I knew how to turn my brain off sometimes from the consistent worry over trying to do everything, be everything. Be Super Mom. Be Super Wife.

So far I'm just Super Insomniac.

But you, my sweet baby, are a year old today. What a year we have ALL had. And look how you've grown.





I'd do it ALL again in a heartbeat.



Happy birthday!

Four months or...what a difference a month makes

While my car windshield is being replaced (went to a friend's house yesterday, had a visit, said goodbye and got back in car to find entire windshield shattered...yeah, these things only happen to me and you know it) and Mom is sleeping with Keira, I thought I'd take a not-easily-found moment to catch up.

K is fantastic and at her four-month-old visit to the doctor she weighed a whopping 13 lbs (double her birth weight). My once skinny mini is now chunky monkey. And I love it. Daddy does too.



She would, however, like you to see what those horrible nurses did.



Disco ball AND Taz band-aids notwithstanding, she made it through the tears, and two day fever and oh who am I kidding...MOMMY made it through the tears and two day fever.

But may I say, holy crap. Nothing like everything in your world turning upside down. Ok, ALMOST everything. NO not Keira this time. Moi.

I have become a stay at home Mom. For now anyway...or as long as we can possibly afford to keep it up. But lest ye give me any kudos for making such a big decision, wait 'til you hear how it was simply, or not so simply made for me.

After getting myself completely psyched up to daily leave the ever-so-smushy-cheeked-love-of-my-life (the kid, not the hubs...his cheeks aren't at all smushy), I returned to the bank crap...yes, its official name.

Ah, but wait, I'm getting ahead of myself already.

The Friday prior to my return, I got a phone call from my boss' boss...a senior senior VP. She wanted me to come see her first thing Monday morning to go over some changes that had occurred in the six months I was off. This wasn't entirely strange in that the bank had been bought out in that time (yes, this happens at every stinkin' place I end up working for) and it was actually a completely different bank.

But my antennae were up nonetheless. It seemed a little odd and I joked with Mr. Blogger, watch, I have a job, but it's in San Ysidro. (That's very very far, for those of you not in the know.)

Uh huh. Cut to the chase. That's just about what happened.

Not only had they rehired someone in my position, which had been at a branch two miles from my house, but they offered to let me "train" at another branch THIRTY miles away. And after such "training", they really weren't entirely sure where I'd be or what I'd be doing.

So I asked if they'd pay my mileage to the training branch at least. I believe my exact words were, "Look. I just had a baby. There's no such thing as disposable income anymore." Come on. A SIXTY mile round trip as opposed to FOUR. And not to sound like my cranky 80-year-old neighbors, but have you SEEN the gas prices as of late???

But what mattered more than any of that was the fact that I had always planned to come home (or to daycare in July) every lunch hour to feed and bond with Miss K and had purposely laid out my life in a five mile radius. Now that would be impossible.

She is not happy about that.



At ten past 5:00 in the evening I got my answer. This time a senior senior SENIOR VP called me (how painfully obvious does it have to be that no one wants to deal with such a fiery upstart).

She stated that no, they would not pay my mileage. And when I dared to ask why no one had perhaps thought to tell me all of this oh, say, BEFORE I RETURNED TO WORK, she said other really rude stuff too, but I am SO OVER IT, I can't even be bothered to bitch about her rant anymore. The writing on the wall couldn't have been clearer if it had been done in florescent paint.

No one gave a shit about me. So I had to give a shit about myself...

Buh-bye. Finito. I quit-o.

I tried working part time at a baby store that I absolutely loved, and except for the fact that my feet were aching in such a way that had not been felt in the twenty some years it had been since I worked retail, I really enjoyed the job. It was something entirely different and I am just so burned out on banking, it was just not in my heart to go to another financial institution.

But then you find that part time retail pays just about enough to pay daycare. And now Mom, who is here visiting to take care of the baby as you recall, is going to need surgery. And, well Mom, I say this COMPLETELY understanding your limitations, but she's just not as much help these days and I have officially become a hausfrau.

So guess who is going to need to take care of both of them? Circle of life and all that, I suppose.

Frankly, even as much as I am SO SICK of washing bottles, I love every minute of being at home. I don't kid myself that this couldn't all come to an end in a matter of months when we run out of money, but it's still something I am enjoying immensely while I can. We've even talked about moving in order to keep it up, so we'll see.

I get to see all the massive drooling and smiles that I wasn't wanting to give up in the first place.

And boy is she quite the rolling-over pro these days. Actually, she has asked if she should maintain her amateur status, seeing as how surely there is an Olympic event for such a magnificent feat.



But to stave off the temptation to just sit around all day, play on the floor with Keira and never wash my hair, I have actually joined some playgroups and even made plans to get together with friends who are stay-at-homers as well. I love meeting with other women who can both offer tips and just plain old commiserate.

Hopefully not all of them will have random flying objects aiming for my windshield in their neighborhoods though.

