Losing My Shit

On Wednesday night I was admitted to the maternity triage unit for observation. I had a headache that laughed in the face of Tylenol and some swelling. These are symptoms of pre-eclampsia. Everything turned out to be fine and J got to hear Little Miss Imitating Dancing With The Stars thrashing about and we came home.

My headache got worse.

And worse. In the top five of worst migraines I have ever had category. Which I was taking on basically unmedicated. I stayed home from work yesterday and tried everything that have ever worked on even taking the EDGE off of a migraine for me. Heating pads, ice bags, icing my hands (this does work sometimes), stretching, attempting to nap, dark room, light room, massage, pressure points . . .I tried it all. And nothing helped, it just got progressively worse. And I . . .well I lost my shit.

I have found in the past couple of weeks that I have lost some of the control I had of my emotions. I cry more easily (FABULOUS), my moods change quickly and I am anxious. DEAR GOD I am anxious. The books say this is normal, all having to do with hormones and well damn that makes sense plus I have some serious stress in my life about work and you know, some life changing shit happening. I have tried to have patience with me.

This was scary though. Because I really did start to believe that this headache was never going to stop. That I would have it forever. Those who have migraines, especially the kind that go on for weeks know that despair. But this was worse. Because I REALLY believed it. And I started crying and couldn't stop. I kept throwing up. I just couldn't get a grip on myself.

Fortunately, the doctor called in some pain medication for me and J went and got it for me. And basically forced it down my throat. And then lectured me for not calling him and telling him to come home (does anyone else see my point that it seemed weird to make my husband come home because I had a headache though). The pain tapered off enough that I cheered up a lot.

I still scares me though how anxious I was, how I could not get a hold of myself. I really felt crazy. With my history of depression I have been cataloging all kinds of resources for myself post-birth. Our hospital provides a lot of support for PPD and I have already brought up my concerns with my doctor.

But does anyone have experience with this pregnancy anxiety? Is there anything that can help you cope? I have long enough to go that I need to figure out a way to get a grip. And I am at a loss as to how to do that.

Doing the Best We Can

So I landed in Triage at the hospital again tonight. Had a crippling headache with an aura that wouldn't be touched by Tylenol. To me that screams migraine to OBs that screams Pre-ECLAMPSIA RUN BITCH RUN.

After the girl pulled her usual tricks of kicking the monitor (she really doesn't like everyone all up in her business) she impressed the nurse with her loud-ass slam dance routine she likes doing in there. And we were released.

I am just going to love all the bills I am going to get from the hospital aren't I?

I still feel like shit. Headache going strong, dizzy as hell and so sore I can barely move. But we're just trucking along here. Doing the best we can.

I SMELL LIKE THE WEIRD KID IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM?

This morning I had to sit next to a smoker on the bus. Not a casual, I just had a morning cigarette smoker, but a it's 6:30 and I have had a pack and might light up on this bus even though it is illegal kind of smoker. She reeked. The cigarettes were leaking out of her pores.

Even though I used to smoke I really hate the smell. And when I did smoke I was really paranoid about anyone smelling me. I am sure I fooled very few people but I made the attempt. And now I am really sensitive to the smell.

But the smell sort of clung to me and halfway through the morning I just freaked out. When you were a kid remember your friends' house would smell really different than yours? Not like bad but just weird. Like their parents smoked in the house, only stopping when they had their surprise baby, and they fried everything in oil (not that there is anything wrong with that) and never wiped the grease off the hood? Just me?

I smelled like that house and WOE WOE WOE why did I smell like that? No idea. But it was making me crazy. I scrubbed my hands. I went and sprayed myself with perfume. And obsessed about it (SHOCKING).

I came home and showered and scrubbed and I still cannot quite shake the feeling that I smell like fried pork chops.

Damn Allure

If you are like me, and have a semi-unhealthy love of beauty magazines, you are fixated on a couple of beauty products. These are products that all the magazines rave about and are just out of the range of affordability for me. Every once in a while, I will cave and try something--with mixed results. This is how I got my T3 blow dryer, which was pretty much life changing (less boof to the hair, doesn't make it feel crunchy and takes less than half the time) but also the reason I tried Kiehl's Silk Groom which is sort of meh and I use in a couple of ways because I've found that it does several things ok for me but nothing really well. These magazines are also why I keep buying Maybelline's Great Lash which is just utter crap but they all rave about it.

