Monday, December 24, 2007

XMas with the LMNs

Christmas is important in our house. Which means it's important to me and its important to Mama. (H can take it or leave it.)

Before I came on the scene, Christmas (and giving presents) was so important to Mama that she would command H to do out, buy himself a present, and then give it to her. She would then wrap it (she loved to fold) and give it to him on Christmas. He was rarely suprised, but would always act so. (H is a good son).

Now that I'm here... Well, there is serious suprises, but Mama stil does all the wrapping. I've learned to put Mama's shopping off as long as possible, because Mama will not rememeber what she bought. Or that she bought. Or that it's Christmas. But I digress.

This weekend, we went Christmas shopping (as in, Mama shopped for H). The last time we stepped into a mall was Black Friday; we are just GLUTTONS for punishment, I tell you. H insisted that we go to a mall far into the 'burbs, thinking that it would be bigger, better stocked and less filled with people. (He was right).

Mama and I picked a series of clothing out for H. Mama's taste for H is... let's go with adventurous. I steered her away from a green-and-white striped sweater, and a few things that were pink. I also steered her away from underwear, which is all she ever EVER wants to buy for him when we go shoping for him.

I have no idea what has stuck in her head that she feels compelled to buy him boxer short after boxer short, but H currently has approximately 30 pair, so his butt is covered, thank you very much. (And if you're thinking, "DARN that's a lot of panties," let's just say it took me a while before I learned to STEER the Mama away from buying undies...)

The day after our intrepid mall trip, we went to the supermarket. This is a bit of a treat for Mama; usually, we go alone (and leave her with the Home Care Attendant). Mama, for whatever reason, loves our local grocery store. She will change her clothes and put on makeup (and in fact, insist upon it) if we tell her she is going.

So Sunday, we prepared to go. And H, being a wee bit overprotective, prepares to come along and drive.

"NO!" says Mama sharply, when I talk to H about accompanying us in front of her. "He should not come."

This was a suprise. "Why not?" I ask. Mama looks a bit lost as she searches for a response.

"He spends too much money!" Well, not exactly the truth, but H was content to stay home and watch football.

As I said, Mama loooooooooves the market. She loves to explore and to dawdle and to touch and sniff and chat. H is very task-oriented; when he goes shopping, he has no time for her extra curricular activities. I am, of course, far more indulgent. (Mama should get one of those shirts that reads "IF H says no, ask NICA"). Not that I will let her buy three three bags of O.reo.s that MYSTERIOUSLY made their way into our shopping cart. ("I don't know how they got there! I didn't put them in! Must be robbers." Uh huh). But we'll usually have a conversation about things, where H will just say no.

Anyway. I can't think of a catchy wrap up, so I'll just say enjoy your holiday. And may Santa bring you everything you desire, and anything you need.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Good Morning

The people upstairs were yelling, thumping (moving furniture?), playing music and laughing (?) this morning. So much so that they woke me at 4:30AM in the morning.

Good morning.

They continued until shortly after 6:00AM, which is usually when my alarm goes off and I start rousing the household.

I'm a wee bit tired.

I got Mama up this morning, as usual. She showers first, then me. I usually wait until she starts to dress to start my ablutions, and when I'm very lucky, H is awake and keeps her chatting (and focused) throughout the process.

Today I was not lucky.

Mama wandered in to the bathroom while I was showering.


"Yes, Mama?" I reply, sticking my head through the curtain.

She looks at me, having lost her thought (this is common). "I didn't know you were here." She looks a bit closer. "You're naked!"

Um, well, one usually is while showering...

She looked lost a moment longer. Then gestured to the toilet. "Do you mind if I keep you company?" She sat and chatted through the curtain until I finished.

Calling encouragements and HELPFUL suggestions along the way. ("Don't forget to clean you culo! It gets stinky!")

I miss privacy...

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

My OB Gave Me Cookies

My OB gave me cookies.

No reason. Someone had sent a tin of cookies to her for the holiday season, and in my OB's incredibly perky R.ache.l R.a.y-like manner, she said, "Hey! you want some COOKIES?"

So don't tell H, but I ate one.

Oh, and the exam went well.

It took the nurse FOREVER to find a heartbeat (H theorized Scrappy was providing cover) but find a heartbeat we did. And everything was pronounced fine and well and in good shape.

H immediately, being a mature man of 41 years on the planet, jumped up and down and danced and yelled in a VERY loud voice "TOLD YOU SO! TOLD YOU SO! TOLD YOU SO!"

The doctor and the nurse were both in the room for this performance and VERY impressed with my husband's, let's say, joie de vivre. Yikes.

***TMI ALERT!***
I did have (and do have) a constant discharge. It is neither bloody nor smelly, but I mentioned it to my OB. She took a sample and ran it over to the lab to check out while I waited. While I waited. (and I only waited 20 minutes). Have I mentioned that I LOVE my OB?

H was surprised that no one sonogram-ed us. He's still spoiled by the RE, I think. He tried very hard, and in his most charming way, to have someone, somehow let us get a peek in there. No go.

We have to wait three weeks -- and in three weeks it's the big ANATOMY SCAN. This is where they'll do a check for heart, development, I don't even know what else. (They explained, I just... well, I was in overload).