Three months old and the end of maternity leave

I realized as I sat down to write the inevitable "My Baby is Three Months Old" post, that as a new mother, you really run the risk of alienating everyone who just is not all that interested in your baby. I guess my blog has taken the expected turn into a "mommy blog", but I refuse to view that as all bad.

I may go on ad nauseum about the genius of the Bumbo chair, or enjoy the rantings of my fellow sleep-deprived warriors in the battle of the bedtime, but that's just life. I've changed. FOREVER. And I sure did ask for it.

But I can remember a time when I looked at the umpteenth pic of someone's baby and thought, yeah, it's a baby. I mean they're little and they don't do much and their expression hardly changes. So what do you say?

But when it's YOUR baby, well of course she's the most gorgeous thing in the world, and would you like to see some pictures?



I can't help it.

It's a fascinating, ever changing life...this whole new mommy thing. NOTHING is the same. I go back to work next Monday and I have yet to truly give in to that. I'm trying desperately to see if part-time work may be an option for me, but it's pretty doubtful.

In the last few months, I could tell you exactly how many times I've left the house and not really have to use a second hand to count. And if it weren't for doctor appointments, I don't know that I'd ever get out.

I pretty much spend my days feeding and changing Keira. And if I'm lucky, I get a shower. Hair is done about once a week. Makeup? Um, about once a month? Yesterday was my 4th anniversary with Mr. Blogger and we ordered a pizza. Woo hoo!

And yet here I am, fighting to be able to continue this existence full time. I would give anything in the world to stay home with my baby. I have another two months of my Mom taking care of her until she goes back home to another state, but then it's off to daycare in July. And EVERY SINGLE TIME I think of her with a "stranger", I lose it. It wouldn't matter if it were Mary Poppins. I want her with ME.




It's VERY strange for me to admit that I want to stay home (and please know that I am a HUGE proponent of letting mothers make the whole "working mom decisions" for themselves and making sure we support them in those decisions). I have had so many self-esteem issues in my life, but the one area I was always able to gain some semblance of self worth was initially school and then work.

So to say I'm willing to toss that is a huge change of stance for me. I ALWAYS thought I would want to go back to work and would need the adult interaction. I never thought I'd be so attached to my baby.

This last month Keira had her first shots and I just about thought I would die. I tried to be quiet because I didn't want to scare her, so as the tears streamed silently down my cheeks and MB held her down, I wanted more than anything to take away the pain from my poor little unsuspecting baby. I wonder sometimes how I'll ever make it through all the (I'm sure) much more difficult matters to come.

But she's a tough one, our little Keira, and took it like a trouper. In much the same way everyone says, "Oh, she'll be fine" with my leaving to go to work every day, she's not the one I worry about.

So here's my attempt at sharing exactly what I'll miss most. The funny thing is that I thought I was taking a picture in this first one and had no idea I had the video feature switched on the camera (I've never used it!), so that's why it's bouncing all over the place and why you hear me say "I didn't click it." I thought the camera didn't work. What a dork.

(MOM...CLICK ON THE ARROW TO PLAY) :)



Here I have a little more practice, and yet still can't keep the camera still. I was trying to get her "talking", but wouldn't you know after all kinds of chatter, she clammed up when the video started. I especially enjoy the "You did WHAT?" head tilt towards the end.



I love you, my baby. Starting Monday, be good for Grammy. And don't be alarmed if when you see me, I scoop you up and won't let go.

Shower the people you love with love

I've been forced out of laziness (aka non-stop feeding of The Hungry Child) to write a post, but it's a great idea and I'm honored to have been invited. (Yes, of course I'll be writing a "Keira is Three Months Old!" entry in a few days, but this one needed more immediate attention as BABIES ARE BEING BORN AS WE SPEAK!)

TB at Soul Gardening, Liz at Mom-101 and Christina at A Mommy Story are the lucky honorees of an on-line baby shower. Not only can you go over there to play games and send the love (and see pics of both Keira and ME as a youngster...but I can't tell you which we are), but there are some extremely cool prizes to be won! The women that put this together are some very organized mamas. I feel so inadequate.

But my job, as I've chosen to accept it, is to let the mamas-to-be know about the best and worst advice I received regarding motherhood. Seeing as how I'm just so experienced in all my 90 days at the job, and how two of the ladies are going to be second time arounders...I feel a little silly imparting anything to anyone. But I'll give it a go.

WORST ADVICE

1. Get your sleep now 'cause you'll never sleep again once the baby's born!
I know this one is said in jest half the time, so I'll allow for at least a bit of a sense of humor, but I just think it's pretty stupid. First of all, I don't think there's some kind of sleep bank you can invest in prior to the birth. And secondly, it seems as though it's always other mothers who say this with some kind of glee at the loss of your previously sleep-filled life (!)...it's as though they're rubbing their hands together in anticipation of your misery. Ha ha, welcome to the club, and all that.

