Pukey?
Sickly?
Heevy?
Preggy?
Right now, all of the above. So here I am declaring to the 5 people who read my blog, and who probably already know this info anyway, I am pregnant.
Yes, that's right. Planning that Disney trip did wonders for my reproductive system.
I am happy to be pregnant and yet so sick, I can't believe I actually wanted this. With N, I was sick for 3 weeks solid. On the couch from sun-up to sun-down, all day sickness. Didn't cook.
This time around, I'm now in week 4 of all-day sickness. When my eyes open in the morning, I am sick. When my eyes close at night, I am sick. The only time I feel good is when I am unconscious. Despite not having eaten in 6+ hours, I manage to throw up upon rising in the morning. And then the rest of the day I feel nauseated and dry heeve periodically. I can't tolerate the smell of our bathroom hand soap, or the smell of the refrigerator or the smell of the cat food, or the smell of D's hair stuff. I can't enter a grocery store because just the thought of it makes me cry.
With N I didn't tell anyone forever, but that was easy because 1. I had no social life, and 2. I was on summer break from teaching. Had I actually had to work and function, more people would have known the deal much earlier on. This time, I have kind of had to tell people. My MOM Club work has been put on hold, our playgroup dates have been put on hold, my answering of emails has been put on hold. And being on hold is not something for which I am known. I am a go-getter, stay busy, keep moving person, or at least I was up until 4 weeks ago.
So in addition to telling out of necessity, I have told some people because I wanted to. I guess there is another good reason why 2 years of therapy was necessary for me. While pregnant with N, I didn't want to tell people because I didn't want to have to untell people if something happened. For me, there was causation. If I told people, I would automatically be jinxing the pregnancy and the worst would happen. Meds and therapy have helped me to realize that there is no causation. Just because someone knows I'm pregnant doesn't mean something is going to go wrong. They are totally not connected in any form or fashion.
And really, if something bad does happen it would be a lot weirder to say I miscarried when no one knew I was pregnant to begin with. And I would want my mom friends and others who know me well and see me often to be supportive and offer comfort.
Now this doesn't mean I have given my mother the ok to tell every stranger she meets and all the cousins and every lady she quilts with. Of course, this will be grandkid number 4 for her, so the excitement has kinda worn off. She isn't biting at the bit like she was 3 years ago when N was born.
So anyway, that is the word from the couch, from the sickbed. I'm hoping things will improve soon because we are running out of Disney videos to watch.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Pipe problems
So last week we dropped nearly $800 on plumbing repairs. It started with the sewer backup on Sunday, and (hopefully) ended with a frozen (and busted) sump pump pipe at the end of the week.
On Thursday, D and I kept hearing this weird humming noise. We thought it was the furnace, so when he got home from work he checked it out. He soon realized the hum was the sound of the sump pump motor running continuously. When he opened the sump pump cover, it felt like a sauna.
So on Friday morning, the plumber was called AGAIN. He ended up having to cut into our basement drywall and floorboards to get at the pipe, which was indeed frozen, busted and cracked. Had we waited until it thawed we would have been in a wet basement.
Both the guys who came, Frank and Jim, were super professional, which was nice. But I made it very clear when Jim left on Friday that while I appreciated his help, I sincerely hope I don't have to see anyone from his company for a LONG, LONG time.
Of course, a colleague of D's mentioned how crap happens in 3s, so now I'm a little worried what is up next. What bad and expensive piece of stink is going to befall us to finish up the curse?
Really, though, and I don't mean to slide back into my pre-therapy catastrophic way of thinking but bad junk just happens alot. Not in number sequences....just often enough to remind you that you have no control and that life can be a royal bitch.
I think I'm ready for things to settle down a wee bit, especially on the home repair front.
On Thursday, D and I kept hearing this weird humming noise. We thought it was the furnace, so when he got home from work he checked it out. He soon realized the hum was the sound of the sump pump motor running continuously. When he opened the sump pump cover, it felt like a sauna.
So on Friday morning, the plumber was called AGAIN. He ended up having to cut into our basement drywall and floorboards to get at the pipe, which was indeed frozen, busted and cracked. Had we waited until it thawed we would have been in a wet basement.
Both the guys who came, Frank and Jim, were super professional, which was nice. But I made it very clear when Jim left on Friday that while I appreciated his help, I sincerely hope I don't have to see anyone from his company for a LONG, LONG time.
Of course, a colleague of D's mentioned how crap happens in 3s, so now I'm a little worried what is up next. What bad and expensive piece of stink is going to befall us to finish up the curse?
