Showin' My Spread...

So after about 8 weeks of exercising....  I was feeling pretty good with the progress I'd made with respect to my physical fitness, but I was still stalling out with my overall weight loss.  I was feeling pretty bummed about it, because to be perfectly honestly, I know I have quite a bit of weight that should be able to come off quite easily.  I knew the problem was with my diet, but I was sort of stumped as to which way to go.

After hearing so much about Weight Watchers, through friends and their commercials, I thought I might give it a try, so I went to check out their website.  Now, there's absolutely NO way that I would go to meetings.  I realize this is an effective tool for some people (TOPS meetings had worked well for my mom back in the day), but I have enough issues with people's perceptions of me to put myself in a situation like that.  So, obviously, the website membership would be the way to go for me...  but after poking around a bit, I wasn't sure if the cost would justify the perks.

So I decided to check-in to eDiets.  About 4 years ago, both Brad and I had been following the basic eDiets diet.  We both lost ... maybe 10 pounds in a month or so, but instead of using the "preprogrammed" menus, I found myself constantly substituting meals, because I refused to eat what they suggested... well, either I had a problem with it or I knew Brad would, so eventually, we ended our membership and decided to go it alone.   Well, extra weight can weigh heavily on the mind - my case squashing the negatives and making the positive look like the magic "pill" I needed, so I decided to check back in to it.  At first, the little quiz they have indicated that the basic eDiets plan would be the way to go, but as that wasn't appealing (as there seem to be so many more "sexy" ones available on the site), I revisited one answer in particular and it came back with the GI Diet, which honestly I'd been interested in 4 years ago.  Just when I was about ready to sign up again, Brad reminded me that the most I got out of our previous go had been for the recipes, so I was back at square one.

At this point, I was feeling lower than low.  Then, my hubby made a suggestion - we'll both keep a log of what we eat.  Okay, so at first, I rolled my eyes and voiced my opinion that it wouldn't work, because I was already eating pretty well and could already tell you what I'd eaten in a day, but then he introduced this idea of a bit more involved log than I was used to.  Basically, the spreadsheet he came up with allows me to log the following numbers about my meals: calories, total carbs, fiber, sugar, protein, and fat.  Then it will calculate some rough percentages about the meal - carbs, protein, and fat, with the idea that these numbers would be close to say 40-30-30 (from the Zone - which Brad was impressed with).  Instead of just indicating the name of the meal (as he'd intended), I fill in what I ate and added a column for the time of the meal.  My goal would be to eat a small meal/snack every 3-4 hours, with a little bigger meal at dinner time.   The total calorie count for a typical day at this point should be 1200-1600.

From Be a 10 in 2010

Now, a week and a half into it, I have to say that this is about as perfect a solution for me at this point as I could possibly imagine.  It helps me be a bit more cognisant of the different aspects of the food I'm eating.  It allows me to have a general plan, but not be locked in to a set menu.  An on-the-fly plan.  I love it.  I feel like I'm in control and I already feel much better - not to mention I've seen some pounds tick off the scale in this short time.  While this was probably meant to be a short term activity, I think I'll keep going with it for a while, but I am checking into a GI book, so I can get a better understanding of what that's all about.

At this point, with this approach to eating and my exercising (generally up to 5-7x's a week), I feel unstoppable.  Time will tell, so stay tuned....

Toothless No More... Well Technically

Even though Coop has been working on his chompers for about 4-5 months now, each check had proved to be quite fruitless.  But that all changed last Saturday.

We had just returned from a nice dinner out at Caney Fork and I was reveling in the nutritional facts (and taste!) for the delicious Ahi Tuna steak I'd eaten when Nana declared our wee man had cut his first two teeth.  I must admit that I scoffed at first.  After all, I've been having to deal with such claims for months now, but she insisted that I must feel them as they were barely visible (so it's difficult to distinguish them from the spit reflections).  I took a deep breath, as I must admit that I ABHOR the very idea of going fishing in his mouth with my finger (perhaps I just find it too invasive?), and washed my hands.  I took another breath and felt the two tiniest little teeth at the bottom front of his mouth.  That is, after Coop opened his little mouth long enough to let me check them - see, I don't like to pry and he doesn't like to be "pryed" with, so it works out well.

Ahhh - after months of waiting, Coop has managed to cut his first two teeth...  YAHOO!

Brad actually attempted to check on them again last night at which point he remarked on how sharp they were.  I can't help but chuckle at the thought that soon we will probably be unable to check for newly cut teeth OR those who attempt to do so will be less one finger, but then again....  I've heard stories of biting babies....  Yikes!

Just have to remember the words of a former coworker...  bite back!

Ain't No Rest for the Weary...

Well, after months of sleeping clear through the night, this little monkey has found it necessary to wake up at 1:30-2:00 AM for the second night in a row.  Not sure what has triggered this little relapse - if he stirred in the middle of the night before, it could be remedied by helping him find his paci, but now nothing short of a diaper change and a bottle will begin to do the trick.  Rocking doesn't seem to have the lulling effect at this hour as it does during the day.  Speaking of which, he now needs to be rocked for a couple of minutes before he'll go down for his two naps during the day.  It just seems rather curious to me, but I do remember reading something about sleeping habits being interrupted about this time....  just don't remember why exactly...  Ah, well, now to figure out something to lull ME to sleep - amazing how a little sound on the monitor can have that effect on a person...  Wide awake at 3:20AM with no end in sight....

I suppose in the meantime I'll go on to explore this question that I was asked about a week ago when Coop and I were out visiting...  namely, "can you tell what his personality is like?"  Now strange as it might sound, the question sort of threw me for a loop at the time.  It's not that I hadn't considered the bits and pieces along the way, but as a whole (and an analysis that I would share with people outside), I hadn't come close.  So after some consideration, here's a real answer:

• Easy-going
• Now those of you who have known me for any length of time might marvel at how such a thing could be with any child of mine, as I've sort of had the reputation for being quite the opposite, but I have a very simple answer for you: Brad.  Regardless of where the trait might have originated genetically speaking, Coop is pretty well content unless something in particular is bothering him, such as being hungry or having a dirty diaper.

• Observant
• It's not unusual for him to just sit and study people/things.  Of course now that he's mobile (I feel pretty bad as I can't tell you exactly what day he got that way as my hubby and I debated on knowing exactly when to call it, but it's been about a month or so ago), he's not limited to sitting and staring, so my eyes are generally pretty busy as he still like to use his mouth to determine certain characteristics and that doesn't necessary bode well for all things.

