sueeeus

BB is fascinated by the whole blood sugar testing and insulin administration process. Every time I stick my finger, he runs to see the drop of blood. Did you bleed? Satisfied with the size of the drop, he then proclaims, Ouchie! Every single time. Next, he likes to pick the injection site, and watches intently as I proceed. Sometimes it stings or pinches, and he says, “Did I not pick the right spot?” Sometimes it bleeds a bit, and he says, “Maybe you hit a bain (vein).”

Sometimes I’ll catch him playing make-believe with scraps of junk mail or whatnot, and he’ll be ‘testing his blood sugar.’ I hope he never actually needs to. Diabetes seems to be prevalent on my side of the family.

Less than two weeks left of insulin therapy, and I can put all the needle paraphernalia away. It’s not so bad, really, but I’ll be glad to be done with this part. It’s quite something, how the blood sugar can return to normal once the placenta is gone. I’m very curious whether my numbers will be stable or not, when it’s all said and done. I’m not planning on resuming the metformin for a little while, just so I can see.

I’m hoping to come out of this pregnancy with a net weight loss. I gained 7 lbs in the first 32 weeks, and 11 lbs between 32-36 weeks, 5 of which came on last week. So I assume that the recent 11 lbs is mostly water (as evidenced by the size of my ankles and the indentations left in my skin with the least amount of pressure), baby and placenta and amniotic fluid probably account for about 15-20, so I should be down a net 10 or so once LB arrives, and that 10 should help my blood sugar numbers. So. We shall see.

Sometimes, when you’re a woman of advanced maternal age, and you are overweight (obese, technically), and you have type II diabetes (but you really think that you are more borderline and not actually over the edge) which has escalated to insulin dependent gestational diabetes, and you are 36 weeks along, and when your fundal measurement is 43, and you’ve gained five pounds in one week, and when your regular doctor is on vacation, you might find yourself face to face with some stranger who knows nothing about you, and asks you why you didn’t bring your blood sugar log in to this appointment (when you brought it to the last appointment and that substitute doctor didn’t even ask to see it until you told her that your usual doctor had wanted you to show it to her, and then she didn’t show any real interest in it, anyway, so you figured you’d not bother this time, especially because there are about three or four really bad entries in it, and why subject oneself to the tsk tsk bad girl you shouldn’t have eaten that rice or that muffin reprimand, especially when you’re on the teetering edge of tears with the least infliction of guilt, judgment, or criticism) so you tell him that your morning sugars have been in the 90s and your post-prandials around 140 or so (which is more or less true, except for the few odd points)…

…that substitute doctor with the charming bedside manner might say, “Someone hasn’t been watching what she eats very well,” and then insist that an appointment be scheduled sooner than later to go over the numbers to determine whether any additional adjustments to the insulin should be made.

…and that same doctor with the charming bedside manner might wrinkle up his face and remeasure you two or three times and scratch his head and say something to the effect of “do you realize how big you are measuring, and we ought to get you in for another ultrasound,” after which you assure him that yes, you know you are measuring big, your last child measured big, and your normal doctor is well aware of it, and you are scheduled for a c-section anyway, because you already know you’ve got a giant baby growing in there.

…after which that same substitute doctor with the charming bedside manner might ask whether you’re getting your tubes tied during the c-section, and when you say no, you are not planning on it, and he looks at you with shock and horror and asks why not, and you answer that you don’t want to do that, and possibly your husband might get the snip instead, to which he asks why on earth you would subject your husband to an unnecessary procedure when you will be open already and the procedure will take less than a minute to put the little tiny clamps on the tubes and there will be no hormonal ramifications because the ovaries are not affected in the least, and in fact, your chance of various female cancer(s) is actually reduced…

…if you’re anything like me, you have a very difficult time maintaining your composure until you’re safely tucked away inside your car-pod at which time you sob your eyes out all the way home, at the same time wondering vaguely what all the passersby are thinking of the overweight forty-something pregnant woman bawling her eyes out…

…and you try to be objective about it and wonder why you are really so upset, but you just can’t seem to get past the part about NOT BEING READY TO MAKE A DECISION TO COMPLETELY SHUT THE DOOR ON ANY FUTURE CHILDREN, even though you know you probably shouldn’t even consider the possibility, given all the factors, and you may actually not even want to have more, and most likely you wouldn’t even be able to have any more, based simply on how hard it was to get to here, but you just don’t one hundred percent know what you want, and what you should do, and you’re just NOT READY TO MAKE THAT KIND OF A DECISION NOW, or in the next two weeks, for that matter, and even though he claims there are no hormonal ramifications, you are oh, so very leery, because you’ve lived a lifetime with tweaked-out hormones and the last thing you want to do is rock that boat any more than it’s already rocked.

