And now, a vocabulary lesson:

Learned a new word today: paradiddle.

This word makes me happy.

Happier still: the impending paradiddle of little feet running through my house! And meanwhile, tapping in my tumtum! :)

Tomorrow we're off to California for a baby shower (mine!) and a healthy dose of friends and family (including in-laws... no one ever said cod liver oil tasted good, but it's good for you, gosh darn it).

I even found two possible (and cheap!) outfit contenders in Mall Visit #2 last night (This time my strategy was to try EVERYTHING that hit below the knee, even if I thought it was ugly on the hanger -- and both things I bought I would never have thought I'd pick):

The Pink

and

The Black
(Incidentally, do we think the person who wrote this item description was not a native English speaker? And helloooo, spellcheck?)

I like the Black better but wondering if it's not "springy" enough...?

So it's a good day, on the verge of a very good (long!) weekend. Catch you sometime next week!


(edited to add: blogger spellcheck does not know "paradiddle" -- fancy that!)

Sort of celebration

SS's birthday was Sunday and we went over there with a few other people to"celebrate." It was a bit weird -- everyone sitting around wearing surgical masks -- but I think he enjoyed it and we are really savoring all our time with him.

I guess I have been out of the loop -- it's one of those things where I never feel comfy hounding them for information, and I think they forget who they have told or not told things -- but I learned that he is definitely going forward with a bone marrow transplant in a few weeks. He had told me before that a transplant would be the last resort when all the other options are gone, but I know he's still responding (or at least was as of last week) to the experimental drug, so I am not sure what exactly this means. Anyway, my understanding is that he will check back into the hospital on April 13 or 14, for one more big blast of chemo (they have to suppress the leukemia before the transplant), and meanwhile they will "harvest" his sister's marrow for the transplant. Then on April 19 they will do the transplant. After that-- they'll wait and see how his body takes it (or doesn't). It will either be a slow recovery, or he may not make it through the transplant. I can't really get a sense of what the odds are, and it didn't feel appropriate to ask.

Meanwhile, we ate and toasted and celebrated his life so far -- all we can do, for now. I continue to hope for the best, whatever that is. If "the best" ends up being an end to his suffering... we will come to terms with that, too, somehow.

Drat.

This morning, after diligently avoiding all things sugary this weekend and skipping breakfast today, I reported to my doctor's office for my glucose test. Upon my arrival, the lab tech said "Who told you that? You could have at least eaten breakfast, sheesh! Oh well." So, to add insult to injury -- bad information AND no Easter candy! ARGH! (But guess who has a purse full of chocolate AND a piece of leftover birthday cake waiting at home?)

But maybe I should get some perspective on the sweets thing, anyhow, in light of my other news, which involves a VERY TRAUMATIC trip to the mall in search of a cute shower dress for next weekend.

Setting out, I was actually excited. I would get something flirty and summery, show off my darling prego tummy. Friends would oooh and awww. So cute. So I tried on dress after dress -- only to see staring back at me from the full length mirror: a giant stuffed sausage of a girl.
Okay, tummy, yes. But also big giant ass, big giant arms, and mostly -- big giant legs! Seriously, does ANYONE pregnant think their legs look good (or as good)? What the HELL is with all the above-the-knee dresses?

So, I hate to admit this but I actually cried at the mall. Chalk it up to hormones, or maybe just a big reality check. After all I've been in winter clothes for months -- months of full coverage and dark colors. Honestly, maybe I'm not as ready for spring as I thought.... Though I have a feeling that sentiment is nothing a few cherry blossoms won't change.

Cherry blossoms and a lovely pastel burlap sack.

Just as I feared

So, I have a big doctor's appointment first thing Monday morning. Glucose test, big sonogram (regular and 4-D), and checkup. I'm excited (esp. for the sonogram)! We may get to see her face!

HOWEVER.

It occured to me today to wonder what kind of preparation might be involved for this glucose test. I looked on the web and found everything ranging from "do whatever you usually do," to "eat a small breakfast," to "don't eat ANYTHING." Yes, there is such a thing as TOO much information, Internet.

So I decided it was time to actually call the doctor's office...

Me: Is there anything I should or should not eat before the test?
Nurse: Well, since it's first thing in the a.m., you really probably shouldn't eat anything. Eat a small low-sugar breakfast if you absolutely must, but make sure it's early. Oh -- AND -- you really should watch your sugar intake this whole weekend; you wouldn't want to skew the results.

UMMMM. Does she not know that this is EASTER CANDY WEEKEND? And that I have a closet full of Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, Hershey chocolate eggs, and chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs, just waiting for an excuse to be eaten? (And to boot, a birthday party with delicious cake on Sunday night? Cake, the only thing I have been truly craving lately?)

