Too Much to Ask?
On the day I found out I was pregnant, one of the first thoughts that popped into my mind was coffee. How would I live without coffee to get me through the morning and the rest of the day. Sometimes, on days when I'm up really early, I need that afternoon blast to get me through evening swim practice. Mr. BBM looked up the recommended daily caffeine intake and told me I could still have a cup a day. I did that for the first two days. The next day, I woke up and the smell of coffee made me feel like I had to hurl, instantly.
We have a house with a very open floor plan and the smells from the kitchen go straight up to my room. I wasn't even awake yet, and I felt sick. Giving up coffee would not be a problem.
The problem though, is that Mr. BBM has not given up coffee. On weekends and on the two days a week that he works from home, the house reeks of it and I can hardly stand it. On the mornings when no coffee is made, I feel better. I can get through my day better. During each and every pregnancy, I've had a horrible time with smells and this one is no different. I can smell someone smoking in a car 14 cars in front of me on a highway. I can smell body odor from a quarter mile away (which made teaching high school really difficult, back in the day). Even perfume, body washes and fabric softener can send me over the edge. It's similar to the reaction Mr. Cullen has to a werewolf. It's repulsive and it turns my stomach upside down.
This morning I woke up and instantly smelled the coffee. It made me reel. I haven't actually puked yet, but this morning is the closest I've been so far. I had to stand in the bathroom and decide whether or not it was safe for me to leave the room. My mouth was watering something fierce.
The problem with the whole coffee thing is that Mr. BBM doesn't get it. I've asked him to make the coffee in the garage or even in the basement. I have hinted that the smell of tea doesn't make me nauseated. Would it be too much to ask him to switch or stop for a bit? Am I being unreasonable?
Whenever I start to think that I am, I think about this: here I am, after celebrating many 29th birthday anniversaries, pregnant with number three. This body, that I've been working so hard on, to get in shape, to get flat abs, is changing already. Parts of me are becoming softer; parts are becoming bigger. Soon, I'll have a visible belly and it will only get bigger. Those abs I've been working so hard on. . . back to the drawing board.
I've given up caffeine which means I can't even have a soda unless I'm at home. No restaurants have caffeine free diet anything. I've given up my Thursday night "Wine & Whine" night with my neighbor. And trust me when I tell you that it's not the same when you're sipping water.
In the fall, I won't be able to teach my classes because I'll be giving birth and nursing a newborn. The spring semester might not work out either. When you're nursing, it's a full time job.
I've felt nauseated for the past two weeks and have found it difficult to eat any type of food more than once. I'm seriously running out of options. Because of having gestational diabetes last time, I've already put myself on the gestational diabetes diet, which means I'm counting carbs at each and every meal and snack. Do you know how much fun it is to count out exactly 18 potato chips when that's all you're craving? Or 1/2 cup of pasta. It's not fun.
Things have drastically changed for me in the past few weeks and the changes to come will be even more grand. I asked Mr. BBM how his life has changed and he said that he will have another mouth to feed, another child to support. But actually, for the first year, all that feeding pretty much comes from me anyway.
I'm not complaining about all the changes that are already happening and the ones to come. I've been through this before. I know it's part of the process and that the reward is amazing. . . but is it too much to ask that Mr. BBM gives up the coffee, at least until I'm not feeling so sick?
Am I being unreasonable???
Drink Up Mama?
When I was out for dinner the other night, all my friends were ordering glasses of wine or beer. I had ice water. There aren't many restaurants that offer both decaf and diet beverages so I'm pretty much condemned to 9 months of water. It's not a bad thing, but putting water into a nauseous stomach isn't always the most desirable thing to do.
A friend of mine at dinner, told me about a new study that says light drinking while pregnant is ok. I was kind of shocked. Then yesterday, Mr. BBM found the article, "Light Drinking Said OK for Pregnant Women." What struck me about the article is that Fred Bookstein, a statistician who has spent much time studying fetal alcohol syndrome, now states that there is no evidence to suggest that very light drinking is harmful to the fetus. To the contrary, the study points to very light drinking as actually being beneficial for the mother and baby.
Having a husband who works in clinical research is a really nice perk sometimes. He instantly pulled up the actual research study, published in the Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health, which was no small study! Over 18,500 children were followed through much of their young lives. Not surprising, Moms who binge drank while pregnant had children with problems. However, the group right behind the binge drinkers when it came to issues with their children? The Moms who drank nothing at all!The article states that the study was so well done, that it is conclusive and should put to rest any and all doubts that light drinking is harmful.
