S&%$ happens

I get that. I understand that phrase. I am an ENGLISH TEACHER FOR GOD'S SAKE. (cue lovely song from Bye Bye Birdie-NOW) I do not need a working representation of the phrase. I do not have processing delays, and do not need the hands on experience to understand it. And yet, the universe decided I did. This morning. VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING. In all it's technicolor glory. It's not enough to be 38 weeks pregnant, shaped like a bowling ball, trying to dress a toddler who is screaming bloody murder because I attempted to put socks on his little cold feet (socks? SOCKS? Are you kidding me? Pick a fight over something good, like vegetables, but SOCKS? THEY HAVE MICKEY MOUSE ON THEM. Socks are not our enemy!), a fetus doing straight up gymnastics and ricocheting off my uterine walls, while trying to crimp my hair with one hand because Halloween has been rescheduled and I just have to be 1980's Madonna, complete with mesh gloves (don't get me started, we do not reschedule holidays- we just cancel them, but this post is about s^&) when I hear this gurgle. Not like oops, I burped gurgles, like a "take cover! run for the hills! BANZAAAAAIIIIIII! gurgle. And that, my friend, is when the proverbial s$#% hit the fan. And the walls. And the floors. And the pregnant 1980's Madonna.

And that, my friends, is why RotoRooter is on speed dial.

Medical Professionals

Most people aren’t big fans of doctors. They appreciate the care they get, most of the time, and piss and moan when they think they are wrong. Don’t misunderstand me- if you think your doctor sucks, by all means, find a new one; but complaining gets you nowhere, unless you do it to the state medical board, and that gets you pretty damn far (don’t even ASK why I know that)!

I love me some docs. Nurses, midwives, dentists, phlebotomists, doulas- all of them. Medical professionals are probably my favorite group of people EVER, if we are determining the quality of a person by their profession alone (which of course we can’t REALLY do). This is odd, I can freely admit. My team of medical staff are my posse. My tribe. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE, and I have LOTS of them.

My hematologist. I’m REALLY anemic and don’t absorb iron at all orally, or any other vitamin for that matter, which gets me a one way ticket to Hematology/Oncology, which is wonderful and horrendously depressing all in one. Iron infusions make me feel like freaking superwoman. My floors are clean, laundry folded, meals made AND frozen! Yup, it’s like speed in an IV bag. My hematologist herself is a hoot. She’s very plain but wears the most fantastic rings I have ever seen. Always a different stone or design, I always want to ask about the story behind them, but I have infusion techs to see! They are lovely girlies- great with a needle, and even savvier with a blanket and manipulating the thermostat with a syringe (it’s always cold in there. ALWAYS.) I’m the anomaly in the infusion wing- the vastly pregnant woman glowing among those receiving their life saving drugs via ports and pumps. My favorite patients are the Petes- Pete, Repeat, and Repeat it again- we always have a good time with each other- I mean, you’re hooked up for a while, and no one is really going out for a jaunt rolling the IV stand.

My endocrinologist- she of FABULOUS shoes- a Holly Golightly for the medical field, this woman does not mess around, and periodically sends me links for great shoes via email. She also hooks me up with my insulin grata, as my insurance doesn’t seem to find it necessary for me to take it in a format where I WON’T overdose. I kept my glucose levels totally in check, and mainly just because I was scared of what she would do if I blew it off!!! I think she actually had a patient section twelved once because she wasn’t a med compliant gestational diabetic! Yeah, she might be my hero.

Oh the ladies of L & D- haven’t had Jameson yet, but guess what? I visit L & D twice a week to have my non stress tests, which are, ironically, rather stressful. I have to remember to bring my stretchy straps to hold the toco and heartrate monitors (you know, reuse!!!), and I get to know my blood pressure really well while I’m hooked up. I also get to watch my contractions on the computer screen, which is really quite lovely. Um. Not. At. All. Those ladies are the best- I do have a tendency to bring them treats (which are not worth enough to count as bribes- I swear!!!) and as a result, I get buzzed in immediately and have never waited more than three minutes for one of my favorite nurses to come bopping in and hook me up. That’s important, because we need twenty minutes of continuous monitoring, and I have Mr. M to pick up at daycare!!! The ladies all filter through to chat and harass me about the excessive baking I have felt compelled to do. Although one of them ratted me out to the OB, and I am now banned from baking. I had to take them pastry from Wegman’s the other day!!! Yeah, I called today just to say hi. I will probably have separation anxiety once I do deliver!

Midwives are amazing, by the way. My midwife would totally be my BFF if she didn’t know me a little too well for my liking. She always makes me laugh, and will sometimes hide in my exam room if it’s been a crazy day. She has about a half dozen children too, so she GETS motherhood. None of this “go home, put your feet up” BS- she KNOWS what moms do. Just crunchy enough to love natural childbirth, but savvy enough to have an au pair. PERFECT for me. Really, I think I would have an elective section but then I wouldn’t get to spend as much time with her, and that would suck.