Why oh why oh why is the universe so unfair?

All baby, all the time (and you're not even here yet)

I had another dream last night, and in this dream we had the baby, and she was adorable and lovely (and bald, incidentally), and people other than me (for once) were doing or not doing things with her to terrify me (the only one I specifically remember is my brother -- it's my subconscious I guess? -- leaving her face-down between two couch cushions). I also remember that people kept asking me her name, and I could NOT remember it, and I thought maybe it was Amy or Katie, but neither of those sounded quite right (so I guess those are two I can cross off the list, ha).

My favorite dream so far though -- and the symbolism seems about as heavy-handed as one could expect) -- was the one a few months ago where G. and I got our baby from a drive-through window, and asked the cashier "Now what do we do with her?" No instruction manual, no preparation, nuttin' (although she did come with a name I didn't choose, kind of like those Cabbage Patch Kids birth certificates, remember those? My CPK was Jacquelin Danya). Total holy-shit moment. Probably not that far from reality, no?

"Basic Baby Care" class on Tuesday was interesting and positive. The theme was "it's harder to mess this up than you think, and if you do screw up, the baby probably won't a) know or b) hold it against you." So that was reassuring. G. did not like all the gross-out stuff they talked about: lots of closeup pictures of different stages of poop, newly circumcised penises (penii?), healing belly buttons, babies with coneheads, babies with cradle cap, babies with acne all over their bodies, and/or covered with "cheese".... but you know what? That is exactly why we are taking this class -- no surprises when she pops out all gooey and (hopefully only temporarily) deformed.

And he did keep it together very well -- other than telling me to "go out for a pass" with the practice doll, and making me laugh during a lecture by wondering when he should "ask if we can warm the baby up in the microwave." He's going to be a great dad. Especially if he can continue to keep me laughing when confronted by poop and goo and scabs.

Countdown

Three months to go till baby makes her entrance. I am a mess of emotions, that range and alternate and often overlap. Intensely happy, terrified, anxious to meet her, worried my life will never be the same, glad my life will never be the same, etc. etc. For now, I am trying to heed friends' wise advice and just relish full nights of good sleep (when I can get them, even now!).

I am counting down the days. (And counting UP the pounds -- over 20 as of this morning... but that's another story.)

Meanwhile, the various dramas in my life are converging. Namely, one awkward dilemma. As you may recall, my dear friend (and one half of the closest thing I have to family in this town) P. is married to SS (who is battling very serious and likely terminal leukemia). She is also supposed to be (co-)hosting a shower for me in May, at her house. Now, in the realm of SS's illness, May is a million years off. He could be on the road to recovery by then (best best case). He could also be really really sick. He may no longer be with us -- heaven forbid, but as he insists on pointing out, let's be real here.

A stupid baby shower for me seems pretty trivial in the grand scheme of things. But the dilemma is this: she claims she wants to do it anyway. And I cannot for the life of me tell if a) she's being polite and/or a martyr, because lord knows she is going to be totally overwhelmed in May no matter what the scenario... or b) she actually WANTS to do it, and somehow it will allow her some measure of escape/distraction/positive energy.

I tried to ask, but absolutely could not get a read. The co-host, my friend C., has offered to do it at her place instead. I put this out there. P. basically threw it back to me: "Whatever you and C. feel most comfortable with is fine with me." Well -- I would feel most comfortable doing it at C.'s place, but only in an effort to make P. most comfortable! And if she isn't... well then neither am I. So. It's tough. All this is compounded by SS's contention that P. is in major denial about his fate and the very real possbility that she may THINK she's up for it, but not be.

Anyway -- we've left it for the moment that C. will host, and P. will do food. I am still worried I've hurt her feelings somehow -- but you know what? We are friends, and I have not beat around the bush, and I think this is the right thing. I guess I have to trust her to tell me the truth. And hope that she understands that I really am trying to do what's best for everyone. It's just a shower, after all.

Improvement all around.

Begrudgingly, G. did call his dad to discuss the loan last night -- the call went great and was appreciated by all, and in the end we (with his dad's emphatic blessing) decided to put most of the bonus towards our higher-interest second mortgage and pay his dad a bit more every month to chip away at that debt. So, a good resolution and everyone's more or less happy, and although no one will admit I was right about their need to talk it through (and I am so far refraining from the I-told-you-so dance), at least I am not the bad guy anymore. Whew! On to the next mini-crisis....

