Friday I saw my obstetrician for the third and last time before I make it to the delivery room. An hour wait for a five-minute checkup (My pregnancy is a medical breeze, for which I am neverendingly thankful). Here's all you need to know:
Dr. Rush* : Any complaints?
Me: Nothing serious, some back pain and a little swelling (as I hoisted myself onto the exam table)
Dr. Rush: Well, that's what you get for being naughty in the Garden of Eden. You have to suffer through monthly periods and the pain of childbirth, all because your kind couldn't follow instructions.
WOW! My KIND? What kind is that now? The 'kind' with breasts? The 'kind' with wombs? The 'kind' that can bear children?!? I was too slow gathering my thoughts for a comeback, but what I should have said if I could have gotten my thoughts together in time was "Whatever the reason, I'd rather keep God out of the delivery room." or something of the sort.
I'm not uncomfortable with physicians who attend church or synagogue or mosque or who follow their own breed of spirituality. I'm uncomfortable when they bring their beliefs to work, and then vocalize them. His comments, however snide, didn't even offend me much - I understand that small-town living comes with plenty of downsides as well as perks, one of them being the stubborn-held view that everyone believes in God - the Christian kind - but I'm outraged on behalf of the next woman who climbs onto his examination table who doesn't believe in the Garden of Eden, who carries a whole other set of beliefs altogether.
And just what did his remark add to our appointment? I complained of back pain - he could have followed up with a question or two to find out how bad, and to consider if it was caused by something other than being pregnant. Instead, he stunned me into silence and I was too tongue tied to ask him about side sleeping (do I HAVE to?) before he had packed up my chart and was out the door.
My own firmly-held belief is that pregnancy and child birth are pretty damn awesome - I mean, hello! I'm growing a whole 'nother BRAIN here! And what other mammal on this great planet doesn't experience pain during childbirth?
Dr. Rush is an educated man. I would hope he has more explanation for how delivery works than brushing it off as penance for something one gal may or may not have done some six to eight thousand years ago.
Besides, I don't even like apples.
*Name has been changed to protect privacy, though after this particular encounter I'm thinking of changing it again, to Dr. Inconsiderate, or maybe Dr. Guilt, or even Dr. Religious Imbecile. Is professionalism too much to ask of my physicians?
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Belly bopping
37 weeks today. All the books tell me Baby Moves are supposed to slow down this last month, but my belly is really rocking out today. And HARD, too - Last week Baby was head-down (according to my obstetrician), but I am feeling all kinds of body parts all over my tummy, so it's hard to say. Nothing to be concerned about - just enough to keep me from my afternoon nap.
Man said he could feel the baby move in bed this morning - I was still asleep. Neither his hand nor baby's bopping woke me up! Yes! I'll take any sleep I can get, because between all the dreams and the trips to the toilet, I'm not convinced I sleep very much at all.
I'm very conscious that I should take it easy over these next few weeks. We moved all my furniture and belongings out of my house last week, and though I didn't do any of the heavy lifting (okay, much of the heave lifting) the constant squatting and stairs and general omgwhereamIgoingtoputthiscarafeI'veonlyusedonce?!? panic really took a toll. I can't believe I was doing intense water aerobics just 10 short days ago. It feels like eons.
In the meantime, our house is not ready yet: Man is working every day, and the insulation and ceiling strapping will be finished today, the priming tomorrow and the ceiling, kitchen and bathroom will be installed after that. Floors will be the last thing to go down - Trim will happen sometime in 2015 or so. Realistically, we'll be lucky to be moved in before Baby arrives. Worse would be if Baby shows up while we're moving. I want to be able to get settled away in the house before Baby, rather than have someone else move our things while I'm busy in the case room. But we'll have to wait and see. We won't be homeless, and if we have to bring baby back to our apartment rather than our very own house, well, it won't be the first kid to sleep in a laundry basket.
Speaking of laundry, there's a load of dirty with my name on it, and a sink full of dishes. Hi ho, hi ho, it's out of bed I go.
Man said he could feel the baby move in bed this morning - I was still asleep. Neither his hand nor baby's bopping woke me up! Yes! I'll take any sleep I can get, because between all the dreams and the trips to the toilet, I'm not convinced I sleep very much at all.
I'm very conscious that I should take it easy over these next few weeks. We moved all my furniture and belongings out of my house last week, and though I didn't do any of the heavy lifting (okay, much of the heave lifting) the constant squatting and stairs and general omgwhereamIgoingtoputthiscarafeI'veonlyusedonce?!? panic really took a toll. I can't believe I was doing intense water aerobics just 10 short days ago. It feels like eons.
In the meantime, our house is not ready yet: Man is working every day, and the insulation and ceiling strapping will be finished today, the priming tomorrow and the ceiling, kitchen and bathroom will be installed after that. Floors will be the last thing to go down - Trim will happen sometime in 2015 or so. Realistically, we'll be lucky to be moved in before Baby arrives. Worse would be if Baby shows up while we're moving. I want to be able to get settled away in the house before Baby, rather than have someone else move our things while I'm busy in the case room. But we'll have to wait and see. We won't be homeless, and if we have to bring baby back to our apartment rather than our very own house, well, it won't be the first kid to sleep in a laundry basket.
Speaking of laundry, there's a load of dirty with my name on it, and a sink full of dishes. Hi ho, hi ho, it's out of bed I go.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Survivor: Baby-shower edition
I'm pregnant. Man and I are renovating his house. We're renting out my house. My office has been short-staffed since September. I live in a small, small town hours from any friends (and half a world away from my best friend. Seriously. She thought it would be a good idea to move to China and LEAVE ME ALL ALONE right before I got pregnant).
Anyway. I couldn't stress about everything, so I decided to focus my anxiety on just one upcoming Life Event. My baby shower.
I'm not fond of being the centre of attention. I'm shy. And I hate getting gifts for gifts' sake. (I've been trying to talk my extended family out of wasting their money every Christmas for the past 10 years, to no avail). So a situation that requires me to be the centre of attention, among dozens of women, some of whom I don't know very well, and accept piles of gifts? Well I'm not real down with that.
Then there was the gift registry: to register, or not to register? I find gift registries greedy, but people are going to buy gifts anyway, so I may as well suck it up and gently guide them in the right direction, right? So I registered at two local stores that sell mostly adorable and/or hilarious natural baby gear and local products. Nothing on my list was more that $20. I refused to let one store gather all my requests in a glass display case with my name on it as they would usually do, because I didn't want people to feel obligated to get me something on the list. And I forbade my mother from telling anybody about the lists unless they asked outright.