So for years and years, every damn beauty article in pretty much every major magazine features one brush, the Mason Pearson. Yeah, over a hundred bucks for a brush.

I am vain and fussy about my hair. And have found that really, good shampoo and conditioner and great tools like flat irons and blow dryers make a huge difference. There are bargains to be had at the drug store but for the most part the good stuff really is better. And my last hold out has been the brush. Mine is a fairly cheap Clairol job, neon yellow, that had a plastic tag that boasted about Ions or something.

But Allure Magazine recently reviewed (rather favorably) the Sonia Kushak knock off of the Mason Pearson and at fourteen bucks that was a price I could get behind. Aesthetically, it is so much nicer looking than my Clairol it is ridiculous. The handle seemed small but I think it is meant to be more of a carry around, travel style (which meh . . .I haven't carried a brush in my purse since the seventh grade when I had one of those suckers with the hairspray pump in the handle--SHUT UP you know you had one, how else were your bangs that stiff). The brush is a mix of stiff and soft bristles. The bad? It's crap for blow drying, at least for me. The handle is too short for me and the bristles aren't long enough to really grab onto all of my hair. This might be less of a problem for some one who doesn't have as much hair. The good? A lot of brushes, including my current one, make my hair puffy and boofy when brushed dry. Which means I don't brush my hair very often (HOT LOOK). This was no big deal when I had short hair meant to be worn messy but is just sad now that my hair is past my shoulder blades. This brush detangles but keeps the hair smooth and shiny. It doesn't puff it up or fray the ends and lo and behold . . .I actually brush it now.

If I had paid over a hundred dollars for this brush, I would have been deeply disappointed. But I am thrilled with my little fourteen dollar bargain. Of course, this does feed the idea that the real thing must be so MUCH BETTER.

Damn those beauty magazines.

Favorite Holiday

Thanksgiving is pretty much my favorite holiday. There are no religious complications, no pressure for anyone, no fussy clothes or things to set on fire. In my family we keep it low key, just the five of us this year, with lots a gorgeous food and naps afterwards and yeah, my mom and I played a board game from the 50's.

Sometimes I feel a little guilty that Miss Thang won't ever have the crazy cousins Thanksgivings that we had as kids, with tons of people at my Grandma's house and a turkey and a ham because you have to have two meats. The kids ripping the house to shreds and people everywhere and man we had a great time. She won't get that. If she has cousins they will live 3000 miles away. I imagine next year will involve everyone trying to feed her things that I don't want her to have because she will be pre-allergy line. And they will get pissy with me. And we will have much the same day as we had today. At least I hope so. I think it's my favorite day of the year.

I have so much to be thankful for:

My husband, who is a giant asshole but is my asshole and also pretty damn great.

My family, who are so supportive and fun and sent me home with a cubic butt-ton of turkey. My parents are going to be crazy grandparents which I had a set of those--the kind that thought my sister and I ruled the universe--and every kid deserves at least one. To have two is a blessing beyond measure.

My friends, who make me laugh and listen to me complain and re-assure me that No, you do not look like a pregnant elephant.

My job, because it pays the bills and that's no small thing.

And most of all, that after the worst New Year's ever, somehow J and I caught a one in a million chance and got pregnant by accident. I don't know if I would have worked up the nerve on my own. And now we get to have this little girl. Who will have a name SOMEDAY I AM SURE RIGHT?

Also, I don't have to be pregnant more than ten more weeks MAX.

See? Favorite holiday.

Weekend Update

Awesome thing discovered today: TVGasm is recapping that horrifying (only watchable in five minute shots) Tila Tequila show! Which means I don't have to drown myself in shame anymore! WOOT.

I'm sort of bored really, because I don't feel up to much. And my family (and J) are obsessively telling me to rest. I spend more time in bed than is strictly necessary but my hands are still swollen (something no one but my mother understands, because my hands are really teeny and smaller than hers generally but not right now, night now they look like oven mitts compared to normal) and this morning my face was sort of a puffball. This is annoying but it is what it is. And swelling on it's own isn't that big of a deal. Except my joints all hurt, that really sucks.

I thought I would be busting out of the house with boredom by now really but I am just sort of tired. I guess I am just down for the next couple of months, planning any fun pretty carefully. Which is sad because, LAST MONTHS OF FREEDOM, but is not really bothering me much. I suppose I'll regret it later.