…and then, when your husband calls, because he’s working late and he needs you to do the daycare pickup, and he can hear in your voice that you’ve been crying, and you say it’s because you didn’t much like the doctor you saw today, and he demands to know WHO it was, so he could call him and bawl him out for being such a jerk, you completely skip the whole part about the tubal ligation, which is really what you’re most upset about (because of course it’s as perplexing to your husband as it is to the charming doctor as to why one wouldn’t want to get a tubal when one is already laid out open on the operating table, and how selfish it is to even suggest something as vile and emasculating as a vasectomy to a perfectly healthy and whole male, God forbid.)

…So I guess that’s what it’s mostly all about. I don’t want to make a decision. I thought I’d already made the decision, which is, let Gadget get snipped, and if he’s not amicable to that (which he isn’t much), take our chances or just be abstinent (which is basically the same thing, when it comes down to it).

It’s nearly 4 a.m. and once again, I can’t sleep. Prescription: decaf tea, laptop, camera & a heartburn pill. Above? That’s what I can see from here. Right now. Great wide expanses of belly!

I think LB is dropping or has dropped. He seems to be low now, my lungs aren’t as squished, and new pains have taken residence in the pelvic region. BB never did drop. I had him at 39 wks and he was way up high, happy as a clam. Maybe he was too big to drop. He was 10lb 7oz, after all.

It’s something, how much a body can change from week to week, and even day to day.

From the front view (at 35 wks) the belly gives the illusion that I might actually have a waist, which I don’t, and haven’t for years. So the voluminous pregnancy look suits me, I think. As does the blonde. I really like being blonde! Who would have ever known or guessed it could be pulled off?

And the side view. Oh, the side view. It’s quite amazing to me that I’m not riddled with stretch marks. But then again, I was nicely pre-stretched. And it continues to astound me that this belly (above) is 5 weeks short of term, and there’s only one child in there. Don’t they grow about an ounce a day from here on out? Mercy!

We’re 36 wks now. Only two weeks until the big day! My niece had her baby at 35 wks, induced due to preeclampsia, and she was born healthy and sound with no respiratory issues. It helps me feel more confident about the 38 wks delivery decision. And thankful that I’ve never had a blood pressure scare. Now, I just hope that LB plans to stick around in there for another two weeks. So far, no Braxton-Hicks contractions, no real contractions. Lots of poking and prodding and rolling and squirming. It’s something to watch, when you see all the shifting taking place under the skin, before your very eyes. A bit eerie to some (of the male gender), who tend to think it’s freaky and alien. To me? Magical.

I’m looking forward to holding my beautiful LB, and gazing into his wondrous tiny face, but at the same time, knowing how my life is about to change makes me want to savor these last several days as much as I possibly can. Lots of snuggling and teasing and laughing with BB. Alone time at 4 a.m. with heartburn. It’s all time to treasure.

Babes in arms. Soon.

There has been a marked silence in blogland lately, particularly amongst the ladies in waiting. I’ve been hoping that we are all just going through the frantic and harried late third trimester nesting times in which all is well with the babes, and we are just too busy with wrapping together the pieces of our lives that need to be taken care of before our bundles of joy arrive. It can be so stressful, these last few weeks, when the doctors say to heed the movements and make sure you feel at least 10 movements every two hours, and if not, CALL. I’m finding myself looking at the clock, wondering why LB hasn’t moved, gently prodding my belly to see if I can get him to squirm, and either feeling panic or joy when I don’t or do get a response. And then there’s the fear that I’ll go into labor at any time, and even though he’s a big robust boy already, it’s still too early, so please, please don’t come yet. And then there’s the office. The loads and loads of loose ends to tie up. All the things to get in order for an extended absence. Finding all the things that must be delegated and delegating them properly so that all will be well. Finishing things that have been in work for ages. Anticipating what might come up whilst away, just in case. The management tends to get a bit nervous when they know you are single thread and there’s nobody else who can fill in for task X, should the need arise. And even though I am single thread on many things I do, the chances are that no emergencies will arise in my absence. And the company will go on. My single threadedness remains only the smallest drop in a very large bucket. So I won’t actually let that bother me. Much. I have much more important things on the horizon with which to prioritize my emotions, thoughts, and energy.