Yeah. the registry backfired. I did get some wonderful things from the shops, but I also got a massive amount of newborn onesies and sleepers and - get this - not one single receiving blanket. Thirty women, most of them mothers, and not one receiving blanket among them. All my research into baby shower etiquette and what-to-expect led me to expect a ton of receiving blankets. Funny how that worked out.
Next up, the games. Oh god, the games. I was dreading the games. I had strict guidelines: No chocolate-in-diaper games. No guess-my-circumference games. No guess-my-weight games. No taste-that-baby-food games. Name games might be allowed. Word games would be acceptable. So there was a delightful program of guess-how-many-Q-tips-are-in-the-baby-bottle game (207). An unscramble-the-baby-word game (which was hard!), and a match-that-name-to-its-meaning game (We used the names of everyone present). There was also a prize for the person with a birthday closest to my due date, and a lucky plate and bowl prize. All tolerable.
Then there was the gift opening that went on forever. It's a tough balance between wanting to get it over asap so we can get to the food, and wanting to spend equal time admiring every gift so no one feels left out. Also, there was LOTS to admire, because baby stuff is frickin' cute. (Living several hours away from the Big City, I didn't know just how much cuteness could be had when your shopping choices are not limited to Walmart).
All in all, I came away fairly unscathed, with a mountain of baby clothes and blankets and a couple of gift certificates to use as needed. I hope everyone had a nice time. And I can't begin to express how much that pile of baby clothes and gear will help come April. I've re-thought the game thing, and concede that some games are more than acceptable, and actually expected. I also went in telling myself the gifts are for BABY, not for me, which helped ease my aversion to gifts.
Next up: Baby Shower, Round Two... the one that made up for the lack of receiving blankets.
Anyway. I couldn't stress about everything, so I decided to focus my anxiety on just one upcoming Life Event. My baby shower.
I'm not fond of being the centre of attention. I'm shy. And I hate getting gifts for gifts' sake. (I've been trying to talk my extended family out of wasting their money every Christmas for the past 10 years, to no avail). So a situation that requires me to be the centre of attention, among dozens of women, some of whom I don't know very well, and accept piles of gifts? Well I'm not real down with that.
Then there was the gift registry: to register, or not to register? I find gift registries greedy, but people are going to buy gifts anyway, so I may as well suck it up and gently guide them in the right direction, right? So I registered at two local stores that sell mostly adorable and/or hilarious natural baby gear and local products. Nothing on my list was more that $20. I refused to let one store gather all my requests in a glass display case with my name on it as they would usually do, because I didn't want people to feel obligated to get me something on the list. And I forbade my mother from telling anybody about the lists unless they asked outright.
Yeah. the registry backfired. I did get some wonderful things from the shops, but I also got a massive amount of newborn onesies and sleepers and - get this - not one single receiving blanket. Thirty women, most of them mothers, and not one receiving blanket among them. All my research into baby shower etiquette and what-to-expect led me to expect a ton of receiving blankets. Funny how that worked out.
Next up, the games. Oh god, the games. I was dreading the games. I had strict guidelines: No chocolate-in-diaper games. No guess-my-circumference games. No guess-my-weight games. No taste-that-baby-food games. Name games might be allowed. Word games would be acceptable. So there was a delightful program of guess-how-many-Q-tips-are-in-the-baby-bottle game (207). An unscramble-the-baby-word game (which was hard!), and a match-that-name-to-its-meaning game (We used the names of everyone present). There was also a prize for the person with a birthday closest to my due date, and a lucky plate and bowl prize. All tolerable.
Then there was the gift opening that went on forever. It's a tough balance between wanting to get it over asap so we can get to the food, and wanting to spend equal time admiring every gift so no one feels left out. Also, there was LOTS to admire, because baby stuff is frickin' cute. (Living several hours away from the Big City, I didn't know just how much cuteness could be had when your shopping choices are not limited to Walmart).
All in all, I came away fairly unscathed, with a mountain of baby clothes and blankets and a couple of gift certificates to use as needed. I hope everyone had a nice time. And I can't begin to express how much that pile of baby clothes and gear will help come April. I've re-thought the game thing, and concede that some games are more than acceptable, and actually expected. I also went in telling myself the gifts are for BABY, not for me, which helped ease my aversion to gifts.
Next up: Baby Shower, Round Two... the one that made up for the lack of receiving blankets.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Quality time with the Baby
Baby and I are having a nice day today. I'm cleaning house, and Baby is napping and kicking my bladder intermittently. We're listening to tunes LOUD, and I've already shaped up the office, spare room, furnace room, rec room and living room. All that's left are the kitchen, bathroom and laundry room. Then I need to sweep snow from the front and back steps and see about tearing down the broken Christmas lights from the eaves.
Why the flurry of activity? Some may call it nesting. I call it 'Potential Tenants Are Coming To View My House Tomorrow and I Want Them To Take It So I Can Afford To Go On Maternity Leave.
The sky has clouded over since this morning - the good news is I don't need to wash the windows now! (Boy that sunlight really shows off the dirt). It's windy and effing cold, but my furnace fire is crackling away. I haven't spent a lot of time at my house lately. This is nice.
The OTHER house is getting subfloor upstairs today. Maybe even a bedroom wall, but lets not get ahead of ourselves.
Nine weeks, Five days to go.
Why the flurry of activity? Some may call it nesting. I call it 'Potential Tenants Are Coming To View My House Tomorrow and I Want Them To Take It So I Can Afford To Go On Maternity Leave.
The sky has clouded over since this morning - the good news is I don't need to wash the windows now! (Boy that sunlight really shows off the dirt). It's windy and effing cold, but my furnace fire is crackling away. I haven't spent a lot of time at my house lately. This is nice.
The OTHER house is getting subfloor upstairs today. Maybe even a bedroom wall, but lets not get ahead of ourselves.
Nine weeks, Five days to go.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Insulation
We went to the house today, to insulate a wall. Progress since the last time I was there? Invisible. We started tearing boards off the exterior bedroom wall to expose the studs. Then we were going to stuff insulation and put the boards back on.
Why wasn't the house insulated when it was built?
Because it's 80 years old, and insulation was a foreign word - they slapped layers of newspaper and, later, wallpaper over the cracks to keep out the wind.
