Things I hope for

I guess the reality of it all finally starting to settle in. It seemed like a weird dream for so many months, even as I felt the beginning flutters of movement and heard a hearbeat, it still didn't feel real. But, it started to sink in the other day as we were looking at old ultrasound pictures of her; that I am hatching a human inside me. And to think, I used to think it was cool to watch my Sea Monkeys grow. So, with all the thinking and anxiety, and lack of sleep, and bigger clothes, I have been a touch more hormonal than I have been the last two trimesters. An attorney said to me the other day, "you are a mother from the moment you find out you are pregnant because you immediately start rearranging your life and caring for your child." He went on to tell me how that sort of thinking never stops because his 20 year-old daughter is home from college and his wife is already rerranging her schedule around her daughter's. And even my mom juggles some appointments around so she can come to doctor's appointments and ultrasounds with me.

I have begun to hope for things. Mainly, hoping that we're doing everything right so far. Sure, I am good about my vitamins, taking it easy when I know I'm tapped out, eating right and frequently (from the size of my butt), getting superb prenatal care, supporting her growth; but I have a wishlist of things that I hope she's getting while she's baking.

I hope that she:

Recognizes our voices and knows how to tell them apart from the ones she hears in Court everyday.

Is not affected by all the crazy stuff she hears everyday.

Is aware how much she is loved already by grandparents, nephews, aunts and uncles.

Can tell how much her daddy makes her mommy laugh and what a wonderful, patient soul he is and if she is smart, she will find a man just like him.

Knows that her parents are pretty laid back and want what's best for her but know there will be mistakes and bumps along the way.

Understands that we're new at this too and we're scared.

She has a good sense of humor.

She has a good head on her shoulders.

She'll be curious but cautious.

She knows that we are doing our best to teach her what we learned.

That not a day goes by when we don't look at her picture and dream about finally holding her.

That we have tons of stuff we can't wait to show her and places to take her.

She gets along with everyone and makes friends as easily as her mom and dad.

Has the common sense to tell who she can trust and who to stay away from.

That we have tons of stories and pictures to share with her about the love and memories that got her to this place.

That I may complain about the kicking and the big belly but I love knowing she is with me and I am never alone.

It ain't over until mom pees her pants

A common scene in our house these days.

Lisa: ***ACHOOO***
Stew: Bless you, Lulu.
Lisa: Thank you. Will you go upstairs and bring me new underwear, please.

The craving that turned me into a stark raving lunatic

So, I finally came to grips with the fact that the scale is going to go up. That my clothes are going to get tight. That I was going o start craving things that are usually foreign to my diet. And that I would think about dinner right after I ate breakfast. After coming to grips with this, I sort of just said, "Okay, screw it, I'm going to go with it and indulge my cravings in moderation." Easy right?

Wrong. Because the world is against me.

I don't particularly care for milk. I also don't particularly care for ice cream (I am more of a cake girl) but one end of summer day, all I wanted after a nice lunch by the water was a kid's cone at Dairy Queen with butterscotch Dip-it. Granted, it's specific but not really because since I have been born Dip-it has been around at the local DQ. Stew was trying to push me towards an ice cream place a bit closer to home because he is a big believer in supporting smaller, local stores. And so am I. Except our smaller, local ice cream shop was closed and after peering through the door, we determined they also did not have butterscotch Dip-it.

Hi-ho- hi-ho, it's off to DQ we go. It was mobbed. We waited in line. Finally, it's my turn and I asked for a vanilla kid's cone with butterscotch Dip-it. I swear the baby kicked me or did some sort of a backflip because he/she also got very excited for the taste of creamy ice cream smothered in a buttery sweet shell. And that first lick is almost the best because your tongue pressed the not quite hard yet shell into the ice cream and swirls a bit.

"We don't have butterscotch," The DQ guy said. "Only chocolate Dip-it."

I looked at Stew. This always happens to me. When I want something, it suddenly disappears from existence sometimes for a day or two and sometimes FOREVER.