Today I’ve caught up on several posts and projects that have been rattling around. I made some bibs for our bloggy babes. My hand painting is crude – the pencil sketches turned out much nicer than the actual product, once rendered in paint. And even though it’s not much, and they didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped and imagined, it’s something that I wanted to do.

Now, to send them off!

Swinging, as in mood swings. And not so much swinging as a general tendency towards irritability. Directed mainly at Gadget. Of course. It doesn’t help that he snaps back, rather than graciously understanding and accepting that I’m at the mercy of raging hormones, and this is just another stage in the journey. See how cleverly I don’t take any responsibility for my behavior?

Swelling. As if there wasn’t enough of that already. It seems to contribute to the full body aches. The weight is climbing rapidly now, as evidenced by the indentations left in my skin from even the least amount of pressure. I decided to rest for a while around 8:30 p.m., fell asleep until 10:30, awoke with hands numb, tingling, and swollen. I might have tried to continue sleeping, except I’d forgotten to administer my insulin and I decided I ought to drink more fluids in an attempt to address the swelling situation. Then I started thinking of this, that, and the other thing (we shall call it nesting), so couldn’t go back to sleep anyway.

Nesting. Instead, I emptied two kitchen drawers and filled them with bottles, breast-pump supplies, burp towels and bibs. The diaper station is well on its way to being nicely stocked with teensy tiny diapers, wipes, Desitin, A&D ointment, towels and baby blankets. Still milling about my mind are other things to do. Nothing critical, at this point. Just some sewing projects.

I’ve pre-registered with the hospital and with my insurance company, submitted my leave of absence paperwork and submitted my short term disability claim, coordinated my leave and return to work schedule with my boss and lead, registered for the use of the mother’s room at the office (which is nearly fully booked, but since I will have the luxury, thank the heavens above, of telecommuting most days for several months, I can take care of the lactation business in the comfort and privacy of my own home), and updated my on-line calendars with my leave and return schedules. As far as work goes, I’m good to go. Apart from actually wrapping up all the projects I’m working on, that is.

There are three people in my little corner of the world who do the particular line of work that we do, and both my lead (the Guru) and I (the Capable Sidekick) will be gone for a full week at the end of August, leaving Chicken Little alone with the sky falling. My lead said it will be good for him, which prompted me to ask how he (the Guru) remains so calm all the time, and he said, simply, will it matter in six months? If not, then it’s not worth getting all worked up over now. Genius! Why has it never occurred to me to apply such criteria? I could have skipped that whole Zoloft phase. In our work, we deal with multi-million-dollar products and the owners thereof, and it’s so easy to be whipped into a frenzy by their demands, so this golden nugget of learning how to put things in perspective and place a little distance between the stress and the bigger picture is just that. Golden. So. The work projects that I don’t finish? Will it matter in six months that I haven’t finished them? Probably not. If someone else doesn’t finish them (and they won’t –I generally work independently on these special projects), then I’ll just pick up where I left off when I return. No sweat. It’s so liberating!

Well, the daily brush fires will have to be dealt with, but my own projects will wait if need be.  The Guru will, of course, be fine, and Chicken Little will have to find a way to cope. I will not worry. Nay, I will not even think of them! I’ll be swaddling, snuggling, caring for and reveling in my beautiful little boy.

I confirmed that my insurance covers 96 hours of hospital stay following the birth of the baby, during which time such special services as lactation specialists are covered, and after which they are not, therefore my plan is to demand that I stay in hospital until my milk comes in and I’m confident that my little guy is feeding well, assuming this takes place within 4 days. Surely my milk will come in by then. Our hospitals are notorious for moving mothers through as quickly as possible, so I’m planning to stand firm on this. I don’t want a repeat of the lactation nightmares endured with my first beautiful boy, and want to take full advantage of what the insurance plan will allow.

