Maybe he was right…

Caveat emptor: First off, if you still respect me but not my sick sense of humor or music taste, this might be a post to skip. Or, at least, don’t click on the playlist if you don’t appreciate some colorful language in your music. And please see the editor’s note at the end before you pillory me in the comments.

A friend sent me a link from Mother Jones magazine. The article has a list of songs used by American troops to torture prisoners in military prisons.

Some thoughts to note:

My response to this article was assuredly not what Mother Jones wanted. I quickly cranked up the volume on my laptop to bathe BeeGee (Baby Girl Brown’s name from here on out – and no, it was picked before I saw “Stayin Alive” on the list) in what is ostensibly a playlist from my dearly departed iPod (rest in peace, Mighty Whitey).

This confirms what has been alleged by the hubby on several cross-country car trips: My choice of music is torture. * And this one didn’t even have Nine Inch Nails on it!

I will agree with them on a couple things though: the theme from “Sesame Street” and Neil Diamond is torture. I, for one, would think this is worse than the highly controversial waterboarding.

What songs would you add to the playlist? I vote for Ummbop.

Editor’s note: No, torture isn’t funny. No, waterboarding probably isn’t funny either, even if it bears more than a passing resemblance to what we used to do to a kid on my swim team. No, I am not meaning to make light of things that are potentially very serious and politically sensitive, etc. No, I don’t think war is funny – remember, I live in Israel?

But yes, I do think it’s funny to make people who hate America for it’s freedom and democracy listen to “America” and “Born in the USA.” And no, “White America” isn’t the best track from that Eminem album. And yes, I do listen to stuff like that. And my kid might, too.

* Whatever buddy. Driver picks the music. Since the hubby has road-induced narcolepsy, guess who drove every mile of every road trip we ever went on?

Ten things meme

Malky over at the Benedict Family tagged me.

Ten things you’ll never hear me say:

1. You’re right, I’m wrong. *

2. That’s enough back rub for now.

3. I wish I got less sleep.

4. Michael Phelps just doesn’t do it for me.

5. Land for peace is the perfect solution!

6. Infertility was a blessing in disguise!

7. All this free time and nothing to do.

8. Life was better without the Internet.

9. What my life really needs is more halachic stringency.

10. My family and I are really close.

Everyone I know is ridiculously busy, so I’m not going to tag specific folks. But feel free to jump in if you’d like!

* It’s part of my charm, really. Or so I keep telling myself.

It’s a toss up

Not sure which I find more amusing.

a) That I now own a nursing bra. (giggle)

b) That in six months time I might actually have to use it. (snort)

Either way, it makes me chuckle. Like a teenage boy. Man, I’m just snorting sitting here thinking about it. I am so immature when it comes to successful procreation.

Let’s face it: Boobies are a little funny.

And thanks to Trilcat. She helped me explain the State of My Breasts in Hebrew.

Now, a question. I understand the whole drop-down-cup-look!-a-boobie phenomenon, but exactly how much of said breast does the kid need in order to properly NOM NOM NOM? Because damn if this bra doesn’t just send the whole shootin’ match flopping out on into the free world.

Move along … nothing to see

Not really much to speak of in Casa Kirby. Depending on which exit poll you’re following, I’m either 14 weeks or 13w4d tomorrow. I am planning a theoretical post on how, at least to me, HG was way worse than infertility treatments, but I have a bad feeling that will just piss a lot of people off. *

It is officially second trimester time. The honeymoon of pregnancy. Or something like that.

I am less sick. Still sick occasionally, but now it is almost exclusively when I do stupid things – not eat regularly, not drink enough fluids, etc. If you are a regular reader, you know this means I’m still sick pretty often. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer here, folks.

The blood pressure is still iffy. When I don’t take care of myself, I can barely sit up in bed. When I do take care of myself, I can walk the hill near my house to the bus which I take to Tel Aviv to the train which I took to the fancy work place where I impressed people. Ta-da!

Which means that I really need to take care of myself. Point taken.

I managed to walk to shul on Friday night for the first time in months. We were invited to dinner afterward with friends and it really made for a nice evening. They are the kind of friends where, even though we’ve been to their house three times now and have yet to get it together mentally enough to bring something (flowers, wine, friggin anything), they still like us. And that was before they let my husband down half a pan of homemade brownies.