We worked from the ground up, right to left. Man would pry off one end of the board, and I'd move to the left prying it off each stud until the whole thing was free. The first couple were especially bad. They were about knee-level, and I'm especially uncomfortable bending and kneeling right now. We were about seven and a half minutes into the job before I started feeling glum. Hopeless! The job is hopeless! We have bare studs for walls and sawdust-covered floors and roughed-in rafters, and BABY IS TEN WEEKS AWAY! I didn't say anything, because the more I panic the more Man worries, so I kept hammering away (by now I was in charge ot getting the nails out of the wood while Man insulated), feeling the despair well up, afraid of opening my mouth and afraid of tears starting to roll.
I felt angry and helpless and frustrated.... and then all of a sudden I didn't. I stopped thinking about it. It wasn't a concious decision, but I stopped dwelling on the enormous task ahead, and the looming Baby-imposed deadline, and soon we had the wall back together and the sawdust swept and we were out the door, arriving at the apartment to steaming chili in the crock pot and a loaf of sourdough bread as accompaniment.
If I can keep The Crazy at bay just a few more weeks, we'll start seeing major progress by way of walls and gyprock and paint and light fixtures... I can't wait.
Why wasn't the house insulated when it was built?
Because it's 80 years old, and insulation was a foreign word - they slapped layers of newspaper and, later, wallpaper over the cracks to keep out the wind.
We worked from the ground up, right to left. Man would pry off one end of the board, and I'd move to the left prying it off each stud until the whole thing was free. The first couple were especially bad. They were about knee-level, and I'm especially uncomfortable bending and kneeling right now. We were about seven and a half minutes into the job before I started feeling glum. Hopeless! The job is hopeless! We have bare studs for walls and sawdust-covered floors and roughed-in rafters, and BABY IS TEN WEEKS AWAY! I didn't say anything, because the more I panic the more Man worries, so I kept hammering away (by now I was in charge ot getting the nails out of the wood while Man insulated), feeling the despair well up, afraid of opening my mouth and afraid of tears starting to roll.
I felt angry and helpless and frustrated.... and then all of a sudden I didn't. I stopped thinking about it. It wasn't a concious decision, but I stopped dwelling on the enormous task ahead, and the looming Baby-imposed deadline, and soon we had the wall back together and the sawdust swept and we were out the door, arriving at the apartment to steaming chili in the crock pot and a loaf of sourdough bread as accompaniment.
If I can keep The Crazy at bay just a few more weeks, we'll start seeing major progress by way of walls and gyprock and paint and light fixtures... I can't wait.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Exercise: An exercise in avoiding the mirror (Alternative title: I get enough exercise just trying to get my damn swim suit on, thank you very much!)
I went swimming last night. I haven't been in a pool for ages - over a year, at least! I've swam in ponds and rivers (no oceans - far, far too cold). Needless to say, my swimsuit didn't exactly fit. I'm talking leg holes stretched up so far belly fat was escaping, and arm holes stretched so taut I had more sideboob on display than Bai Ling. It was not pretty. I ended up wearing the halter tank-top from my cutest two-piece ever, the one that USED TO hide my jelly-covered abs and show off my (formerly) lean back. It was Magic Suit - all my flaws gone in one swift woosh of black fabric! Last night, the top didn't quite cover my belly, so all my flaming read stretchmarks were on display if I wasn't careful. On the bright side, did I ever fill out the cups!
For bottoms, I chose a pair of black bikini briefs - nothing fancy, but the only swimsuit bottoms that didn't demand to constrict my thighs any further. They sat underneath my baby belly. I can only home my boobs were enough of a distraction.
I've read good things about maternity swimsuits - though I have yet to even see one in person. I am doubtful I'll find one in my neck of the woods, maternity shopping being limited to one rack of jeans and size extra-small tops (for real) at Wal-Mart. I will try on some big suits tonight, but I want that comfy pouch thing to keep my belly all snug. (Last night, the water would make my top ride up, so anyone with goggle on (read: EVERYONE) could see my belly doing its wobbly thing.)
At the pool, I was acting way more pregnant that usual - putting my hands on my belly, gingerly getting in and out of the water and trying to stick my belly out in a more pregnant manner. I'm not going to pretend it was easy to walk on deck twice my usual size wearing a suit that could only be described as "too small." I only hope the crowd got the "I'm PREGNANT, not FAT!" memo.
For bottoms, I chose a pair of black bikini briefs - nothing fancy, but the only swimsuit bottoms that didn't demand to constrict my thighs any further. They sat underneath my baby belly. I can only home my boobs were enough of a distraction.
I've read good things about maternity swimsuits - though I have yet to even see one in person. I am doubtful I'll find one in my neck of the woods, maternity shopping being limited to one rack of jeans and size extra-small tops (for real) at Wal-Mart. I will try on some big suits tonight, but I want that comfy pouch thing to keep my belly all snug. (Last night, the water would make my top ride up, so anyone with goggle on (read: EVERYONE) could see my belly doing its wobbly thing.)
At the pool, I was acting way more pregnant that usual - putting my hands on my belly, gingerly getting in and out of the water and trying to stick my belly out in a more pregnant manner. I'm not going to pretend it was easy to walk on deck twice my usual size wearing a suit that could only be described as "too small." I only hope the crowd got the "I'm PREGNANT, not FAT!" memo.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Making a list (or four)
For something so tiny, babies need a lot of stuff. I suppose I could resolve to carry my baby in a sling forever, thus eliminating the need for a stroller and car seat, but I do plan on travelling with Baby, and so the stroller and car seat will remain firmly in place on the ‘Need’ list.
I have four lists. Need. Want. Have. Buy later.
Under the ‘N’ for ‘Need’ is
Car seat
Stroller
Cover for car seat (I live in frigid McDamp land) – possibly to be usurped by a blanket.)
Headrest for car seat (checklists tell me these are essential, but don’t they come with car seats anyway?)
Baby Bjorn or Snugli (My heart is set on a Bjorn – used one, loved it – but my budget calls for a Snugli.)
Diaper bag (can’t I just use a regular overnight/carry-all bag?)
Swaddling blankets
Pacifiers (Hate. Hate. Accepting that I will probably learn to live with.)
Onesies and sleepers
Socks and hats
Bottles/brush/containers for milk (I have breastfeeding plans, but I know this whole gig is up to Baby, once s/he gets here)
Bibs (really? For a newborn?)
Nipple cream/ointment
Nursing wrap (again – can’t I just use a blanket?)
Baby shampoo and wash (My own shampoo is unscented organic – will this do?)
