Stuffs

Health stuff:  I took Ike for the ultrasound of his noggin this morning. Of course it will be a few days before the radiologist reads the images and gets the information back to the pediatrician’s office, so we don’t really know anything yet, other than that he is still the offspring of a big-headed father, so I am not too nervous about that.  Just glad that his fontanel is still open enough that they could do an ultrasound and not have to knock him out for an MRI.  Still no word from the hepatologist’s office in Cincinnati about the latest round of bloodwork. Not sure if I should call them and ask, or assume they just wanted it as a new baseline and I’ll hear from them after we repeat it next month.  Again, not too nervous about it since the doctor was so reassuring.

Halloween stuff:  Our Beggar’s Night (do they still call it that, or is it back to Trick or Treat?) was postponed due to the icky weather, so we’ll be dressing Ike up to hand out candy on Saturday instead of last night.  We did go to a friend’s kids Halloween party on Friday, but it was so warm in the house that he only had his Tigger outfit on for a few minutes.  Didn’t even get a picture, so we’ll have to try that and the panda outfit both on Saturday.  He’ll surely drool and/or spit up at least enough to justify that wardrobe change.

Mike and I did go to an adults’ party on Saturday.  He recycled his Dick Cheney mask from several years ago, and I cobbled together a Toddlers & Tiaras costume using my sister’s tutu from the box of old dance recital costumes in my parents’ basement, the tiara from my bachelorette party, pigtails, excessive (for me) eye makeup and one of Ike’s future sippy cups.  Plus my I FUCK LIKE A GIRL t-shirt because, well, seems legit, right?

There was beer, and plenty of it:

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I’ve misplaced my sippy cup, but I think I like this better!

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Aren’t we cute?

Supply stuff:  have been having a fairly significant dip in my pumping output, and have been trying many things to get back on track. Thankfully Ike has only had to have one or less partial bottles of formula on really low days to tide him over.  I hate that he’s had any, but it’s not enough to diminish the benefits of breastmilk, I’m sure.  I ended up breaking down and buying a new pump.  The one my friend loaned me had already been through three babies, so I think I was lucky to have gotten as far as I did with it.  The new one is helping, though I’m still not ending up with much of a surplus every day.  I think it’s partially hormonal (maybe my period is about to come back? Eeeeeeeek!), and partially stress-related, and was exacerbated at first by a failing pump.  I started calcium/magnesium supplements, which I should have done while I was off dairy anyway, have been trying to add an extra pumping session at work whenever I can, and am drinking Mother’s Milk tea like a fiend until my fenugreek and blessed thistle arrive via Amazon.  Hoping I’ll be able to ramp back up to get a few extra bottles in the fridge again on a regular basis.  They never hang around long enough to be worth putting into the freezer anymore, so I just try to rotate FIFO at my parents’ house, and anything left on a Friday, of which there was almost none last Friday, can come home for the weekend, letting Mike take an overnight shift on occasion.

Development stuff:  my mom said that Ike’s been showing off a new consonant, and it’s M!  He’s been saying MEH, which cracks me up, because…that’s so my kid.  Not that I really think he means it like I would like to interpret it, but funny all the same.

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So perhaps there’s a chance that Mama will end up being his first word after all.  I haven’t yet actually heard him say this myself, but I can’t imagine that my mom would tell tall tales.  She also noted that he enjoyed seeing his first snowflakes yesterday.  They usually walk her dog every morning, but since it was so miserable outside they just took her out in the yard instead of taking the stroller around the block. A few flakes fell on his face and he smiled.  Hopefully we won’t have a totally snow-free winter like we did last year, and he’ll be able to really enjoy some snow as he gets bigger over the next several months.

That’s all for now, I suppose.  Oh!  Tonight I get to go meet and visit with my friend’s sister’s newborn baby girl.  I think she’s only threeish weeks old, and I cannot wait.  I have a total newborn addiction anymore.  So grateful to be able to enjoy things like this now.  There was a time not so very long ago when I would never consider doing such a thing, because it would just have made me too jealous and upset.  Yet now I’m excited and looking forward to hearing her birth story and passing on some cloth diaper geekery (and supplies).  Fun!

Hope you’re all faring well if you were in or near Sandy’s path.

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Staying in the Frame

Per jjiraffe’s request, here are some photos of me looking like me.  Not all are current, but I think they are in the spirit of what we’re going for with the project.

Very chinny, very postpartum puffy, but soooo happy!

Picking up our rally ticket!

Sadly, the above is pretty accurate for how I usually look (this was taken Saturday).  Way, way overdue for a haircut, no makeup, jeans and a hoodie (if I’m out of the house – otherwise, subtract jeans and the bra and add yoga pants/sweats).  Big smile that makes my eyes totally disappear.

Here’s right after Ike was born – I LOVE this one:

Brand new, still in the birthing center, only hours old!

 

 

30 Weeks

Terrible cell phone photo, but what the hell.  I’m trying on a dress to wear to a baby shower.  MY baby shower.  That’s crazy.