"What? Why not? What if I wait until you make more?" I ask.

"We're out of it," The DQ guy AKA the RUINER OF DREAMS said.

I settled for chocolate (reluctantly) and finished it in about 8 bites. However, the whole ride home I am ruminating on this peculiar fact. "No butterscotch? How the F can they be out of butterscotch Dip-it? That, like, NEVER happens but it happens now, why? Because I wanted it, that's why. I'm cursed. Can I have some of your blizzard?"

Cut two a few weeks later. I wake up after a long, salty, oily dream dream about Cosi's Veggie Muffalatta sandwich. For those of you who are not familiar with this gem, I will explain. Imagine a big thick slice of eggplant, banana peppers, green onions, olives and provolone and Romano cheese in an olive oil vinaigrette dressing on Cosi's 7 grain flat bread. YUM!!! I know that veggies are hardly anything to get excited about but I LOVE this sandwich. The only drawback is, they usually dump so much oil on it, it immediately flips my stomach and sends me RUNNING to the nearest bathroom a half hour after eating it. My mom says it is responsible for making her sick for 6 weeks after she insanely asked fro EXTRA OIL and dumped it over the whole sandwich.

Depending on which employee is working the register, I can get it made without the oil or just very minimal oil. Altho' one day the manager tried to tell me that the oil was already premixed in and they can't remove it. "Well, that is funny," I said, "because sometimes i get it so dry that it only leaks pepper juice when I take a bite." Then again, this is the place that lists "dried cranberries" on their "create-your-own-salad" list but calls them Craisins on the register keys and leads every employee on a wild goose hunt looking for the "dried cranberries" key until I say, "It's the Craisins button."

So, anyway, Monday morning I woke up with a serious craving for my veggie Muffalatta. The entire time I am at physical therapy, all I am thinking about between strengthening exercises is how salty and wonderful that muffalatta is going to taste. I even have the brilliant idea of adding MORE hot peppers to it from my personal stash at home. Driving home, I am feeling slight guilt for having 3.5 lbs of meatloaf leftover in my fridge but I feel the baby twist and turn and remember why I want the muffalatta. What kind of mom would I be if I didn't give my baby what it wanted before it was too old to throw in-store tantrums? So, i pull off the exit closest to Cosi and walk in.

A few days ago, I got an e-mail from Cosi (because I have a Dough rewards card and when I registered, I gave them my email). Anyway, the e-mail was the usual seasonal introduction of new sandwiches. These new sandwiches are usually only limited edition sandwiches that never taste as good as they sound. The new sandwiches being introduced for the fall was a pulled pork sandwich sure to disappoint any pulled pork enthusiast and a fire roasted vegetable sandwich which sounded good until I got to the part about red and green peppers (I hate red peppers and if I know Cosi there is probably no way to get that sandwich without red peppers).

I walk in and quickly notice there is no free bread samples so I decide to linger by the menu for a bit until they put more out eventho I know damn well what i want and how I want it. Then, I notice it. The veggie muffalatta is noticeably absent from the menu. I go over to another menu to make sure I wasn't just looking at a defective menu. It wasn't on that menu either. Still unwilling to believe this might be happening, I went up toa cashier and asked her if they sell the veggie muffalatta anymore.

"Nooooooooooooo," she says. Well, actually, she said it quite normally but it echoed in my head as my entire butterscotch Dip-it covered universe caved in right before my eyes.

Now, I should have left. No, actually, I should have asked to speak to a manager and thrown my rewards key fob card at him and ask him what the fuck is the matter with this place. Why bring in something as shitteriffic as a pulled pork, keep something as offensive as BBQ chicken pizza and get rid of the muffallatta? But, the bread man just put out a heaping tray of warm sample bread and I had already helped myself to two heaping handfuls before I could think to do this. Dough bastards.