• Can be pretty sensitive
• When he gets reprimanded for an action (a firm 'no' and an occasional swat at the hand), he makes the most terrified looking face before letting out a pitiful cry.  Of course, five seconds later, he's just smiling away and looking for something else to get into... so it always sort of strikes me as an act - even when I consider that he's still trying to get a grasp on emotions and social cues, but whatever...

Hmm, actually the more things that come to mind, the more I'm convinced that any traits that I've considered aside from easy-going, is probably pretty normal for a boy his age.  Okay, so I might have to revisit this one after a while.....  now to find some sleep.... 

Taking Bottle Like Pullin' Teeth

It seems odd that I should use such an expression when speaking about my toothless wonder, but it's about the mildest yet appropriate one that I could muster.  I had personally gotten perfectly comfortable with our three to four ~7oz. bottles along with 3 small meals during the day.  However, in the past few days, this child of mine has decided that he's not interested in his bottle.  He eats his solids no problem - and yes, he does take some cereal with his fruits and vegetables (with 2 of the three meals). 

I guess I can follow that he's a big boy (somewhere around 28in. tall and 20lbs.), and he won't let himself go hungry, but I just worry about his nutrition.  Blast those vicious breastfeeding moms who seem to show up on each and every forum I happen to stumble upon.  I don't disagree that breast is best, but situations happen as they do and people must deal.  As such, I'm hoping that my baby will get all the formula he needs to grow big and strong.

I just need to relax I guess.

Simple Things

The sky outside my front window is a beautiful azure blue.  When I happen to catch a glimpse of a cloud, they are of the fluffiest white sort.  Not at all what I had pictured for today, but quite striking as the limbs of our crepe myrtle wave in front of it.

Speaking of crepe myrtles, there was a time when I abhorred the mere mention of them.  I don't know why exactly.  It wasn't that I didn't find them to be pretty when it bloom - I suppose it was just the name.  But now that I live in an area where we can go quite a while without rain, our soil is primarily clay, and the majority of the yard gets blasted with sun all day long...  I've come to really respect these plants.  Add trees and azaleas to that list as well.

It's simple things like that which I love most about my days.  Like the way I feel taller after a little stretching session or how excellent Coop's posture is when he chooses to stay still long enough to sit or how my hubby actually remembered to start working on the front "flower" bed after I requested he do so on Mother's Day.  Things are slower no doubt, but I love them.  For once, I don't feel like I'm rushing to get old.

Now to decide - what spices should I add to Coop's carrots?

Be a 10 in 2010

I suppose it was the middle of February when I'd had enough. I wasn't losing ANY of the baby weight... in fact, I was steadily gaining it back. It wasn't that I was loading up on a bunch of crappy food, but then again, when you are getting too much, it sort of doesn't matter that you are eating "healthy" - which is sort of why I have a slight beef when these goobers complain that Cookie Monster can no longer eat cookies, but eating tons of fruit is just fine. Anyway, I don't wish to digress...

So I decided to start being more mindful of just how much I was eating and that I desperately needed to get up and start walking. I started out walking on the treadmill and then took it outside once it was a little warmer so Coop wouldn't wind up catching cold. It was actually quite nice to just take a stroll around the neighborhood. To be able to relax and just enjoy the beauty around you... and to smile and wave to folks in the neighborhood... made me feel like we aren't just living in a house next to a bunch of strangers.

Well, about 15 lbs. down, I decided to take the workouts up a notch.  Several years ago, I had some success doing the original Firm Body Sculpting System and then the second system, so I started looking for some good exercise videos.  My sweet MIL had been kind enough to give me a couple of cool videos from Ellen Barrett (Slim Sculpt and Yogini Workout)  for Christmas, so I just needed one or two to get a nice rotation going.  Eventually, I decided on Jari Love's Get Extremely Ripped 1000 and Ballet Body with Jennifer Galardi.  So for the last 4 weeks, I've been using these videos in a crazy custom rotation - for a total of 4 workouts a week.  I haven't lost any weight, but I had been feeling pretty good about myself...

That is until....  I saw these pictures that my sister took while we were at her house celebrating Mothers' Day a week early.  Here's one of those pics:

From Me And Coop

Now I might look thinner than I did when I was pregnant (if I didn't, I would REALLY be distraught), but my first reaction was to feel like all my work had been for naught.  Normally, I can look a bit thinner after working out with weights for a bit even if I hadn't actually lost anything, but I didn't see it in these shots.  It was such a low point in my week.  I almost felt like just giving up my goal all together (which would entail losing another 35-40 pounds by the year's end), but after wiping away the last of those tears, I found that I was more determined than ever to keep going.  I might not make my goal numerically speaking, but I want to establish a good steady exercise routine, so that I can improve my overall fitness and eventually it WILL pay off.

Yum yum, Gimme some - Nannercado

Yesterday was not the best of days for me.  I woke up at 3AM - unable to go back to sleep and quite a bit of congestion.  I tried not to groan too much when Coop decided to wake up at 6AM for the second day in a row, since I was already up after all.  I'd been staying with my parents while Brad was gone on business, so I headed home somewhere around 7AM.  Once I got home, I became painfully aware of this aching in my lower back.  In fact, there was a point where I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back out of bed after I tried to get a short nap while Coop was down for his yesterday afternoon.  The congestion issue was pretty well dealt with after two go-rounds with a Neti-Pot, but even after a couple of rounds of pain meds, my body still felt like I had the flu.  Felt much better this morning though - even though Brad still sounds rough.  Anyways, all that to bring me to this bit of lighthearted good fun...

As you might have heard, I enjoy making up food for Coop.  I'm not a fanatic about it.  I just like to make what I reasonably can.  The website that I have been consulting pretty much since Coop started solids some 3 months ago is wholesomebabyfood.com.  Well, one of the fruits it had suggested for babies as young as 4 months was Avocados.  I'd sort of been avoiding this one - not completely sure why.  I guess it just seem as if it's something that's good in guacamole dip, but I couldn't fathom eating it on its own, which is weird because all these nutritional guides I've consulted on and off for the past several years had suggested eating them plain as well.  At any rate, he had his first taste of this green fruit last night and it seemed to go over pretty well.  I'd cut the two avocados we had into slices and froze what he didn't eat.  In my review of WBF's info on avocados, I happened upon an interesting flavor combo (my exact words at the time were "that sounds so gross").  Apparently, they have found that bananas mix well with avocados. 

Well, today my curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to try this mixture since I had both pieces of fruit in the freezer.  When mixed with some of the Happy Bellies Multi-Grain Cereal I know I'm just crazy about, this is what this interesting flavor combination looked like:

From NanaCado

Unfortunately, I was unable to capture some pictures WHILE he was eating it, which would prove quite the task indeed, but he really liked it (Yes, I know I probably should have been brave enough to try some myself, but I didn't really think about it until after I'd added the cereal and well...  yeah, too bad Brad wasn't there). I did manage to get some shots of him after the fact - modeling his food and playing with his bowl and spoon - 160 or so to be exact, but I only uploaded a few to the linked Picasa Web Album.