Meanwhile, this week G. and I have dragged our sorry asses back to the gym for the first time in about 6 months. Okay, I had an excuse when I was feeling so sick. And it was KIND OF understandable through the coldest of the winter months. But now... especially in light of recent 12-girl-scout-cookies-in-one-sitting binges... I'm afraid there is no more justifying the slacking.

I've been taking it really easy, of course. Today I tried the recombinant bike and had to put my seat two clicks further back, because my knees kept hitting my big ol' tummy. How's that for a reality check!

The fun part is, after I work out, baby kicks like mad the rest of the day. I think she likes it! Clearly this is another sign I'm already a bad mother -- it's taken me 6 whole months to get into gear....! :)

Up next: Guilting myself back into flossing. Maybe.

In other news...

Heard last night that my mother-in-law took a nasty fall on a weird step and broke her nose, got two black eyes, and twisted her ankle (in front of the box office for "Million Bollar Baby" -- is that ironic? Or just appropriate?). A nastier person might take pleasure in this fact, but honestly i feel terrible for her....

I SWEAR!

The root of all evil.

Last night G. and I had a big fight (although we don't really ever FIGHT, so let's call it a big TALK)... about money. Seems he wants to use his long-awaited end-of-the-year bonus to pay his dad back for a long outstanding loan, because he's uncomfortable being in debt to his father (although in typical guy form, he refuses to talk about it with him). Meanwhile, I am worried about having enough cushion for the 8 months (and maybe more, you just never know) I won't be working when baby comes.... I don't want to HAVE to go rushing back just because his pride dictated that he pay off a big chunk without even seeing if his dad really cares how soon he gets paid back. I guess this is selfish of me. And I understand his not wanting to be in debt, especially because his parents are notoriously passive agressive and probably wouldn't tell him even if they did really want to be paid back right away, and were secretly stewing about it.

Anyway, I am open to it (although I don't think he believes this now). I just didn't appreciate being told this was the plan, rather than discussing it and understanding it and deciding together. And I guess I also feel a little inadequate about the whole money thing, because I don't have a lot of context (how much other money we really have to work with, how long it would last us, etc.) because he manages a lot of our savings. He has anxiety about becoming the sole breadwinner (and the debt we have already accrued), and I have anxiety about no longer being a breadwinner. Maybe neither of us has been sensitive enough to the other's worries. I don't know -- I think there was misunderstanding on both parts -- but it all came out wrong on both ends and wound up being pretty uncomfy. Now he's bummed and I'm bummed that he's bummed.

I hate talking about money. I always have. I wish money did not exist, or that we all had the same amount. I could totally handle living in a more socialist setup I think -- wouldn't even know what we were missing. Meanwhile, though, I guess no one ever feels like they have enough. And the prospect of adding a mouth to feed and taking away one whole income -- at least for awhile -- is scary. Not to mention the fact that I am more and more convinced that even if I have to work again AB (After Baby), it may not be at this job. I don't know -- I would never say never -- it's just not a job that's conducive to being second priority. And clearly, any job would be, AB.

Oh my god -- I feel like we are playing grownup. Money, house, jobs, baby? Can this really be our life? How the heck did we get here already!??!!

Ah, crap...

...I ate twelve.

Hallelujah!

Just remembered I have thin mint girlscout cookies stashed in my file cabinet!

**does a little dance**

More proof that I am a West Coast Girl.

So I was in Boston (or rather, 18 miles outside) for work yesterday. It started snowing halfway through my afternoon meeting, and by the time I got in my car and started driving to my downtown hotel, it was dark and basically blizzarding.

I must give Boston this: they do not skimp on the salt. And in spite of the already-scary fact that my rental car was a KIA (not promising in any weather, IMHO, esp. at 5.5 months pregnant), I really didn't slip around too much. But, between the sleet and snow and darkness and frozen windshield wipers that didn't wipe at all, I could not see anything. ANY. THING.

So, I'm plodding along at 5 miles per hour on the highway. In spite of going relatively slowly (in a 65-mph zone), it was terrifying! At one point I had to maneuver off the road and wipe down the car -- which helped for about 15 seconds, until I was encased in ice again.

Two hours later, got to downtown Boston -- only to find every street sign iced over, and no passers-by on the street to ask directions. And could there BE any more one-way streets in Boston? I kept taking turns and knew I was getting farther and farther from my hotel, but wasn't sure which way was back.

Finally, a beacon -- a police car idling at the curb. I pulled up, forced my door open, staggered through the elements, and pounded on the window. I wish I could say I kept my cool. But at that point it was just too much -- so I cried, mascara and tears freezing on my face almost instantly. The nice officer took pity on me -- truly, I was pitiful -- and escorted me to the hotel. Teased me a little bit for crying -- but I didn't even care at that point. I'd made it!