I looked over the menu again and tried to see what else tweaked me because now I ate their bread (knocking two small kids out of the way to get to said bread) and I felt guilty. I asked how the fire roasted veggie sandwich was and the cashier said "better than the muffalatta." Bitch.

"Can it be made without red peppers because I am very allergic to red peppers." (I'm not, but I learned that people listen to this request more than just saying you hate them because they don't want you dying in their establishment). I asked.

"Sure can," she said. "I just have to find the no peppers button."

"I'm betting there isn't one," I said TO MYSELF.

"There isn't one," she said. "I'll just put no red onions and they'll know."

Um. I'm not even going to question that. But, knowing that i was going to get a completely fucked up sandwich that I would end up pawning off on Stew, I also ordered a wasabi roast beef.

I waited by the counter and sure enough they handed me a bag with one sandwich in it and sent me on my way until I showed them my receipt that says TWO SANDWICHES. They quickly made the wasabi roast beef and I went on my way home. And of course, there were red peppers in my sandwich but no red onions and it was awful. I called my mom to express my rage. My dad answered.

"Dad, you are never going to believe this. Cosi stopped selling the veggie muffalatta!" I expected SOME sympathy from dad.

"Why? Because it made too many people's asses explode?" He asked.

"Probably, but still," I whined.

Seeing that i was getting nowhere, I hung up vowing to write Cosi a letter about this and demanding they bring it back. I don't care how many people's asses exploded from it, including mine.

Last night, after a nice greasy burger at Benny's I decided to cure my disappointment from Cosi by taking a trip to Dairy Queen again. Maybe this time they would have my butterscotch Dip-it. All I had to do was mention DQ and Stew was game. He was even more excited when I said it was my treat. We got in line and I ordered my medium vanilla with butterscotch Dip-it.

"We only have chocolate Dip-it" Mr. DQ said.

I wanted answers.

"Again? Are you just out of butterscotch or are you ever going to have it again? This is the second time?!?!?!"

"They took away our butterscotch and cherry until they could find us some made without transfat," Mr. DQ explained.

Then it hit me. Transfats must make your ass explode.

My husband is hormonal too

Nice, so apparently Stew is pregnant too. Yesterday, we both attacked some poor girl who was too stupid and self centered to know what she was doing wrong and was fully deserving of an attack in my book. Usually, I am the one to snap and Stew sits by trying to calm me down. But, this time, he joined in.

We were on our way to the starbucks next door when we encountered a girl in an Audi parked very poorly in the firelane outside CVS. In fact she wasn't even parked in the firelane as she was about a foot away from it. And she was also parked extremely crooked. There was a car behind her trying to get by her and my car trying to get by her and she refused to budge completey bocking the fow of traffic.

Stew started it. He started motioning for her to move and if she could hear him talking calmly, she may have heard him say, "move dummy." Then I started motioning for her to move but a bit more animated (read: psychotically) than Stew. If anyone knows me and has read previous rants on the ways of inconsiderate douchebags, they would know that parking in the firelane in the Newfield Shopping Center parking lot cutting off access to traffic who are not too f-ing lazy to find a spot and walk the few steps to their destination is right up there with bumping into me and not saying "sorry." And I'm pretty low on patience on any given day but even more so now.

Audi girl stared at us like a deer in headlights and started inching forward like that was going to allow for enough room for two cars to pass her. My window was rolled down a bit and even though her's was up all the way, I am sure my voice was loud enough to be carried through the lot when I began screaming that the firelane was not a parking space. Finally she stepped on the gas and took off allowing for a smooth flow of traffic again.

All night long laughed that my mild mannered husband finally joined me in a hormonal outrage. I was as proud as a mamma bear could be.