Yes, you're going to be a zombie. Accept it. There's no need for me to rub it in.

2. Let the baby cry it out...if you respond every time she cries, she'll just learn to manipulate you.
Um, excuse me? A newborn hasn't exactly developed that level of manipulation. She'll be bargaining the whole new-bike-for-straight-A's in no time I'm sure...but at a week old? To be fair, this advice was really only ever given to me by VERY old ladies and complete strangers.

I never knew how much my own baby's cries would affect me until I saw her face. How could I ever think it would be ok for her to look so miserable? BELIEVE ME, just today she cried THE ENTIRE DAY. I have definitely been worn down on occasion, but I would never just put her in another room and walk off to the sound of her shrieking. I would sooner stab myself in the heart.

3. Listen to all my advice...it's very important.
Ridiculous, isn't it? Which brings me to my point. You're going to do what's best for you. Anything I say is really a moot point because I don't live your life, have your baby or share your existence in any way. IT'S NOT UP TO ME TO SAY WHAT'S RIGHT FOR YOU. I have really learned that we all need to be supportive of one another's choices regarding this whole motherhood thing.

But having said that...

BEST ADVICE

1. Talk to them all the time. Read to them all the time. Just generally keep jabbering away.
My (over thirty-some years in teaching elementary school) Mom is a huge proponent of this and consequently I was reading by age one and a 1/2 (she swears!). But she made it FUN. I can't remember a time when I couldn't read, nor can I recall a time I was ever "shushed". Overly talkative women are the norm in my family.

So to my friends and family: feel free to blame her.

2. Whatever it takes to get them to eat and grow properly, do it.
Trust me; I had planned to be the Breastfeeding Queen prior to Keira's birth. My body, on the other hand, had other ideas. When my poor little baby reached an alarming weight loss in her first week, we had to supplement with formula.

I felt like the worst mother in the world. But why? For cripes sake, I was hardly neglecting her. Frankly, it would have been neglect to let things continue the way they were.

You do what you have to do. And now she's healthy and happy and still gets both breast and bottle, which has allowed Mommy to have small breaks and Daddy to take over on occasion.

No one has to tell you breast is best. We all know that. Get help, but don't kill yourself to make it happen.

3. But if you're nursing, buy Lily Padz.
Seriously. You have to. They rock.

Congrats to the three lovely ladies and welcome to the babies-to-be!

Two months old

Well, Mommy is a bad mommy and didn't blog when Keira hit the one month mark, but in my defense, there's no such thing as February 30th so she didn't have one. Yup. I use any and all excuses for my negligent behavior already.


I realized that I never really wrote anything resembling a "birth story", but I have to say that after all the ups and downs of a highly "eventful" pregnancy, the birth itself was a breeze. Hey, I had to catch a break somewhere.

My doctors had basically realized that I had HAD IT (no, really...every single day towards the end there I was threatening to cut the kid out myself) and I got a huge surprise phone call from the hospital saying that I was scheduled for a c-section on January 30. I hobbled on over to the guest room (wish I could say I ran, but that was not possible) to tell my Mom the good news and then of course panic set in.

Mom had been here since January 11th and it was now the 24th, and in that time, she was shocked to be there in person to witness just how bad off I was. I couldn't eat, walk, sleep...you know, little things like that. I think Mr. Blogger was just relieved to have some help in retrieving things for me. God help that man.

The next day MB's parents arrived from London and it was Operation Get Ready For Baby full speed ahead. There was still so much to do, buy, prepare, arrange...I was freaking out over not even owning a robe, for criminy's sake.

By the time the 30th arrived, I actually felt ok. I wasn't panicked about the surgery at all, I was more thrilled to finally be starting this new life. OK, and to NOT BE PREGNANT ANY MORE. I felt very calm and in good hands. The only hitch really was that the spinal took about thirty attempts and the anesthesiologist was starting to panic, but I just kept breathing. Pain was nothing at this point.

I did almost pass out from my blood pressure plummeting apparently, but hey, what can you do?

MB was finally allowed into the OR once the spinal took effect and had the camera at the ready. It went so fast and I'm so thankful for the anesthesiologist telling us what was happening so that I knew when she was out. Then, of course, you find yourself counting the seconds until she cries. Come on little baby. Make a sound.

Didn't take long. No...not any child of mine.

I couldn't see anything, but I kept hearing everyone saying, "She's beautiful!". Then I got to see for myself...

I agreed. And I was immediately in love and ridiculously protective.

I could bore you with the pain in the ass that healing from the c-section plus trying to breastfeed turned out to be (I think I may FINALLY have the hang of it and it's only been two months), but does it really matter? She's doing fine, finally growing well and is the absolute center of our lives.

Now, when I go back to work in a month, I may lose my mind. I seriously burst into tears every time I think about it. I mean, how can you leave this?

I don't even want to think about it.