From NanaCado

An Eye on His Eyes

From the day he was born, Coop has had a problem with gunk build-up in and around his eyes.  I recall even asking his pediatrician about it at the time, but he indicated that it was normal and would probably clear up on its own after a couple of days.  But here he is 7 months old and he's still having some problems.

I recall receiving some advice from a very nice gal at my old workplace.  She indicated that her son had the same problem, but their doctor had recommended that they massage his tear ducts and it had worked for them.  I filed the advice away, but, for whatever reason, chose not to start this straightaway.  In retrospect, I suppose I just assumed it would clear up on its own.

At his 4 month check-up, I asked the doc once more about the gunk and he sent us home with some eye drops.    I was instructed to give him a drop or two for those next 3-4 days.  The relief was temporary to say the least - and my goodness, can I just say it's quite difficult to get eye drops in my own eyes, much less a squirming 4 month old?  Ah well....

Then after two months of hounding by various family members, we mentioned it again at his 6 month check-up.  This time we were referred to an ophthalmologist.  When the word "surgery" suddenly came into the conversation about my baby, I yanked that little piece of advice I'd received a couple months earlier.

For the two weeks between the latest check-up and the ophthalmologist appt., I made sure to massage this little boy's tear ducts each day.  When his eyes seemed to produce more than enough tears on a daily basis and the gunk was all but a thing of the past.... I thought we had success and almost canceled the appointment, figuring the doc would think I was just crazy.

However, when we actually met with the doctor, I suddenly became enlightened about what the problem was.  It wasn't that Coop was having problems producing tears - it was the fact that the duct in his nose where his tears would normally drain out is apparently blocked.  Besides the annoying gunk or tears streaming while he's not crying, this can be problematic as his eyes might be more prone to getting infections.  I was relieved that the doctor was not gung-ho on surgery right away, but if he does have to have the surgery, it will take just a few minutes.  Now he will have to be put under, but it will be at the hospital. 

I have been trying to continue with the massaging of the tear ducts on a routine basis, but our next appointment will be on June 7th.  I just hope it will continue to get better.  At any rate, that's an update on the little man's eyes.

Bird War III Looming?

For those of you in the know...  something about our house invites the craziest birds to visit.  Or, perhaps in a former light, these birds were just as you might expect, but our house gives them a crazy vibe.  Something akin to the "unmuffin" from the Electric Company episode I caught today. 

We first noticed this "un-effect" about 4 years ago when some poor little bluebirds set up house in a corner ledge on our front "porch" (using the term VERY loosely).  We would have probably knocked it down had it not been for the fact that their eggs had already been laid.  We figured it was just sort of sweet, especially when the babies hatched.  However, it soon took a turn for the worse....

Soon, our front yard became something of a war zone.  You couldn't even tend to the weeds without having to run and take cover.  In fact, I'm not quite sure we were even able to open our front door due to the possibility that a kamikaze pilot might just slip in and bring the outside terror in.  Even with this effective line of defense for keeping the enemy combatants at bay so we would be able to keep a reasonable amount of normalcy inside our humble abode during those few hours during the week when we were at home, the constant squawking became like nails across a chalkboard.  Once those babies had flown the nest, we gladly destroyed their fortress.  We stood victorious as we had been able to wait out the enemy just long enough to take out their holdings.  Of course, we sounded like crazy people to most people we spoke with who could scarcely believe that sweet little bluebirds had such mean-spiritedness within their fragile looking little bodies, but we knew what we'd seen and that at the end of the day we had done the right thing.

However, within months, we had a new opponent.  A mockingbird.  The official state bird of Mississippi.  Another unlikely foe, or so we would be lead to believe, as the famous quote from Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" goes: "Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."  And as touching as that sentiment is, I never had much for or against a mockingbird prior to encountering this psycho that's been stalking our house for the last few years.  He has attacked our windows with his vicious pecks and bombed our cars with his blackberry poo.  We were able to thwart the latter by the addition of our garage door, but our guests... particularly those with white vehicles have generally been in for a treat these last oh 3-4 years.  We tried windchimes - evidentally, the wind is allied with this bird as it has damaged our windchimes with each hang.  We also tried a mobile of old CDs...  yeah it's not quite the aluminum pie pan of old, but it should have given the same effect.  No
joy.  We tried a fake owl - again no luck.  As it would constantly peck at any window with a view inside, we would attempt to outsmart it and take it out to kill/wound it with a b.b. gun - but as soon as we either turned the lock or started to open the door, it just seemed to know instinctively and head out of range.  As terrible as it sounds, we were really hoping it would get hit by a passing car or something... but it seemed to endure.  However, it appears this terror has either moved on or kicked his little bucket as he hasn't reappeared since winter.  *crosses fingers*

Just when we thought we might be out of the woods (you would have thought our lack of mature trees would have given that away)...  the bluebirds have returned.  We have attempted to stay on the offensive and run them off...  even as the stormy weather was approaching these last few days... but now that I'm away for a couple days... I dread what I will come home to.  Will I have become so callous as to knock down any nest that's been built in our absence regardless of contents?  Or perhaps will the birds have found a more desirable spot?  We'll hope they have indeed moved on as I really don't care to engage in another bird war any time soon, but only time will tell.

To Eat Like A Baby

Mine have always been the best of intentions, especially when it comes to my wee man, but sometimes things just haven't worked out quite like I sort of planned.  For instance, I planned on breastfeeding exclusively for say a year, but the way things happened... well, I got in a good 4 months.  However, I think I'm having a bit more success in the way of making my own baby food.  Granted, I haven't made ALL my own baby food, but I did enjoy collecting jars in which to store my goods.  I say 'did' as I have recently made the switch to freezing my foods in various appropriate containers and ice cube trays, since apparently there's a 48-72 hour limit on how safely you can store food in a fridge.  Honestly, I'd never heard of such a thing, so normally, I'd just shrug it off... but it is after all, my BABY's food that we're talking about here, so...  what's good enough for me and my hubby isn't necessarily good enough for Coop, but I digress...

I realize the fact that I've been making my own baby food is not particularly interesting in and of itself.  But for me, it's amazing how it has really sparked my interest in cooking from just a basic level.  The very idea of taking a single ingredient and then considering what spices might work well with it (I do realize that it's probably deemed appropriate to wait until 8+ months to introduce them, but I'm just going to do my best to take it slow and go at his speed)...  and even better when you take two items, like apples and sweet potatoes, and combine them....  no need for sugar or what have you... just enjoying the combined fruits of my labor I suppose.   Can we say 'yum'??