You may not want to watch, this isn't going to be pretty

I hate most of my underwear. I like them at first. Buy dozens of pairs. And then I wash them a few times or I gain a few pounds and I hate them again. They feel constricting. They rub my scars the wrong way. A few steps results in a wedgie. And now that i constantly feel bloated, I feel them cutting into me something fierce. So, the thought of being pregnant meant that I was well within my right to break out the granny panties that I save only for when Aunt Flow visits and wear them everyday. Of course, they are still cute GAP boyshort underwear but they are left over from my super fat days so they are nice and roomy considering a once larger body filled them and they are stretched to maximum capacity. I only have 4 pairs left so I do a lot of laundry and they are starting to show lots of wear and tear which makes me sad.

Anyway, I got a Kohl's circular in the mail last week so I made Stew go with me after dinner telling him that I really wanted to buy some really big giant underwear. Yup, nothing says "check that fun couple out, I wanna be like them" like a nice Mexican meal followed by midnight excursions to Kohl's. Yeeeeehaaa! Stew left me alone in the store for a little while but then he got bored and found me. I hadn't even made it to the bra/underwear section yet. It's sort of depressing shopping now because I know in a few months or less whatever I buy will make its way to the back of the closet and never be worn again for a very long time.

After picking up what appeared to be a very large and comfy nightgown I informed Stew that I was going to go look at underwear. I saw his eyes light up and then I dashed his hopes and dreams by informing him that they would be REALLY BIG undewear. "You may not want to watch, this won't be pretty," I said waving my hand towards a department he might enjoy more until I realized my hand was waving towards the purse section. Hell, even that was was going to be better than what I was about to do which was defile any notion of sexiness I had left in my marriage. He took the hint and walked away.

He returned a short time later while I was trying to decide if I should just go big or ALL OUT BIG. I decided to go ALL out and we made our way to the register. And to add insult to injury, I asked him for his Khol's card to pay because I had a coupon for an extra 15% off that I could only use with a card. Hey, I paid the bill when it came. I'm not that cruel.

The next morning after I my shower, I tore into my package of new underwear. I marveled at exactly how big they were which appeared to be about half the size of my pillow. I put them on and pulled them up to my neck. I still had plenty of room in my droopy drawers. Overcome with how comfortable they were, I began to dance around and swivel my hips like Elvis watching the excess fabric wave in the breeze. I stood at the top of the stairs and saw Stew plugging away on his laptop.

"Oh, Steee----ewwwww," I said. And when he looked up, I did my dance again and sang, "look at my gigantic underwear swinging in the breeze, hanging to my knees."

He only laughed. Because, really, what else could he do? Crying at the unsexiness would have been unacceptable.

The results are in .....

Actually, the results were in last week but I have been typing so much at work the thought of typing when I get home is a lot like the thought of running a marathon first thing in the morning.

The ultrasound and my bloodwork from the nuchal test showed that I am having the pregnancy of a womyn that is 31/32 years old. Hah! That makes me biologically younger than Stew. A lot of my risks for genetic defects dropped dramatically. That was good news. And yes, I did almost cry when I got the news. Okay, maybe not almost, I did .... a little. And I still do (a little) when I think about it. Of course, there are still more tests I have to endure and still a long road ahead of me but with each passing week I grow a little less anxious.

I'm still not showing despite having gained 6.5 lbs and the kid only weighst about 1.75 ounces now (slightly more than a serving of cereal on Weight Watchers). In fact, a few people asked if I lost weight which makes me wonder exactly how chunky I was lookin' before. I can assure you something is going on because a lot fewer clothes are fitting these days and I think I need to invest in some newer, bigger bras. I am most comfortable in my pajamas but that's nothing new. I've always been Hugh Heffner-esque in that regard.

The See-food diet

I think one of the strangest things about this journey is my meals which went from daily planned meals to NEVER knowing what I want. And my usual low carb way of eating went the way of shoulder pads.

In the beginning, like the weeks before I even knew I was pregnant I was cherry and blueberry crazy. I would go to Stop & Shop and load up my basket with more cherries and blueberries than any one human should ever try to consume. Meals/snacks and dessert consisted of handfuls of blueberries and cherries. Now, I don't care to see either fruit again. During this time I could also not get enough vegetables. I would sit at work and dream about going home, cutting up a green pepper, sprinkling some sea salt on it and inhale it before dinner. My mom likes to say that the day I told her that I HAD to have Eggplant parm, she knew I was knocked up.