And nothing was ever the same

Presenting...
Miss Keira Lauren Blogger
Born January 30, 2007
11:24AM
6 lbs 13 oz
19 inches

Mommy and Daddy are officially in love with the most beautiful daughter ever to grace the planet and would like to hereby send even more love to those who kept the faith that she would ever make it here.

Now I know what a miracle truly is.

To think everything was going so swimmingly up 'til now...ha!

Oh COME ON! I just wrote a whole freaking post and it's gone! My right hand brushed by something and it's just kablooey!

That's what I get for typing this on Mr. Blogger's new laptop that I still don't quite have the hang of...I'M SO MAD! (Or maybe that's the curse for my yelling at him for spending the money on this laptop to begin with WHEN WE DON'T EVEN HAVE A CRIB! Quite the WWIII we had going over that one...)

You know how it is when that happens though, and how you don't even want to bother re-typing everything. So I'm TRYING to not say screw it here and start over. OK, deep breath...

Well, basically I'm still here and still going, but it is HARD lately. This has been one interesting pregnancy, to be kind and not give my child a complex. And in the last month alone, it's all gone haywire.

A laundry list...

*I'm on bed rest and off work for good now.

*I have the beginning signs of preeclampsia, although I don't quite have it as of yet. I've been to the hospital three times in the last 5 days and as of Friday, the doctor even said that it was a strong possibility this kid could be out within the week.

*I AM ONLY 31 1/2 WEEKS PREGNANT. I don't want her going anywhere yet.

*The good thing is that at last night's hospital stay, the labs were a little better, so we may get her to stick yet.

*The Hyperemesis came roaring back. Just yesterday I was quite convinced that I should perhaps find a way of getting my bed to just fit in the bathroom since it was becoming too much trouble to go back and forth so much.

*My blood pressure went up, but is somewhat stable. Well, today it was anyway. I have to chart it with my cuff at home to make sure.

*I am on nighttime injections of insulin since the Gestational Diabetes is worse. I also chart the blood sugar levels a few times a day. Hell, I chart EVERYTHING these days. I have to come armed with reams of paper to each doctor's appointment.

*I have sciatica down the back of my left leg/butt cheek and can't walk. Like, at all.

*I have had horrific stomach pains which led to the determination that my liver enzymes are high and apparently I have some kind of "fatty liver disease". That did wonders for my self esteem.

*I'm 6 lbs UNDER my pre-pregnancy weight. But as one of my doctor's so lovingly stated, eh, I have weight to lose anyway.

*I've been given shots of steroids to strengthen the baby's lungs in the event that we do have to deliver much earlier than planned.

*I spent this weekend giving TWO showers (one in SD and one in LA) and barely made it out of two hospital stays to make it to both. And I had to look like an idiot greeting everyone from a seated position...I looked like the freakin' queen receiving her subjects or something.

*Two separate doctors at different locations each referred to me as a "ticking time bomb". Thanks guys.

I'm sure I'll think of more, but I haven't slept all night, it's 5:00AM, and I'm tired. But what else is new?

You know...I was well aware of the fact that I was old, high risk, etc. But all of this keeps making me ask "where are these women who just fly through pregnancy...loving every ice-cream eating minute of it?"

And should I feel bad that I'm getting REALLY tired of feeling like crap, and more importantly being TERRIFIED on a regular basis? How does anyone make it through this...am I just a wimp?

I don't have ANYTHING done by way of setting up a nursery or pre-washing clothes or packing a bag. Yes, even though they've told me it may be imminent. I can't even muster the energy. Where is that supposed nesting instinct that the pregnancy books keep telling me I'll be getting? (I should mention that when the instructor brought that up in our birthing class, Mr. Blogger just laughed.)

In the end, all I want is for everything to be ok...is for Keira to be ok. (Yup, that's the final choice of a very controversial decision making process on a name for Ms. Bean...still no middle name yet.) All my monitoring has at least shown that if nothing else, she seems to be thriving in there. And I've always said that I'll take anything, go through anything to make sure she's fine.

So be careful what you agree to. You may have to prove it.

Stuff that's happened/I've learned in the month it's taken to get my ass in gear

Yes M-I-L, I do plan on blogging again. ;)

But I know, people, I suck. I half considered giving it up altogether, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel quite yet. I just feel really bad about dropping the ball on everything these days...it's all I can do to get to work each day, and frankly, I'd like a medal for that alone.

So to catch you up...

1. I took a month off of work, spent the entire time in bed, on the couch or in the bathroom and then on the first day I went back to work, not only did I have ZERO energy to deal with ANYTHING, but my boss promptly left on a three week vacation and THE FREAKIN' BRANCH WAS ROBBED. Damn inconsiderate bank robbers. I was tempted to puke on the guy.

2. I had a birthday last week. And I proceeded to yell at Mr. Blogger because he bought a humungous carrot cake that:

a. I cannot eat (I haven't been able to tolerate anything sweet since just about the day I found out I was pregnant) and...

b. I cannot bear to smell

He has eaten almost the whole thing himself. In hiding. So I can't smell it.