Oh how could I forget my dentist? She’s like my favorite EVER!!! I’ve been seeing her for over ten years now, and I always try to schedule an appointment on our anniversary. Stylish, sassy, and ridiculously suave with that damn drill. I call him Mr. Bumpy, as my entire skull shakes. Yeah, I hated brushing my teeth as a child. If she had kids, I probably would have bought them at least their first car. She’s great though, and I love to chat with her about real things, like Sephora, wrinkle creams, and the Kardashians (of which Khloe is my favorite, in case you were wondering). The receptionist is one of my most favoritest people of all time too. She ALWAYS makes me giggle and has a non-harassing tone when I forget to bring my checkbook. Which I do every time. On purpose. Shhh. Don’t tell.

Those are just my current team of medical professional crushes. I still keep in touch on an almost weekly basis with my obstetricians, nurses, receptionists, nutritionists, and ultrasound techs from my first pregnancy. Two years ago. In a different city.

I’m a freak, but that’s OK. I know how to get some bangin’ medical care.

The Rules

So there are rules for a lot of things in life- share with your friends, treat others as you would like them to treat you, toast ALWAYS drops jelly side down, drivers in the rotary have the right of way (unless you are in Massachusetts- then it’s a free for all and your best bet is closing your eyes and gunning it), and lots of other things that govern pretty much everything we do. I have my own set of rules which have served me pretty well until now.

• Coral is a nail polish color, not a lipstick.
• If you are going to wear red lipstick, it had better be Chanel. Remortgage something if you have to. NON-NEGOTIABLE RULE!
• Don’t even bother dustbusting the pile after you sweep- just flick it under the refrigerator, because NO ONE will ever move it until you sell your house, and then you can be amazed by your slovenly habits.
• If you feel down on yourself, go to the makeup counter and let the lady have free reign, you will either leave feeling fabulous or a little bit like Mimi from the Drew Carey Show, and either result is better than feeling crappy!
• Your mom really does know what you look best in. I don’t dare pick out my own clothes if I want to actually look good. Same with makeup- the best products I EVER got were the ones my mom ran out to get when I was in labor with Mr. M- (I had forgotten my gold eyeshadow and I tend to look quite peaked without it) I got more compliments on my eyeliner in photos than I did on the little bundle of cuteness!
• Shoes really are the answer, especially when you are REALLY pissed off. Try on shoes. LOTS of them. Don’t even buy any unless they are perfection (My endocrinologist is a champ when it comes to anger shopping. She has impeccable taste and always walks out with winners. I do not have such good taste, so now I refrain from buying- case in point, my shoes covered with sequins. Ruby slippers are totally not neutral.)
• If you are tripping a lot, for god’s sake, go buy a new bra. Which really leads us to the most important rule of all- WOMEN DO NOT BUY BRAS IN STORES THAT CATER TO TWENTY YEAR OLDS. Your bra shopping experience should not include a DJ and snippets of satin masquerading as a support system. You’re a woman, not a preteen, no matter what size your boobs are. 

Boobs work hard- and are totally more functional than most bodily extremities. I mean, yeah, there are some leg men out in the world, but let’s face it, boobs bear the brunt of staring. And really, they can do ANYTHING, including providing nourishment, and this astounding thing called breastmilk, which can apparently do everything. It’s kind of like Chuck Norris- it can cure pinkeye, ear infections, and solve world hunger in one fell swoop. These ladies need love.

Now my grandmother was a hoot and a half, and sort of really annoying at times. The tag line always was, “…but we loved her,” which was her saving grace. Ahh, another day, another seven million word blog post. That lady knew how to shop though, and she had boobs. Serious ones that needed a sort of pulley system to remain aloft. I always thought she would make a tremendous masthead for a pirate ship with that rack. Her shoulders bore permanent grooves from the straps and many, many years of schlepping them around. She probably taught my mom, who in turn taught me, that bras need to be fitted, not just bought. And not just from anywhere, but a high end department store. Bonwit Teller, Bendel’s, Saks, Lord & Taylor…you didn’t need to BUY them there but that’s where you went to get fitted. These days, the rule is Nordstrom- those women working there are like the Michaelangelos of mammary tissue! They can make any woman look perky and curvy in just the right places! Unless you REALLY crave that beautiful silver bag (which I do from time to time- it just feels lux in my hands!) you can then go home and buy the bras off of eBay, or whatever online portal floats your boat. Sometimes they even have mine at Marshall’s, which is a major score, one that I would probably post as my status. Or even text other people about. Can't you just see that now? WACOAL AT MARSHALLS!  Go now!

