Pelt

I don't know if it's hormones run amok or that I'm pregnant with another boy but I seem to be growing quite the pelt.

I have a five o'clock shadow now on my legs, where I otherwise could go for a week without shaving before anyone noticed. We won't even mention the underarm fiasco, the trail already sprouting on my belly or... no. We simply won't go there.

Let's just say that I am now single handedly supporting Gillette.

*shudder*

Don't mind me, I'll be sitting over here in a corner methodically cornrowing my leg hair. Handy, considering we're expecting 6 inches of snow by tomorrow.

nervous anticipation

At this point in pregnancy the doctor said she likes to see doubling every 3 1/2 days. Last check mine is 4,569 and doubling every 1.6 days, so the doctor said "I'm going to need you to come in for an early ultrasound" and hinted that there was a strong possibility of twins. I'll be brutally honest, that would be my worst nightmare right now. Since Patrick is going to be out of town all this week I asked if we could just keep our regularly scheduled ultrasound on the 8th so he could be with me. She said that was fine if we wanted to wait.

An HCG level that is rising rapidly is also a potential sign of Down Syndrome or a molar pregnancy.

They upped the progesterone to 2x a day. The odd thing is, I don't really feel pregnant at all. I've not had any morning sickness and don't feel pregnant at all.

I just want one. One, healthy baby.

Oh, and I had to break out the maternity jeans this weekend as I can no longer button anything in my closet.

On the pills again.

Progesterone was only at an 18, so I'm going to be popping the little coral pills again.

100 mg. once a day.

First ultrasound will be 12/8 at 8:00 a.m.

I'm so amazed that this is actually happening. I know a lot can go wrong from the point that I'm at now, but I just keep reminding myself that nothing bad has happened yet.

Seriously?

In the last two weeks, I finished packing all of my maternity clothes up in plastic tubs and sent them to live in the attic. I'd lost pretty much all of the 40+ pounds I'd gained with Julian, and was so happy to feel "myself" again - and able to fit into new clothes that I hadn't worn in over a year. My body is shaped differently, but I was actually thinner than I was prior to getting pregnant with Julian.

So maybe it's just bloating, but I swear I cannot buckle my pants now. Yesterday, my mom laughed at me while I was standing in the kitchen in a pair of low-rise pj bottoms and warned that "people are going to know soon." This morning I had to wear a pair of control top pantyhose in order to zip one of my biggest pair of pants. These same pants were too big two weeks ago.

Based on my HCG levels, I can't be that far along.

What gives?

Triple play.

Initial beta HCG = 79.

Follow up exactly 48 hours later = 265.

Beta hCG levels usually double approximately every 2 days for the first four weeks of pregnancy. As pregnancy progresses the doubling time increases. By 6 to 7 weeks gestation beta hCG levels may take as long as 3 1/2 days to double. The beta hCG may take more than 2 to 3 days to double in 15% of normal intrauterine pregnancies.

Instead of doubling, mine have more than tripled, with a doubling time of 1.14 days.

Definitely not any indication that this will work, but my heart is swelling with hope.

Wow.

Out damn'd spot.

Spotting.

Sigh.

I know, I know... it can be completely normal for this to happen.

I spotted for the first 14 or so weeks with J, with full on bleeding at times.

That doesn't make it any less nervewracking.

Follow up beta and progesterone tomorrow.

2-1-3-1-79

2 failed attempts at drawing blood.
+
1 collapsed vein (she shoved the needle straight through it, and still managed to not get any blood out. Then she restuck the same arm before giving up and going to the other side)

equals 3 total tries to draw

for one tiny vial.

With an HCG level of only 79.

I know, I know - it's hard to say what's "normal" as individual women's HCG levels vary substantially based on the length of their cycles, etc.