I'm sure there is a metaphor or a moral in here somewhere, but the only one I can seem to take away at this moment is -- GET BACK TO CALIFORNIA WHERE YOU BELONG, YOU FOOL! HAS SIX YEARS IN DC TAUGHT YOU NOTHING? CLEARLY, IT HAS TAUGHT YOU NOTHING!

So anyway. I am properly humbled, and now back in DC (where 32 feels balmy, by the way), but longing for my *real* home.


(PS: Abby -- I so thought of you and your long-ass commute -- if my 18 miles was 2+ hours, how did you do? Shannon -- glad you made it home safe and sound! Poor things -- pregnant ladies like us should not be allowed outside in such weather!)

A fine line between denial and hope

We had a short but wonderful weekend in New York City. Took care of the requisite visits to friends and family, and managed to sneak in some romance. Sat in the front row for The Producers and saw an old college acquaintance star in Avenue Q. It was good to get away.

Tomorrow I go to Boston. In the last month -- and keep in mind this was a short month -- I will have been in Ft. Myers, Atlanta, Austin, New York and Boston. It occurs to me lately that I may not have such a flurry of travel again for a long time. When I have seen friends and business contacts in these places (most of which I've visited for work), I say "Well, I probably won't be seeing you for awhile, hahahaha," and then I realize to myself, "Damn, I really won't see you for QUITE awhile" -- and in the case of the business associates, "I may never see you again." I'm quite fond of some of them, so this is an oh-my-god revelation.

Never. See you. Again.

This is a concept I'm trying to get my arms around with SS, as his mortality bears down on us. We took him dinner on Friday night, and I tried to keep it together. I wasn't sure if the best course was to try to stay upbeat, or to tell him how sad I am that he is sick again. However, he did most of the talking.

It seems there are some positive things, on the face of it. 1) He is (so far) responding to the experimental drug, and 2) his sister is a previously unidentified bone marrow match. When he told us these things, I got excited. This is the best news we could have hoped for, right? I told him he really should update his website, because this all sounds good. And I know his loved ones want to keep the hope alive.

He got kind of mad then. I get the sense he thinks this so-called hope is just a tool of denial for the rest of the people in his life. As he pointed out, 1) while it's great that the experimental drug is working, it also totally supresses his immune system which leaves him susceptible to dying from the slightest infection. And that is no way to really live. 2) A bone marrow transplant would truly be the last resort. And while a match might save him... if his body rejects it, he could die immediately.

So even the good signs are bad signs, the way he sees it -- prolonging the agony. I resist this negativity, but I cannot deny him his right to be angry. Angry at this sickness, for one. And angry at us, too. He feels his friends, his family, his wife are doing him a disservice by "refusing to accept reality." He will buy his own cemetary plot this week, and begin to plan his burial, because P., his wife, won't/can't do it. He has been filling out life insurance collection forms, leaving only "date of death" for her to fill in. He says he doesn't want to hear everyone mourning him before he's dead. I think he thinks it's a selfish need for us to want to tell him how much we love him before he's gone. I hadn't thought of it that way.

I really don't believe I'm in denial about losing him anymore, and I appreciate his openness and his honesty. But I can't pretend I'm okay with it, and I'll be damned if I will give up the hope.

Meanwhile,

I have been on the verge of tears almost all day. The littlest things are setting me off. Ugh. Sick of the hormones, sick of feeling fat, sick of being over-sensitive. Sick of being at work. I want to go on vacation, or crawl into bed (but only if I can sleep on my tummy... sigh).

Time off

I've decided to take a break for a few days next week -- a break from being pregnant, that is.

It's just too all-consuming. The books, the e-mails, the 17 pounds I've gained so far (GOD), the constant talking/shopping/e-mailing/obsessing about it. I'm the most guilty of perpetuating this, because it's on my mind constantly. My poor husband who has to hear about every detail (like I'm sure he really cares what kind of nipples we buy for baby bottles) must be about to lose his mind -- though he is very, very patient. I am worried that pregnancy is becoming who I am, and I need to resist that.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not going to go smoke a pack of Luckys and drink pi~na coladas (mmmm, pi~na coladas) and eat imported brie. But I am just going to actively stop talking about it, reading about it on the Internet, and -- if I can help it -- thinking about it (so much anyway) for just a little while. Maybe 24 hours. 36 if I can.

I'll start right after this weekend, when I'm going to see my sister -- who will almost certainly want to discuss every gory detail and touch my ever-growing gut constantly. That should put me over the top.