Grooming kit (ha! “Groom” a baby? Don’t you groom dogs and horses?)
Ear and rectal thermometers (I am a temperature-taking NINJA (read: a mite obsessed), I will definitely need these)
Baby sunscreen
Teething ring
Nasal bulb (ew ew ew. Do the bulbs fill up with…. Snot?)
Diapers
Wipes
Diaper rash cream
1st aid kit
infant meds (ie: baby Tylenol and gripe water)
laundry detergent (okay, I have this already, but here’s a reminder for me to pick some more up next time I’m at the grocery store, because I’m thisclose to being out and I still have to wash the cloth diapers a few hundred times.)
Bassinet sheets
Dresser (for baby clothes and changing table)
W-A-N-T spells Want
Diaper sprayer (cool cool cool!)
Fuzzi Bunx pocket diapers
Happy Heini’s pocket diapers
AMP diapers
Baby Bjorn
Maternity Jacket from Japanese weekend. (Love it. Love it so bad.)
On Layaway (a.k.a. Buy Later)
Crib sheets
High chair
Bumbo
Breast pump
Baby gate
Toys
Potty stuff
Step stool (love those things)
Own it – Have it
Baby bathtub (unexpectedly gifted from the new parents in the apartment above my office - they had two)
24 prefold diapers and 6 covers (purchased)
Cradle/bassinet (made by my grandfather for my cousin 30 years ago)
6 onesies in various sizes (gifts/thrift purchases)
2 outfits for 6-mo and up (gifts)
Rubber duck (gift)
1 pair socks (gift)
Mittens for 2-year-old (gift)
Hotslings sling (sized too small)
Two gliders and one rocking chair (scattered between houses)
Crib and mattress (Cousin's hand-me-downs)
Absorbent breast pads (cotton. love 'em. Using them already.)
Hmm, based on the size of the Baby Stuff pile in my spare room, I thought I had more than that. Thank goodness for Alpha Mom’s baby registry and a dozen other baby checklist sources. I love lists. I like CHECKlists even more.
While we're on the subject, here's a few more for the Need list (but not associated with Baby):
Washer and dryer
9-ft curtain rod
Curtains
New glasses
New UV lamp for my water filter
A well (not that pond water is bad, just that it's not good, either)
2 new car tires
Railings for my front and back decks (there are currently none. Scaree!)
Magic cleaner that cleans my shower and bathtub every day (Pond water is notorious for staining)
I have four lists. Need. Want. Have. Buy later.
Under the ‘N’ for ‘Need’ is
Car seat
Stroller
Cover for car seat (I live in frigid McDamp land) – possibly to be usurped by a blanket.)
Headrest for car seat (checklists tell me these are essential, but don’t they come with car seats anyway?)
Baby Bjorn or Snugli (My heart is set on a Bjorn – used one, loved it – but my budget calls for a Snugli.)
Diaper bag (can’t I just use a regular overnight/carry-all bag?)
Swaddling blankets
Pacifiers (Hate. Hate. Accepting that I will probably learn to live with.)
Onesies and sleepers
Socks and hats
Bottles/brush/containers for milk (I have breastfeeding plans, but I know this whole gig is up to Baby, once s/he gets here)
Bibs (really? For a newborn?)
Nipple cream/ointment
Nursing wrap (again – can’t I just use a blanket?)
Baby shampoo and wash (My own shampoo is unscented organic – will this do?)
Grooming kit (ha! “Groom” a baby? Don’t you groom dogs and horses?)
Ear and rectal thermometers (I am a temperature-taking NINJA (read: a mite obsessed), I will definitely need these)
Baby sunscreen
Teething ring
Nasal bulb (ew ew ew. Do the bulbs fill up with…. Snot?)
Diapers
Wipes
Diaper rash cream
1st aid kit
infant meds (ie: baby Tylenol and gripe water)
laundry detergent (okay, I have this already, but here’s a reminder for me to pick some more up next time I’m at the grocery store, because I’m thisclose to being out and I still have to wash the cloth diapers a few hundred times.)
Bassinet sheets
Dresser (for baby clothes and changing table)
W-A-N-T spells Want
Diaper sprayer (cool cool cool!)
Fuzzi Bunx pocket diapers
Happy Heini’s pocket diapers
AMP diapers
Baby Bjorn
Maternity Jacket from Japanese weekend. (Love it. Love it so bad.)
On Layaway (a.k.a. Buy Later)
Crib sheets
High chair
Bumbo
Breast pump
Baby gate
Toys
Potty stuff
Step stool (love those things)
Own it – Have it
Baby bathtub (unexpectedly gifted from the new parents in the apartment above my office - they had two)
24 prefold diapers and 6 covers (purchased)
Cradle/bassinet (made by my grandfather for my cousin 30 years ago)
6 onesies in various sizes (gifts/thrift purchases)
2 outfits for 6-mo and up (gifts)
Rubber duck (gift)
1 pair socks (gift)
Mittens for 2-year-old (gift)
Hotslings sling (sized too small)
Two gliders and one rocking chair (scattered between houses)
Crib and mattress (Cousin's hand-me-downs)
Absorbent breast pads (cotton. love 'em. Using them already.)
Hmm, based on the size of the Baby Stuff pile in my spare room, I thought I had more than that. Thank goodness for Alpha Mom’s baby registry and a dozen other baby checklist sources. I love lists. I like CHECKlists even more.
While we're on the subject, here's a few more for the Need list (but not associated with Baby):
Washer and dryer
9-ft curtain rod
Curtains
New glasses
New UV lamp for my water filter
A well (not that pond water is bad, just that it's not good, either)
2 new car tires
Railings for my front and back decks (there are currently none. Scaree!)
Magic cleaner that cleans my shower and bathtub every day (Pond water is notorious for staining)
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
One more advantage I have over my grandmother? A baby shower.
The thought of a baby shower stresses me out to the max, because I dislike being the centre of attention, and I especially dislike accepting gifts that people spent too much money on (and baby stuff is notoriously overpriced), and what if I unwrap a gift a positively loathe? How can I possible fake genuine appreciation? Oh god, the thought of a shower just works me up.
But two things changed.
1. Knowing that we can't possibly afford everything, and really I ought to take all the advice and equipment I can get.
2. Reading about a fabulous baby shower idea, one that made me immediately grab the phone and dial my mother, commandeering her into arranging: a Book baby shower! Where the guests all bring books for the baby! So Baby can have a fully stocked library right from the get-go! Now this is a baby shower I can live with.