The American Pregnancy Association cites the following chart as normal ranges of hCG for the number of weeks after the woman’s last menstrual period:

* 3 weeks: 5 - 50 mIU/ml
* 4 weeks: 5 - 426 mIU/ml
* 5 weeks: 18 - 7,340 mIU/ml
* 6 weeks: 1,080 - 56,500 mIU/ml
* 7 - 8 weeks: 7, 650 - 229,000 mIU/ml
* 9 - 12 weeks: 25,700 - 288,000 mIU/ml
* 13 - 16 weeks: 13,300 - 254,000 mIU/ml
* 17 - 24 weeks: 4,060 - 165,400 mIU/ml
* 25 - 40 weeks: 3,640 - 117,000 mIU/ml
* Non-pregnant women: <5.0 mIU/ml
* Postmenopausal women: <9.5 mIU/ml

Because I'm still breastfeeding, I have no idea how long ago I ovulated. My last period was around October 12-13. When I used to monitor my cycles I know that I tended to ovulate late, around day 16-18 or so. Using those numbers, I would've ovulated right around Halloween or November 1st. No idea if this is accurate at all.

All I know is that right now, I'm pregnant.

Still cramping on and off, very similar to period cramps. No spotting to speak of though (which was fairly constant when I was pregnant with Julian).

Repeat blood draw Friday morning. I'll be holding my breath until then.

Well, shit fire and save matches!

For the last week, Patrick has been adamant that I'm pregnant. He offered me a beer last night and when I took a sip - my face screwed up into a contorted grimace. "Ha!" He exclaimed, "I KNEW it!" I gagged, and yelled "Oh that's FOUL!" and said he should taste it himself. He took a judicious swig and also gagged. We had mistakenly grabbed a bottle of Lindeman's Gueze which I might add is supposed to be served as an apertif with sugar cubes. Not swilled out of a pint glass.

It was c'est horrible. Ghastly stuff. Sour, vile.

*Shudder*

Julian refused to nurse again last night. He would take a drink of milk, look at me and spit it out while pouting. He's been doing that all week. I'd been up since 4:15 a.m. working. I was exhausted.

So when Patrick kept needling me about potentially being pregnant I snapped. I stomped upstairs to go to the bathroom, and rescued the last remaining test in the bathroom drawer where I stash the sparkly hair pins that I'll never wear and have no idea why I ever purchased them in the first place.

I thought to myself "I'll show him! And finally shut him up"

After washing my hands - I sat on the freezing edge of the tub, holding the HPT between my fingers. The control line came up right away, and I sighed with relief. Whew. Bullet avoided. The test window was just a smear of pink that was turning white.

While I'd love for us to expand our family next year, it's just not a good time right now. Julian's only 6 months old, we haven't even started on our attic renovaaaaaaaa

(this is the part where you'd hear a record scratching loudly)

What the hell is that? Is that an evaporation line? What is that? Can evaporation lines be faintly pink?

*stunned silence*

I stumbled back downstairs, where Patrick was laying in the floor with Julian watching Arianna Huffington butcher poor Rachel Maddow's show. I held it out to him, and said "can you see two lines?"

He squinted, held it sideways.

"Hmm. perhaps. I guess."

It was just like last time.

I clutched it tight in my hands for thirty minutes, took a picture of it, increased the contrast, flipped it to negative - everything I could think of to make it clearer one way or another.

Finally, I gave up. I tucked it into my briefcase and went upstairs to bed. This morning I obsessively contacted a select few people who I knew would be able to restrain (or add to) my OCD nature.

I've been cramping all day pretty badly, and thought that if I was that it was doomed. Finally at 2:30 I couldn't take it anymore. I went downstairs to Walgreens in my building, and as the nice lady was checking me out and triple bagging my purchase so it wouldn't show through their flimsy bags - one of the partners I work for got in line behind me. Of course he did.

I'm sure he saw.

Oh well. A good thing he didn't see the shock on my face when I went back upstairs to my floor and saw this 10 minutes later...



Beta tomorrow morning.

Patrick is over the moon with excitement. I am... well, right now I just am.

I am also keeping this quiet right now. No one at work knows (I hope). Our families don't know. If you comment on flickr or twitter, please don't mention it.

I don't have a good feeling about this, but for now I need this outlet to talk about it. Because I'm driving my poor friends crazy already after today, I'm afraid.

Twitter-rific

If you're on twitter, you can find me @ http://twitter.com/april_anita

I tend to update there more often than here - though I'm trying to remedy that.