Also, I can’t believe I’m going to get so much bigger.  I know I am, but holy crap, I’m kind of enormous already.  I still don’t really feel it, or realize it when I look down at myself, but seeing it in profile is different.  Very different.

Fist Pumping and Face Humping

What a weekend.  Started off salty, Friday was a bad day at the office.  Super bad.  Without the spermicidal lube, even.  But we made up for it.  After being unable to restrain ourselves from car dancing, table dancing, yardwork dancing, etc..

Word Up
…we decided we’d better just go dancing.  So for the first time in many, many a year…I showered, dressed, and made up at approximately eleven PM on a Saturday night and took my happy arse out on the town.  Girls’ night! 
Dancing shoes!

‘kay, I’m ready!
Screaming Amyface

Practice dance

Let’s do this thang!

We started off in the Oregon District, one drink at Newcom’s.  I hate that place.  Meat market.  Makes me feel old.  Made me feel old when I used to go in and drink with a fake ID.  Just very…childishish.  I believe it was best put, “I cannot even believe all these douchebags.  Everywhere I look:  DOUCHEBAG.”

The douchebags…they’re watching!

Yeah, so let’s GTFOOH.  Kthxcyabai.  Onto Masque!  Yay.  Now that was fun.  It’s a gay bar, with a much better atmosphere.  Can you say drag show?  Good times.  Plus, you know, all the pretty, pretty gay men running around with spiky hair and tight shirts and making out in dark corners.  Hotness.  Heeeheeeee!  Strobe lights and bootyshaking commences!  Also, tipping the fine ladies on stage.  Who take that dollar and give you a face full of tranny crotch in exchange.  Well, not me, but them.  Hiiiiiiighlarious.  So sad I missed out on that.

Lean back
Hella

 Suffice it to say, it was a good time.  Photo credits to DROID.

All wand, no magic.

I may as well tell these stories now.  No point holding onto them.  I mean, really?  What am I saving it for, posterity?  HAH.  I still feel pretty stuck not knowing what the hell’s going to happen next, so why the hell not tell the embarrassing stories that, when they’re HAPPENING seem like positively the most mortifying thing ever to happen to anyone, but in all reality are probably kind of par for the course. This course apparently being that obstacle course of I guess what’s probably at this point more than fairly called recurrent miscarriage.  This is probably the best place for it anyway…not like people want to chat about this kind of stuff much in person, which obviously is understandable.


Aaaaand, my stomach ties itself in knots.  Harsh.  Anyway!  Moving on….


So, the day I went to the doctor this last time around, I as usual had taken the earliest appointment possible so as to not be too late getting into work.  Hah.  The IRONY.  Anyway, I don’t remember what day…yes, it was a Friday.  Jeans, sneakers, etc.  Casual.  But being a considerate little patient (ha), I had actually managed to shave my legs that morning before leaving the house, so when I got the call as I was driving back to work that the pee in a cup deal came back positive (that’s still a WTF moment if there ever was one, somehow…weirdness), and I drove home instead of going back into the office, I went ahead and changed clothes…something to do to kill time between arriving and having to leave again to go to this ultrasound they wanted me to have.  Here’s where I start to chuckle.  

Medical protocols can be an odd thing.  I’m sure they’re in place for perfectly good reasons, most of the time, obviously, but sometimes they don’t make a helluva lot of sense when one is fairly sure the problem is at least half obvious.  Cringe warning – just skip the rest of this paragraph if you’re squeamish, girly-wise.  At this point, I’d already been bleeding for longer than a normal period for me, for more than a week even if you don’t count the week of spotting that began this whole fiasco.  I’d taken TWO pregnancy tests earlier in the month, however, both very negative, so I frankly was fearing more of a bloodwork shows early menopause or some random unhelpful type thing along those lines.  I’ve always been like clockwork, so I knew something wasn’t right, but given TWO NEGATIVE POASings, I didn’t think it was a miscarriage until the doctor called.  Once she said it was positive, I kind of figured.  Yes, at various points over the coming weekend I more than managed to get my hopes up, but COME ON.  It just wasn’t looking like a third time’s the charm kind of deal.  Not at all.  So, as I’m flipping through my closet looking for distractions as well as something else to wear, I find the dress.  I think it was actually my sister’s dress in high school.  Cute, short, black, small plaid pattern, I think red.  Kind of cut that doesn’t absolutely require a bra.  I wore it under my college grad gown, actually, with the best pair of black wedges ever designed, now sadly gone.  And a bra.  I mean, all the rights and privileges and responsibilities sorta call for that.  Anyway, an ultrasound I knew couldn’t possibly provide good news (even it it was going to be a sticky pregnancy, I wouldn’t have even been late yet at this point, so I knew I wasn’t going to see shit other than hopefully nothing wildly abnormal for such a situation) wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to do, so…no bra.  Flip-flops, etc.  Basically, this dress is a little too short.  I think I also wore it for a bridal shower…yes, the one Mike’s family threw for me.  I remember going through the pictures later and going, oops.  So you could see my freaking panties while I sat and opened gifts all afternoon and not ONE BRIDESMAID OF FIVE SAID ANYTHING TO ME?  Nice, ladies, nice.  