Or maybe because he's afraid of me.

3. Along those lines, and in my defense of being a bitch (see...at least I admit it!), due to the fact that I ALWAYS feel like crap in one way or another, I have become Angry Pregnant Woman.

Remember this?

And as a follow up...this?

Well it never ends.

I got home before Mr. Blogger one day in which he had ridden in a co-worker's van as they were to see customers in two's that day or something. Anyway, MB's van was on the street and there was a note taped to it. For I think the third time in a couple months.

Yet more complaints about the fact that it was on the street. And the writer's wife "had almost hit it numerous times".

I suddenly snapped. I mean, really. Your inability to back out of your driveway without hitting cars on the OTHER SIDE OF THE VERY WIDE STREET is really not my problem buddy. Or buddy's wife. Whatever.

I marched over there and proceeded to get into a screaming match with Mr. Old Man. He literally said he just "didn't want to see it there". He would be taking this up with the Homeowner's Association, as we were in clear violation of BLAH BLAH BLAH. I seriously can't even be bothered to finish the rest of his lunacy.

I can't remember the last time I completely went off on a total stranger like that. But I do have to say that by the end, I got my way, there haven't been any more notes, and in the process I think I scared the shit out of him.

All in defense of my husband's right to park where he damn well felt like. I of course told MB he owed me big time for all of that.

(You KNOW if he had gone over there to chat with Old Man, it would have ended with tea and cookies.)

4. I've only made it to ONE out of the four home games UCLA has played this season. Yes, I finally realized that someone else is holding the reins here, and it sure is not I.

Can I add that the Gigantor Boob situation REALLY makes it difficult to do the 8-clap?

5. In all honesty, I feel a LITTLE better. I throw up every morning or so, but it's nothing like what I experienced previously. I still have all kinds of digestive issues (I'll spare you), but to the makers of Sea Bands and Preggie Pop Drops...you deserve a Nobel Prize.

Seriously. Zofran didn't work. Phenergan did squat.

But stupid little sour candies helped. Ok, that, IV's, acupuncture, and foot rubs. Lots and lots of foot rubs. (Did I mention that I really do love my husband?)

6. Most importantly, in the time I've been away, we learned that...

IT'S A GIRL!!!!

But we still can't agree on a name.

One step at a time.

Boy is this kid going to hear about it later

I'm sorry it's been so long you guys. And the fact that many of you have worried over me has actually forced me out of bed and on to the computer for once. Boy do we need a laptop in this house.

Yes, both The Beanie and I (and a VERY patient Mr. Blogger) are still alive. Barely. Don't worry, everything's ok. I just can't function. It's as simple as that. Everyone else is fine.

After trips to the ER and several complete breakdowns where I was hysterical in the assumption that Beanie couldn't possibly be ok with all this vomitation...my doc finally pulled me out of work for a few weeks. Turns out I have Hyperemesis Gravidarum, which is frankly just Latin for "Food is not your friend".

As Betty said...how could I possibly get this when not only do I not fit the profile, but only 1-2% of women even get this. Oh no, that's right. OF COURSE I would get this.

Since not much stays down, I get IV's and I'm on my third attempt at an anti-nausea med. None of them have worked so far. And I gotta tell ya'...this one's not doing much more than making me constipated.

I of course, blame my mother. Since she was sick the entire pregnancy with me, it's possible that it's hereditary. Sure, EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY PHYSICAL BEING TAKES AFTER MY DAD'S SIDE OF THE FAMILY EXCEPT THIS. I take it back then. I blame my father.

I actually dragged myself out of the house, and wore makeup and everything, to get to a bridal shower last Saturday. It was a big victory for me. Well, right up to the part where I threw up while she was opening the gifts. Don't worry. I made it to a bathroom at least. What was I thinking, daring to eat a piece of cantaloupe.

That's just pretty much my life these days. It sucks. But what matters most is that Beanie still seems to be thriving. I still worry every time we wait to hear the heartbeat, or look to see the ultrasound results (who am I kidding...I don't "worry"...I cry so hard my contacts fall out), but so far so good.

HOWEVER...I WILL NOT MISS THE FIRST GAME OF THE SEASON. Sure, being stuck in the Rose Bowl stands while feeling a wave come upon me may be a tad bit inconvenient. And I have nothing to wear now that I'm at this weird "in-between maternity clothes and yet I can't button my regular jeans" phase. But that's ok.

Beanie WILL be indoctrinated from the womb and WILL come out doing the 8-clap. (And I'm so excited to buy these I can't stand it!)

Did you expect any less from me? Come on now. So the people sitting around me might freak out a tad.

That's ok. I'll just bring barf bags.