Dear Ms. P,

Dear Ms. P,

I am assuming you have left for an unapproved, unscheduled holiday (to the Bahamas perhaps? I hope it's warmer there than it is here) as it has come to my attention that you have blatantly failed to come in at your regularly scheduled time - or at all - for the last eight days. While we did celebrate your extended leave last year, I thought it was made abundantly clear that in the future we will require advance written notice of any unscheduled time away. Was this unclear at all in our previous conversations? Your performance evaluation shows that in the last few months you have been increasingly difficult to work with, coming across too aggressive and temperamental. Once unfailingly reliable, you have shown up to duty earlier than planned, late, and at generally inconvenient times. Your promptness has been spotty at best.

While not every moment of our last 17 years together has been pleasant, we have found that we were able to work together with at least a modicum of respect. Future lateness will not be tolerated. To put it bluntly, if you don't get your act together soon, we may be forced to take legal action, including but not limited to disciplinary action or even termination of your employment.

You have 48 hours from the receipt of this letter to respond. As a matter of common courtesy, I hope you will issue a statement in your defense before the expiration of this time. I can be reached 24 hours a day should you have any questions or need additional clarification.

Kind regards,

A

----
In other news, my childhood best friend (who has PCOS and who has been trying for over a year) is pregnant, and due May 18th. I am over the moon happy for her.

What's your family's tradition?

Last Thanksgiving, we had lived in our house for less than a week. I had never used the vintage 1971 oven before that day. I was pregnant, and more absentminded than I care to admit. Our dining room table was literally delivered on Thanksgiving Day - at 12:30 p.m. Patrick's parents were coming to stay with us for the holiday and I was so stressed that I was breaking down in tears.

I made some horrible errors. First, I left the eggs out of the pecan pie - which left it runny. I forgot to take the giblets out of the turkey, so my mother in law still jokes that he brought his own lunch. I have a feeling I will never live that down.

My mom is now living with us, and acting as Julian's full-time nanny. Patrick's parents are heading back up to visit us this Thanksgiving. So we'll have a full house for Thanksgiving this year. I'm excited about planning the menus for the week, and was wondering - what's your family's signature meal? What would simply *not* be thanksgiving for you without a specific dish?

Also, 35 days from LMP. A HPT on Friday was negative, so I guess I'm just running late this cycle. Still breastfeeding (though much less than I was), but I've been fairly regular since he was about 2 months old. Hate this "what's going on" feeling.

We did it for him.

Picture taken this morning by my husband.


And for ourselves.

And for the man who delivered my documents this morning.

For my mom.

For my great-grandmother who passed away this fall and voted in every single election.

For my sisters.

For our nieces and nephews.

For everyone. For people that I don't agree with, people I admire, people that I love.

Please. Get out the vote today.

Vote with your heart, vote your convictions - even if your political predilections aren't the same as mine.

Home Sweet Home

When we moved into our home last fall, we got a letter from a local pastor who had found some old pictures of our home in the church records. He enclosed them with a little note that he hoped we would enjoy them. The odd thing is, aside from the old streetcar line, the old car out front and the difference in landscaping, our home looks nearly identical to what it did in these shots (from approximately 1928).



There used to be an electric streetcar that ran in the median in front of our home, but that was discontinued sometime in the 1940s. While built in 1925, surprisingly we are only the third owners. The first owner was the town pharmacist. During the great depression he rented out rooms in the house to boarders. A young woman rented out the master bedroom and en suite bathroom during that time, and she later married. After her marriage, the home came up for sale in the 1950s, and she and her husband scraped together every penny they had to buy the house. They lived in it and raised their four children. The father of the family was a prominent local musician, and taught music at the high school. His wife taught piano lessons in what is now Patrick's office. One of their sons is now an opera singer for the Met in New York. When the husband passed away, and the wife went to an assisted living center the house sat vacant for over a year.

When we first saw it - it was gorgeous, but it needed a LOT of updating. I had just found out that I was pregnant with Julian and we were swimming in unbridled hope.

We closed on it the friday before Thanksgiving, and moved in that weekend.