So, I've come to the conclusion that the next dieting craze should center around baby food/purees...  all natural fruit & veggie purees with only the appropriate spices/herbs to accentuate their inherent flavors.  Might want to throw in some meat to the mix, but I haven't really taken that dive yet...  Rice and oatmeal, too.  Probably throw in some milk - since I don't really see myself trying to drink formula...

Hmm, yeah okay...  if my current 'plan' doesn't do the trick...  I might just be game for something like that....  but I really do like my hummus on a sandwich thin with 16 pringles, a big glass of water, and a yogurt for my lunch.... and my cup of GoLean cereal each morning has been very nice as well... geez, I'm such a routine person.  Oh well, I'm just glad it's getting pretty out so we can enjoy our walks...

In the meantime,  I'm just going to keep loving the wonderful aroma from all the good things I'm cooking for the wee man.  Let's see - the past couple of weeks, I've made up some pears, apples, carrots, green beans, and acorn squash.  I never would have guessed that pears taste AWESOME with ginger, but they totally do. 

Anyways, so far so good...

Measure of Greatness

My husband doesn't seem to understand why I appear to give credence to some of the outlandish things folks say, but I've always enjoyed the occasional rant.  I consider it a mental exercise, and sometimes as I go along, I just happen to discover something that I didn't necessarily know I felt. 

Most recent example of this penchant for the written rant was the result of a particular Sports Illustrated article I stumbled upon in the February 15 issue, "One Step Short of Olympus". 

What follows is an example of such musings:

Let me start by saying that I am a Manning fan.  Not just Peyton, but Eli.  I'm not old enough to remember when Archie played, but from every indication,  I would have been a fan of his long before he was relegated to the role of Super Bowl dad and talking head.  Add Cooper to the list, too - we'll chalk my ignorance of him during his time at Ole Miss to the fact that I was young and a Mississippi State fan.

If you had told me of this powerful draw to the Manning men ten years ago, I would have laughed.  I would have figured it was just some crazy talk spurred on by what Dan Mullen now refers to as "that school up north".  However, when I actually decided to watch Eli play at Ole Miss, I was hooked.  There I was a freshman at Mississippi State, but I was going up to Oxford for every home game.  I couldn't explain what it was to you even now, but for the first time in my life, the W wasn't as important as the game.

Eventually, I started watching professional football, which I'd once declared as too heartless by comparison to college.  The team to watch?  Why, Peyton's team, of course.  I am glad for Eli's successes at the Giants, but the Colts with Peyton are definitely my favorite team.  Once again, it's as much about the game as it is a W.  Does it stink when they lose, particularly the big one?  Certainly, but when I read articles like this one (or hear commentators drone on about the same topic), I find something inherently wrong with the logic.

For me, Peyton is larger than life.  He's a classy intellectual in a brutal sport.  It is clear that he has not only a great knowledge of the game, but also a great passion for it. At a time when most players seem to be all too willing to tell you how great they are, he doesn't.  During a game, he's definitely in it to win it, but at its conclusion, he's able to separate himself from it.  I can't think of a better example of sportsmanship.  These are just a few of the reasons that a comparison of Peyton to Tom Brady seems silly at best.

I suppose the reason we differ in opinion lies in our definition of greatness.  When our children are introduced to sports, the famous adage we attempt to instill in them is "win or lose, it's how you play the game", which is perhaps so popular as only a handful of the hopefuls will ever make it to the professional level.  Why then is it that we seem to forget this adage when it comes to the pros?  The very people who would be role models to our children aren't held to this standard.  Instead, we relegate them to one more easy to quantify - the number of wins or perhaps even their ring count.  Perhaps sports commentators and writers are so hellbent on making Peyton fit this mold because it's easier to talk about things that are concrete as opposed to the elusive nature of something greater.

Is Peyton Manning perfect?  Of course not.  He's a flawed mortal like the rest of us.  It's his ability to play football that thrust him into the national spotlight, but in my estimation, his greatness is as much about his character as his on-the-field accomplishments.

Therefore, the question you should be asking is not "why isn't Peyton more like Brady", but "why isn't Brady more like Peyton".

Me a Homemaker?

Someday.  Maybe.  If I'm really lucky.  But I can't help wondering whether or not that day might be within sight.

I haven't really wanted to embrace a structured schedule, but now that I have the basics of what a typical day should include...  Things just seem to be coming together into what sort of resembles a rough schedule.   It's wild because I'm looking around the living room as I'm writing this and it actually looks clean.  I know that probably sounds terrible, but for almost 6 years now, we've been living in this house and up until just recently, if the house appeared to be reasonably straightened up, it was simply because we were expecting company.  Now, I wouldn't be afraid of breaking my neck if someone came a calling. 

It's not perfect by any stretch, but shoot, I consider it a grand accomplishment.

My re-education through 4 months

Given my limited experience with babies, I don't suppose I should really be surprised that quite a bit of what I thought I knew about babies has been dispelled based upon my experience these last 4 months.  Here are just a few examples:

Myth #1:  All little babies are lazy freeloaders.


For the first 3 months, Coop rarely allowed himself to nod off during the day.  When he did, it was only for about 15-20 minutes.  The first month, he had two 3-hour stretches of sleep between meals; the second and third, one 4-6 hour stretch with another 2-3 follow-up.

During those waking hours, he was constantly moving.  Kicking his feet, flailing his arms, watching the ceiling fan, using his head as a deadly weapon...  You get my drift.

But the kicker has been the fact that he seems to be much more interested in standing than sitting up or crawling.  His legs are very strong and with a little support he can stand up straight and occasionally ventures taking a step or two.  He's managed to sit up from 45 degrees, but when I try to help him along by placing my Boppy-ish pillow behind his back for support...  he quickly tries to get himself into a bridge pose.  He's finally gotten to the point where he doesn't absolutely HATE tummy time, so he's doing a little bit of work on crawling, but no rush on that one.  I can only imagine the trouble he'll get into once he's mobile.  YIKES!

At least he's sleeping a bit more at night and taking naps during the day now...  I'll try to make the most of it now.

Myth #2:  It's easy to put a baby on a schedule.

The Baby Whisperer's book was a good read.  I have to admit that I felt a little more knowledgeable having read it, BUT especially now that I'm at home with him full-time, it's almost impossible to imagine having him on a defined schedule.  Only in the past week or two has he been eating at consistent intervals (6.75 oz every 4 hours).  He has gotten to the point of taking naps for about 45 minutes up to 2 hours, but it's a crap shoot as to exactly when.  Now, I suppose the blame is on me with this one, but I personally prefer going with the flow.

