Sympathy cravings

I've been lucky enough to avoid any pregnancy cravings. Some others I've talked to crave slushees or chocolate or certain drinks.

Yesterday, I figured out why I'm not the one with the cravings. Turns out, hubby is such a nice guy that he's taken that part of pregnancy for me. (What a guy!)

He e-mailed me this:

"I think I officially have sympathy cravings. I am so hungry for crabs with Old Bay right now, and I have no idea why."

Of course, I can't blame him. All things crabs top my favorite food list for every meal. In fact, I could go for a crabcake right now. 

Amelia's chariot

That's what my mom dubbed our new Honda CR-V. Based on the last blog post, it was a sticky situation. The dealer was trying to upsell us, which just made our skin crawl. In the end, Brent was able to work out a deal and we drove home our brand-spakin' new vehicle.

House? Check.
New lead-free windows? Check
Crib? Check.
Safe, reliable, big(ger) car? Check, check.

There is plenty more to do before our daughter arrives, but domestication, HERE WE COME!

(or, more accurately, we have arrived)

Today was a long one

We were buying the CR-V, we weren't buying the CRV. Then we were buying it, then we walked out on the sale. And now it could be back on the table.

Is your head spinning? Mine certainly is.

So, about mid-afternoon in an effort to escape the craziness, I thought I'd run a few errands. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the grass next to our little Morgan. I never thought that a cemetery would bring me peace or calm my head ... but it was so beautiful. The brisk breeze, the warm sunshine, the sweetly singing birds. I just closed my eyes and cried ... and talked to our baby ... and ultimately felt better.

I feel a little morbid admitting that I found solace in a graveyard. But I think it's more about being with Morgan.

More "funnies"

On my latest trip to the ladies' room, a person in another department stopped me on my way back to my desk. (You remember the last comment, right?)

This time, the "joke" was:
"You should really get a hospital bed pan for you to have at your desk, since you're peeing so much."

Why is she counting the number of times I pass her?
When does she have time to analyze my bathroom habits?
How is this her business?
What will people come up with next?


The point? I need to use the other bathroom more.

Go to the head of the class

We're finished with two of the four-class baby series. Two Wednesday ago, we learned about the "happy" stages of labor, which is stage one. Nothing much happening and things are moving right along.

Last night, I wished that I could have just stopped learning right there. Last night, the class was much different filled with painful words, pictures and a movie. "But," exclaimed the teacher, we'll get down and dirty next Wednesday. (I think I'm coming down with a cold ... I might have to miss.)

Still, I did learn a lot. We talked about "relaxation" techniques, which felt great 12 hours ago. In the heat of the moment, well, I guess we'll find out. At least I feel armed with more useful information of what to do. The first class was more an overview of this is what is going to happen, when and how to time contractions and tips for the coach.

I think there's a line between learning enough that you are not fearful of the unknown and learning too much. I'm not sure where I am right now ... but next week's class does not look promising.

Best. Purchase. Ever

I surprised Brent once again, and went against what I said I wouldn't do.

I bought a fetal heartrate doppler. (The other major milestone I said I wouldn't do -- find out the sex of the baby.) We told ourselves that we don't need to add the extra anxiety and stress of one night not being able to find the heartbeat for some reason.

Now that I can feel her moving every so often and especially now that she's about three pounds, I figured why not? I do worry when she has a quiet day, so the doppler seemed like the logical choice. Of course, I read a ton of reviews, and this is what we settled on.

And I L-O-V-E it. I even brought it to Baltimore so Mom, Dad and my brother could hear it. So exciting!!

The countdown is on ... less than 10 weeks, Ms. Amelia Margaret.

I'm sorry, what was that?

So, earlier this week a co-worker called me a "tub of lard."

Yes, you read that correctly.
No, it was not an over-dramatization by yours truly.
Maybe, she was joking.

But this isn't a woe-is-me post. This is a what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-some-people post.

The offender works in another department, and she's a regularly chatty woman who likes to "joke." Maybe she thought she was being funny? Here's how it went:

I was walking back from my gazillionth trip to the ladies room. This woman was chatting up another woman at her desk, and then glanced up in my direction smiling. Woman B asked Woman A what she was smiling about. "Oh, just laughing at this tub of lard coming my way."

Without missing a beat, I threw lightning bolts in her direction and continued walking to my cube. She kept talking to me as I lumbered by, shouting after me. "Laura, you know you're adorable. I was just joking."

Now, I know that I can have thin skin at times, just ask my dad. And I'm not actually that angry about it. But I'm not that friendly with this person, and honestly, my own friends wouldn't even say that to me .

It comes down to this -- when you make an offensive or potentially offensive comment to someone, hurriedly spitting out "just kidding" or "no offense" does not negate the ignorance of your previous comment.

So ... there.

A belated Mother's Day

What a bittersweet holiday.

It was so wonderful to celebrate Mother's Day with my husband at Mass when they did a special mom and mom-to-be blessing. And we ate brunch at the Milton Inn with my parents and brother. (One of the specials? Lump crab omelet. Delicious!)

But a smidge of me -- well more than a smidge -- missed Morgan. I must admit when we found out we were pregnant, Brent and I talked about how for the next Mother's Day and Father's Day, we'd have a little one all to ourselves.

Yes, we have beautiful Amelia growing and kicking and rolling around inside of me. And I am so in love with this little person who I haven't even met yet. But I want to remember our first child, who flew to Heaven on angel's wings. Because, after all, Morgan made me a mom, too.

Phew! That was a close one

I passed! I passed! I passed! No need to cram or pull an all-nighter. My three-hour glucose tolerance test came back "normal." (Oh, how I love that word. Normal.)

After flying through the one-hour test, the subsequent one took a bit more of a toll -- fast for 10 hours, wake up at 5 a.m. to arrive at the clinic by 6 a.m., chug 100 ML of this sugary orange drink that didn't sit too well, get stuck four separate times for blood drawings. Oh, and I had to stay in the windowless room for all three hours.

The bright side? There was a cot to lie down on and a television. Anywho, it's over now and I passed.

Once again, I issue the plea -- Get here safe and sound, little Amelia!

Pros at complications

See that blog title? That's Brent and I. After losing Morgan, the hematoma, dire predictions and other issues, I've now failed the one-hour glucose test.

The call came the other day. Apparently, levels are supposed to be between 70 and 139. (The level of what escapes me.) Well, I clocked in at 155. I didn't think that was too much higher than the limit, but the OB nurse who delivered the news thought otherwise.

"Well, it's still quite high, ma'm. You'll need to take the three-hour glucose tolerance test within three days."

Considering that they called Friday (even though I took the test at 6:30 a.m. Tuesday), I will not be getting the test done in three days. So, that's that.

On Monday, I have my 29-week appointment at 8 a.m. So, the glucose test is now scheduled for 6:30 a.m. Tuesday. Oy.  I've read in several places that a lot of women fail the one-hour and pass the three-hour. I'll be chugging a liter of some sort of sugar-water equivalent after fasting for 12 to 16 hours. Then, blood is taken every half-hour. (Warning: Do not taunt the bear Monday night. Why would you make a pregnant person who is hungry all of the time fast?)

And, really, if most people fail the first and pass the second test, what is wrong with the first test? Anyway, here's to hoping the first test was a fluke. Of course, if I have gestational diabetes, then we'll just deal with that, too. Come on, Amelia. Get here soon (although not too soon) and healthy, please!