On Thursday night I came home to a police business card stuck in my front door. Our neighbor saw our front door open (and no one being home) and called the cops (which is really great of him). Nothing is missing and it is possible that J just didn't latch the door properly (that has happened before). But he swears he remembers locking the door and I believe him. Which is freaking me out but it's almost like I am not even up to dealing with it.

That sounds dumb when I am typing it out, it is dumb clearly, but we haven't done anything so we are pretty dumb in general. We'll have to do something, I have no desire to be hacked up by some crazy person who would break into my house but not take anything? GAH

Fine. No Worries

I was supposed to have my glucose test today so I took it off. They did it Monday night at the hospital but I decided to take the day off anyway. As a side note, seriously, that test is no big deal. The stuff tastes like super sweet Orange Crush. I mean I wouldn't want to drink it every day but it isn't gross or scary the way people act like it is. If I hadn't been in the throws of Swellfest 07 with Side Trip To Triage I might have liked it.

Everyone is being really great about what happened. My bosses have arranged a special schedule for me (which I was really scared about) so that I won't be on my feet too much. And they've told me if I need to leave, I need to leave and it is fine. We will work it out. I know that it would be a huge inconvenience for them if I went out early on bedrest (for me too) but I also know that they really want me and the baby to be safe. Which is a good feeling.

But my family is making me crazy. My dad sends me vaguely threatening emails about "keeping safe" and acts like I am breaking rules by going to work. For the record my doctor has not told me to stay home. She told me to "take it easy" and "do what I feel up to" which is exactly what I have been doing. To be honest, I am probably being too cautious but it is what feels right to me. But having my dad (who seriously is the worst person to do this because he doesn't take a sick day if he is DYING) lecture me about what is important? NOT HELPFUL. Even though I do recognize that he doesn't mean any harm and is trying to help.

I feel pretty good. I mean every joint in my body HURTS and my wedding ring wouldn't fit on my pinkie but I feel pretty good. To be fair my belly does HURT, which I am reassured is normal. I have this mental image of The Girl in there chipping away at my pelvic bone with a tiny rock hammer, admiring the shape she is creating and tucking the shards into her pocket (where would she have pockets you ask? My mother has been waiting for a grandchild since the beginning of time I am fairly certain she has found a way to sneak fetal dresses in there). I am in bed a lot, and am well caught up on Dr. Phil at this point. I just feel like a big bother and hate making everyone worry. I really will be fine. My current goal is to make it to Christmas. And then we will worry about January. And after that? We'll be at 37 weeks and girlfriend can fire when ready.

In the meantime, no one should worry. The dogs are taking good care of me, we have episodes of Forensics Files to watch on the DVR and Cheerios to eat. We're just fine.

No PONY

So today . . . blew chunks.

I told my pal L (who I don't link, because she isn't really blogging anymore) about my swelling yesterday. And she nagged me into calling the nurse at my OB's office. Since my doctor is near my house and it is a giant pain in the ass for me to get there I only wanted to go in if I needed to and as the tie breaker the nurse had me go down to the drugstore and use their blood pressure monitor.

It was really fucking high (for me).

So off to the doctor I went. And I was admitted into the hospital for monitoring. Since J is in Montana, I was on my own. Everything is fine, the baby is fine, I'm fine. Just having to be careful, take it easy and silently freak out.

Technically this baby is viable. But 28 weeks is way too early. She needs to cook another couple of months. So stay in there little girl. No ponies out here for you.

Counting Down

J's big thing lately is that each week we have to check something off the list. He is very concerned about having everything all set on time. Part of me agrees with him, it's nice to see things progressing, but part of me is like oh get over yourself because the kiddo doesn't give a shit if everything is all perfect. Mostly I am glad that he has put himself in charge of something.

Not that he is in charge of researching anything or deciding what we need to do--that's all on me--but he is in charge of actually getting us to do things. Which is valuable but I can't help but wish that he would pick up an issue of Consumer Reports or something.

We went out last night, hanging out with friends at their house. But this morning I woke up all swollen and sore. It's a little scary how that can happen. Since I am in the third trimester now, it feels like I am just trying to outlast this thing. Just cook the kid as long as possible without anything horrible happening.