Myth #3:  Babies don't make for good company.

Just the other day, my MIL was reminiscing about the days when my hubs and his little brother were wee ones.  I believe the exact words used were : "I don't remember them really being human until about 6 months."  Now, it's been about a quarter century since her youngest was Coop's age and memories are subject to change with time, but the statement didn't strike me as odd when she said it as I had previously been under that impression.

When I mentioned my desire to be a stay at home mom back before Coop was born, I remember having many of my friends tell me how they had the same desire at one point, but decided that they just loved interaction with people too much to do so.  Now make no mistake, I do wish I had someone in the neighborhood that I could just chat about Mommy things with, but honestly, Coop is just a delight.

Sure he can't form words yet, but there's something really special about his trills, gurgles, giggles, and the various other sounds he uses to converse with me.  Oh and that little smile just speaks volumes.  We have fun at story time, even though I think I get more out of the actual stories than he does at this point, but he does love trying to close the book or grabbing a particularly interesting page.  Playtime is a blast - toys that play music seem to be his favorites, but he also likes a good rattle - a trend there?   Geez, reading over this I can't help but wonder if I'm perhaps a bit loony...  Wouldn't be the first time I've doubted my sanity.

Ah, he's just a wonder to me, and I'm looking forward to getting to help him develop into the man he will one day become.  I knew I would love him, but I had no idea how much fun it would be.  No doubt he's a handful at times...  just last night, he tried to play Houdini by escaping from his swing when we looked away for just a moment - so the fun for him is just beginning, but I like to think that our bond will only grow as we do.

The after effects...

Shortly after our wee man screamed onto the scene in the wee hours of that Saturday morn, we made our way over to what I suppose are referred to as the recovery rooms.  Of course, only after I attempted to make my way to the bathroom under my own power, which was problematic simply because the epidural hadn't completely worn off.  The result?  I crashed into the toilet because I was too proud to accept help.  I suppose if I were more fragile, it could have been something a bit more serious, but merely being as I am... I just got a pretty good laugh and a small bruise out of it.  Unfortunately, I did cause a few of the nurses to worry and managed to get a stern look from my hubby.  Ah, such is life...

We'd been given the choice to keep Coop in the room with us or have him stay in the nursery, and we opted to have him stay with us.   Now, I suppose one could argue that we could have taken the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, but I honestly can't say that I would have been able to get much sleep worrying about him otherwise.  As a result of this choice, we were able to spend some QT with our boy with only periodic visits from the nurses on duty to check our vitals.

While I had truly come to appreciate my doctor's decision for me to induce as 1) patience isn't really one of my strongest virtues; 2) I wasn't sure my body would have been too pleased if Coop had been too much bigger, it wasn't until I met the doctor on call that I truly felt like throwing my arms around my doctor's neck.   The replacement's name was Dr. Witty.  When he first came in to greet us, I got a weird vibe from him.  I felt very uneasy whenever he approached me - to the point that I was relieved when Brad was near.  It's not that I feared he would do me harm, but I really didn't care to let him have the opportunity.  As he approached me, he would begin to speak, only to pause, walk over to the TV, and turn it off before turning back to me to continue his train of thought.  There were no polite exchanges about whether or not we minded if he turned off the set - he just did it.  And consistently.  He didn't seem to be able to have a professional opinion of his own... he was always checking to see what my doctor said/did or what the nurses thought.  Now to be fair, the fact that he was interested in what my doctor had said and done was not unusual - as I was not Dr. Witty's patient, but it was simply the fact that he didn't appear to be able make his own calls about even little things. 

Brad and I continue to muse on what Coop's birth might have been like if Dr. C hadn't made the call to induce before he left...  but needless to really say, by no stretch of the imagination would it have been pretty...

The best thing that Dr. Witty did for me?  Allow me to be discharged from the hospital 36 hours after Coop was born.

Strangest thing about my stay aside from Dr. W?  I didn't change the FIRST diaper...  It wasn't for another week and a half that I was able to change my first diaper EVER.  I know - Brad's a good man for that.  Of course, now many many diapers later, it's strange that I was ever the least bit concerned about my ability to change one.

Most humorous moment in retrospect?  As we prepared to leave that Sunday morning, Brad had indicated that he was familiar enough with our car seat, which is a convertible one so really too large to just tromp up the stairs, so he didn't really need any assistance to prep it for the baby.  It was rather chilly and raining that afternoon, so we did our best to bundle Coop up before preparing to venture into the great out of doors. Of course, the entire time I can't shake the feeling that we were whisking away some precious treasure and were surely going to be discovered before we were able to make a clean break for it.  The check-out went without a hitch.  We made it down the hall and took the elevator to the ground floor, our cart in tow.  We made it through the lobby and out the doors to where the car was waiting for us, but as soon as Coop's fanny touched his car seat...  the siren went off.  He screamed and screamed as Brad did his best to work under such pressure.  Apparently, making the necessary adjustments don't feel quite as crucial when you are dealing with a sock monkey instead of a shrieking baby, but how else are we to learn?  I felt like a nervous wreck - convinced that the nurse who'd been kind enough to push our cart would snatch Coop away and scold us for being horrible parents...  but for whatever reason, she didn't and we were able to make our getaway.  Of course, the siren didn't let up for another two blocks, but eventually, he fell asleep.  It was then I knew that we were officially on our way to being parents...

My humble beginnings...

My first 27 years were filled with many people, events, and things... but I can now honestly say that I didn't know livin' until the day I became a momma.  Although many things have come to pass since that early October morn,  I feel I would be remiss if I didn't attempt to share the events surrounding that day....

Flashback to me as I was on October 2nd: a very pregnant woman, who despite her ventures into related education via books, websites, and classes, was quite naive about childbirth and child care.  I imagine that I walked in to my doctor's office for what I kept telling myself would be my last appointment (as I'd hoped with the last appointment a week earlier), but hadn't the slightest grasp on what that might actually mean.  I realized that in order to get from point A (being pregnant) to point B (holding my son) would hopefully require admittance to the hospital, but the reality had not fully sunk in.  I clung to the idea that I would indeed know when I was in labor (even though I had the fear that somehow I wouldn't - only to become like those people on "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" shows, except of course that I was all too aware that I WAS PG) and that it would go quite smoothly without the need for any intervention, unless of course, Brad fell out.  I wasn't rabid in my hopes to go without pain meds, but I just liked the idea of being able to breathe the pain away. 