And my beautiful boy’s birth date has been changed to August 27th. I’ll have the amnio done on the morning of the 25th and find out by that afternoon whether his lungs are ready, and if so, it’s a go. If not, we wait until the next week. I’m fairly confident that he’ll be ready, but I have nothing at all to base that upon, other than I’ve been controlling the blood sugar fairly well, so his development shouldn’t be impaired by the diabetes. He might not even be a hulking Goliath after all. So far, he’s measuring a bit smaller than my first was at this stage, and he’s coming a full week earlier as well, which may translate to a pound or so. He sure seems bigger, though. I feel bigger, and I think I am bigger, even though I weigh less than I did last time. It’s a head scratcher. We shall see. He’ll show us.

Meanwhile…

…I’m getting so excited!

Good Things

• 3 a.m. – realizing there is a warm little body burrowed against mine, even though he was soundly sleeping in his own bed at last recollection. I do want him to feel safe, secure, and confident, and I do want him to develop healthy independence, but I also want to savor the snuggle time for as long as I can.
• coffee at 4 a.m. when I’m all swollen and can’t sleep (not so much the swollen and can’t sleep part, though)
• colostrum. 34 weeks and it’s here – my body is working! This pleases me immensely.
• a peaceful quiet house, all to myself (even though I’ll be paying for it in a few hours). Not so much the rude awakening that I’m not alone, and sharing the otherwise tranquility with a monstrously large moth, and where the hell did it come from anyway? (Swearing, although a rarity with me, is not uncommon when monstrously large flying creatures invade one’s space.)
• broccoli, steamed and smothered in butter. Normally I wouldn’t indulge in the decadence of butter, but when I do, oh my. Yesterday’s dinner.
• sweet corn. Miraculously enough, it doesn’t wreak havoc on the blood sugar. The broccoli wasn’t enough, so I had corn too. Yes, we’re all about fine and lovingly prepared meals around here.
• the prospect of a healthy baby

Not so Good Things

• insomnia
• bladder capacity (lack thereof)
• monstrously large flying creatures invading one’s space
• edema
• full body aches
• muscle cramps
• insulin resistance; diabetes
• employer changed medical insurance plans mid-year requiring more out of pocket expenses, additional paperwork, deductibles, and higher copays
• the strange numb and unpleasant but not so much painful feeling on the surface of my skin at the peak of my belly (by my navel, which somehow remains an innie) when my belly inadvertently but invariably brushes against anything

Things to Do

• buy newborn size diapers. I have a case of size 1, but they may be a bit big for the first couple of weeks.
• set up the baby hammock
• unpack baby items – bibs, burp cloths, breast pump, all that good stuff
• preregister at the hospital
• pack my hospital bag
• discuss leave of absence and return to work plans with my boss
• make daycare arrangements – the babysitter is going to Poland on August 20th, without consulting me first. Imagine.
• wrap up work projects. HAHAHAHAAHAHAAHHAHAHAHH. Actually, I probably will leave things in good shape for my backups. I’m responsible and considerate that way.
• clean and organize the fridge and freezer
• get more rest

Breathing is becoming a laborious effort. No pun intended. Really.

Seriously, I can hardly breathe. At least while sitting. And I can’t stand for long, either. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow, and I’ll mention these things. Perhaps I’ll be placed on bed rest after all. Or not. I wouldn’t mind, actually. It might bore me to tears, but I’ve never actually had the luxury of any sort of extended repose. Of course, when one is limited such, it’s hardly considered a luxury, is it?

Apart from being exhausted and the inability to breathe, I feel great. Gadget might argue that I’m practicing selective memory, having not mentioned the frequent bouts of short temper and snappiness that punctuate most days. Enjoying the journey.

I even bought a couple of books last week, in a moment of inspiration, and guess what? I read them! Two books! Now, I’m not even going to attempt a review, lacking the confidence for such in the shadow of the bookie bloggers I adore. But I enjoyed them. The first was the curious incident of the dog in the night-time, by Mark Haddon. It made me chuckle and it made me cry. I think the main character was autistic and the author captured his perspective very well. Although what do I know of these things?

The second book was The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. I had a bit of a time keeping track of the characters and hopping back and forth in time, but it was very good. Something that makes the heart ache. I sobbed towards the end.