I'd like to think that my body was craving fruit and veggies because I denied myself of it for so many years.

During the early weeks like 6 to 8 weeks something bad happened. I could not even look at chicken or beef. Three bites of it filled me up and then looking at the remainder of it made me sick. Sick of meat!!! FOR SHAME!!!!! Fish was about all I could handle. My dense morning protein bar had to be replaced with a lighter one followed by some fruit. I couldn't even look at wings on wing night.

My taste for meat came back around the 9th week but it's rare when I will ask Stew to grill me up a burger. For a while I was eating a nightly snack of plain yogurt with strawberries, blueberries, a packet of Splenda and some vanilla extract. Then, I grew sick of that. I was finally able to eat wings at wing night again but only the general tsao's, the baby did NOT like spicy food. No coffee, no meat and no spicy food. My life was slowly beginning to fall apart.

Week 9 and 10 brought the desire to smother anything I ate in sour cream and guacomole. My mom thought I really lost it when she invited us over for meatloaf and I asked if she had sour cream. The same goes for tatziki sauce. However, even with a newfound love for these condiments I could still take or leave catsup and mustard. Blech! Unless it's a hotdog with cheese and kraut in which case I need spicy brown.

Week 10 resulted in an interesting craving for a Burger King chicken sandwich which I immediately regretted it the second I bit into it. My super pregnany tastes allowed me to pinpoint the exact date they last changed their fryer oil which was some time in 1998. Also the same week I HAD to have a grilled cheese with bacon and tomato. Something I hadn't had since 1997.

Week 11, my love for spice came back and I would sit on the couch with a jar of ice cold pepporcini peppers and eat them right out of the jar. Around that time I started to crave turkey and cheese sandwiches. The deli guy started asking questions when I upped my order from a quarter of a pound to three quarters of a pound. And people at work were starting to get suspicious when they saw I traded in my staple cans of tuna for three inch thick turkey and cheese sandwiches on whole wheat and a cup of applesauce. "Low carb bread" I'd say before scampering off to my hiding spot to eat in peace.

Then my cottage cheese kick started as I entered my 12th week. Cottage cheese with garlic salt and dill sometimes. Other time, spooned over peaches or pears. Of course my mom finds this pretty interesting because that was her craving when she was cooking me. Except, she liked to put vinegar on her cottage cheese. Yuck! This week also gave way to a strange craving for KFC biscuits. Stew brought home 4 (because I refused to have more sitting around) and I nuked one before dinner, smothered it in I Can't Believe it's not Butter and devoured it. Best. Biscuit. Ever. The second biscuit was dessert.

Week 13 seems to be all about Smartfood (yes, the cheddar popcorn) and more cottage cheese and fruit. My appetite also seems to be increasing and so does my girth as all my clothes are starting to feel really snug nowadays. Of course, those nearest to me will say I don't look pregnant and I love them for being good liars.

1 down 2 more to go

My first trimester is coming to a close in one week. I had the first (and last) of my genetic defects test. Friday morning, I woke up bright and early and met my mom at OBGYN #1's office for my Nuchal Translucency test. This is where they measure the fluid in the baby's nuchal chord to see if it is at risk for any birth defects like Down Syndrome. Needless to say, I was on pins and needles all week striking deals with Stew about which risk percentage would be the magic number before we decided to terminate the pregnancy. Of course me, Stew being the wonderful guy that he is, assured me nothing would be wrong anyway.

How did a Negative Nelly like me end up marrying such a ray of sunshine? And why must I always doubt him?

Mom sat in the room with me from her spectator chair in the corner but I blocked off the chair furthest from the table so she could be close if I needed any hand holding. As soon as the dildo cam went in, I saw the little bugger squirming about stretching out and swatting at this intruder. It totally freaked me out. I mean, here was this spastic alien inside me spazzing out and I could feel NOTHING. Like his/her mom, the baby likes its alone time. Yup, that's my kid.