As I sat in the exam room that day, I remember being hot and tired.  With that infamous paper sheet across my lap, I felt as if I was slowly becoming more and more fixed to the table on which I sat as the minutes ticked by.   I tried to remain calm, but wasn't completely sure I'd be able to restrain myself from attacking the next person who walked through the door.  After all, the very IDEA of keeping a pregnant woman who was just a few days shy of officially being well done waiting for 30 or so minutes in a sweltering, confined space was cruel and unusual to say the least.  I tried to rise above the situation and focus on the various tasks and activities that I'd be able to partake in once this pesky check-up was officially over, but one thought kept coming to mind - "Please oh please, God... let this be my last check-up.  I can't stand much more of this."

To my surprise, when the door finally opened and the doctor appeared, I managed to suppress the urge to lunge at him.  I was able to don a smile and be rather pleasant.  I had hopes that he would tell me I was making some progress and that we'd be meeting under slightly different circumstances soon, but they were quite small and I, immense.  However, his first words to me indicated shock that I hadn't already gone into labor.  After he checked my progress, I felt my jaw fall to the floor as he uttered the words, "I think today's a good day for you to have this baby."  As I did my best to conceal my shock, he instructed me to admit myself to the hospital where they would prepare me to be induced if necessary so he could help deliver my son that day since he would be leaving for a conference the next day. 

I exited his office in a haze.  I'd expected that such news would have caused me to burst into a chorus of "Hallelujah"s, but instead, all thoughts just cleared out of my head.  Even though I'd been driving for 11+ years, I felt as if I had to receive heavenly assistance to drive the quarter mile over to the hospital parking lot.  In the light of day, I managed to send up the bat signal to my partner in crime - and from the sound of it, he was just as flabbergasted as I was.  Then I called our parents - none of whom could scarcely believe the latest development in the situation.  I reported to the Maternity Desk and somehow managed to explain the situation to a couple of different staff members with relative ease, even though otherwise I'm sure my words would have failed me. 

Apparently people were getting the jump on the full moon as most of the LDRs were already occupied and the floor was short-staffed, but I was shown to my room and told that I would be induced if necessary in a hour or so (even though it wound up being more like 3).  After answering a few of the nurses' questions and phone calls of various loved ones, I was left alone in the room to contemplate my thoughts, and it was then that I began to feel the euphoria set in.  I was still clueless but blissful nonetheless.

A steady stream of people began to appear after an hour...  at one point, we'd pretty well reached capacity what with my hubby, my mom, his mom, my dad, his dad, two of my sisters, a niece, and one of Brad's co-workers. 

After another hour or so, the pitocin drip was started.  Brad was quite vigilant in his assessment of the contraction charts and helped to keep me in the loop throughout the process, even though after 45 minutes to an hour, I was quite aware of when I was having a contraction.  Evidentally, he appeared to be having so much fun, that it became quite a family activity, and it soon began to grow old as the pain set in.  I kept wishing I had the wherewithal to ask the folks to step out into the waiting room for the duration, instead of just the intervals when my progress was checked, but luckily, the LD nurse who was on the night shift was kind enough to do it for me.

I don't know if it's possible for me to clearly explain the pain.  I did my best to breathe through it, but as the contractions heightened and my progress stalled, I felt my resolve begin to waiver.  My doctor attempted to break my bag of waters to help me along, but that hurt worse than the contractions as I'm pretty sure Coop was trying to escape into my chest.  When I finally gave into the temptation of an epidural, I suppose I could have felt like a failure, but I didn't waste my time on such a notion.  Suddenly, I didn't care that the pitocin was being upped to further help me along so my contractions were evidentally getting harder and harder or that Coop was sunny side up.  Both Brad and I were able to catch some Zzz's at that point. 

After a couple of hours, we woke up and the real fun followed shortly thereafter.  With the light at the end of the tunnel visible, I was stalled at 9.5cm and Coop was having a rough go of descending on his own due to what the doctor referred to as "moulding problem", so forceps were necessary.  While my pain had pretty well faded after receiving the epidural, I was quite aware of the forceps' presence and was looking forward to the time when the doc could put them away.  I seem to recall pushing 4 or 5 times and then finally at 1:34AM on October 3rd, my son was born, screaming from the very start. 

He weighed in at 9 lbs. 2 oz. and his height was measured as 23 inches.  However, the measurement that really got me was that his head circumference was 14 inches, which had played a role in my being cut to a two, but tearing to a three.

As they placed him my arms for the first time and his screaming finally began to subside, I felt more proud than I've ever been.   I held my pride, my joy, my life in my arms, and it was in that moment, that I knew my life had started anew, just as if I'd been the one to make that arduous descent into this world.

The ties that bind

So, I've really been hoping that my boy would arrive in September.  Honestly, there's no real reason why I'd have ever thought he would (aside from the calculated due date), but I guess it's just one of those sappy sentimental things.  I mean September is like the hot-bed of birthday activity in my family... mine, my daddy's, one of my sister's, a former bro-in-law, some cousins, my nephew, my niece, my grandma - just to name the few I can think of right off hand... so it seemed only natural that we'd be able to welcome him into the family this month - kind of give him an in or something ridiculous like that.

However, it seems pretty apparent that he will need no such trapping of family ties...  I am now of the mindset that he will hold out until he's evicted - just like his momma, or at the very least, he'll be hard-headed and hold out until tomorrow just to put a thumb in my eye - again very much like his momma.

Ah well... whatever the case - his birthday will be my new favorite day... plus if he's born in October, he'll be able to share more than a middle name with his granddaddy, so I guess there's a bright side yet.

Incidentally, a guy from Brad's work is banking on Sunday night being it - full moon you know...

In a blaze of PG glory

Once again, I find my latest post referring back to topics previously brought to light, but I find that my mind is pretty well fixed on pregnancy related discomforts these days.  After the baby shower held at my momma's house a week ago last Sunday, I had this revelation that I wouldn't be 100% effective at work as my wandering mind was preoccupied with 'nesting' related ideas, plus I've found the less I have to drive, the less my blood pressure tends to rise, so I decided that last Thursday would be my last day for a while.  I realize that seems like an odd choice, but my appointments for whatever reason have now been switched to Fridays.  I must admit that I sort of feel like a failure as my intention has been to work up to my delivery date, but now that I've been at home for the past few days, without the worry of having to be at work...  I think the choice was a good one.  NOW if I can just get something done.