13 weeks, two days and another deep breath

First and foremost...AGAIN...thank you for every single kind word and virtual hug you've thrown our way. It never seems enough to just say thank you though, so if I'm repeating myself, just keep in mind that it DESERVES repeating. So there! ;)

WordGirl was even SOOO kind as to nominate me for a Perfect Post for what I thought was just my incessant rambling. She's so freakin' talented that I was almost embarrassed to be considered. Much love back to ya' WG...MUCH love!

So yesterday was a tremendously momentous day and I had PLANNED to mark the occasion with proper pomp and circumstance. Little did I know that such planning would include vomiting all over my local drugstore's floor.

I find that highly apropos.

You see, I am now officially in my SECOND TRIMESTER. I have trouble even believing that as I type. And if I end up typing most of this post in all caps, please understand the significance.

I HAVE NEVER EVER HAD A SECOND TRIMESTER BEFORE.

EVER.

THIS IS HUGE.

OK, I'll try to contain myself a tad and lose the caps.

And what I find so funny about being so sick yesterday is the fact that Beanie decided to mark the first day of this celebration with MAKING ME SICKER THAN I'VE BEEN IN WEEKS. (I guess I lied about losing the caps...sorry.)

First I didn't get to work until noon because I couldn't peel myself off the bathroom floor. And then when I decided to stop at SavOn after work, she/he/whatever decided to remind me who's running the show here. I don't think I've thrown up in public like that since I was a little kid. I mean there was NO TIME to find a bathroom. Yeah. I wanted to die.

The second trimester is supposed to be the time of waning nausea and increased energy? HA! (Beanie seemed to say...) I'LL SHOW YOU! MWAHAHAHAHA...

Oh and later my entire dinner came right back up in brilliant technocolor as well.

Gotta love that Beanie.

(My BFF Kona Girl is convinced it's a girl if for no other reason than Beanie's pretty damn demanding. But keep in mind that KG has also already vowed to come down from Seattle to attend every dance recital and spelling bee.)

But Beanie did give us some good news last week. My Nuchal Scan (plus blood draw) confirmed that my chance of Down's is 1 in 941. And the chances of Trisomy 18 and 13 combined is 1 in 1561.

At first, being the skeptic I am, I found it hard to understand the enthusiasm in the nurse's voice since it still seemed kinda "eh" to me. That was until she told me that my chances were originally 1 in 60 (!!!) just due to my age alone, so this is a pretty huge jump in the right direction. Additionally, this puts me somewhere in the range of a 26 year old, which I will definitely take.

What's funny is that until we heard these numbers, Mr. Blogger and I were pretty set on doing an amniocentesis because of all the risks associated with my...yes...age. (Can't get enough of hearing how freakin' old I am all the time.) We had already ruled out a CVS and the Triple Screen and were going to go straight for the amnio only.

But when I called the genetic counselor we had met with prior to the Nuchal Scan, she told me that one way to look at it is that they don't necessarily recommend amnio for 26 year olds.

So now, after A LOT of thought, we've decided to go with just a level II ultrasound, done around the 18th week. The risks involved with the amnio ended up being more than I was willing to take in the long run. And this type of ultrasound should hopefully show us even more. For now, I can only hope things continue on in a positive manner.

(As a final say on what has become such a controversial matter, I have found that a lot of people have given me both solicited and unsolicited advice on this matter and the best thing I can say is that it was our personal decision. Everyone does what is right for them and I would support anyone's feelings and thought processes involved in their choices. I guess I just wanted to make sure I wasn't offending anyone.)

Anywho... long and the short of it is that we're doing ok. And most importantly Beanie seems to be kicking and thrashing away (not that I can feel it yet but you know what I mean)! I think I've had another two scans since I last posted and I'm still amazed every time I see that.

Oh, and she/he/whatever seems to have a penchant for ska-dancing. That's our child.

All ultrasounds. All the time.

(Seriously. I'm about to retitle my blog "This Week's Beanie Action.")

We had another ultrasound today and I was actually so nervous about it, I hadn't even wanted to blog the fear. It's just so scary and terrifying every time I watch that screen and pray to see SOMETHING. There have just been far too many times that I didn't.

To start though, the doctor first tried the doppler over my abdomen to see if we could hear the heartbeat and after pressing the crap out of my midsection...nothing.

I was literally shaking as we walked to the ultrasound room. Even though she said it was entirely common not to hear anything this early (10 weeks, 5 days and counting), when she then had trouble getting anything on the monitor, I swear, I was THIS close to passing out.

She complained about my strangely shaped uterus (news to me!) and then...finally...there was Beanie. Heartbeat flashing away. I am apparently pregnant with E.T.

But get this. Beanie is an actual, like, BABY. Ok fetus. But you get my point. (And did you know that this week I officially went from embryo to fetus? The things you learn from obsessing, I tell ya'.)

I mean, she/he/whatever isn't a kidney bean anymore. There were ARMS. And LEGS. And a HEAD.

And then she/he/whatever JUMPED. Like a hiccup or something.