Really, though, and I don't mean to slide back into my pre-therapy catastrophic way of thinking but bad junk just happens alot. Not in number sequences....just often enough to remind you that you have no control and that life can be a royal bitch.
I think I'm ready for things to settle down a wee bit, especially on the home repair front.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
A fecal matter
I have a thing about poop. I don't like it. Urine, though gross, doesn't disturb me like poop.
My history of having the heebie-jeebies related to this topic is long. When I was a child, my mother would put me in the bathtub with my kid brother who would poop whenever his butt touched water. I distinctly remember many instances of running down the hall naked yelling, "Maaaaaa, K pooped in the tub." There are few things worse than being in the tub with a floater that isn't your own.
When I was a teen, my dad developed ulcerative colitis, and we only had 1 bathroom in our house. There were many instances when I was politely kicked out of the bathroom because dad was having cramps and other issues. Other times, I would sit in the tub with the curtain shut having to listen to my dad use the bathroom just on the other side. Of course, he couldn't help his condition, but the gross factor here was pretty high.
When I was in college, my colon became rather sensitive, and I suspected that I had irritable bowel syndrome, a diagnosis never actually confirmed. Plus, I have OCD so it's only natural for things like germs and poop to freak me out completely.
Today has been like a horror movie. I was folding clothes in the kitchen, waiting for the washing machine to finish a load of undies, when I heard a gurgling sound coming from the powder room. The toilet was overflowing. Not a sprinkle or a trinkle, but full-fledged running out over the sides, flooding onto the floor.
Instantly I go into panic mode. D has run to the store, so I call his cell. "Where is the water shut-off valve? We've broken a pipe! There is poop water running all over the floor!! It's everywhere! Come home NOW!!!!" I know NOTHING about plumbing, pipes, valves, hoses, etc, but I know when poop water is going the opposite way from which it is supposed to go.
N was playing happily in the dining room wondering why 1. there is water all over the foyer floor, and why 2. mommy is running around like a proverbial chicken sans head.
I realized that I heard water downstairs. In our furnace room, water was trickling down from the ceiling and covering everything....the floor, the craft table, the rugs, and making a nice little pool for D's tools inside his toolbox.
To make a long story shorter (because a saga like this is never short), we now have a plumber in our basement draining water from our pipes so he can suck disgusting remnants of bodily waste from our sewer (since we aren't fortunate enough to have an outside sewer cleanup valve).
SHIT!!!!!! I HATE SHIT!!!!!!!
D and I are blaming each other. He accuses me of using entirely too much toilet paper, and I accuse him of not eating enough fiber and having impossibly large bowel movements. N could have tossed a toy down the toilet, but she is about as squeamish with toilets as her mom (perhaps this explains her lack of potty-training interest) so I don't believe this is a real possibility.
And even when the sewer outlet is clear and our toilets are running properly, I am stilled faced with the problem of poopy smelling towels to wash, poopy smelling floors to mop, poopy smelling walls to disinfect.
My nose and psyche will take weeks to recover.
My history of having the heebie-jeebies related to this topic is long. When I was a child, my mother would put me in the bathtub with my kid brother who would poop whenever his butt touched water. I distinctly remember many instances of running down the hall naked yelling, "Maaaaaa, K pooped in the tub." There are few things worse than being in the tub with a floater that isn't your own.
When I was a teen, my dad developed ulcerative colitis, and we only had 1 bathroom in our house. There were many instances when I was politely kicked out of the bathroom because dad was having cramps and other issues. Other times, I would sit in the tub with the curtain shut having to listen to my dad use the bathroom just on the other side. Of course, he couldn't help his condition, but the gross factor here was pretty high.
When I was in college, my colon became rather sensitive, and I suspected that I had irritable bowel syndrome, a diagnosis never actually confirmed. Plus, I have OCD so it's only natural for things like germs and poop to freak me out completely.
Today has been like a horror movie. I was folding clothes in the kitchen, waiting for the washing machine to finish a load of undies, when I heard a gurgling sound coming from the powder room. The toilet was overflowing. Not a sprinkle or a trinkle, but full-fledged running out over the sides, flooding onto the floor.
Instantly I go into panic mode. D has run to the store, so I call his cell. "Where is the water shut-off valve? We've broken a pipe! There is poop water running all over the floor!! It's everywhere! Come home NOW!!!!" I know NOTHING about plumbing, pipes, valves, hoses, etc, but I know when poop water is going the opposite way from which it is supposed to go.