Perhaps the most useful thing I've managed to do these first couple of days was to go grocery shopping.  For the past year or so, I've been trying to keep these trips down to once every couple weeks.  Generally, this approach has worked out quite well, but as of late, I've found myself shopping for two weeks and attempting to eat off that food stuff for three+ weeks.  Two leading contributions to this trend - 1) it's harder to know when I'll actually be up on Saturday morning; 2) Brad is quite nervous about my shopping alone so early in the morning, so he'd prefer to go with me (perhaps to prevent me from going into the self-checkout aisles with ~70 items and thereby giving me a COMPLETE workout).  At any rate, Monday morn was decidedly the day to restock our shelves, and I must say it went a bit smoother than I anticipated.  I mean it was a reasonable hour (perhaps 8AM when I arrived), and I wasn't constantly surrounded by people.  Shopping went without a hitch (even though my iPhone was about dead so I couldn't keep track of my spending like I normally do).  Heck, I even managed to pick up almost everything on my list - makes it a bit more challenging when I attempt to do such things primarily from memory only referring to the actual list once every couple of aisles to conserve battery life.  Even when I came upon my check-out line of choice, I only had to wait behind one dude who probably had about half as many items as I did.  How incredibly lucky could one girl be?!?!

But then...  I was faced with the challenge of unloading my finds onto the belt.  To you non-pregnant people (or at least those a bit earlier on in your pregnancy), it might sound laughable that I would equate this rather simple task to a 10-mile run, but just laugh away - no doubt, it will come back to bite you - HARD.  Normally, my buggy is really quite organized with the cold stuff up front, the cereals lined up neatly behind the cold items, the cans and other boxes behind the cereals, with the toiletries and cleaning supplies at the back, making it quite easy to unload in an orderly fashion.  Of course, Monday, I was a bit lax in my organization - always anticipating the crowd that never appeared I suppose, so lining my items up on the belt proved to a bit more challenging than usual... 

Order aside - the sheer act of unloading became a labor of love.  I thought I would pass out from the heat.  Brad had speculated on an earlier trip that the ventilation wasn't set up to provide adequate cooling while in line for reasons unknown, but I can't help wonder if it's not to make you believe you really NEED that cold refreshing Sprite or Dasani from the refrigerators that surround you...  I am not a Wal-mart hater by any stretch, but this is something that has bugged the stew out of me for the past couple months...  Of course, carrying my own personal heater, I seemed to be the only one effected by this 'massive conspiracy', so I let it ride....  that is until Monday...  Either I just put off that much heat or the cashier was feeling it too...  I don't reckon I've ever noticed a checker have to stop 4 or 5 times while checking me out to fan herself before, but I certainly have now.  I felt so bad for her - couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't seen fit to surround the check-out area with a display of all those nifty fans they stock instead of candy and chips.  (I should interject that I was sort of glad that the candy was still there though - I'd completely forgotten to pick up any other additions for our ice cream while 'on the hunt'.)  Once the last bag had been placed in my buggy and my payment had been made, she confirmed that she was indeed alright and I wished her a good day.

I had been concerned that I'd been hearing the distinctive crash of thunder outside as I'd walked in without an umbrella, but as I walked out into the parking lot, I was greeted with bright sunshine, which had become something of a rarity in these parts as of late.  A smile made its way unto my lips as I would have been quite happy to bask in it, but the novelty quickly wore off and I was once again consumed by the fact that it was sweltering outside as well.  Ahh, to have the groceries loaded into the back of my little SUV with my A/C blowing on me with its full force...  that was as close to heaven as I came that day...

Things that Make Me Go Moo

For me, there's always been a certain interest in the glancing beauty of cows.  As a little girl, I remember gazing out the window on our various trips to visit relatives and when passing a pasture full of cows, being able to admire the artsy quality such a scene could hold in a particular style of painting.  I also remember being slightly taken a back when the intelligence of cows was called into question during our discussion of "Animal Farm" back in 10th grade (I mean pigs as the brains of the operation? Plu-lease.).  In defense, I've never spent much time around cows.  I was sort of weirded out by the cow with a hole in its stomach on that first-grade trip to the annual show-and-tell at our local "cow college" so I never got too personal with this star of that show and even though I live in a rural state, I've never milked a cow, nor have I ever had the desire to do so.  Having said all that, to sum up my regard for cows - they can be quite artsy (in a traditional sense or a bit less conventional), their 'battle cry' is among the first of farm animals that little kids seem to be able to imitate successfully, I love milk and its related products, and last but certainly not least, the Chik-Fil-A cows make me laugh.   

As high as you might imagine my regard to be at this point - I have NEVER NEVER had the desire to BE a cow.  Can you think of a single girl of your acquaintance who would LIKE to be called a cow?  I certainly cannot.

But as a pregnant woman, I could see how I might eventually feel like one.  Particularly as one who plans to breastfeed.  And especially one who wants to use an electric double-pump - I'd be hard pressed to think of anything that really says cow more than being hooked up to a machine for the purpose of expressing milk, and while no doubt the accompanying sound would add to the feeling, I think the sheer action should pretty well do it even though I know such a statement puts me at odds with some of the reviewers for the various brands and models I researched.  But back to my point...  I knew the feeling would come, but I wouldn't have thought it would come so soon and in the manner that it did.

As I've alluded to in my previous posts, I've grown quite annoyed by the endless string of doctor's appointments I've been subjected to here lately.  I've never had a problem with any of my doctors over the years, but I've been blessed enough to keep my interactions with them to a bare minimum.  However, whether it be a problem with my particular ob/gyn's office, something more widespread, or just a hormonal glitch on my part, I have the distinct feeling that I'm being herded from place to place... from waiting room to waiting room...   I don't necessarily have much to ask or give account for when speaking with my doc or his nurses, but it feels increasingly impersonal as my due date quickly approaches, which seems TOTALLY bizarre given that this will be one of the most personal experiences that I will ever have.

I completely broke down in the car after my appointment yesterday, but luckily my dear hubby was there to give me some sense of comfort and to take the wheel.  I was ranting about the specifics of things that were said and done as proof of my being nothing more to them than a head of cattle, but after much reflection, it has become quite clear to me.  I will be unable to truly explain this feeling to anyone who has never experienced it - only commiserate with those who have, as any point of fact could be written off as someone just doing their job, just being a consummate professional, etc.  Perhaps there exists a doctor's office where you will always feel more like a person than a number, but at this point, I think the only way to do so is by limited exposure...  which of course is a luxury pregnant women aren't afforded in any way, shape, or form.

Ahh, the joys of being a woman...  MOOOOOOO....

Although, I must add that a pedicure DOES work wonders on a serious case of the 'Moo's...  To Laura, you totally rock and I definitely owe you!

"Love Taps", or I want my lap back...

"All I can remember is wanting to have my lap back, but even after he was born, it was years before I eventually did."  - A rough paraphrase attributed to my favorite Nana.