THERE IS A LIVING BEING WITH A HEAD AND APPENDAGES AND THE ABILITY TO HICCUP INSIDE OF ME.

That has suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks.

And while I allowed myself the requisite 12 hours of joy, I am of course on to new worries. Like next Thursday's Nuchal Scan. But one hurdle at a time.

In the meantime, I hope and pray you don't find this a bit indulgent, but I have to be honest that the last couple weeks have been, well, hellish. I am so torn because I feel as though I'm not allowed to complain. I should feel LUCKY and BLESSED. And I do. Really. Obviously. Beyond belief.

But Beanie. Can we chat for a sec? We all know that you rule the roost. In every way possible. And I will do everything and anything for the rest of my life to make sure you are happy and healthy.

But you're kicking my ass.

First there was the Gestational Diabetes diagnosis and the constant finger pricking I have to do now. It's ok...it's just a little tough to hear the dietician tell me I need to stop eating so many carbs when I'M A VEGETARIAN AND THAT'S THE MAJORITY OF MY DIET.

And I bet you didn't know you could have diarrhea and constipation at the same time. Or ravenous hunger while nauseous?

Then there's the constant and never-letting-up vomit-o-rama. It's especially fun when I'm working. (This had to be one of the first times a doctor asked why I'd LOST weight at a check up.)

I cried my eyes out last weekend because I felt SO DAMN GUILTY for being sick and tired of being sick and tired. But I just broke down.

PLEASE don't think I don't know how lucky I am to even be in this position. I keep telling myself that if there's a healthy baby at the end of this, it was ALL worth it. And it is. I guess I never realized it would be so hard.

Ok, it's off my chest. So now, little hiccupping Beanie. Do what you gotta do. I can take it.

But if you could let me eat like, a WHOLE bagel, that would be awesome.

Houston...we have a heartbeat

I know you can't see a damn thing and really, well, Beanie is only someone a mother (or a father...ok or grandma) could love at this point. But if you look at the bottom left where the "cross, dot, dot, dot, cross" measurement is, there's a blob with a bright spot.

The blob is my perfectly sized eight week, four day old Beanie. That bright spot, my wonderful friends, is a heartbeat. Honest.

You see, this is the first time ever that we've been able to see such a wonderment.

I can't even begin to tell you what that means to us. I cried on the table and told the doctor that it was the first time I've ever cried over something GOOD at an ultrasound.

I know that if it's at all in the realm of possibility to have good thoughts and prayers lead to this, well, I don't know that I'll ever be able to thank you enough. Now, that doesn't mean you can start slacking, mind you. We have quite a few hurdles to go.

For now though, THANK YOU. To anyone and everyone who wished we'd see this day. It's truly a miracle.

But lest you think me too optimistic...I of course only allowed myself about an hour of happiness before I got online and Googled "chances of miscarriage after heartbeat". It's a hard habit to break.

Be careful what you wish for...

Is anybody still out there reading?

I really should start this entry apologizing for my absence and telling you all how much I've missed you. And as much as both statements really are ENTIRELY appropriate, well, I have bigger fish to fry. Ugh. Fish. Frying.

You see...just the mere THOUGHT of a fish fry is going to send me running for the bathroom, for oh, about the fifty gazillionth time.

I'm pregnant.

As my step-dad likes to say...AGAIN.

Yup, preggo number five. (Wasn't that a song?) But let me start from the beginning, shall I? Hold on a sec though. I need a sip of ginger ale.

Nope, not helping.

It all started after miscarriage number four. Mr. Blogger and I decided the hell with this "just keep trying" bullshit and after meeting with fertility specialists and undergoing even MORE tests, we finally came to the decision to go through IVF.

We were supposed to do it in May, but our financing fell through. Then we were shooting for July. I began some meds, we started using condoms (VERY odd for people trying to get pregnant, but we did as we were told) and all was full speed ahead.

Until May 21, 2006. Yes, my little beanie, I know EXACTLY when you were conceived.

SOMEBODY forgot to use one that night. And SOMEBODY else had absolutely no idea where she was on her cycle, given that she was for once relieved of the obsessive record keeping. But well, what can you do. Oops. I mean really, what are the chances, right?

Actually, I KNOW the chances. I was watching a program on couples trying to conceive through IVF and one of the women was my age. She went through SIX rounds of IVF with no luck and then ended up using donor eggs. To quote the announcer, "The chances of Mrs. Infertile conceiving on her own at her age is FIVE PERCENT".

FIVE.

I'm sorry, did you say FIVE?

I immediately began to cry.

So when, a couple weeks later, we were heading off to a weekend trip to L.A., I started noticing I sure was having to use the bathroom an awful lot. (Ahhh the days when using the bathroom a lot only implied frequent urination...such times of innocence.) Hmmmm. And I was getting a bit of heartburn. Double hmmm.

Now, as I stated before, I've been through this part before. A second trimester? Nope, never. But I've at least had a few weeks of joy in my time.