So the baby-book shower is in.
Unfortunately I know a regular-type shower is inevitable (probably three of them, considering the location of my, my family and Man's family), and now I'm toying with the idea of registering for gifts.
I was adamant about not registering, until my cousins exalted the registry over Christmas dinner - and how easy it is to buy gifts when someone has a registry. Problem is, I live in BFNW (Butt-F-NoWhere), and the only registries I can take advantage of are online, or two hours away in the Big City.Given my rural roots and the prevalence of dial-up Internet (yes, dial-up) in this neck of the woods, I'm not inclined to pass on a URL with the invites.
On the other hand, I've seen what Walmart tries to pass off as cloth diapers around here.
On the third hand, I hear that Mother-to-be shouldn't actually have anything to do with shower planning, and therefore I can stop stressing abotu ettiquette of registries and invitations and entertaining and start having nightmares about how many clothespins I can hold in one hand instead.
But two things changed.
1. Knowing that we can't possibly afford everything, and really I ought to take all the advice and equipment I can get.
2. Reading about a fabulous baby shower idea, one that made me immediately grab the phone and dial my mother, commandeering her into arranging: a Book baby shower! Where the guests all bring books for the baby! So Baby can have a fully stocked library right from the get-go! Now this is a baby shower I can live with.
So the baby-book shower is in.
Unfortunately I know a regular-type shower is inevitable (probably three of them, considering the location of my, my family and Man's family), and now I'm toying with the idea of registering for gifts.
I was adamant about not registering, until my cousins exalted the registry over Christmas dinner - and how easy it is to buy gifts when someone has a registry. Problem is, I live in BFNW (Butt-F-NoWhere), and the only registries I can take advantage of are online, or two hours away in the Big City.Given my rural roots and the prevalence of dial-up Internet (yes, dial-up) in this neck of the woods, I'm not inclined to pass on a URL with the invites.
On the other hand, I've seen what Walmart tries to pass off as cloth diapers around here.
On the third hand, I hear that Mother-to-be shouldn't actually have anything to do with shower planning, and therefore I can stop stressing abotu ettiquette of registries and invitations and entertaining and start having nightmares about how many clothespins I can hold in one hand instead.
"When are you going to be over your trouble, my dear?"
That's what a great-aunt said to my aunt 26 years ago when she was pregnant with her first baby.
Trouble.
Because pregnancy in her time wasn't something to be celebrated - it was something to bear.
Pregnant women weren't encouraged to lounge on a lotus leaf, chanting about her body as a temple.
Heck, the word pregnant was rarely even uttered. Particularly in my corner of the world, women worked hard throughout their pregnancies, salting fish, baking bread, washing clothes and chasing other kids out of the house. When the time came, the men went down to the wharf and the midwife or the woman's own mother (sometimes both, sometimes they were one in the same) moved in to help with delivery. Once baby was washed, swaddled and fed, the woman had a few days in bed before resuming her usual daily chores.
Trouble is all it was.An interruption to the work that had to be done.
Last month I visited my grandparents, and Mom, Grandma, an aunt and cousin and I all sat around discussing labour and delivery and general baby things. Labour is on my mind a lot, being somewhat (okay, a lot) terrified of needles, but I talk myself through the panic by telling myself women have been doing this - and surviving - for YEARS. I have nothing to worry about. During this family gathering, I voiced this opinion, saying something along the lines of, "not much has changed since you had your kids, Grandma - it's all the same equipment down there."
'Yes,' my grandfather piped up. 'And this reminds me just of the conversations we would have had, sitting around waiting for your father to be born, too."
He was trying to be funny. Because of course women may have discussed childbirth, but certainly not in the company of men, and probably not to the same analytical degree I was attacking it that evening.
I'm struck by the difference between my grandparents' generation and my own. Older women are likely to put their hands on my belly and predict boy or girl. Younger women ask if the can touch - yes - and ask, 'do you know what you're having?'
'A baby,' I invariably reply.
Some are insulted. Others laugh. But really, does it matter what I'm having? It's not like we're rushing out the paint the nursery pink or blue, and we definitely can't take the kid back and trade it in for a different model if we aren't satisfied with out purchase. I feel pretty strongly about this last hold out to the olden days of pregnancy - when the sex of the baby was a surprise till the end.
I'm glad Trouble is no longer a euphemism for Pregnancy. I am happy to stick out my tummy and let strangers rub the bump and be happy about becoming a mother and all. But I'm not ready to lounge on a lotus leaf either. After all, there are some things that are just plain troublesome - the heartburn and the restless legs, to name a few.
In other news, I am positively PANICKED about affording this kid and all its paraphenalia. Heading over to AlphaMom to make a list of Baby Essentials and consider registering at a few places for baby things.
Trouble.
Because pregnancy in her time wasn't something to be celebrated - it was something to bear.
Pregnant women weren't encouraged to lounge on a lotus leaf, chanting about her body as a temple.
Heck, the word pregnant was rarely even uttered. Particularly in my corner of the world, women worked hard throughout their pregnancies, salting fish, baking bread, washing clothes and chasing other kids out of the house. When the time came, the men went down to the wharf and the midwife or the woman's own mother (sometimes both, sometimes they were one in the same) moved in to help with delivery. Once baby was washed, swaddled and fed, the woman had a few days in bed before resuming her usual daily chores.
Trouble is all it was.An interruption to the work that had to be done.
Last month I visited my grandparents, and Mom, Grandma, an aunt and cousin and I all sat around discussing labour and delivery and general baby things. Labour is on my mind a lot, being somewhat (okay, a lot) terrified of needles, but I talk myself through the panic by telling myself women have been doing this - and surviving - for YEARS. I have nothing to worry about. During this family gathering, I voiced this opinion, saying something along the lines of, "not much has changed since you had your kids, Grandma - it's all the same equipment down there."
'Yes,' my grandfather piped up. 'And this reminds me just of the conversations we would have had, sitting around waiting for your father to be born, too."
He was trying to be funny. Because of course women may have discussed childbirth, but certainly not in the company of men, and probably not to the same analytical degree I was attacking it that evening.
I'm struck by the difference between my grandparents' generation and my own. Older women are likely to put their hands on my belly and predict boy or girl. Younger women ask if the can touch - yes - and ask, 'do you know what you're having?'
'A baby,' I invariably reply.
