The Texture Of Things

Oh. Oh, that’s one more for the list.

August 24th, 2008

I have an unwritten list of the things that give me heartburn. Before I got pregnant with the tot, I never knew the privilege of being somewhere, doing something, and being suddenly overcome with a reflux burp that carried with it all the charm of door-to-door magazine solicitor. And, lucky me, that was a souvenir I got to keep after her birth, although reduced in its ferocity.

*:burp:*

excuse me.

As I was saying, heartburn. Oh god, it’s worse this time. While I don’t remember all of my trigger foods from the time of the tot, I know that the foods that stayed on as major offenders after her birth included:
coffee
oatmeal (worse if paired with coffee)
bananas
toast

Yes, bananas and toast.

Pardon me for phrasing it this way, but who the fuck gets heartburn from toast? It’s ridiculous.

Now, of course, the list is everything again, or almost everything. I think there must be a few things that don’t stoke the fires, but I’ll tell you that when I decided to treat myself this afternoon to something I haven’t had in years, I most certainly did NOT expect to be suffering some six hours later.

The culprit?

A Grape Faygo soda. Diet, of course. (Thanks, Diabeetus!)

On a “normal” day in the pregnancy-hood, I get by with the help of a Z@nt@c 150 in the morning and about 6-8 Extra Strength Tums across the course of the day. Today? I needed another 150 in the evening and I’ve eaten 10 ES Tums in 5 hours.

Screw you, Faygo. I never liked Grape anyway and the diet version sucked. (I’m more of a Red Pop or Rock & Rye girl, to be honest.)

NST!! A++++++!!!!1! Thanks!!!

August 20th, 2008

For a fan of the TV game show Jeopardy!, a non-stress test is about the best thing that can happen to a pregnant woman. I get to go in, sit in a recliner with my feet up, and click the Jeopardy! clicker every time the baby kicks. (Minor downsides include the cold gel used with the monitors the nurse straps to my belly, the crappy daytime television on the unreasonably quiet TV, and a general lack of scenery while I sit facing the back corner of the NST room.) Still, I feel all cool with my thumb poised over the button, ready to click every time I feel the baby move.

Of course, this attitude will be short-lived. This week was my first NST, and there will be many more to come – like, once or twice a week from here until (hopefully) the end of September. (Thanks, Diabeetus!) I predict it will take two or three more for me to get truly bored with the damned things, though I also predict I’ll start complaining after the next one (this coming Monday).

FWIW, Dos and I passed this week’s NST with flying colors within mere minutes, but I still had to sit there for another half an hour in order to generate enough heartbeat record for the doctors to feel like a $1000* test was worth ordering. (Major downsides include having to sit there for at least a half an hour with my thumb poised over the button, having to sit there much longer than a half an hour if the baby and I aren’t passing the test, and what will happen if we flunk one as majorly as the tot and I did the day she was born.) On departure, though, I was so pleased that I felt like I should be able to leave feedback for the experience somewhere. I guess that’s what blogs are for.

*I made this number up, based on my poor memory of my 2004 insurance bills. The test was either $750 a piece and I had two tests a week (totally $1500 per week) or it cost $1500 per test and I only went once per week. I honestly don’t remember, so I split the difference, more or less. Thank any and all applicable deities that our old insurance covered almost all or all of the cost of those tests, and let’s hope the current insurance follows suit.

Dos: A Programming Note

August 20th, 2008

Click here to find out what “Dos” means.

Beginning with this post, posts relating to Baby Dos may or may not be separated by the heading “Dos”. I can’t separate this stuff in my life or in my head anymore, so it’s actually getting me stuck when I’m trying to put together posts. Then I end up not posting anything, and that’s not cool. At all.

I guess from here on out, this is just a blog with two kids, instead of just one.

Welcome to Pregnant Diabeetus 101.

August 19th, 2008

*category one language alert*

First, you should know that, of course, it is not your fault that you’ve been diagnosed with what is known by medical professionals as Gestational Diabetes (to be known here as Pregnant Diabeetus or, more simply, teh Diabeetus). Except for that part where it was your choice to stuff your maw with Mountain Dew and Twinkies for breakfast and then with fries and smarties for lunch for the last three years of high school. ‘Cuz, you might realize now, eating that way kind of stressed your pancreas and shit. And now you’re obese on top of that, and a fabulous candidate for teh Type 2 Diabeetus and for ordering your testing supplies with Wilford Brimley’s favorite company.