Mommy, hand, please, NOW!!!

(Yeah, that's great, Fleetwood Mac's Landslide just came on my iPod as I write this so expect some typos through the blur of tears. Hormones!)

He/she seemed to settle down for the technichian to get the measurements and then waved at me so I could see their little fingers that are forming and then I swear he/she stuck their tongue out at me. I guess I deserved it seeing as I spent weeks discussing his/her fate which suddenly felt incredibly selfish.

The whole thing was pretty painless and the technician lives in Port Chester where my mom grew up and I spent a good chunk of my childhood visiting my grandparents so we talked. Of course, my mom kept slipping in questions to find out how long she has been doing this and where she worked before to make sure I was in good hands. While the ultrasound itself looked good, we still have to wait to see what the blood tests reveal.

Go waiting.

Depress Express

Sad. I am about 11 weeks and already my clothes are feeling a bit snug. And I don't know about you but when my clothes feel tight, it makes me feel bigger than I might appear to be (to me at least, I can't account for anyone else's opinions of me as of late). I'm not quite ready to move into maternity wear but I have definitely had to thin out my wardrobe and pack away items that I deemed to be at risk of cutting off my circulation. Of course, I folded them up neatly saying the same sentiment to each item, "see you soon .... I hope."

Lucky for me the fashions as of late are mostly empire waist and make me look sperminated anyway. Some will just plain make me look like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade float when I REALLY start showing. Honestly, I know the 4 lbs I put on so far have a lot to do with water retention and having to eat a lot of stuff I don't usually eat thus causing more water retention. It reminds me of when I used to not care about the scale for the week between Christmas and New Years. I'd feast on Christmas Cookies, eat dessert, graze my way through parties and weight myself on January 2nd and fall over looking at a 9 lb gain. A few days of protein drinks, mass amounts of water and just going back to a low carb way would shed those pounds in a week.

Sure, I have my sweets every now and then. I always have. But, more often than not, I talk a lot more about eating a brownie that has been in the freezer now for two months than actually doing it. Or guilt wins out by the time I make it to the kitchen and I come back to the living room with a big bowl of salad. But, the kid needs things like grains so I've had to move stuff like whole wheat bread, whole wheat pasta and brown rice into my diet. And I have been craving fruit which is usually he devil to me because it's full of sugar. I have to double my calcium intake because of the blood thinners so calcium fortified applesauce, yogurt and milk (which I haven't drank in about 5 years) is suddenly in my face ringing in at at least two 8 oz glasses a day (along with 4 calcium supplements) which adds up despite being 2%. Prunes are usually a late night snack for obvious reasons and those puppies are FULL of sugar and carbs. And vegetables, which are not bad for the average person but are carbs in their own right. Not to mention they don't fill you up like a good piece of protein (which I can't seem to stomach more than 3 bites of unless it's fish which is a slippery slope when you're pregnant) manages to do. So, a couple hours later, you're looking to nosh again.

I guess what I am saying is, if I am going to gain weight this fast at least let it be on Christmas cookies.

Strollers, another way to get road rage

So, I heard there was this stroller company moving to town and to celebrate their huge grand opening they were having a huge grand sale which, I would soon find out, would become a huge grand pain in my ass. It is sort of early to buy a stroller and I am not even safely out of my first trimester and I am a strong believer in jinxing my sorry ass. My mother agreed with me but then spent the next two days begging to go stroller shopping with me.

I'm not entirely sure how my mom feels about this pregnancy. When I told her i had a positive reading on the pregnancy test, she didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity and then told me to take another one in a few days. Cos, you know, it might go away like a nasty zit or something. I took one again the next day and called to tell her that I, indeed was STILL pregnant. I am sure it freaks anyone out when their youngest child tells them that they're having a baby of their own. Then, I thought back to my pre-pregnancy consult with Obgyn #1 where my mom kept asking him where in his office he kept the bar.