There are worse things than a day in bed. But I've got 12 weeks to go. And I really don't want to do all of them in bed.

Jiffy Popping

When I was a little kid my family used to get a cabin in Minnesota each summer for a couple of weeks of vacation. We went to the very cheesy Paul Bunyan Land (which appears to have the EXACT same rides as when we went 20 years ago), swam in a lake, fished for tiny Blue Gills, got mosquito bites the size of silver dollars and watched the dog jump off the dock 84,000 times a day. I remember that on rainy days my dad would brown hot dogs in butter on the gas burner and we would make Jiffy Pop (I am sure we ate other things but other than those tiny Blue Gills I have NO IDEA what). For those of you with deprived childhoods, Jiffy Pop was a little aluminum pan of popcorn that you heated over a stove or (for the daring) flame and it popped up into the foil making a bizarre shape. The popcorn was good I suppose but the fun was in trying not to burn the fuck out of the bottom and watching the weird as thing happening under the little foil tent.

So last night my belly looked exactly like a thing of Jiffy Pop. A little burst on this side, then it moves to the other, then everything goes wild at once. It was surreal. So I call J in because this isn't what people describe--I can't see like a defined elbow or anything moving around, it just looks like homegirl is in there doing the Cha-Cha like she is on fucking Dancing With The Stars. I have to admit that I was a little afraid the belly was going to pull a Jiffy Pop disaster and split right down the center with all the action. But I want J to see this, because frankly it is really kind of gross and I don't feel like the grossness should be experienced only by me.

And she stops.

Damn her. Messing with me already.

Bad Things Come In Threes So This Better Be It

I actually got up in time to make the early bus this morning. Of course the driver was early and left the five us chasing the damn bus. That's right, he left a pregnant lady chasing him.

When I got to work the elevator wasn't working properly. And I ended up walking up the stairs (SEVEN FLIGHTS) and being very sorry. My legs did ok (which is amazing given the extra weight I am carrying) but my lungs just about collapsed. Girlfriend is shoved up into my ribcage and my lungs are smooshed under normal circumstances but walking that far? DAMN.

When I got home tonight I managed to clog up the toilet, even though it wasn't like a spectacular shit or anything. I couldn't unclog it (which given my sister's troubled history with our plumbing when she flushed q-tips and cotton balls and messed up those pipes forever is quite EXTENSIVE). J got home and spent a long time and couldn't unclog it. He went and bought a snake and he couldn't really unclog it. He called Roto Rooter and was threatening the toilet with an intervention when it miraculously unclogged itself.

HALLELUJAH

For those playing at home, I am seven months pregnant. My legs and ankles swell up into hourglass shapes each night and end up peeing out a lot of fluid. Last night I peed seven times in an hour last night. The thought of having to go outside, walk in the rain, unlock a door and go into our cellar in order to pee all night, would be a NIGHTMARE.

So as far as I am concerned J is a genius.

But I do feel like I should go to bed and not touch anything again.

Definitely Boobs

Since I work at the Chickiest Place on Earth it is not surprising that we were all talking about hair today. What is surprising was this woman complaining about how her hair is always flat and dry and awful looking (and admiring a bunch of ours) and then admitting that she doesn't use conditioner.

Me thinks some one doesn't understand cause and effect.

In some ways, this reminds me of my mother's attitude towards moisturizer. She won't use it, never has and is BEWILDERED by her dry skin. And if she does put something on, it "doesn't work" if her skin doesn't morph into that of a twenty-five year old. Because if you could turn back the clock that much it would cost twenty bucks at the Kiehl's counter.

At any rate, this woman just assumed that everyone lept out of bed with their thick shiny hair and hers was just terrible genetics and DOOM. Does anyone feel like a grown woman who can't go get at least some Pantene deserves shitty hair? Yeah, me too.

