Monday, November 30, 2009

30/31 Weeks

I have been lucky so far. I really have. My doctor is awesome, I'm gaining weight at exactly the correct rate, no hemorrhoids, no waddling, no back pain.

And then.

I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. No big deal, right? Check your sugar, count your carbs. Except I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING.

Horror of horrors, the injustice. The mashed potatoes. The candied yams. The stuffing. The biscuits. The corn bread. The pies. Oh, sweet heaven, the pies. All calling my name.

It was awful. If I ate a satisfying helping of any one item, I couldn't have any other items. My plate was pathetic. I had two bites of mashed potatoes. Lisa's special Thanksgiving mashed potatoes. The ones with the fresh dill. TWO BITES. I had a mouthful of stuffing and half a cheesy garlic biscuit.

I could have all the turkey and ham I wanted. I am so tired of turkey. I don't even want to think about ham.

As soon as this baby is out and safe and content and they tell me I can eat, someone is going to be sent on a mission for mashed potatoes. Lots of them.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

29 Weeks

I've been thinking a lot about my childhood the past few weeks. I guess that kind of comes with the territory. According to my doctor, in another 5 weeks I'll be considered "full term" in, they won't try to stop labor should I happen to go into it. Freaky.

A lot of people have really specific memories from their childhood. Comedians, for instance. And my mom and uncles. (Which amounts to the same thing as comedians.) They can remember in vivid detail not just the event that occured, but also who else was involved, who said what to who, and how the whole thing played out.

I don't have that. My childhood memories are vague recollections that might be memories, and they might have been dreams. It all seems really foggy to me.

For instance...I have the feeling I wore saddle shoes a lot as a kid. I have no proof of this, because my parents didn't often photograph my feet, but it's an impression that I have. Were saddle shoes for small children a thing in the mid-1980's? Or did I watch too many episodes of Happy Days? I also seem to recall Santa visiting my house and me putting on regular clothes over the top of my pajamas to go meet him. I'm pretty sure this happened. On the other hand...the memory of my aunt buying me ice skates instead of tennis shoes? I think I made it up.

Did someone really set a hand towel on fire taking a dish out of the oven? Did my dad really run over my tricyle in the driveway and then bring it in the house, lay on the floor next to its poor mangled body, laughing hysterically? Did we really have mice at some point? Did I bite down on a glass cup and break it? I don't know. It's all fuzzy.

Even as an older kid - I have memories of how a yearly tradition would make me feel, but no real specific recollections. No particular Halloween or Christmas stands out in my mind. They all kind of melt together. I remember for a few years running we had a pool. I remember sharing a room with my baby brother, who screamed a lot, until my pink room was finished. I remember my brother generally being someone I didn't care to associate with until he was about 10. But I don't remember any specific day, or event, or who said what to whom about what. I remember sitting on the porch to watch thunderstorms...after we got a new porch courtesy of a thunderstorm. But I don't remember the thunderstorm that took out the old front porch. I don't specifically remember anything that happened when my Aunt lived with us...just a pink afghan and the phone being tied up a lot. Or when my Uncle lived in that room. All I remember is the way his 20 million colognes smelled. (Horrible.)

I wonder which one is more normal...the blurry childhood or the crystal clear one?

Thursday, November 12, 2009

28 Weeks

So yeah, everyone at work seems to think I've grown overnight. I don't know if I've really gotten that much bigger recently, or if it's because I stopped bringing in my lap blanket. (They finally turned off the air conditioning in the building.)

Went to the mall last week and bought some maternity clothes - I only had 1 pair of long pants, and no sweaters that fit me, so that was fun. Can someone tell me why the waistbands of maternity pants are always navy blue? This really bothers me. Because if I'm wearing a shirt that doesn't correspond with navy, and some of the waistband peeks out, I can't just pass it off as an undershirt. But your only choices are navy blue and now (I think this is new) nude. The idea behind the nude waistband is that if some of it shows, it just looks like your skin. Which is just dandy, as long as you're white. Wasn't there an issue with the crayons a while back? And the band-aids? This just seems to me like a lawsuit waiting to happen. (I bought em anyway. Because, well, I really hate the navy blue ones. And I am white, after all.)

These pants come with specific instructions on how to put them on. Really? Can it really be that confusing? If I were raised by wolves, maybe I would need these instructions. But if I were raised by wolves, I probably wouldn't be at the mall shopping at Motherhood Maternity.

When you walk into this store, the staff cheerfully says "Welcome to Motherhood!" It's a little play on words, see. It bugged the crap out of me. I don't know why. They were very nice, attentive ladies and they were only doing their job. Although I was glad when someone showed up who needed to be measured for a bra, because that meant they stopped following me around. I considered buying a bra but the whole getting-felt-up-by-a-stranger-at-the-mall thing has never been appealing to me. And they would have insisted. That's just how attentive they were.

Tomorrow my cable gets hooked up. It took me two days of talking to various people at Time Warner Cable to convince them to sell me cable. They kept insisting that they were not the service provider in my area. All the other big companies insisted that they were, plus I had physical proof. ("Look, you guys have a van parked outside my building RIGHT NOW. Here, talk to Charlie.")

So if you don't hear from me for a few days, I've passed out under the influence of too many episodes of "A Baby Story".