I know the signs. And I had a funny feeling. So we picked up a First Response on the way up to my aunt and uncle's where we were staying for the weekend.

Saturday morning I bounded out of bed after the fourth time of getting up to go to the bathroom that night and decided to try. The line was really really faint. But it was there. Sunday morning, same thing. But a little darker.

I have now decided to trademark the name Most Fertile Infertile Woman on the Planet®.

The following week I had jury duty, and of course I was chosen. I even told them I was pregnant, hoping that would help me in some way, but nope. They apparently wanted someone who pushed past the elderly and infirm to get to the restroom when they finally called a break.

And in that time, I still had to make it to two blood tests to see if my beta levels were rising. They did. And that made me very happy.

But I know a thing or two about being happy at this point. It never lasts. Ok Mom and M-I-L, SORRY. It never lasted BEFORE.

But here's where the interesting turn of events takes place.

I have always enjoyed being pregnant. I've never been sick. EVER. At the most, I get heartburn and that's nothing a couple Tums won't fix. I'm usually just hungry and tired.

Well the pregnancy goddesses have decided to laugh in the face of the one who once wrote THIS. Just skip down to the last line if you like. Now you may laugh as well.

OH MY GOD have I been sick. All the pregnancy books list a litany of digestive issues you MAY experience while pregnant, and may I say, overachiever that I am, I've had 'em all!

I can't decide if the puking or the mind-numbingly painful constipation is more fun. Either way, it is AWFULLY hard to concentrate at work. (Oh my compadre in puke...I feel for you...I really do.)

And frankly, after the Weekend of Puking A Go-Go, that's why I'm home today.

My doctor ordered an early ultrasound for last Thursday so we could see what was happening at this particularly worrisome point in my pregnancies, and I was pretty excited about it until we got there. The screen was away from me, the tech didn't say a word and I was told to call my doctor for the results. What the hell?

Only today (yes, I had to wait FOUR FREAKIN' DAYS for the results) did they tell me the following, and I quote...

"Confirmed intrauterine pregnancy of 6 to 7 weeks."

No. Really. I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT YOU BIG DORKS!

The nurse said at a scan that early, that's all they're trying to establish. It's not ectopic and it's the correct size. I thought we'd see a heartbeat, which I know other women have at this point, so I'm now of course worried and PISSED. The nurse on the other hand, thinks everything is just hunky dory, given my beta numbers and now the scan.

EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, LADY.

The big day of the Big Ultrasound is July 6. I am so nervous, my knees are knocking already.

So today I am 7 weeks and 1 day, which is longer than it lasted last time, but not as long as others. That Big Ultrasound has been an arbiter of doom on many an occasion, so if I can just get through that with good news, well, that will be a first.

In the meantime, I tell myself that it's GOOD to be sick. And worry will get you nowhere.

One of these days, I may just believe it.

Sick and tired

So here I sit, hacking up a lung, voice completely lost and sinuses blocked with what appears to be cement. I even called in sick to work.

But I knew it was coming.

I have ALWAYS gotten sick, broken a bone, had an accident, or caught some mysterious malady when I'm stressed. I've long ago accepted that I'm just that kind of person. You know the type.

But what makes me mad is being called a Drama Queen. I thought that was reserved for those who actually enjoy the attention. Kind of like Janice on The Sopranos. And I really can't stand her.

To the contrary, I HATE being that person. I HATE knowing that if someone at work is sick...I will be the one to catch it. If I fall down...I'll be the one who ends up in a cast and on crutches, while others just brush themselves off and get on with it. If anything can go wrong in a pregnancy...well, you get my drift.

And boy has it been stressful around here. Or around work, more specifically.

You see, without risking my place in that ever-tenuous ladder of success, I'll leave it at this:

The auditors came.

The auditors saw.

The auditors fired people.

And some others quit. In the end, those who weren't affected (which frankly, I feel AFFECTED as hell) were STILL stuck in Spanish Inquisition meetings all day. Let's just say that the end result was my now doing the job of THREE people.

It sucks. And if I knew a better word for "sucks" which would not involve pressing my swelling-with-congestion brain any further into action...I would use it. I'm just too damned tired.

But on the upside, Mr. Blogger made me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup this weekend, even though I had no appetite and couldn't finish a meal (hey...there's another upside!). He plied me with juice even though I complained it burned my lips, which are raw from all the open-mouth breathing.

So yet again, I feel I shouldn't complain.

Do you ever feel like you somehow aren't allowed to have EVERY aspect of your life in order? That there's some kind of alarm that sounds on God's desk whenever you're TOO happy?

Like, you may have found the perfect mate, but good luck with the whole "making a baby with him" thing? Or you may have always been told you're smart and capable and a hard worker, but you can't help but feel like your career is just a big pile of time-wasting poo? Or you may be blessed with wonderful friends and family, but your health will always be in question?

Yeah. Me too.

In the meantime, please excuse me. I need to go blow my nose.