I have super thick hair with some wave to it. So to whip it into top condition I need to do the following:

shampoo roots only
deep condition from middle shaft to ends (deep condition after every shampoo, I don't worry about flat hair with a poof ball like mine)
comb through conditioner
wait as long as possible
rinse for a really long time
towel dry and put a bunch of leave in conditioner from mid shaft to ends
let air dry a couple of hours
distribute some sort of cream throughout hair
blow dry straight layer by layer
flat iron layer by layer
repeat every other day

Admittedly, my honest routine that happens most often is the complete cleansing and conditioning bit (HAVE TO) then
let air dry until right before bed
distribute hair cream
do half-ass blow dry
wake up cursing self for half-assed blow dry
flat iron ends and bangs
put into bun or ponytail
repeat every three days, using baby powder on roots if necessary the third day

But still, that is way more involved then:
wash hair, probably with fucking ivory soap
towel dry
use PICK (I KNOW IT IS 1985)
curse genes

Goddamn, if I don't write about being knocked up I am whinging about hair. What the hell to men obsess about? Boobs?

A Few Things

Buster is mewling like a lost kitten in the damn living room. He is just so pathetic about the curtains blocking his view of the street. I finally caved and opened them a couple of inches so that he could keep up his Constant Vigilance! He is still sad out there, with mournful sighs and much moping. Damn Dog.
***

Surprising but not unwelcome pregnancy side effect: my leg hair isn't really growing much anymore. Not that I would be shaving much more often than once a week anyway but still. I don't really seem to need to do that.
***

When I was like sixteen, seventeen I was convinced that I could NEVER leave my current boyfriend because no one else in the entire WORLD would ever want to have sex with a girl with weird knees like mine. Yes, I really believed that I would be naked with a boy and he would see my knees and FLEE LIKE THE WIND. Now that I understand a little bit more about men I realize that it is unlikely that any man I've ever slept with could pick my knees out of a line up of two. Oh the angst that could have been avoided.
***
People really need to stop touching my stomach at work. We don't know each other that well. And also, I am quickly losing my civility. Right now I can grit my teeth and smile wanly. In another month I will probably stab your hand with my mechanical pencil and club your face with a three hole punch. Is it really worth the risk?
***

I am going to start telling people my due date is in January. Honestly, I don't really think I am making it all the way to February (even if it might be easier for everyone) and besides people hear February and think end of. I am big for my due date but I am HUGE for one three or four weeks later.

Only the Important Details

J and my dad were brutally productive this afternoon. While my mother and I bought tiny baby socks at the mall, they assembled the crib, found out the light fixture we bought for that room wouldn't work (DAMN IT), hung the drapes in the living room (which we've been meaning to do since August) and fixed our bedroom door so that it shuts (which it hasn't since we moved in two years ago).

Frankly, I am tired just typing that.

Then we all ate onion rings. Or at least that is what I remember.

JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCE

J and I both had rough days at work yesterday. He dealt with his with loud venting and drinking many shots very quickly and I dealt with mine by sipping a diet coke and picking his ass up.

And then venting when I had him home and trapped.

At least yesterday was Friday and we both have time to get into acceptance phase with it all before going back to work. And it's massage day! The best day of the week.

I've been really lucky in that I still sleep great. At seven months I know a lot of people are just not that comfortable and can't sleep. Eight hours of sleep is the difference between a reasonable facsimile of AB and a horrifying monster who will rip your eyeballs out so I am sure everyone agrees this is a Good Thing. My only issue is really that I now cannot get through a night without peeing (SAD) and without the 4am thirst. I usually make it through the water bottle I have on the nightstand by then and the kiddo is screaming for apple juice. I am pretty sure she is in there doing the black power salute and bellowing "JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCE" from the sense of urgency I feel. I could do without that, frankly, but I suppose I should count my blessings.

She is only shrieking from the inside.

Skipping Tomorrow Would Be Helpful

I did not get one trick or treater last night. However, given my weepy pitiful state it is probably just as well.

This morning I felt much more rational about the whole thing. I was dutifully reassured by my friend L (who I am not even going to link because girlfriend hasn't blogged in like two months) who said she had gained nearly as much at this point in both her pregnancies (I am going to pretend that I don't realize that she was also thin to start and heh she hit that milestone at seven months and I am not quite). I am just going to try to get off my ass more. It's a doable goal.

I am writing this drivel from my shiny laptop which has been returned! WHOOOT. J wisely hid the true cost of the repair from me until it was already done. This pisses me off because HI I AM ADULT but also pleases me because he truly knows how cheap I am and I would have been without a laptop for a loooong time.

I woke up this morning with a sinus headache (I actually fell asleep with one so no shocker) and well halfway through the day and BAM my left eye swelled shut. SO SEXAY.

I am just going to look ahead and think about Saturday.