So yes, the dress is short.  Mike met me at home, we killed a bit more time looking at each other like, WTF?  I dunno, your guess is as good as mine, then headed back over to the doctor’s office complex thing.  Registered, waited, blahblahblah paperwork.  Oh yes, the paperwork.  That must be the MOST fun thing about all of this.  I knew this from the first time, but the second you have both a positive hcg or urine test AND any type of bleeding, you’re a THREATENED ABORTION.  And because nothing, not even drawing blood, is done IN a doctor’s office anymore, it seems, you have to go to the lab for all these blood draws.  With the same “steady on your feet today, ma’am?” line of questioning every time.  I love it when they ask for my due date.  FUCK YOU.  I’ve never had a due date.  Starting to think I probably never will.  Anyway, so basically my role in this dramedy is to wander around like a disoriented pincushion and accept piteous or confused eye contact, friendly smiles, needles to the inner arm wielded by either incredibly skilled and concerned or mayhaps underaged and inept and possibly nearly illiterate phlebotomists.  This time was a little different, though.  No needles, just the wand.  No magic.

So, yes, it might be nice if I could start a paragraph with a word other than SO.  Maybe later.  So, we walk into the little room, meet the tech, blahblahblah Q&A, no due date, circumstances, LMP (hahahaa), blahblahblah.  The tech is a cute little Southern girl, very understanding and good at her job, I’m sure.  Now, the only other time I had an ultrasound actually WAS in the doctor’s office, so I partially knew the drill.  However, PROTOCOL.  I explained that my doctor wanted to make sure that this wasn’t ectopic, basically.  She said, okay, well that will be the transvaginal, blahblahblah, DILDO CAM!  Seriously.  There’s just no way to see ANYTHING via the external method when you’re talking about three weeks gestation or less, more than likely failing to boot, and I know this, man.  This is not squirting a pile of goo on a big fat pregnant belly and watching some creepy looking alien thing wave or show you its goods and then you start thinking pink or blue, no.  This is futile at best.  So, being already depleted of cash, dignity, and patience for this rigmarole, I…LOL.  Yes, I…respond logically yet grossly inappropriately, in hindsight, to her assessment of the period math that we won’t see what we need to see the easy way by starting to just go ahead and whip off the panties without removing the dress.  Standing up.  You know, quick-like.  LOL….ahhh, good times.  The tech gets all confused, WAIT A MINUTE!  LOLOLOL.  We have to do the over-the-belly way first.  Oh.  Really?  Uhm, mmmkay, if you say so.  Who needs an effing paper gown when you’re already dressed like a suburban streetwalker?  Meh.  So, yeah, she agrees I can just use the paper lap blanket or whatever you call it, let’s just get this creepy innards show on the road, shall we?

And yes, you might think that’s the funny embarrassing part, but no.  Hoh no.  This is a dildo cam – the fun and embarrassment NEVER ends.  So she does the over the bloat thing, nothing to see here, carry on.  Now, the tech is not a doctor, so this part goes differently than I’d had the pleasure of the first time around.  She explains how it all works, we laugh while she slides the condom on the, um, implement?  LOL.  I’m not looking up what that part of the instrument is called.  We’ll call it the giant deformed plastic penis with a big eyeball at the end.  Yes, that just rolls right off the tongue.  Fingers.  Whatever.  She says, okay, so I’m going to hand this to you and you get to insert it.  Mmmmkay, woohoo!  Tits.  Or something.  So, yeah, follow instructions..and she giggles.  I raise an eyebrow, full of poise and cryptic wondering.  “Sorry, I didn’t tell you.  It only goes in a little bit, actually, but you did a GOOD JOB.”  All but pat me on the head.

And here’s where I almost piss myself (oh yes, you must have a VERY FULL BLADDER for these good times medical diagnostic sessions, but noooooo, they won’t keep you waiting an extra thirty minutes before they’re ready for you, they promise!) and fall off the effing exam lounge table thing.  Mike is about to fall off his chair in the corner, we all have to literally laugh out loud, because, really?  What the fuck else can one do at this point?  There is NO DIGNITY allowed in the ultrasound room.  It’s just useless.    

Stories?  Yeah, I got stories.  No, you didn’t ask for them.  Sorry.  I tend to keep talking anyway.

GiST

  1. Good people
  2. Good booze
  3. Not needing a D&C.  Woohoo, partay!
  4. The weekend being young yet
  5. Knowing how to properly (or improperly) nurse a slightly broken heart.  Mkay, not broken.  Bruised.  Definitely bruised.  
  6. Arrrrrrnica.  And saying it like a pirate.
  7. The foresight to try and enjoy this long weekend in which everything regarding the mysterious crap surrounding #3 is still all unknown and out there, sitting in some file folder in some doctor’s office…probably as of yet even unreviewed, unpondered, unanalyzed, NOT IMPORTANT.
  8. Independence
  9. Bikinis
  10. SPF
  11. A big floppy hat and movie star sunglasses
  12. Grow-your-own flowers.  Everywhere.
  13. Horoscope hilarity