In some ways I can hardly believe that we've been here that long - and in others - it feels like it's always been our home.

Hey baby... how much?

Um, no. Not what you're thinking.

Since my mom has moved in, I bought her a new flat screen t.v. for her room (a small one but her having it gives us loads more privacy and "family" time together downstairs in the evenings after work) and a new laptop (v cheap model, but we have wireless internet - and that way she can't access it from her room anytime she wants). Anywho, I need to start paying her a regular wage, but I don't know how much to give her. She doesn't have utilities (other than her cell phone) or rent as she's living with us right now, but I'd like to start her saving so she can have her own place eventually.

What's the going rate for childcare in your area? What does that cover?

Any input would be greatly appreciated.

Back on the chain gang...

Things have been... insane, to say the least.

We took a long vacation driving around Lake Michigan, spending the majority of it in the upper peninsula of Michigan and then a quick jaunt into Canada.


Patrick and Julian on the shore of Lake Superior.

I finally managed to slay the post-partum depression beast that was smothering me at night while I slept.

I moved my mom up from Texas in a UHaul with a geriatric obese chihuahua and a very pissed off teething baby with a car on a trailer behind us.

But things are starting to settle down and fall back into place. I'm back at work full-time, and honestly happier than I've ever been. Mom is now living with us, and is taking care of Julian while I'm at work. It's not the set-up I imagined, but oddly it's working far better than we had hoped. She's getting used to living in Illinois (we had our first - albeit very brief snowfall yesterday). Julian absolutely adores her. Saturday I worked in my bedroom for an hour or so and listened to her read to him in his nursery across the hall with tears welling up in my eyes.

I've been back at work for two full weeks, and am still pumping (another rant for another day). I've already missed J's bedtime once (coming home long after he was asleep for the night). I'm trying to find my groove and figure out how to balance everything.

But I just wanted to say hi - and thanks to those that have e-mailed, commented or asked after me on twitter (april_anita).

It's hard for me to believe that J will be six months old already on the first. He's not quite crawling, but can easily get from one side of the room to the next via a combination army crawl and rolling. He's still working on pushing those bottom two teeth through. His laughter (a rarity - he's a very smiley baby but not so big on the big guffaws) is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. He loves "reading" to himself - flipping the pages in his board books and petting (and by petting I mean, grabbing giant fistfuls of fur from the eternally patient and long-suffering cats). He loves butternut squash, dragon fruit and pears. He hates socks, avocados and bedtime.

In short, I adore him. Completely. Utterly.


(Shot from our trip down to Texas, J is being held by Patrick's dad)

We're hoping to start trying for another one soon. Yes, we're likely crazy, and who knows it may never happen. But I never knew it was possible to love like this. As cliched as it sounds, it's true. Completely true.

Worried.

Lincoln Charles made it into the world via c-section August 27 after almost 20 hours of trying to induce labor to no avail and my sister running a high fever. He was 7 lbs. 6 oz. and 20 inches long. Of course, I'm biased, but I think he's beautiful.



Initially his oxygen levels were troubling and was thus whisked to the nursery after delivery as they were concerned he had a tear in his lungs. My sister didn't even get to see her son for the first time for almost three hours after delivery. They kept him in the nursery for the first night to continue monitoring and to give her some much deserved sleep - as she'd been up for almost 40 hours at that point and was feverish.

She's been running a fever ever since. They've been pumping her full of antibiotics and as of this morning it was 102.4. She's been having uncontrollable shaking on top of it. If she still has a fever tonight they are going to do a CT scan of her abdomen tomorrow, and a heart scan Monday. Of course, the way insurance works in this "civilized" country of ours - Lincoln has to be discharged tomorrow. So much for bonding with your newborn, I guess. While she was leaning toward formula feeding with all that's happened, she's had no choice but to give up any hope of breastfeeding.

I'm worried, but there's really nothing I can do for her. And that breaks my heart.

Keeping my fingers crossed

My younger sister, Daphnne is pregnant with a baby boy, to be named Lincoln. She's due in a few weeks. This was a picture of her taken last month when I was in Dallas.