On the Subject of Pastry

It had finally happened. The moment I had been waiting for- anticipating, knowing that it would eventually happen, but fearing it at the same time. No, my water didn’t break while I was at the white board at school (now that would be mortifying!), but there were NO. STICKY. BUNS.

Pastries are an interesting food group- they run the gamut from the delicate and fou fou petit fours, delicate sfogliatelle, and Napoleons, but also include hearty Lobster Tails, tarts, scones, and other delightful concoctions. There’s the fruity tarts and oozing lava cakes, éclairs, madeleines, and those new fangled cake pops. However, the true star of the pastry case at Wegman’s is the sticky bun. From humble beginnings, the sticky bun is a basic homespun treat- yeast based dough, butter, cinnamon, sugar, sometimes raisins (GROSS) or nuts (which can sometimes turn a sticky bun into a pecan bun, which I deem acceptable) that your mom would serve Christmas and Easter mornings. Well, at least my mom did, and they are freaking amazing. DELIGHTFUL. Chewy, yeasty, gooey. Childhood in a swirl. I honestly tasted nothing better until I discovered Ellie’s Bakery- a little storefront in West Cape May, NJ. Ellie is a genius with dough- she can create both visual and gastronomical delight with simple, local ingredients. Brownies, cuppy cakes, and of course, the sticky bun. Ellie even made ones, every day no less, WITHOUT NUTS!!!! When I discovered the still warm sticky bun, sans nuts, it was as if the heaven’s opened and Handel himself descended singing the Messiah. Yeah, they were that good. Or so I thought. A Wegman’s sticky bun is slightly different- they use a flakier dough, which I don’t even think is yeast based. It’s like the pain aux chocolat got it on with a Cinnabon and had a bastard child. Every bite is caramel-like goo.

Back to my current crisis. I looked to the left, where the sticky buns usually shared a tray with the blueberry scones, directly above cranberry orange and raspberry.  I looked to the right, where sometimes a confused baker switches a Danish tray with the sticky bun tray. None in sight. I moved down the line, thinking maybe they were sandwiched between the fresh-baked bialys and the bagels. NO STICKY BUNS. Frantically, I retraced my steps, shushing Mr. M in the cart with a “quiet, Mommy’s thinking!!!” I couldn’t see them anywhere. I checked the coffee line- none there. The manager of the bakery noted the panic in my eyes and asked how he could help. Gasping, I asked where the sticky buns were. “Oh, we don’t have any today- the batch turned out poorly and weren’t up to par. We’ll have them tomorrow morning!”

Not up to par? I think I could have been the judge of that. 

I kicked GD ASS!

So this pregnancy, just like my first, I had gestational diabetes. In this day and age, it’s not such a huge deal, but it does mean a HUGE time commitment- food diaries, carbohydrate counts, blood glucose log, endocrinologist appointments, tons of extra appointments, the list could go on forever! Basically, you have one appointment a month with your endocrinologist, and then you submit all of your glucose levels every week to both your endo and your obstetrician. Nothing like overkill, hunh? Then you add in extra ultrasounds at 28, 32, 36, and 38 weeks, plus twice weekly non-stress tests, and you are looking at a massive commitment! Seriously, if I spend one more minute on Route Two I might actually lose my mind! I know you aren’t supposed to text and drive in this state, and I’m ashamed to say I broke that law multiple times each trip. Googling and email don’t count, right? That’s just the protocol at my current hospital- with Mr. M I had to go twice a week starting at 24 weeks!!!! Anyway, the entire process is exhausting but worth it- the end goal being a petite baby who has avoided macrosomia, which is excessive fetal growth, and produces some BIG babies! This can be bad for a lot of reasons, especially shoulder dystocia. Mr. M was a whopping six pounds one ounce, so YAY!

Jameson is a whole different story…I feel massive. I had to actually move back my seat position in the car to fit behind the wheel, and it sure ain’t from my daily trips to Wegman’s! I only gained between 12 and 18 pounds, depending on which scales I really like and when I start counting. Water weight the week I had high blood pressure totally didn’t count either… fluid NEVER counts when we are talking poundage!!! Remember the beached whale phenomenon up and down the coast of New England this summer? They were just trying to find me and bring me home to the tribe. The babe’s not massive either, about six and a half pounds as of 37 weeks, but compared to Miles? Gargantuan. Giant. Affectionately referred to as King Kong. Apparently I also have enough amniotic fluid to host a regatta in my uterus.