Our friends’ parents recently made aliyah (moved to Israel) and we got a chance to get to know them a bit better. Even with my mushy preggo brain, I thought the conversation was fascinating. I love it when cool people move here and become our friends.

In other news, I have some fun new “symptoms.” Most women have heard of linea nigra, the dark line of tummy, et. al hair that creeps down from your belly button to your L’il Green Patch (sorry if I just ruined that Facebook app for you, but that’s always what it makes me think of – and then I giggle). Clearly moving from one hemisphere to another has confused my body. Instead of growing down, mine is growing up.

My belly looks like Sasquatch. Not good. My breasts are going to have goatees before this is all said and done.

I no longer have to pee all the time, which is a blessed relief. And I’m much less tired. Still weak, but the doc says it’ll take about three weeks of regular eating to get my nutritional balance out of whack.

Although I still haven’t gained any weight, it would appear that my body has played musical fat stores and moved them around a bit. Some skirts are now too tight if I try to put them across the slowly developing bump. And some tops really looked stretched across said bump. But the same tops are now baggy in the arms, which is a total first for me. When I weighed about 97 pounds and was 4′11, I already had flabby arms. So this is new. And I very much like it.

I have developed painfully strong cravings for Ungar’s gefilte fish. It’s enough to make a girl move to Kiryat Sefer.**

I still can’t make a Number Two regularly to save my life, but I’m averaging weekly. I like to think of this as efficiency. I spend less time trying to go. And, as a bonus, the deposits are roughly the size, shape and density of tank shells, so I’m thinking of selling them to the Israeli military as a way to finance an extended maternity leave (3.5 months are fully paid in Israel).

It does cause one to wonder where all the food goes. I mean, I think my bowels are defying the laws of physics – especially that bit about not creating or destroying matter.

And finally, I read some of the scarier parts of What to Expect. I have decided I would rather not have an emergency birth at home alone. Not that I had really looked forward to it, but now I know for sure.

* In a nutshell, infertility was difficult and trying, but at no point did it make me this sick, this depressed or make my husband really worried about my health. Infertility treatments – up to and including IVF, at least – wouldn’t make me think twice about trying for another child. But HG will take a hell of a lot more preparation and advance planning. More to come.

** Kiryat Sefer is a very religious town just across the highway from Modiin. I have never been there. But they sell my favorite gefilte fish. I would take to living there like a cat to water.

To eat … perchance to dream

When I found out I was most likely pregnant, I did not hesitate to share the news with the world. I did not fear the p word. I did not worry about jinxing it.

But I fear the o word. I am so reluctant to say that I might just be okay. Getting better. Not puking. Eating lots of real food. I do not want to jinx it and return to those dark days. I’ve had bad injuries in life. I’ve been hospitalized. And I gotta tell you I’ve never felt as bad as I did then.

Now, I almost feel like a real human being. And I really hope it lasts. It was so depressing.

At this morning’s doctor appointment, my blood pressure was perfect at 110/70. My doc took me off all of my meds except prenatals, naturally.*

And so far, I’m feeling really good. I hope it holds out. But even now, I still get dizzy if I sit upright for too long or don’t drink enough fluids. I’m going back to work in the office tomorrow and might have to work on site for the company I’m writing for later this week. It seems like a huge leap from keeping food down, but I hope it all works out okay.

And I got another cute ultrasound, with a cute kid awake and kicking. The first of three today.

Tonight, we got to go back to the women’s center here for the nuchal fold translucency test. As far as we can tell, all is well and the risks are low (about 1:6,000). We actually got to do the test twice since the doctor forgot to write down the measurement (1.3 mm). The kid flipped between scans so we really got to see the whole kit and caboodle.

And for those of you keeping score at home, the doc says that … most likely … we will not be planning a bris for this one. It appears to be a little girl.

Which is way better than the puppy I keep dreaming about.

We should be able to tell more clearly when we do the early scan in about three weeks.

* Therein ending any hope I had of having a bowel movement during this pregnancy.