As for Mama (because what post would be complete without a Mama update), she will now tell ANYONE who asks (and several who don't) that she has placed her ear on my belly and heard kicking. It's a big fat lie, but I roll with it. But -- here's the eerie fun part -- the part of my belly she swears she's heard kicking (just under my ribs, around my heart) is a place where I have a chronic numb-tingle-pain sensation. Which the doctor says is caused my movement. Like kicking.


Tuesday, December 18, 2007


I have to pat Mama down in the morning now. Pat down, as in frisk, as in check for weapons.

Yeah. Mama's packing heat again.

See, she's taking apples to school. And she doesn't like to eat apples with a peel, so she takes a knife to peel the apple. A big, huge, sharp knife. (She favors our boning knife).

As I've mentioned before, Mama's daycare does not like when she brings in weapons. NOT AT ALL. The administrator called us, panicked, last night. Luckily, unlike last time, the knife was discovered while Mama was sitting quietly peeling her apple.

So. Now we search her in the morning. An incredibly tricky measure, to do so without offending her. Or tickling her.

In other news, I have a doctor's appointment today. I am, of course, terrified. My terrific OB thought that I was in good enough shape to go four weeks between appointments. If I had my druthers, I'd probably have daily check ups. But.

There's nothing that I can point to that makes me scared -- no terrible pain or horrible discharge that gives me fear. But I am plagued by the thought that I am not this lucky, I am not this blessed, I am not going to get what I want, and any minute now the bubble will burst.

So. We'll see how the day goes.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

So I got into a bit of a thing with a friend of mine last week.

She was wondering WHY I just wasn't "rolling with it." WHY since now I am p., I am still terrified.

Not only has she been p., she was one of those who got so without trying. So while, being a friend, she learned the terms and the acronyms and the procedures, she's not quite there.

So. So she said a few things that were a little thoughtless (she thought them funny) and I got upset (I was deadly serious) and we sniffed and tiffed for a while and finally, last night, had it out.

"It's like I have post traumatic stress disorder," I said, "although I know that sounds insane."

She paused for a moment. "No," she replied. "That makes sense to me."

It's, perhaps, too big a term for what I'm going through. But. It sure as heck FEELS right. I even looked it up on W.iki.pedi.a. And it seemed to fit.

"P.osttraumati.c S.tres.s D.isorde.r (P.TS.D) is an anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to a terrifying event or ordeal in which grave physical harm occurred or was threatened," reads W.iki.pedi.a.

Too big, but just right, all at the same time.

"So when will it be over? When will I relax? When will I stop worrying?"

She thought about it a moment.

"Shortly before you die..."


Sunday, December 02, 2007

Telling Mama: The Update

So we told Mama (or Nona, as she will eventually be called.) And she took the news extremely well.

And she is still happy and excited and over the moon at the prospect of a new member of the family.


Mama no longer has a sense of time passing. If she takes a nap in the day, or if she just hasn't thought about something in a while, or if she just wants something to happen... she'll speed up time.

So we told Mama about a week or two we were pregnant, right?

"Is he kicking? Is he kicking? I want to feel him kick!" says Mama. Okay, I'm due in 6.5 months... kicking starts when? Closer to the end, right? So nooooooooo there is no kicking.

"I WANT TO FEEL HIM KICK." Logic is lost on her.

Another frequent conversation is that she's like the baby for Christmas. By Christmas. So he can enjoy the tree and decorations et al.

"Um, Mama, I'm not having the baby until June..."

"HURRY UP! I want my baby by Christmas."

"Mama, you'll have t talk to GOD because I don't know how to HURRY this UP..."

Every time, I break it down and explain. And she nods as if she understands, and I think she may for a bit. But I always ALWAYS get the question again.

Also, Mama has started to refer to my baby as HER baby.

"Mama, this baby is mine.."

"I know. But you give him to me, yes?"


And she laughs. "You will give him to me when he needs a new diaper."

This is going to be an adventure.

My Husband Was Right

A few days (weeks?) back, I mentioned the my husband had no confidence in my OB. She only sees patients once a week, her front desk staff make it impossible to get ahold of her, and she's in practice all by her lonesome. So in case of emergency... you're screwed.

So H talked me into seeing a High Risk OB that my RE recommended. I love this office. I love my doctor. My husband was right.

I don't know about you, but I've had bad experiences with OB/GYNs. BAD BAD BAD. When I met my old doctor, the fact that she was nice and chatty and supportive was great. Freaking awesome.

But as nice as she was, my new doctor know more. Which is so cool. Let me show you...

Nica: I'm having all this weird pain and tenderness (starts to gesture)
Old Doctor: Yeah, that's normal. Don't worry about it (makes dismissive wave gesture with hand)


New Doctor: (Starting the conversation) Have you had any weird pain or tenderness?
Nica: Um... yeah.
New Doctor: Where? (watches as I gesture) Okay if you have it here, or if you have it here, that's normal and nothing to worry about. If you have it from here to here, that could be a contraction and i want you to call me immediately. Okay? We have someone from the practice available 24/7.
Nica: Okay.
New Doctor: Now. Are you still experiencing morning sickness, vomiting, anything like that?
Nica: Um... no.
New Doctor: Yeah, that's normal. But I bet it's freaking you out, right?

Okay, I'm going to stop there. But you get the picture. H and i feel as though we were in good hands, that we truly had... I don't want to say a "partner" in the pregnancy, but... like the pregnancy equivalent of a wedding planner. Or a Personal tour guide. Or something. You know?

So YES my husband was right. But don't tell him that I said so, because he's already got a big enough head about this.