Some are insulted. Others laugh. But really, does it matter what I'm having? It's not like we're rushing out the paint the nursery pink or blue, and we definitely can't take the kid back and trade it in for a different model if we aren't satisfied with out purchase. I feel pretty strongly about this last hold out to the olden days of pregnancy - when the sex of the baby was a surprise till the end.
I'm glad Trouble is no longer a euphemism for Pregnancy. I am happy to stick out my tummy and let strangers rub the bump and be happy about becoming a mother and all. But I'm not ready to lounge on a lotus leaf either. After all, there are some things that are just plain troublesome - the heartburn and the restless legs, to name a few.
In other news, I am positively PANICKED about affording this kid and all its paraphenalia. Heading over to AlphaMom to make a list of Baby Essentials and consider registering at a few places for baby things.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A few things on my mind
First off, the ultrasound was FINE. I knew the technician, so we chatted about mutual interests while he measured Baby's heart, liver, lungs, umbilical cord, etc. etc. Then Man joined us and we really got a show - Baby was stretching and running on the spot, and even waving. The tech could see his or her eyes moving, but I couldn't see through the static all that well. Baby also kept moving - rolling from side to side as we tried to get a look at its feet. When it was running (it was head-down and face-down in my uterus, the perfect birthing position, in fact) I could feel its feet tapping on the inside of my belly button. It was out of this world! I could have watched the monitor all day, despite my protesting bladded. 470ml of water is a cruel amount to make a pregnant lady drink in one go.
To address my fears, this is what I know:
Baby is NOT molar or malignant.
Baby is NOT ectopic.
Baby is NOT twins.
Baby is NOT triplets.
Baby has two arms and two legs, but I forgot to ask about the ears.
The technician did NOT say "Hmmmm, that's strange...," nor did he summon a radiologist.
There IS a baby.
The placenta is well placed on the front of my abdomen (except it cushions the baby's movements, so I don't feel it moving as much as I would if the placenta were in a different spot. But this is a good thing, because if there's any future problems with the placenta they will be very easily spotted by ultrasound).
The placenta is growing fine - It's bigger and softer-looking and more pillowy-like than I expected.
Baby's heart IS beating, at 144bpm
Baby doesn't exactly breath yet, but he or she IS swallowing/hiccuping as it should be.
The ultrasound machine worked just fine.
The ultrasound tech HAD the swine flu two weeks ago. My appointment was right on time.
Until my doctor gets the detailed report from the radiologist, I won't know about other rare and not-so-rare things that may be wrong. I've got 3 more days to wait, but I'm feeling pretty good.
So THAT part of being a mom is a little easier now. The worry-about-Baby part.
The worry-about-paying-for-Baby is a whole different story.
I mean, how do people DO it? I'm fortunate in that I will be able to collect maternity benefits at 55 per cent of my salary, plus an additional $100 (approximately) per month as the child tax benefit. All of that will add up to about half of what I make now when you take away taxes. I barely scrape by as it is. Some bills will be less costly, like gas and entertainment, but the essential ones - mortgage, telephone, light, insurance - will all stay the same. In fact, insurance will go UP a little bit thanks to Baby. I must look into this.
Man is around in body and spirit, but he has precious little money of his own to help out with Baby. On top of that, there is the small matter of my fierce independence, especially when it comes to moolah. I bought my own house at 24, didn't I? My older sister still gets an allowance of sorts from my parents, but I haven't asked for a dime in more than two years. This is a matter of pride, and a matter of my own peace-of-mind. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I understand that if ever there was a time to ask for help, this would be it, but I'm trying to do everything I can to get my finances in line before I put a hand out.
For example, I applied for interest-relief on my student loan. Three and a half months ago. By phone, they told I was approved and would have to make no payments for the next six months. Awesome. Last week, I get a "You are $600 past due" notice from the collections agency! So I got on the phone and I got frustrated, and the best answer I got was to pay the outstanding interest and suck it up. This month I've already bought a new water pump and paid for routine car maintenance - I just don't HAVE $150 in un-earmarked cash to pay to the government that already told me I wouldn't have to pay! I could take it out of Baby's account, but I'm very reluctant to do that.
I've also set up Baby's account to put aside money ever paycheck, so I can have SOME kind of cushion when Baby is born. In fact, the bank was the second person I told the News to, when I went to set up that account.
Problem is, while I'm busy worrying about ectopic pregnancies and ohmygodwhatwasthatshootingpaininmyabdomen?, I'm ALSO worrying about money. And the books say that's the dad's job. Actually, the books say it's an equal worry, but that men tend to do more thinking than women in this department because women are too preoccupied with having a baby in their tummy. So not only do I have all the typical worries of health and stretch marks, I'm purely panicking over the money tree that hasn't flowered in my backyard yet, despite all my watering and prayers. I know Man shares many of these worries. I just wish he could do something about them. Basically, anything we do when it comes to Baby, we have to do on my budget.
In the grocery store line up, I picked up one of the colourful celebrity magazines to pass the time. Apparently, Katie Holmes got $3 million for giving birth to their first child. She's asking for $10 million to get pregnant a second time. My womb is worth at least that, being young and healthy and cared for with so much fresh air and home-grown produce:
*this is not my baby, or my belly.
I'll upload the real deal when I get the pictures scanned.
To address my fears, this is what I know:
Baby is NOT molar or malignant.
Baby is NOT ectopic.
Baby is NOT twins.
Baby is NOT triplets.
Baby has two arms and two legs, but I forgot to ask about the ears.
The technician did NOT say "Hmmmm, that's strange...," nor did he summon a radiologist.
There IS a baby.
The placenta is well placed on the front of my abdomen (except it cushions the baby's movements, so I don't feel it moving as much as I would if the placenta were in a different spot. But this is a good thing, because if there's any future problems with the placenta they will be very easily spotted by ultrasound).
The placenta is growing fine - It's bigger and softer-looking and more pillowy-like than I expected.
Baby's heart IS beating, at 144bpm
Baby doesn't exactly breath yet, but he or she IS swallowing/hiccuping as it should be.
The ultrasound machine worked just fine.
The ultrasound tech HAD the swine flu two weeks ago. My appointment was right on time.
Until my doctor gets the detailed report from the radiologist, I won't know about other rare and not-so-rare things that may be wrong. I've got 3 more days to wait, but I'm feeling pretty good.
So THAT part of being a mom is a little easier now. The worry-about-Baby part.
The worry-about-paying-for-Baby is a whole different story.