Bottom line though, Jameson DOES NOT HAVE MACROSOMIA. You know why? Because I KICKED GESTATIONAL DIABETES’ ASS. And yes, I have to use all caps, because it deserves it! When you have any kind of diabetes, they track your blood sugar after meals of course, and first thing in the morning, with the delightful finger prickers. They also check something called your A1C every month, which is an average of your glucose level over the past six weeks or so. You can’t cheat, it’s physically impossible- the little monitor you use every day is just a machine, so you can totally screw with it, by testing later, or pretending to test when you forgot. The A1C is a real blood draw though, and there is no messing with that. Believe me, I’ve tried. NOT POSSIBLE. The labs are all scientific and totally hacker resistant. Normal people have A1C’s below 6.0. If you are pregnant, they want it below 5.5. Well, this lady kept hers between 4.9 and 5.3 for 38 weeks! I started the GD regimen at week 12, so that’s a long ass time to deal with all this crap! 26 weeks of pricking my damn finger four times a day (728 times), shoving needles in my thighs twice a day with insulin (364 injections) and lots and lots of appointments. That said, I am wrapping up this pregnancy with an A1C of 5.0. Now that is freakin’ amazing. I told my endocrinologist today (who was wearing the CUTEST little grey suede pumps) that I felt like flipping Captain Gestational Diabetes. I wonder what my costume would look like?

Um, no.

So I already posted today but have some further thoughts, which, if you know me, means I can't keep them to my damn self. The baby is now vertex- in a one week time span he went from vertex, to transverse breech, to footling breech, to back to vertex, but on the left not the right. I would like to keep it that way, and get the delivery I really want, not the logical, practical, plan-ahead-type-A-control-freak delivery I have scheduled. I decided to do a little research, which is really just now referred to as "googling" (on a side note- when I ask my kids to research at school I often get a blank stare, until I replace that unknown verb with "google"). Some of what I found was totally good for a giggle or two (alright a couple were almost pee-your-pants inducing- who is going to have a romantic romp at 38 weeks pregnant? HA).

My favorites from the list...

1. Balsamic vinegar (clearly doesn't work- I'm a foodie, thus balsamic is part of my daily repertoire, and guess what? Still pregnant)
2. Basil or oregano.
3. Eggplant Parmigiana- at this point in the list I am thinking why are the Italians having all the fun with this? Why don't matzo balls bring on labor? Or lox? A lovely chopped liver? Even Gefilte fish for goodness sake!
4. Bouncing, galloping, jumping, dancing, rocking, and seventeen other synonyms for shaking the baby out. Haven't these people heard of shaken baby syndrome? That's BAD! Don't shake the baby! And they would make me pee. Bouncing=puddle.
5. Evening primrose oil-  "Can be taken orally from 35 weeks and used internally (good idea to do this at night and use a panty liner) from 38 weeks. It's meant to soften the cervix" Um. BIG FAT NO. That's just grody.
6. Booze. Again, contraindicated during pregnancy, which is really too bad because is the only appealing one. 
7. Walking. Don't call it walking, call it what it really is, waddling. And yes, I was a penguin for Halloween. 
8. Yoga, pilates, and a whole heap of other exercise type techniques. Duh. Refer to #7. 
9. Teas made out of a variety of twigs, sticks, berries, and probably dirt. Or raccoon dung. Or something else absolutely insanely disgusting that I am sure native people have been using since the dawn of time. It clearly doesn't work, because we have had to add more crap to the list of ways to induce labor. 


Basically, none of these appeal to me at all. Except the Italian smorgasboard. I guess I'm going to Wegman's today. Shocker. I haven't given up though, I'll keep researching until I find the genius OB who recommends shopping online, eating Ben & Jerry's, and Facebooking as a way to induce labor. Then I am totally onboard!

Almost There!

So today the realization has struck that I have less than three weeks left of being a mother of one. Probably less than three weeks left of being pregnant, ever, unless I magically win the lottery or free daycare for life! It's an odd realization, accepting that my life is going to change AGAIN completely. My mama friends have been adding seconds to their broods over the past few months, and they seem to be doing fabulously! It makes me think, hey, I can do that!!! Ever the list maker, I do have some goals for my nine-ish weeks of maternity leave.

1. Clean the damn floors. With an actual sponge. On my hands and knees.
2. Have a baby, and take pictures. I've been a delinquent photojournalist recently. (maybe this should be first? No, definitely the floors need to be first!!!)
3.. Get a head start on Jameson's year one scrapbook.
4. Take a nap, at least once.
5. Break the addiction I have to Wegman's sticky buns.
6. Break my addiction to Wegman's in general. Or not. Really, who is it hurting?
7. Hang out with the mamas that I never get to see because work gets in the way.
8. Organize the pantry- using my handy dandy iPhone of course! (there's an app for that, obviously)
9. Go on a hot date with Miles, to see Sesame Street Live! where I will be subjects to wails of "Melmo!! Melmo!!!!", which sounds suspiciously like "mama" these days. Hmm, one and the same? I guess I need to shave my legs.
10. Install the attic flooring, hang pictures in the office, dust the heaters, and other domestic things that I will put off until the LAST day of mat leave.
11. Most importantly, revel in mommyhood.

Surely I'll get at least two things done. Hopefully that nap one, and totally that baby thing.