It's amazing how the meaning of a statement such as this can only really be revealed in time, but the simple fact of the matter is... for this particular tidbit, enlightenment has come to me.  I suppose you could say that it started this past week one non-specific day as I was making my daily trek up the stairs to my office...  Yes, even at nine months pregnant, I would rather take my chances on the stairs (refer to my year+ old bruise above my left ankle for a reminder of my gracefulness on these stairs) than depend on the elevator - this could be the result of a MacGyver episode or something my momma said in passing when I was but a tot, but regardless of the trigger, I'd rather not risk giving birth on an elevator a la Mrs. Belding on that "Saved By The Bell" episode.   In defense of my sanity, it hasn't been too long ago that we were alerted to a problem with that elevator - nothing major, of course, but just by virtue of the fact...

Plus, it's the most grueling part of my current exercise routine.  I remember just a couple of months ago when I could climb the stairs to the third floor in under a minute or so - and I wasn't completely winded at the top...  But now a round-trip trek to the second floor for one of many bathroom breaks in the day feels like a grueling test of my endurance.

But alas, it was during one of these 'excursions' when the true meaning of my mother-in-law's statement hit me.  As I was making my rather slow deliberate steps up the stairs, I noticed that with each and every stair the 'working' thigh would invariably give my rather rotund tummy a little pat.  Love taps, you might say.  Certainly I realize that my baby boy is quite protected in his cozy rent-free flat, but I cannot resist pondering whether or not this is quite the Earth-shaking event for him I sometimes imagine it to be.  At any rate, it was upon my return to the chair in my office that I realized my boy was already sitting in my lap as my preggi belly rested on my 'loving' thighs, and as tender a moment as it could be, I found myself longing to have my lap back just as my MIL did several years ago....  Again, not necessarily the idyllic portrait one might like to paint of being PG, but believe me when I say - it's something about the end of the road that makes you see things a bit differently.  Perhaps it's just God's way of preparing me for the turn up ahead.  Seat belts, everyone?

Confessions of a piggy foot

Being pregnant is one of the most awesome things I've done in my life.  How many times can I say I've been blessed enough to incubate another person - to have such an active role in the development of another being??  It's truly a miraculous thing when I stop to consider it.  Every little kick or punch is a sign of life - reminding me that while my belly is swollen (along with my hands, feet...), I have the best reason in the world for this new (and hopefully temporary) look.  A new human being is preparing to join the outside world and my hubby and I are going to be in charge of showing him the ropes.  There's a lot of things that are still unknown as to how all this will play out, BUT I feel pretty safe in saying that holding our little man in our arms, being a parent - will be totally worth it....

Having said all that...  a momentous day has come to pass for me.  When I was earlier along, I wanted to laugh whenever any of my dear friends and family members would mention this idea of getting tired of being pregnant.  I couldn't help but dwell on how thankful I should be for having such a normal, healthy pregnancy.  Plus, we'd been waiting for his arrival for the past few years, so who would I be to look a gift horse in the mouth?

However, on Thursday, as I sat in an examination room at the doctor's office for what seemed like the 300,000th time this year, staring at the painting in front of me - yearning to dust the frame, wishing for one of those cardboard fans they hand out at revivals so I wouldn't continue to swelter, analyzing every new sensation as a possible early sign of labor...  it struck me.  I'm tired of being pregnant.  It's not quite as apparent in the world outside the doctor's office, where they actually realize that my baby could come at any time, but when I'm confined to that building for any length of time (which is a given when I actually see the doc), the routine nature of it all is just too much.

The wait this time wasn't nearly as long - I believe I sat in the waiting room for 15-20 minutes before being called back and was promptly lead to an exam room after the routine checks, where I waited another 25 or so - but it felt like FOREVER. I'd find myself listening intently to the sound of the other doors on the hall and the greeting that normally followed - trying to figure out how much long I was going to be kept in my cell - alone.  Then the doc came in - got my tummy measurement and found Coop's heart beat fairly quickly.  I had no questions, so that was pretty well it as all test results and measurements were perfect.  Of course as we started to leave the room - I did ask about the third ultrasound, which my hubby has been waiting for...  but was sadly informed that since there were no concerns about the growth or position of the baby, there would BE no third ultrasound.  Now I could dwell on the fact that I had to pay for the first one, so insurance would cover the next two (the way it was described to me), but I won't.  I'll try to take the 'man' mindset and be satisfied with the fact that he'll be joining us soon.  Hmm, still irked.

Anyway, I went to set up my next appointment.  There was already a young pregnant woman ahead of me, who was directly told that she did know that Medicaid wouldn't cover the 3-D Ultrasound and that it would be $125 in cash to have it done.  The woman agreed and the appointment was scheduled.  Now this snippet of conversation was totally none of my business and I know nothing of this particular woman's situation, BUT in light of the proposed health care reform (which I was furiously writing about in my journal prior to called back), I found myself a bit annoyed.  We as a people work to provide government assistance for people like this woman, who have in some way demonstrated a need for it, leaving her to do with her money what she chooses.  Sure, it's a lot more touching to spend $125 on pictures of your unborn child than it is to spend on video games, booze, etc., but it is still elective.  She has every right to do what she chooses with her money, but as someone with a vested interest in her welfare, I can't help but wonder if there aren't other more pressing things that she has a NEED for that she could use that $125 towards. 

Once she had been seen to, the lady behind the counter began to look at the doc's schedule to set up my next weekly appointment.  Then she asked when my due date was.  I told her October 7th to which she responded - "Oh well, you have some time left then, don't you?"  As I do my utmost to be polite whenever possible, I just smiled as nothing sweet to reply came to mind.  She went on to ask if I would mind seeing the nurse practitioner to which I replied that I wouldn't mind - and then asked if I had ever seen her before.  I tried to remain calm despite feeling completely incredulous.  I realize that she works with numerous women in the course of a day and just multiply that by five, but I'd JUST seen the nurse last week (and a couple weeks before that) and she'd been the one to do the scheduling....  Yes, I realize this is my being short, but as I said before, I'm tired of being pregnant.  I'm tired of having to schedule ANY appointments when I'd almost do just as well to record these things myself and hand it to them when the time was right - then I wouldn't have to use ANY leave time.

As you've probably deduced, I was just a tickin' when I left the doctor's office, but despite the MADDENING routine nature of it all, I, with the help of my maternal colleagues, was able to come up with a diagnosis of 'I-am-ready-to-have-this-baby-out-of-my-belly-and-into-my-arms-regardless-of-the-lack-of-sleep-I-will-surely-be-in-for'.  The exact symptoms of this condition are a bit difficult to pinpoint, but viewed as a whole, it's quite obvious.  The main issue with said condition is that there doesn't appear to be much that can be done about it - just let nature take its course, but let me tell you...  I'll be leading the chants and cheers all the way...  Well, at least, until I am incapable of putting together coherent sentences or the pain meds take the edge off...  but who knows how long THAT will be....