I mean, how do people DO it? I'm fortunate in that I will be able to collect maternity benefits at 55 per cent of my salary, plus an additional $100 (approximately) per month as the child tax benefit. All of that will add up to about half of what I make now when you take away taxes. I barely scrape by as it is. Some bills will be less costly, like gas and entertainment, but the essential ones - mortgage, telephone, light, insurance - will all stay the same. In fact, insurance will go UP a little bit thanks to Baby. I must look into this.
Man is around in body and spirit, but he has precious little money of his own to help out with Baby. On top of that, there is the small matter of my fierce independence, especially when it comes to moolah. I bought my own house at 24, didn't I? My older sister still gets an allowance of sorts from my parents, but I haven't asked for a dime in more than two years. This is a matter of pride, and a matter of my own peace-of-mind. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I understand that if ever there was a time to ask for help, this would be it, but I'm trying to do everything I can to get my finances in line before I put a hand out.
For example, I applied for interest-relief on my student loan. Three and a half months ago. By phone, they told I was approved and would have to make no payments for the next six months. Awesome. Last week, I get a "You are $600 past due" notice from the collections agency! So I got on the phone and I got frustrated, and the best answer I got was to pay the outstanding interest and suck it up. This month I've already bought a new water pump and paid for routine car maintenance - I just don't HAVE $150 in un-earmarked cash to pay to the government that already told me I wouldn't have to pay! I could take it out of Baby's account, but I'm very reluctant to do that.
I've also set up Baby's account to put aside money ever paycheck, so I can have SOME kind of cushion when Baby is born. In fact, the bank was the second person I told the News to, when I went to set up that account.
Problem is, while I'm busy worrying about ectopic pregnancies and ohmygodwhatwasthatshootingpaininmyabdomen?, I'm ALSO worrying about money. And the books say that's the dad's job. Actually, the books say it's an equal worry, but that men tend to do more thinking than women in this department because women are too preoccupied with having a baby in their tummy. So not only do I have all the typical worries of health and stretch marks, I'm purely panicking over the money tree that hasn't flowered in my backyard yet, despite all my watering and prayers. I know Man shares many of these worries. I just wish he could do something about them. Basically, anything we do when it comes to Baby, we have to do on my budget.
In the grocery store line up, I picked up one of the colourful celebrity magazines to pass the time. Apparently, Katie Holmes got $3 million for giving birth to their first child. She's asking for $10 million to get pregnant a second time. My womb is worth at least that, being young and healthy and cared for with so much fresh air and home-grown produce:
Now all I need is the cash. I'm auctioning off these strawberries, starting bid $100,000. Anyone? Anyone?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Ultrasound
It's a scary day. I was excited right up until yesterday lunch time, then I got scared. Today (in 3 hours) I will have my belly exposed and sound waves knocking off my bladder and, hopefully, my baby. It's ultrasound time. I'm 18 weeks and a couple days pregnant, and so far I've had no problems. But this is the first true test, I guess. And I'm scared.
What if it's a molar pregnancy? And it's already turned malignant?
What is it's an etopic pregnancy? Wouldn't I have felt that by now?
What if it's twins, and they are not growing properly?
What if it's triplets, and they are not growing properly?
What is it doesn't have all its arms and legs and ears?
What if the ultrasound tech says 'Hmmm, that's strange..." and goes to get a doctor?
What if there is no baby?
What if I have placenta previa?
What if the placenta is deficient?
What if the heart is not beating?
What if it's not breathing?
What if the ultrasound machine isn't working?
What if the tech has swine flu and my appointment is postponed?
What if there's something else completely wrong with Baby, something so rare that I haven't even read about it in any of my books?
This mother stuff is hard.
What if it's a molar pregnancy? And it's already turned malignant?
What is it's an etopic pregnancy? Wouldn't I have felt that by now?
What if it's twins, and they are not growing properly?
What if it's triplets, and they are not growing properly?
What is it doesn't have all its arms and legs and ears?
What if the ultrasound tech says 'Hmmm, that's strange..." and goes to get a doctor?
What if there is no baby?
What if I have placenta previa?
What if the placenta is deficient?
What if the heart is not beating?
What if it's not breathing?
What if the ultrasound machine isn't working?
What if the tech has swine flu and my appointment is postponed?
What if there's something else completely wrong with Baby, something so rare that I haven't even read about it in any of my books?
This mother stuff is hard.
Monday, November 2, 2009
It's crazy time
I've been careful not to fall into pregnancy-stereotype-madness. I only use the excuse "But I'm pregnant!" when I really need it. (i.e: when Canadian Tire tried to sell me oil-based primer. Umm... I don't believe oil paint is healthy at the best of times. And I will definitely take my mother up on her offer to strip the last remaining wallpaper border from my house (see: wallpaper bordering, crimes of)). I haven't had any serious cravings, so I can't claim 'Baby wants it!" when I get a hankering for pizza. (Actually, what Baby wants most is mashed potatoes. I'm the one that wants pizza).
I also thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping a even keel. No major freak-outs. No driving into ditches (a la my friend, mother of 3). All in all, I didn't think pregnancy had changed me much. Apart from my new-found adoration of mashed potatoes, of course.
On Friday, all that changed. My friend and colleague has left for greener pastures in the Big City. Friday was his last day at work, and we got together that night for tunes, drinks (of the juice variety for me) and cake.
I found out I was pregnant in early August. I was 4 and a half weeks along, and I waited two more months to tell the office. (I would have waited longer if it wasn't such a gd small town - I was afraid they'd hear it on the street before they heard it from me). Anyway, I told my boss in private, and she called a staff meeting to announce it to the office. (We are an office of seven women and, until last Friday, one man). Reactions were predictable - the mothers shrilled with glee, there were hugs and questions and best wishes and choruses of "how long have you know?! Why didn't you tell us sooner!" etc. etc...
Friday night, we were reminiscing on the past two years, and my two months of pregnancy-secrecy came up. I was quite proud of myself for keeping mum (I am the WORST secret-keeper in the history of secret-keepers). The women were shocked that they didn't figure it out for themselves. (Though two of them admitted they thought I was getting a little think around the middle). The man? His take on those two months was, "I just thought you were being a really big bitch."
Wow. Let dooowwwwwwwn.
"But... but..." I stuttered. "I wasn't that bad!"
"hoo-ee," he exhaled.
"I APOLOGIZED for the dictionary!" I cried.
The Dictionary Incident happened the day before I peed on a stick. We're an office of writers, and he had passed me some copy to proof. I picked up on a word (I don't know what one) what had been misused. I'm pretty sure it was a synonym problem, where the word sounded right but meant something completely different. (My favourite example? Troupe and troop. Ie: The troupes moved in for an assault. Heh heh heh.)