If you've ever read The Red Tent, then you know that in biblical times, people drank wine. Water wasn't safe and it was really the only healthy option. That includes pregnant women.
The published article, linked above, had tons of comments saying they didn't buy it, the study was flawed, etc. etc. But why believe one expert from a study from 1991 and not another with a recent study, a large sampling and conclusive results? Some people went on to say "alcohol is a drug," and then rattled off all the awful things that can happen, despite the fact that the study specifically says there's no proof.
What's funny is that caffeine is a stimulant. I avoid caffeine while pregnant, except for the very rare occasion. When I do have it, I have the recommended daily dose and no more. If you read about the affects of caffeine on developing babies, scary words like "stillborn" and "low birth weight" and "fetal death" surface. Yet, you don't see pregnant women being condemned for ordering a coke product.
So what is it about this study that ruffles so many feathers? Do people not want to read the evidence? Have they been brainwashed by all the previous studies, now discounted, and they just can't get past it? As a pregnant woman, do you believe the new study, have a couple drinks and take the chance? What if something does happen to the baby? Could you live with yourself? What would YOU do with this information? (And before you answer, please read the article and get your hands on the study too.)
If You Take a Pregnant Girl to a Club. . .
Last night was our annual "celebrate the February birthday girls" night out. It started out with a huge reservation to a hibachi restaurant, which actually went quite well, considering my three days straight of near constant nausea. I think it had something to do with the ginger dressing and sauce that I drowned my food in the whole time I ate.
When we were finished eating, half of our crew headed home. The rest piled in the mini-van and we were off to one of the newest night clubs in the area. Last night, they were featuring some big-name DJ that I've never heard of before who is famous for some song that lets the world know that he likes "her a$$ big and her face down low." He also wore a large gold cross around his neck. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but it seemed like a bit of a contradiction. The other "exciting" news of last night is that Vinny of the Jersey Shore reality show was making an appearance.
The DJ himself brought an entire entourage of scantily clad girls wearing hooker dresses and a bunch of goober guys wearing either wife-beaters with rosary beads or striped sweatshirts and receding hairlines. One totally passed out like 20 minutes into the night and then rose up miraculously and started fist-pumping. It was pretty messed up. They all stood around on stage, holding up their cell phones, videotaping the crowd. I was kind of raging from pregnant hormones last night so I had a deep temptation to just look directly into their little phone cameras and give them a giant middle finger, but I held back. This time anyway. At one point, the DJ demanded that everyone put their arms up. I sent him a mental telepathy note that said, "Don't tell me what to do."
What struck me about the club, besides the fact that one of my former students from several years ago walked in looking like a street-walker, was that the ratio of men to women was completely out of whack. There were at least 30 women, maybe more, for every guy there. And let me tell you, the pickings for both sides were abysmal.
At one point, a trio of very drunk guys started dancing beside a water-sipping-completely-sober-pregnant-hormone-raging me, and one guy began bumping and leaning into me continually. First, it was the quick succession of elbows to the boob. If you've ever been pregnant, I need to say no more. I was instantly in agony and enraged. Then, he raised his arms up in the air and as he brought the one down, he decided he would lean the entire weight of his body, through his elbow, on my shoulder. I had already told my group of friends I was going to kill him soon. This was the final straw for me. I removed his arm from my shoulder, pulled my elbow into striking position, angled it as his face, and told him to "watch it!" in the meanest tone I could muster. He quickly walked away. I think even being as drunk as he was, he recognized a woman who meant business. It's really hard to refrain from wanting to kill someone when you're pregnant and there is boob contact involved.
When we went to the restroom later in the night, we had to wait in a line 20 girls long, and loaded with more spandex and stiletto boots than the movie "Pretty Woman." When I finally got in there, two girls were grinding each other into the wall. Back on the dance floor, more of the same. At one point, a girl who looked like she was about 12, wearing a get-up that barely covered her butt and with boots up to her thighs, had her face shoved into the crotch of another girl while some guy grinded behind her.I felt like breaking out into a session on girls and self-esteem, right there in the middle of the club. I'm sure it would have been well received.
But I just don't get it.
When I was younger and single, I went out dancing all the time. I never dressed like a hooker and I never simulated sex on the dance floor. Is it possible in this day and age to just dance without looking like a desperate hooker? Perhaps the ratio of men to women makes young girls these days feel like they have to seek attention by dressing like a total ho. But I'd like to let those girls in on a little secret. Dresses like that look good on no one. I never had a problem finding a decent guy to dance with at clubs, and I didn't have to look or act like that. Maybe when I went out I was looking for a guy who was attracted to me, but also someone who wouldn't just see me as a giant sex object. If a guy started grinding up on me, he usually got an elbow to the gut. I didn't need some strange weirdo getting on me to make me feel worthy.