I’ve also been meaning to make some baby angel fairy things, inspired by my March visit to Australia and Winterwood Toys. I’m calling them pea pod angels. Because they’re a gorgeous green. And they’re babies. And they remind me of peas in a pod. Sweet Pea Pod Angel Babies.

First, it took me ages to collect the bits and pieces and put the ideas together.

I didn’t have any clear thread, and the only fishing line Gadget has is for salmon. That is, it’s very thick, and not suitable for hanging the crystal. So I used plain white thread. Even so, I think it turned out okay. Not perfect, but still adorable. I stitched on, ignoring the boys and their “what are you doing? — why are you making those? — what are you going to do with them? — I don’t get it, what a waste of time… — why don’t they have any faces? –why?” comments. Boys. Hrumph.

I made three. They’re teensy tiny. Only a couple of inches long. I think they’re sweet. They make me smile.

• For 32 weeks, I’m larger than life. My last fundal measurement was 40. Already. And I’m stretched tight. It’s a sort of odd, numb feeling, being stretched that far. My boobs don’t even look big any more. In comparison.
• I have a tentative birth date set.  August 28, 2008.  I know, it’s almost two weeks early, but seriously, it’s hard to imagine how massive this child could get, by 40 weeks.  Who knows, anyway, when one might actually go into labor.  My sister’s baby came that early, on his own.  I’ll be getting that amnio test for lung development, just to be sure he’s ready.  Because of the GD, it’s required.  I think that it’s not generally required after 38 weeks under normal circumstances.  I still have time to change my mind and wait until 39 weeks, but I’m having a hard time imagining how well my body’s going to hold up, if I go that long.  I can barely move as is.  I LOVE this giant belly, but I could do without the aching hips, legs, and feet.  And the walnut sized bladder capacity.  And the inability to breathe.  When there’s so much child inside, everything else gets squished.  And I have nearly 8 official weeks more of rapid growth, because now is when the growth really starts taking off.  Yikes!
• My swanky new serger is on the blink.  The needle fell out during coverstitch operation and now it isn’t working.  I took it to the dealer and they found even more things wrong with it than I did – they would know, since they are familiar with sergers.  This is my first, and I have no prior knowledge to compare it to, so I’m actually relieved that they found other problems.  It’s all under warranty, so off for repair it goes, and hopefully it will be smooth, sweet, and deeeeeeeluxe when it returns.  Meanwhile, my nesting mode sewing projects are on hold.
• I cleaned BB’s room today.  I asked him if we could give some of his toys away, and he actually agreed!  So I took advantage of his magnanimity and filled two huge bins with giveaways.  It’s one of the mysteries of the universe, how I can go through every single toy, from the smallest lego, and go through every corner and every inch of his room, and yet things are still missing.  The bottom tray of the Boggle game.  Nearly all the pieces of the superheroes memory game.  The shoes for his doll.  I don’t throw anything away, and when I go through his things, I go through them meticulously.  So where are these things?  Hopefully not down the air vents.  Or the toilet.  BB could have thrown things away, I suppose.
• I put his bed back in his room.  Positive thinking.  We’ll see how that goes.  He was all for it this morning, but I imagine once sleepy time rolls around, the tune may change.
• Less than six weeks!  It’s just around the corner, and it seems like the next days will fly by in a whir and a blur.  And then the next chapter will begin, a whir and blur of its own.
• I already bought a case of size 1 diapers.  It makes me smile.

As in, great with child.

I love being pregnant. Some think I’m nuts, but truly, I love this. I love that there is an amazing life growing inside of me. Sure, I’m huge, and that’s not the least bit of an exaggeration. At 30 weeks, I look full term, and then some. In fact, now that the gestational diabetes is in full swing, I’m having regularly scheduled scans for estimating growth trends. Yesterday was the first, and LB came in at the 84th percentile, and 4 pounds 5 ounces. No worries, though. There is plenty of amniotic fluid and everything looks good. They won’t express concern unless he passes the 90th percentile, and even then, it’s practically a given that he will deliver via c-section anyway, so it’s more a matter of deciding the best time for the best outcome. I have no worries. I do need to keep my blood sugar under control, though, for both of us.