N was playing happily in the dining room wondering why 1. there is water all over the foyer floor, and why 2. mommy is running around like a proverbial chicken sans head.
I realized that I heard water downstairs. In our furnace room, water was trickling down from the ceiling and covering everything....the floor, the craft table, the rugs, and making a nice little pool for D's tools inside his toolbox.
To make a long story shorter (because a saga like this is never short), we now have a plumber in our basement draining water from our pipes so he can suck disgusting remnants of bodily waste from our sewer (since we aren't fortunate enough to have an outside sewer cleanup valve).
SHIT!!!!!! I HATE SHIT!!!!!!!
D and I are blaming each other. He accuses me of using entirely too much toilet paper, and I accuse him of not eating enough fiber and having impossibly large bowel movements. N could have tossed a toy down the toilet, but she is about as squeamish with toilets as her mom (perhaps this explains her lack of potty-training interest) so I don't believe this is a real possibility.
And even when the sewer outlet is clear and our toilets are running properly, I am stilled faced with the problem of poopy smelling towels to wash, poopy smelling floors to mop, poopy smelling walls to disinfect.
My nose and psyche will take weeks to recover.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Fairy tale faux-paus
Ok, so we've been reading Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Sleeping Beauty ALOT lately. And, as usual, my brain goes a'wandering after about the 112,000th read.
So here are my questions:
1. Why do the fairies and King Stefan plan for Aurora to return to the palace on the exact day of her 16th birthday when Maleficent's curse is still in place? It seems like they could have waited until the next day when the curse was expired. I mean, why not really cover their asses and just wait until she turned 17? She had been happy as a lark in the forest with Flora, Fauna and Merrywether. And she wouldn't have bumped into Philip if she hadn't been sent on a berry-picking errand while the fairies were trying to make her birthday cake and gown.
2. Why, after the dwarfs expressly tell Snow White "Don't let anyone in?" does she let in the old hag (her evil stepmother in disguise)? Seriously, the dwarfs hardly get down the lane before she's letting this odious woman into the cottage and then taking food from her. She might be beautiful but she is dumb as a brick.
So here are my questions:
1. Why do the fairies and King Stefan plan for Aurora to return to the palace on the exact day of her 16th birthday when Maleficent's curse is still in place? It seems like they could have waited until the next day when the curse was expired. I mean, why not really cover their asses and just wait until she turned 17? She had been happy as a lark in the forest with Flora, Fauna and Merrywether. And she wouldn't have bumped into Philip if she hadn't been sent on a berry-picking errand while the fairies were trying to make her birthday cake and gown.
2. Why, after the dwarfs expressly tell Snow White "Don't let anyone in?" does she let in the old hag (her evil stepmother in disguise)? Seriously, the dwarfs hardly get down the lane before she's letting this odious woman into the cottage and then taking food from her. She might be beautiful but she is dumb as a brick.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Obsessiveness
Sometimes when I think I am doing so well with my anxiety and my OCD something happens that makes me recognize my brain has duped me. I am a sucka! Not only have I not taken 3 steps forward as I had imagined or hallucinated, I have actually fallen backwards by at least 4 steps and possibly landed in a pile of dog crap.
I exaggerate (a little).
Tonight N and I were playing with her dolls, and I noticed that Pinky Lee wasn't in the living room. Pinky Lee is her first baby doll and her favorite. Pinky Lee goes with us just about everywhere...music class, shopping, playdates. Not much happens around our house that Pinky Lee doesn't experience firsthand herself.
So I started looking for her in all the obvious places. I looked in N's room. No Pinky. I looked in the basement. No Pinky. A little panic started to set in. I kept asking N, "Do you remember where we put Pinky Lee?" N was totally into her Strawberry Shortcake dolls so was completely ignoring me.
My OCD started kicking in high gear. Although N was oblivious to my search at the moment, I knew that sometime, maybe tonight before bed, maybe tomorrow before leaving the house, but sometime and probably soon, N would ask for Pinky Lee. I have got to find this doll. I checked the car. I checked the laundry room. I checked N's bathtub.
I was checking places where not only could Pinky Lee not fit, but there was no way N could have moved the 40 foot ladder off the garage wall to put her there.
I kept telling myself to LET IT GO. It's just a doll. She is a Little Mommy doll, so we can get a new one at Toys R Us. No big deal. But to my head it was a HUGE deal, and I kept searching, searching, searching. Being obsessive.