Still puking after all these weeks

I met my downfall
In the bathroom last night
The toilet was glad to see me
I just retched
And I coughed up some dinner
And I spewed up those fluids
Still puking after all these weeks
Oh, still puking after all these weeks

Im not the kind of girl
Who thought this would be hard
I seem to dream of
Easier days
And I aint no fool for antacids
That grumble in my tummy
Still puking after all these weeks
Oh, still puking after all these weeks

Four in the morning
Barfed out, yawning
Wishing these months away
I’m getting worried
Why shouldn’t I?
As I feel it all fade

Now I sit in my bed
As I read your blogs
I fear this’ll do some damage

If it doesn’t end

But I would not be convicted
By a jury of my peers
Still puking after all these weeks
Oh, still puking after all these weeks

I’ve got rhythm (edited to add video)

So, last night was a bit of a mess.

My husband discovered, at 5:15 Monday night, that my 5:30 Wednesday doctor’s appointment was actually for 5:00 Monday. So, just as I was laying down for a nap, I hauled ass to get dressed. A kind friend quickly ran us over to the appointment.

Which was a bit of a waste of time. When I saw the local sugar-urine-OB specialist in town, my kupat cholim (health care provider) switched my primary care OB to him. So for the next quarter, he’s the only doc I can see. Which is totally fine. Just information I would have loved to have known before I dressed so fast I forget to put on underwear.

So we hussled our tussle for nothing, but we did manage to schedule an appointment with the correct doc – for Tuesday at 10:30 a.m. From whence I have just returned.

The appointment went well. My blood pressure is apparently low (I should have pressed for numbers but was kind of sleepy since I was up at 4:30 puking) and I need to focus on drinking fluids (2.5 liters a day – up from my current 750 mls on a good day) instead of eating. The new meds have had no effect, but I am to stay on them for a week. If, at next week’s appointment, nothing improves, he will “change my treatment.” Muh wha ha ha.

Okay, he didn’t say it like that. He’s a nice guy. He needs to speak more loudly. Which is awkward when speaking to an Israeli, because, you see, when you ask them to repeat themselves, they use easier words (in English, for those of you keeping score at home) for you to understand. Thanks, buddy. I just couldn’t hear you.

And my sugar is just fine, so I can stop testing my pee. Yay!

On a fabulous note, we got another ultrasound and the Bean was dancing and thrashing and scratching his/her nose. Two legs, two arms, a big head. It’s funny cause when they’re doing the ultrasound, all I can think is, okay, are we done yet? Cause if you keep that up I might pee, vomit or fart at you. And then when they stop, I’m like a little kid. “Again! Again!”

He/she does not like it when the doc pokes me in the tummy (smart kid – I kind of hate it too). My biggest concern with fetal development at this point is: My baby has no rhythm. My baby dances like Elaine from “Seinfeld.” Indeed, it is a “dry heave set to music.” Complete with the little kicks.

And I feel guilty for it, but my first impression was that my baby looks not unlike the little pygmy mummies that the good guys fight off in “The Mummy Returns.” This is just wrong on so many levels. *

On that note, I’m going back to bed. Going to try and get some work done from home later.

* The hubby concurs on the pygmy mummy point.

Greatest post EVAR

I am working from home. Or, not working from home. But “screwing around ceaselessly in bed on the Internets while charging an hourly rate” doesn’t have the same ring to it. *

In my free time, I found one of the funniest blog posts ever. You must go read it. And the post that spurred it. Love it. Especially the tales in the comments.

It’s not supposed to be funny, but I laughed so hard I farted really loudly, which made me laugh so hard I peed a little. I am such a mess these days.

Just a couple little nibbles to tempt you – my favorites:

The best of these stories was from lb, who wins the Quit Your Whining award. Her POOR DAUGHTER was having a hard time riding her bike:

“I remember one memorable time when she begged and begged to ride the bike to the park, only to crash into the curb every couple of yards. LOOK UP! I yelled. Watch where you are going! LOOK UP! Quit watching your feet! LOOK OUT FOR THE CURB! I was furious and I just couldn’t understand why she couldn’t do something so simple as steer the stupid bike!! By the time we got home I was so frustrated I totally yelled at her and actually threw her beloved bike into the garbage can right in front of her.Turned out that she was blind in one eye! No depth perception! And poor vision in the other eye too! She couldn’t see past her feet! Makes it hard to steer! Hahahahaha! Oops.”

LB’s daughter is fine now, by the way. At least PHYSICALLY.