So I marked the error and handed the copy back. Minutes later, he e-mailed "You can troop all you want. I'm going to troupe" (or something. It was a lot funnier when he used the actual word we're talking about here). Except I didn't find it very funny. In fact, I didn't think it was funny at all. I wanted the CORRECT word there, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I picked up my Canadian OED and stormed across the hall. Pushed open his (glass) office door, slammed the dictionary (paperback) on his desk and shouted "Use a FUCKING dictionary!"
Needless to say, that day didn't end well. It was deadline day, and tensions were running high. In fact, that evening the manager asked me if I was pregnant. I said no, no way. but I went home that night and thought about it, and took a test the next morning.
I knew the Dictionary Incident was out of character, and I decided right then I'd apologize the day I told him The News. That day was two months later, but my colleague hadn't forgotten. Neither has he forgotten all my other hormone-charged bouts of the crazies.
I've apparently airbrused all my insanity from the record, and for that I give myself and absolute discharge.
So maybe there's something to this pregnancy-insanity thing. (see: The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine, Chapter 1). I'll cut myself some slack, and not get too upset when I find myself acting just like the books say I will.
I just hate being predictable.
I also thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping a even keel. No major freak-outs. No driving into ditches (a la my friend, mother of 3). All in all, I didn't think pregnancy had changed me much. Apart from my new-found adoration of mashed potatoes, of course.
On Friday, all that changed. My friend and colleague has left for greener pastures in the Big City. Friday was his last day at work, and we got together that night for tunes, drinks (of the juice variety for me) and cake.
I found out I was pregnant in early August. I was 4 and a half weeks along, and I waited two more months to tell the office. (I would have waited longer if it wasn't such a gd small town - I was afraid they'd hear it on the street before they heard it from me). Anyway, I told my boss in private, and she called a staff meeting to announce it to the office. (We are an office of seven women and, until last Friday, one man). Reactions were predictable - the mothers shrilled with glee, there were hugs and questions and best wishes and choruses of "how long have you know?! Why didn't you tell us sooner!" etc. etc...
Friday night, we were reminiscing on the past two years, and my two months of pregnancy-secrecy came up. I was quite proud of myself for keeping mum (I am the WORST secret-keeper in the history of secret-keepers). The women were shocked that they didn't figure it out for themselves. (Though two of them admitted they thought I was getting a little think around the middle). The man? His take on those two months was, "I just thought you were being a really big bitch."
Wow. Let dooowwwwwwwn.
"But... but..." I stuttered. "I wasn't that bad!"
"hoo-ee," he exhaled.
"I APOLOGIZED for the dictionary!" I cried.
The Dictionary Incident happened the day before I peed on a stick. We're an office of writers, and he had passed me some copy to proof. I picked up on a word (I don't know what one) what had been misused. I'm pretty sure it was a synonym problem, where the word sounded right but meant something completely different. (My favourite example? Troupe and troop. Ie: The troupes moved in for an assault. Heh heh heh.)
So I marked the error and handed the copy back. Minutes later, he e-mailed "You can troop all you want. I'm going to troupe" (or something. It was a lot funnier when he used the actual word we're talking about here). Except I didn't find it very funny. In fact, I didn't think it was funny at all. I wanted the CORRECT word there, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I picked up my Canadian OED and stormed across the hall. Pushed open his (glass) office door, slammed the dictionary (paperback) on his desk and shouted "Use a FUCKING dictionary!"
Needless to say, that day didn't end well. It was deadline day, and tensions were running high. In fact, that evening the manager asked me if I was pregnant. I said no, no way. but I went home that night and thought about it, and took a test the next morning.
I knew the Dictionary Incident was out of character, and I decided right then I'd apologize the day I told him The News. That day was two months later, but my colleague hadn't forgotten. Neither has he forgotten all my other hormone-charged bouts of the crazies.
I've apparently airbrused all my insanity from the record, and for that I give myself and absolute discharge.
So maybe there's something to this pregnancy-insanity thing. (see: The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine, Chapter 1). I'll cut myself some slack, and not get too upset when I find myself acting just like the books say I will.
I just hate being predictable.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The "joys" of home ownership
My dishwasher is broken. Yesterday, it was the water pump. Last week, it was the UV filter. For six excruciating weeks this summer, it was my oven.
This is not what I signed up for when I signed my mortgage papers.
In the past nine months, the "joys" of home ownership have manifested themselves as a temperamental garage-door opener, a broken washing machine, an oven on the blink, the same oven that finally gave up the ghost, a smoke-filled basement, a leaky dishwasher, and two fried water pumps. And that's just the appliances.
But today it's my dishwasher. The day the Man In My Life left to go moosehunting, on the eve of my father heading to the nation's capital on business, and the morning after the only man in the office left town for good.
Don't get me wrong - I paint my own walls, clean my own chimney and mow my own lawn. But I leave electrical stuff to those who can at least pretend to know what they're doing. In general, those people are the men in my life.
Here's how I dealt with theuseless piece of crap dishwasher today: I ran it twice. Pretty clever, huh? Now instead of mildly sudsy dishes, there is caked-on crud baked into the porcelain and glassware. Apparently, the water supply to the dishwasher is compromised. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fried water pump of yesterday? It's been replaced (I sprang for a new one this time), but the flow just isn't what it used to be. For this same reason, I am coming up on three days without a shower.
My hair is surprisingly lush.
That could just be the pregnancy hormones.
A word to the wise? Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dishwasher. That's right, Water Flow, I'm talking to you.
This is not what I signed up for when I signed my mortgage papers.
In the past nine months, the "joys" of home ownership have manifested themselves as a temperamental garage-door opener, a broken washing machine, an oven on the blink, the same oven that finally gave up the ghost, a smoke-filled basement, a leaky dishwasher, and two fried water pumps. And that's just the appliances.
But today it's my dishwasher. The day the Man In My Life left to go moosehunting, on the eve of my father heading to the nation's capital on business, and the morning after the only man in the office left town for good.
Don't get me wrong - I paint my own walls, clean my own chimney and mow my own lawn. But I leave electrical stuff to those who can at least pretend to know what they're doing. In general, those people are the men in my life.
Here's how I dealt with the
My hair is surprisingly lush.
That could just be the pregnancy hormones.
A word to the wise? Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dishwasher. That's right, Water Flow, I'm talking to you.
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