Where was I? Oh, yes strollers.

I didn't know much about this stroller company other than that they had some expensive strollers and some designer ones too like Kate Spade, Burberry and Lulu Guiness. I showed the Web site to Stew and he got busy comparing prices of these strollers to other strollers and safety ratings but then he got distracted because fantasy football is starting up so I had to do the rest of my research myself.

There are like 10 types of strollers, lightweight, midweight, mid-size, traveling systems, joggers, etc. I longed to be a mom in the 1950s who still drank and smoked my whole pregnancy, used a seatbelt to secure my kids in the car and called it a day. Holy moses! This was going to be time consuming research and it became clear to me that baby products were the way for you to keep pumping money into the economy. And I thought weddings were expensive. Pffft.

Obviously, the thing I care most is how much this sucker weighs. I mean the stroller, not the baby. Most strollers brag that they are lightweight at ABOUT FIFTY POUNDS. Heck? My Crystal Rocks jugs weigh less than that and I can just about wrangle those on. No thanks. This whole stroller business is madness. Then, you have to worry about the newborn head support that strollers offer. One more thing to think about.

Right now, I am amusing myself more at reading the reviews for a lot of these strollers poking fun at the spelling and wonder if most of these people ended up with kids because they couldn't read the directions on a box of Trojans. So, I only rely on the reviews I deem to be written by smart people who did their research. This narrows down my choices considerably and actually makes me scared for the gene pool.

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

Just came back from the doctor's office where I .... get this .... heard the heartbeat. Poor Stew missed it. I almost missed it had my doctor not said, "hey, wanna hear something cool?" And me thinking he had an in on the new Guns & Roses was waiting for something cool when I finally honed in on the "thwoomp thwoomp thwoomp" filling the room.

"Oh! That something cool." Duhhhhh.

Then, as fast as I got caught in the moment, I was taken out by my doctor's lecture on all the tests (nuchal and amnio) I have the option of taking all within 12 weeks while there is still time to abort if we had to. It's a horrible reality but one that you have to think about.

But, way to kill the moment, doc.

"But, if you know you're not going to do anything about it, then don't bother with the tests," my Doctor said. "And sometimes the amnio causes a miscarriage because you are sticking a needle into the placenta and potentially popping a balloon." Another morsel of food for thought.

Of course, my first reaction is to have every and any test known to man. But, then the harsh reality of what those tests might reveal and the decisions I'd have to make post-tests. I knew i would have to talk it over with Stew. So, when he got home I trailed him around the house with my folio of pictures. Then, I hit him with it.

"He said most people can't do anything once they hear that heartbeat," I said.

Stew gave me the look which said exactly what I was thinking when my doctor said that but didn't want him to know that mixed with blood, there's some ice. Only the man who married could really know that.

"I know. I told him I was not like most people."

The nuchal tests only test for Downs Syndrome. The amnio, while risky (1 in 400 have a miscarriage) tests for everything under the sun. My age factors into the testing, as does my height and weight. And while both tests are great and resourceful, they could yield false results and cause you to stress for the next nine months. Or, you could terminate your pregnancy and after an autopsy is done on the fetus, the doctors can come back and say, "it was nothing afterall." But, if it is something like, says, Spinal Bifoda, they can actually perform surgery on your baby in your womb. Modern medicine has come so far and yet has fallen short.

Of course, I can just do the nuchal but then if that has a bad result, I'd have to make a really hard decision about the amnio. It's a no win situation. And of course, as I tried to put on a brave face and tell my mom that I should do them anyway because they'll be fine. This is one healthy baby, made up of love, fruit, veggies and pizza; I can't be 100% sure. But, then again, nothing in life is 100%, right?