Yes, my legs and feet are swollen. And cramp frequently. And I have a yeast rash at the top of my legs. And more stretch marks to add to the collection. It does feel a bit strange now and then to have such a voluminous protrusion on the front porch. And it’s a teensy bit disconcerting to wonder how I could possibly get any bigger, considering my belly looks to be stretched to its utmost already. BB was huge, as well, but it seems as though my girth at this stage is already on par with my girth when I delivered him. And I have a full two months left to go. So.

All that said, I still love being pregnant. I love the feel of this little guy punching and kicking and squirming inside of me. I love thinking about the kind of person he is and will be.

I want to savor every moment, because I remember all too clearly the journey and the yearning for this opportunity, and this will most likely be the last time I walk this path. I want to remember the wonder of it all; all the feelings, all the movements, all the phases. Only two more months, which will be over before I know it. I want to savor it all.

It’s magical. It’s amazing. I’m loving it. I’m grateful.  Very, very grateful.

• Although I’m still hiding out in my office, and generally avoiding the company, I am feeling better in general. We’re getting ready to take a few days off and visit my sister, who lives conveniently close to a water/amusement park. That will be the big hoorah for the teenaged house-invaders. They’re very excited about it. Plus, my sister and her husband have a boat and live near an amazing lake, and the weather is supposed to be nice. So. I will fork out a truckload of cash to offset the cost of operating said boat, and the kids can have more water fun. I will be surrounded by mostly relations of my flesh and blood, so I will take strength and nourishment from that. Maybe the teens will run off on their own and do their thing. I’m hoping they behave well, and interact well with their step-cousins.
• Being on insulin has helped reduce some stress. My numbers aren’t jumping all over the place now. They go up, they come down, they don’t go bang bang zoom pow bang.
• Getting the go-ahead to use a laxative has greatly improved things as well. Ahem. Seriously, though, I feel emotionally better knowing that I’m not all compacted with festering debris for days on end. TMI. I know. I know. But I feel better.
• Having those 3D pictures of my baby is such a joy for me. It helps me visualize him. I find myself thinking of him more, and smiling more.
• BB was placed in time out in the kids room at the gym while I was doing my water aerobics. He was throwing things and reportedly hit a couple of kids. When I ask him about it, he says he likes to hit. It’s a bit challenging trying to have a reasonable and logical conversation with a three year old. I want him to understand that it’s not nice to hit. He was broken of that before the home invasion took place. Now I have to start over. He’s being exceedingly belligerent, saying, “NO. I’m NOT going (to bed, to the bathroom, to daycare, to pick up that toy, to eat my dinner, etc.) NO.” I felt awful, that he got in trouble in a public place. I had mixed emotions. Awful that somebody else disciplined my child (albeit gently) and awful that he needed to be disciplined.
• We’re going to be towing a small utility trailer loaded with two refrigerators when we take our trip this week. The weight of the load is within the trailer’s limit, and the weight of the trailer is well within the specs noted in my van’s manual. Even so, I’m feeling nervous. There will be five people in the van and a heavy load behind the van. We will be riding very low. And I’m nervous. Must. Not. Think. Of. It. Denial is best for situations like this.
• Gadget keeps blowing off his chiropractor appointments. It’s very annoying. He should at least have the decency to cancel, if he’s not planning to go. Meanwhile, he gave them the wrong insurance card, so the billing is all whacked too. None of which really matters to him, because it all rolls to me. I, however, am annoyed. Especially because he has plenty of complaints over people in his line of work not being where they say they’ll be when they say they’ll be there. He should just cancel. Period. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to go to the chiropractor. We both tend to think it’s mostly quackery. But if he has an appointment, he needs to cancel it.
• I have some sewing/crafting projects in mind, but don’t want to start into anything until I have my home back to myself. I think I’ve become somewhat of a recluse or something.
• Tomorrow is my beloved niece’s 12th birthday. When she was 6 months old she (and her family) lived with me for a time, and I got to enjoy her in the best of her babyhood. She took her first steps to me. Me! I like to think of her as my girl, especially since I will not likely ever have a daughter of my own. She’s an amazing person, and I’m very proud of her.
• The benefits of the magnesium are sadly not fully consistent. I’ve had several night visits with my friend Charlie, who is NOT a good or welcome bed partner. Why are they called Charlie/Charley horses, anyway? Bill Bryson would surely know.