SFW, NSF People Who Pronounce It “Diabetes”

The first thing you should know is that the diet you’ll go on sucks. It sucks like any diet sucks, in that you have to rescind control over choosing what you get to eat and then you have to do that stupid self-mind-fuck where you tell yourself that you really ARE in control of what you’re eating and you’re actually choosing to eat what’s on the diet, ergo you are in fact in control. Guess what? You’re not, so quit trying to kid yourself. Srsly. On the other hand, it could be worse. It could require you to eat artichokes, tuna, and calorie-free italian dressing, like that cursed Curves diet does.

not on either diet

SFW, NSF People On The Diabeetus Diet

The second thing you should know is that yes, you do have to do the god-forsaken diet and you do have to exercise every fricking day because if you don’t, your OB will threaten you with having to go on insulin. S/he will hang it over your head unless your numbers are super-star glowy and shiny. So just suck it up and do the diet already. (And yes, if you’re wondering, it means not ever being able to indulge your pregnancy cravings – unless your craving is for a fresh salad or more water.)

mmmm, water

Beyond that, enjoy your pregnancy! It’s a miraculous time and it’s over far, far too quickly!

(Did I mention that you’re glowing? You’re glowing. What? That’s just sweat and overheating from the mile you just walked? Oh. You can hardly tell. Really.)

He’s on a mission from God*

August 7th, 2008

Once upon a time, at a baby shower long, long ago (okay, it was four years ago), I received a gift from my grandmother. I received many gifts, but none of them are remembered quite as fondly by my friends as Bible Bear.

Bible Bear is wired with buttons you can push. Each button is labeled with a bible verse, such as “Gen 1:1.” When the button is pressed, it should play the indicated bible verse in two or three installments. For instance:

Press once, and the uber-perky, youthful boy’s voice shouts, “Genesis! One! One!”
Press again, and he shouts, “In the beginning! God created the heavens and the earth!”

(If the verse is very long, it will be divided into shoutable bits and you have to press a third time to hear the conclusion.)

Or at least this is what it should shout. More often than not, our Bible Bear gets its wires crossed and mixes the verses up. Or, and perhaps more relevantly, it chooses to repeat one bit over and over again, regardless which button you have pressed. In our case, beloved Bible Bear prefers to shout at us, “Romans! 6! 23!”**

For those of you not in the know, Romans 6:23 reads as follows: “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Wait. Let me do that again in Bible Bear voice.

“ROMANS! SIX! TWENTY-THREE!
FOR THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH!
BUT THE GIFT OF GOD IS ETERNAL LIFE IN CHRIST JESUS!”

Now we are not, in our little family here, what I would call ‘practicing Christians.’ In fact, one member of this household makes it his or her practice to not practice Christianity. And I do not think of us as superstitious (though I do tend to wonder occasionally if I’m about to jinx myself, which is – OF COURSE – irrational), but I do have to wonder what exactly the bear trying is to tell us. And if my grandmother – my technologically illiterate grandmother – tampered with this bear’s wiring because she had something she wanted to tell us.

For the record, that’s not her way. She has no problem telling us to our faces that if we don’t get right with God RIGHT NOW, we’re in big, big trouble. So, the bear’s verse of choice is probably just coincidence, but it’s a delightfully funny one. Well, in the telling it’s delightfully funny. At the time, the bear was downright creepy. I’m just sayin’.

You might be wondering at this point why I would tell this story today. I will tell you. Though I thought I threw the bear away when we moved to this house 3.5 years ago, yesterday as I dug out stuff for the baby’s room, I FOUND THE F*CKING BEAR.

I have not had a chance to test its buttons yet because I am constantly shadowed by the tot, and I cannot let her see this bear because she will want to keep it and we are SOOOOOO not keeping it. So, tomorrow while she is at day care, I will pull it out and start pushing buttons. If I do not report back within a week, send help. The bear has eaten my soul.

*If you don’t get that this is a reference to the original Blues Brothers movie, I have a homework assignment for you for the weekend: Go watch it.

**And yes, as a football fan I do often want to shout back at it “Hut HUT!”

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