What seems to be lacking in young girls these days is self-respect. No self-respecting young woman would act like that. Not a single one of those girls last night would want their mother to see them dressed like that, and it attracts the wrong kind of attention, the kind of attention that could get a girl in serious trouble. There is a world of difference between dressing sexy and dressing like a slut; and I swear, if I ever see one of my girls with an outfit like any of those I saw last night, they will be padlocked in the basement until that phase passes.
Maybe next time, I should just stay at home and dance to my IPod mix, which is a thousand times better than what the guy played last night. Plus, at my house, there wouldn't be some egotistical DJ blaring out the words over top of a decent song, wrecking it. Perhaps I'm just getting too old for this club crap.
Emergency Stop Please
In a span of 13 days, our cat died, I found out I was pregnant, and Sassy broke her tibia. Please tell the operator of this ride called life, that I would like to get off. . . NOW! Hit the emergency button. I can't take one more thing.
To say that I am overwhelmed with my life would be the understatement of the century. As I write this, my daughter is hanging out on the sofa in a full leg cast. It starts at the very top of her thigh and goes all the way down to her toes. She is non-weight bearing for six weeks. She is too little for crutches. That means that every time she has to go to the bathroom, I have to carry her there. The cast is so high that it actually rests on the toilet seat when I sit her down. With my own non-flexible knee, to say it is awkward would be another gross understatement.
Last night, I put the crib mattress across the kitchen counter, put her on it and washed her hair in the kitchen sink. This morning, I gave her a sponge bath.
Six weeks.
Did I mention that I'm pregnant? That I pretty much require a three hour nap each day, that I have no energy to do anything at all, and that the bouts of nausea are wicked when they come?
Should I also add that Mr. BBM called me this morning to tell me he has a week long trip coming up? Because I needed that news like I need a hole in the head.
This is how it happened. This past weekend, we were in Delaware visiting friends. They bought a new trampoline and Mr. BBM spent part of Saturday morning helping our friend put it together. Trampolines make me nervous; they always have and I was secretly hoping that it would take a week to put together. It only took a couple hours though, and soon the girls were jumping away on it. We kept an eye on them and when the big neighbor boys were on there, I told her to take a break. At one point, she fell off the short step-ladder to get up into the trampoline and cried for a bit. But she was back up and out there within minutes.
On Sunday, we were all packed up and ready to leave. Mr. BBM wanted to get some pictures of our kids with their kids. The kids wanted to get the pictures taken while on the trampoline. They got in; Sassy jumped and instantly went down on her knees and then her side. She grabbed her leg and said she couldn't walk. I was inside when Mr. BBM came running inside with panic in his eyes. I knew something was majorly wrong. This is the kid who split her face open near her eye and sang "Kung Fu Fighting" while they super-glued her shut.
We got her into the car and propped her leg up on pillows. We gave her ibuprofen and iced it the whole way home. We wanted to see a doctor at home. We knew the ER would probably take a while. We dropped Big I off with family and went straight to the ER. Sassy told me her leg felt broken and that she heard a crack. I knew it was broken and I was right.
She fractured her left proximal tibia just under her knee. The orthopedic surgeon thinks that she may have also fractured her growth plate a bit. We'll have to keep a close eye on it and follow up with x-rays to make sure it doesn't close. Growth plate injuries can be serious and can require surgery. She has what they call a "buckle" fracture. From simply jumping on a trampoline along with a bigger kid, it can break a leg. Since this has happened to her, three other people have told me the same thing happened to their child. I had no idea it was so common. I had no idea trampolines were so dangerous, from just the jumping part.
Despite the doctors telling us that this is one of the slowest healing fractures and that it is also one of the most painful, she is in surprisingly good spirits. She is enjoying wheeling herself around in her little rental wheelchair. She has to be enjoying all the attention because there are balloons throughout our house, presents galore and visitors around the clock wishing her well. The nights have been rough and it is absolutely horrifying to see your child in so much pain and discomfort. Today, she started screaming and told me her leg was burning and that it felt like a volcano.
Knowing what I went through and how agonizing it was, I can't even imagine how this child, this 5-year old little peanut, is dealing with this so well.
Two days down, 40 more to go. That's about 42 too many. Needless to say, my kids will not EVER be going on a trampoline again. Never.