Her blood pressure is skyrocketing and she's spilling protein in her urine. She's going to be induced tomorrow at midnight. I'm not sure why the doctors are waiting, but I suppose there's a reason why I went to law school and not medical school.

All I know right now is that I wish I wasn't half a country away, and that I could be there for her more than just in spirit.

Please keep her and the baby in your thoughts.

It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

About three weeks ago I went upstairs to put laundry away (hahaha, I jest - who knows what I was doing, but I guarantee you it wasn't that). I left Julian in the bouncy seat on the breakfast table. The problem with this, you see, is that Ennis is convinced that it's HIS seat.



So when I heard Julian screaming bloody murder, I started sprinting downstairs to make sure that Ennis hadn't chewed his toes off. As an aside, I have this ridiculous fear that the cats will eat the baby's toes. I have no idea where this comes from, maybe some news story about something similar?

Anyway... I start sprinting down the stairs.

You see where this is going right? I bound down two stairs and then...

SPLAT.

Only it wasn't so much "SPLAT" as it was a long, arduous slow motion fall that made me fall ass over tea kettle down the entire flight. I was shaken, but nothing appeared to be broken and the next few days just tried to take it easy.

A few days later I decided to go get some groceries (and of course by "groceries" I mean wine. and cheese. maybe coffee.) I went to lug my chunkster son out of the car in his carseat and then suddenly I was sitting in the Meijer parking lot crying, fighting back waves of nausea and blinding pain was shooting through my back and down my right leg.

The next day I went to the doctor and she put me on a week's worth of steroids, some muscle relaxers and vicodin. Now, while I was appreciative, since I'm still nursing J - I can't take the muscle relaxers or the vicodin unless he's not going to nurse for 12 or more hours. I hate pumping and dumping. So, I've managed to get by about a week with only the tiniest church mouse nibble of the good stuff. I was starting to feel better, and then yesterday while I was tiling the kitchen, I twisted ever so slightly to the left, and wham. Same damn thing happened again. On the floor, ready to pass out from pain.

Today I had a follow up with an orthopedist, and had eight x-rays of my spine. It's so surreal to me to see my own body in x-ray films. Spine looks o.k. - no fractures or breaks thankfully. I get an MRI next week - woo! And am being sent to physical therapy and will start using a TENS device. She's concerned that because of previous damage I have to my back that one of my discs may have ruptured.

In other news... my kitchen floor is missing. I got frustrated with the disgusting white berber carpet that was in there when we moved in last fall. Who the HELL puts white berber carpet in a kitchen? So, one day I just started ripping it up, and then ripping up the 1940s linoleum that was underneath it, and then the thick paper padding under that... until I was down to the bare plank subfloor. So now, when you're standing in the kitchen you can see slivers of the basement beneath you. Not exactly the ideal situation for someone (such as myself) who is afraid of heights. I also ripped all the 1970s trim off the kitchen cabinets, and am in the process of repainting them, and switching out all the hardware. I am painting the walls an asparagus green color and we picked out a solid carbonized bamboo floor to put in. I bought some amazing vintage french mosaic tiles and ripped out the old tile and replaced the backsplash with those. I've still got about two full days worth of work in there, but I think it's going to be a huge improvement.




Oh, and apparently J didn't have rotavirus. They don't know what is wrong with him (whatever it is -is back. A plague of watery green poop is upon us again). His poor little butt is so raw that it looks blistered. I've tried every brand of diaper cream I can find, and nothing seems to help.

And one last thing. I just cut off six inches or more of my own hair. In my bathroom sink. It wasn't quite pulling a Britney... but close.

Getting slowly better

Definitely rotavirus. Poor baby... every diaper change he screams so hard his body shakes. His poor skin is so raw, but he's doing better.

Slightly better at least.

Thanks for the well wishes.

Tip of the Day - Can't find your rolling pin?

While making pastry, if you can't find your rolling pin, or need an extra one - simply fill a straight sided wine bottle with cold water and recork. The cold water will make the pastry easier to roll.

Oops. That was meant for a post on my food blog.

Sorry, we'll return to your regularly scheduled programming shortly.