And:

“Now, some parents feel guilt over parenting moments that I think are triumphs. The That’ll Learn Him award goes to Aimee, whose son kept unbuckling himself while she was driving. “After several pleas and threats to get him to rebuckle, in a fit of Mommys-going-to-teach-you-a-lesson-about-keeping-your-seatbelt-buckled I slammed on the brakes. He went flying forward, hit the seat, and fell face first on the floor. And, in my Mommy Rage Moment, I said, ‘See, that’s what happens when you unbuckle your seatbelt before we get home.’” Brilliant!

I am clearly not meant for this gig. I even come from tainted stock. My mom was a bit hard core.

Once, in eighth grade, school was canceled in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. In a Wisconsin winter. Without snow. Since it takes roughly two feet of snow for my school district to cancel class once it is in session, this should have been a warning.

I went running out of the building, heavy backpack in tow, to find myself flying over a staircase on a glaze of ice almost a centimeter thick. I landed on my left wrist. Whimpering, I got myself back up and went into a bathroom on the top floor where I cried softly for half an hour, willing it to get better. When it didn’t, I went downstairs to the office where our Principal and Vice Principal (my skiing coaches) were still in their offices.

Mr. Jenkins called my mom and said she would need to pick me up and take me to the ER for X-rays. My mom … wait for it … refused and said if I was too stupid to walk on ice, I could practice it on the way home. **

In pity, Mr. Jenkins took me home. I went upstairs after getting yelled at and being told I would not be seeing a doctor and cried myself to sleep.

Next day – Friday! Ice hockey tournament. Three games, back to back to back. In which I was forced to play. I intentionally got penalties in hopes of getting a major misconduct that would keep me out of the rest of the tourney. I failed. By the end of the last game, I could barely take off my otherwise loose hockey glove.

Next days – Saturday and Sunday! Downhill ski racing tournament. In which I was forced to race. When I didn’t place, I got lectured on the waste of money for the entry fees.

Next day – Monday! X-rays revealed a wrist broken in two places. I had a cast halfway up to my shoulder. The second break came from the weekend of sports with an already broken wrist.

To my Mom’s credit, I was treated to a very nice dinner and a big ice cream sundae. And they wonder why I enjoyed boarding school.

* Not really. I won’t bill them for time spent finding new blogs. Or new blogs to me.

** For the record, my mom was about the greatest mom ever and this just goes to show that all folks make mistakes.

How about adoption?

Okay, just kidding. But I never knew it would be this hard. Modern medicine is super fun!

I don’t have gestational diabetes. I was retested this morning by the area expert and today’s numbers are entirely incongruous with last night’s. Thank God. There is no sugar in my urine today. There are any number of reasons for the discrepancy, but I’m not asking questions.

My big concern has been having gestational diabetes and HG at the same time. Only being able to eat carbs + not being allowed to eat carbs = please just shoot me.

I have been told to start retaking the B6 and Pramin (Reglan), in addition to Phenergan and Zantac in an effort to stop the vomiting and weight loss. One thing is for sure – I’m going to sleep like you wouldn’t believe.

I have my first real appointment with my OB on Wednesday. I hope I will be feeling a lot better by then.

Thanks again for the kind words and to the kind folks who have been answering questions and shuttling me to different docs around town. I really appreciate it and don’t know what I would have done without you.

Maybe that’s the problem

Just back from the quasi-emergency room. Two bags of IV fluids later, I’m feeling a bit better.

And the comment about the vomiting was a bit premature – I puked twice at the clinic.

I have ridiculously high levels of sugar in my urine. 1000 mg/dl. Roughly four times the borderline for what is considered gestational diabetes. And I appear to have the other risk factors down pretty well too: always thirsty, rapid weight loss and constant fatigue.

And we won’t mention those coupla years as a kid where I was told I had Type 1 diabetes and was on insulin for about two years. I thought those were a fluke. I admit, later docs did tell me I would almost certainly have GD, but I kind of wrote it off. I was planning on telling my doc at my first real appointment this Wednesday.

Or tomorrow. Tomorrow’s good too.

So, it looks like we’ll be going for an emergency appointment tomorrow morning to figure out what the hell is going on inside me. At the ripe old gestational period of 11.5 weeks, I’m getting tested for gestational diabetes.

My take on this? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.