Shock, Awe and a Little OMG
Last week I was feeling absolutely miserable. After Bear being put to sleep on Sunday, I spent much of the week with puffy eyes and a stomach ache. I started going to bed earlier because I was having trouble sleeping. I was super tired. I felt like my world had been turned upside down. . . again.
Towards the end of the week, I was about ready to go see a doctor. Something was off; something just wasn’t right. I felt like I was becoming depressed and I know the symptoms of depression can be very physical.
The last month was stressful. Mr. BBM and I spent an entire weekend going through our basement, box by box. I found some letters my Grammom had written me while in college and sat there sobbing before I could move on. We created piles of things to get rid of, mostly baby things, and it was difficult for me. I get this weird connection to things that I shouldn’t, like that onesie that I know Sassy wore that one day when she smiled for the first time. However, with Mr. BBM’s assistance, I made decisions and I ended up with a pile of baby stuff to sell. I felt good in some respects. I had separated it and made a price list. All I needed to do was get over the hurdle of getting it out of the house.
I’d get teary when I thought about it though. Sassy goes off to Kindergarten in the fall. I was going to be alone, in my house, without any baby stuff.
However, what made me agree to sell the stuff was two-fold: despite the fact that Sassy is going to school full time next year, I was starting to enjoy the idea of some freedom to work out whenever I wanted to during the day. I changed my schedule at the University where I teach to work within the girls’ school schedules. I realized I’d have time to grade at home without having to set Sassy up with a movie or some other activity. I had friends tell me they admired where I was in life. With a 9-year old and a 5-year old, I was getting my life back somewhat. It was a good place to be. Mr. BBM and I also wanted to make a little money off of selling the stuff. We figured we could put it towards an eventual trip to Jamaica or something equally cool.
That was Friday, before 4 p.m.
Friday night was Mr. BBM’s work holiday party. Last year, the actual dinner ended early and a group of us went out to a bar frequented by 20 somethings. We had a blast. The dress was mostly jeans and t’s but we showed up in cocktail dresses and took over the dance floor. I knew his co-workers had big plans for this year too. I was hoping I could make it physically, but I was feeling so tired.
It occurred to me as I was about to start getting ready that maybe this wasn’t physical symptoms of depression. Maybe this was the worst case of PMS I had ever had. Why was it so vicious and awful this time around? Why was I feeling so miserable?
“Wait, what day is it? Hmm, I’m late. . . it’s probably just from stress,” I thought.
But something made me take a test. . .
The plus sign was pretty much instantaneous. I dropped the test and told myself that the + sign was actually an x, as in “You are not going to have a serious unplanned adjustment to your life.” I scrambled for the directions and then compared the two, back and forth. I could hardly believe it.
I screamed for Mr. BBM who came running, thinking there was a problem with a leaking shower or something. Once inside the locked bathroom, I showed him and I’m fairly certain he was without words.
There were lots of things said then, once we both picked our jaws up off the floor. For a while, I think I repeated, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no” as I imagined myself needing not one but now two bridesmaid dresses since my sister’s wedding is in May and her reception is in July; and then I asked “How could this happen?” Mr. BBM was happy to explain that part of it. I didn’t want to hear it. Then I reasoned that perhaps I was going through early menopause and that was the reason for the extremely positive test. And then there was a lot of giggling after the shock of it all began to wear off, because seriously? Neither of us had any plans for a third. I had always said I wanted a third but after Sassy’s pregnancy and gestational diabetes, I wasn’t willing to walk that road again and take that chance. On Saturday morning I took another test, just to be sure. It wasn’t really necessary. The way I’m feeling, the way my body is so rapid-fire remembering what to do. . . it’s drastic.
I’ve learned that sometimes you don’t exactly get to choose if you’re going down that road again or not. There must have been a reason I didn’t get rid of that baby stuff after all.
Coming home from a swim meet this weekend, Mr. BBM and I heard Alicia Keys’ song on the radio. A couple lyrics in particular stuck out, “Would it make us seem crazy. . . or would it be so beautiful. . . ” I’m thinking right now it’s a little bit of both. Apparently I am not capable of sending a child off to Kindergarten without bringing a new little one into the house. Usher’s lyrics also come to mind, “Oh my GOSH!”
I called my midwife this morning and made an appointment. The receptionist pulled my chart and this afternoon one of the midwives called me and set me at ease about the whole gestational diabetes possibility. I imagine my midwife cracked up laughing when she heard I needed an appointment again. I distinctly remember telling her when I was in those last few weeks with Sassy, how happy I was that this was the very last time I’d be going through labor and delivery again.
Today is my birthday. This is one crazy and completely unexpected birthday present!
How quickly things can change. . .
We are quickly getting excited. . .
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