A cold front is moving in

So, yesterday was one of the single most stressful days of my life. And all I had to do was go to the Doctor. Well, okay, that's not true. I really had to go to the doctor, go to work and possibly get into an argument with my boss's boss. Hellooooo. The day i am supposed to go for a "viable" and the big boss is allegedly coming to town to talk to me.

Needless to say, I got like NO sleep.

I'll explain why this was a bit stressful. Although, I am 7 weeks pregnant with soaring HCG levels and wicked bouts of morning sickness, you are not considered to have a viable pregnancy until you have an ultrasound to see if the sac is empty or not and if you see a tiny flutter which is your baby's heartbeat. So, for 7 or so weeks, you walk around like you're a fragile egg giving into cravings and peeing every 5 minutes caring for something that may or may not be inside you. Where's David Copperfield when you actually need him? Is he even in jail yet for rape?

So, I finally find something worthy enough to make Stew take some time off work and we wake up bright and early to go to the OBGYN's office. My mother apparently got up even earlier because she was there before us and we were five minutes early.

"I don't think I locked the door to the house," I said to my mom.

"I left my flat iron on this morning and almost burned the house down," She said.

I see we were having a who is more nervous pissing contest.

I tried to calmly breathe while thinking of the reassuring words my other OBGYN #2 (yes, when you have my kind of problems, you have two) said to me the day before on the phone. "Baby, it's going to be fine. Let me bottom line it for you. It's either going to go good or bad." Um, thanks doc. Do you have any reassuring words for my husband since OGYN #1 put a 20 week hold on my sex life?

Finally, the nurse called my name. I can't even really say finally. That's not fair. Usually, I wait for a good two hours in that office and this time I was waiting less than 10 minutes. They lead my posse and I through a maze of hallways and doors and deposit us in an ultrasound room. The nurse tells my posse to sit in the chairs in the corner and to strip and sit my ass down in the chair with stirrups. Fun. I do as I am told all the while trying not to pass out from nerves and exhaustion wishing I was able to stomach more for breakfast than just half a grapefruit.

The nurse comes back in and punches my name into the computer and asks me my last menstrual cycle and all that. And then she starts looking intently at it and excuses herself suddenly. Damn, she has to get the doctor already and she hasn't even seen anything. She returns with another nurse and they are trying to figure out why the machine is acting up. I told Stew he should have handed her his card because they obviously needed tech support.

The system finally works itself out and she punches in all my information again and then lubes up the ultrasound wand. I am so happy that Stew finally gets to see what I have always referred to as "The dildo cam." In fact, I think I even called it that out loud so that there was no mistaking it for anything else.

She tells me to watch the monitor hanging from the wall. She locates what appears to be the sac and inside the sac is something that looks like a head with a tail. "Do, you see that fluttering? That's the heartbeat." I try to focus on it when the monitor starts freaking out and trying to autocalibrate blocking the view of the kid completely while flashing "color" "brighteness" over and over again. Eventually it stops and she goes back to the spot. I have not taken my eyes off the screen. I see it, for a split second and the monitor starts spazzing out again. This goes on for three tries and sort of ruins what i thought would be a emotional moment but took a fast and furious turn towards comical. But, eventually, I do see it long enough to see this tiny little flutter and see the computer takes the heartbeats per minute and my pregnancy is validated.

Deep breath.

Then, she starts the tedious and cramping task of measuring my uterus and checking my ovaries. The ueterus measuring went off without a hitch but the ovary checking was awful. She pressed down on my stomach (something I have avoided doing since finding out I was pregnant) and suddenly blue and red splotches were swirling around the monitor.

"Looks like a cold front is moving in," I said cracking myself up so bad I started shaking from laughter prolonging the misery of this because now she was getting nothing. These nurses are so going to have the last laugh when I am pushing this kid out. Yeah, who's laughing now, Al Roker. No epidural for you!!

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, she was done and I hopped out of that chair faster than hell and got dressed. As I drove to work, I thought that anything could happen with the big boss today and I was not going to sweat it. I was in a fantastic mood and nothing was going to break my stride.