And worse than being obsessive about finding Pinky Lee was fretting over whether I've regressed psychologically because I can't just let it go. My brain was stuck in a cycle of I can't find Pinky Lee. Are my meds starting to not work? I can't find Pinky Lee! Why am I obsessing so much? I can't find Pinky Lee!! I can't make myself stop thinking of Pinky Lee!
A few phone calls later, and I discovered that unbeknownst to us, Pinky Lee had spent the weekend at NaNa and Pa's house. I nearly fell off my chair with joy. N, on the other hand, didn't care in the least. She was obsessing about getting hold of my pen for some scribbling time.
Sheeeesh. That wore me out. I know other people have got to do crap like that, but I guess given my history and experiences I'm afraid it means I haven't come as far as I like to think I have. Pinky Lee is wearing a fucking leash from now on.
I exaggerate (a little).
Tonight N and I were playing with her dolls, and I noticed that Pinky Lee wasn't in the living room. Pinky Lee is her first baby doll and her favorite. Pinky Lee goes with us just about everywhere...music class, shopping, playdates. Not much happens around our house that Pinky Lee doesn't experience firsthand herself.
So I started looking for her in all the obvious places. I looked in N's room. No Pinky. I looked in the basement. No Pinky. A little panic started to set in. I kept asking N, "Do you remember where we put Pinky Lee?" N was totally into her Strawberry Shortcake dolls so was completely ignoring me.
My OCD started kicking in high gear. Although N was oblivious to my search at the moment, I knew that sometime, maybe tonight before bed, maybe tomorrow before leaving the house, but sometime and probably soon, N would ask for Pinky Lee. I have got to find this doll. I checked the car. I checked the laundry room. I checked N's bathtub.
I was checking places where not only could Pinky Lee not fit, but there was no way N could have moved the 40 foot ladder off the garage wall to put her there.
I kept telling myself to LET IT GO. It's just a doll. She is a Little Mommy doll, so we can get a new one at Toys R Us. No big deal. But to my head it was a HUGE deal, and I kept searching, searching, searching. Being obsessive.
And worse than being obsessive about finding Pinky Lee was fretting over whether I've regressed psychologically because I can't just let it go. My brain was stuck in a cycle of I can't find Pinky Lee. Are my meds starting to not work? I can't find Pinky Lee! Why am I obsessing so much? I can't find Pinky Lee!! I can't make myself stop thinking of Pinky Lee!
A few phone calls later, and I discovered that unbeknownst to us, Pinky Lee had spent the weekend at NaNa and Pa's house. I nearly fell off my chair with joy. N, on the other hand, didn't care in the least. She was obsessing about getting hold of my pen for some scribbling time.
Sheeeesh. That wore me out. I know other people have got to do crap like that, but I guess given my history and experiences I'm afraid it means I haven't come as far as I like to think I have. Pinky Lee is wearing a fucking leash from now on.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Meet & Greet Mayhem
I usually like taking N to storybook character meet & greets, which maybe explains why I am so jazzed about Disney. I guess I am able to suspend my disbelief better than I give myself credit for because I often forget that it really isn't Elmo or Dora but some very hot, very sweaty teenager who is grossly underpaid and eager to get the heck away from all the little kids swarming at his or her feet. When I say, "Look N, it's Arthur!," my excitement is palpable.
Some meet & greets that we've attended have been well-organized, but the majority have been a little like what I suspect the airports looked like when the Beatles made their first US appearance.
Today we went to see Biscuit at a local bookstore. N isn't a big Biscuit fan, but I figured it was something to do (and I have an entire page in her scrapbook just for pics of her with storybook characters that I will need to fill up eventually). Anyway, it was packed with kiddos under 5 and their parents.
Everything went well until right before the drawing for a Biscuit book and stuffed animal. I expected that after the raffle the organizer would ask everyone to form a line so all the kids could get hugs from Biscuit and their photos snapped. Unfortunately, during the lull when the organizer was passing out raffle tickets, 1 ding-dong parent let her kid walk up to get a picture with Biscuit. Biscuit was swarmed within seconds. The ding-dong smiled shyly and said, "I think we may have started something." I am determined to be a good role model for my child, but if it weren't a civilized society, this lady would have been popped in the mouth for not only doing something stupid but saying something stupid as an encore.
I really felt sorry for whomever was in that suit because I could just imagine the thoughts going through his/her head.... "Please organizer, come back and save me!" or "Dear god, don't let them get me!" or "Owww, you little fucker, quit hitting me in the nose!"
N and I were sitting right up by Biscuit so we were surrounded. I am not usually claustrophobic but I started getting seriously antsy. It was all I could do to hold back the teacher in me and not get up and start hollering, "GET IN A STRAIGHT LINE NOW OR YOU CAN FORGET SEEING THE DAMN DOG!!!"
It really irritated me. The organizer, even when she returned to Biscuit's side, didn't even attempt to implement some form of order to the madness. Perhaps she felt like there was no point...maybe like the Corps of Engineers felt when Katrina hit? Unfortunately I have seen other bookstore employees just stand there in similar circumstances. Maybe they are worried that asking parents to form a queue will result in lower sales (since some parents may get their tailfeathers ruffled by being given instructions).
There was one girl in particular, she was maybe 5, who kept tapping Biscuit's eyes and hogging the poor pooch so that none of the smaller 2- and 3-year-olds could get a hug. Where was her mom??? I realize it was crowded, but you better believe if N had been doing that I would have been hollering at her from across the fricking store.
It got to the point where all the other parents decided, "O fuck it," and came up to see Biscuit with their own kids. Eventually N and I got off the floor, and I was able to snap a photo (of course I also got some other kid in there with her who refused to release her iron grip on the dog's arm).
In addition to being irritated by the chaos of the whole thing, I am irritated by the fact that I am irritated. I am rigid. I like order. I am anal. I would like to be a "whatever" type person but that is just not the hand I was dealt. It just seems like someone coulda or shoulda established even a modicum of order.
I think I better get an Rx for Valium before Disney. My blood pressure might not be able to handle it. God-willing, the Disney folk will keep things at least somewhat orderly.
Some meet & greets that we've attended have been well-organized, but the majority have been a little like what I suspect the airports looked like when the Beatles made their first US appearance.
Today we went to see Biscuit at a local bookstore. N isn't a big Biscuit fan, but I figured it was something to do (and I have an entire page in her scrapbook just for pics of her with storybook characters that I will need to fill up eventually). Anyway, it was packed with kiddos under 5 and their parents.
Everything went well until right before the drawing for a Biscuit book and stuffed animal. I expected that after the raffle the organizer would ask everyone to form a line so all the kids could get hugs from Biscuit and their photos snapped. Unfortunately, during the lull when the organizer was passing out raffle tickets, 1 ding-dong parent let her kid walk up to get a picture with Biscuit. Biscuit was swarmed within seconds. The ding-dong smiled shyly and said, "I think we may have started something." I am determined to be a good role model for my child, but if it weren't a civilized society, this lady would have been popped in the mouth for not only doing something stupid but saying something stupid as an encore.
I really felt sorry for whomever was in that suit because I could just imagine the thoughts going through his/her head.... "Please organizer, come back and save me!" or "Dear god, don't let them get me!" or "Owww, you little fucker, quit hitting me in the nose!"
N and I were sitting right up by Biscuit so we were surrounded. I am not usually claustrophobic but I started getting seriously antsy. It was all I could do to hold back the teacher in me and not get up and start hollering, "GET IN A STRAIGHT LINE NOW OR YOU CAN FORGET SEEING THE DAMN DOG!!!"
It really irritated me. The organizer, even when she returned to Biscuit's side, didn't even attempt to implement some form of order to the madness. Perhaps she felt like there was no point...maybe like the Corps of Engineers felt when Katrina hit? Unfortunately I have seen other bookstore employees just stand there in similar circumstances. Maybe they are worried that asking parents to form a queue will result in lower sales (since some parents may get their tailfeathers ruffled by being given instructions).
There was one girl in particular, she was maybe 5, who kept tapping Biscuit's eyes and hogging the poor pooch so that none of the smaller 2- and 3-year-olds could get a hug. Where was her mom??? I realize it was crowded, but you better believe if N had been doing that I would have been hollering at her from across the fricking store.
It got to the point where all the other parents decided, "O fuck it," and came up to see Biscuit with their own kids. Eventually N and I got off the floor, and I was able to snap a photo (of course I also got some other kid in there with her who refused to release her iron grip on the dog's arm).
In addition to being irritated by the chaos of the whole thing, I am irritated by the fact that I am irritated. I am rigid. I like order. I am anal. I would like to be a "whatever" type person but that is just not the hand I was dealt. It just seems like someone coulda or shoulda established even a modicum of order.
I think I better get an Rx for Valium before Disney. My blood pressure might not be able to handle it. God-willing, the Disney folk will keep things at least somewhat orderly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)