Posts made in February, 2007

It grows

Posted by on Feb 26, 2007 in Uncategorized | 8 comments

Look Mom! Here’s my belly.

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Not to Do

Posted by on Feb 25, 2007 in Uncategorized | 0 comments

Things I should not have done in the past 24 hours

Had 4 iced teas at Macaroni Grill

Attempted to insert an image I created in Illustrator into an InDesign file over and over again in spite of the fact that it kept inverting the colors every time I placed it

Given God a ‘one last chance’ prayer about said jpeg

Forgot to sing His praises when the file came through with the correct coloring

Stayed awake until 2am to finish something that most people will not look at until Tuesday

Eaten creamy pasta sauces and expected not to reflux it into my throat all night

Mentioned that I need a maid during Sunday school, thereby guilting my husband into doing the dishes, albeit unintentionally on my part

Felt guilty that my husband did the dishes

Eaten a bunch of spicy salsa at lunch

Ignored editing a spreadsheet that I need to finish before 7am tomorrow

Not uploaded the new belly pictures Jud took of me yesterday (Sorry, mom!)

Maybe I’ll go correct some of these now. Or maybe I’ll go watch all of that awesome pre-Oscar coverage. I wonder what Julia Roberts will wear tonight. I wonder how many colonics have been performed in Hollywood over the past forty eight hours. I wonder why America is falling apart.

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Glucose, Orange Drink and the Like

Posted by on Feb 22, 2007 in Uncategorized | 3 comments

On Tuesday I was late for work due to the lovely glucose screening I needed to complete at the OB doc. I fasted in the morning, which is a feat for non-pregnant Kim, much less the one with the baby freaking out as her stomach rumbles and drove over to the hospital by myself. It was sprinkling while I drove and I just couldn’t help but get nervous about all of those rain drops and my freshly straightened hair, or maybe I was just shaky from low blood sugar. Hard to say.

I arrived early, as usual, and made a few phone calls to pass the time. When the office finally opened, I signed in and waited for them to call my name. Instead of calling me back, they just brought me a little orange drink and told me I had five minutes. You usually get handed empty containers and are told to fill them, so this was a nice change of pace. A bunch of people had been telling me stories about how terrible this drink was and I’d believed them. I shouldn’t have. It tasted almost exactly like orange pop, the kind you left out on the counter for about a week and has almost gone flat. You wouldn’t throw it out or anything, but you might not offer it to guests either, at least, not without some kind of caveat.

I downed the stuff in about a minute and kept reading magazines about how to throw the perfect party for baby’s first birthday (in case you were wondering, I will most likely do none of those things, given the fact that the baby will not remember any of it and he will just be over stimulated by all of that mess. Whatever happened to baking a cake and just having a few adults over to watch the kid enjoy frosting for the very first time?).

The nice nurse came and got me, took my blood pressure (110/70) and then took me to the dreaded scale. Survey Says? Three pound loss.

Next she took me into a room and had me wait for the doctor. In he came, glasses on his head and my chart in hand. He checked the gestation wheel and pronounced me in the 28 week, which I had not forgotten. Then he reviewed my vitals and looked stopped when he got to my weight.

The next minute or so I sat in bemused silence as he explained to me that I should not be losing weight while pregnant, that the baby is still putting on vital fat and that our brains especially need it. When he was done, and I was feeling high and mighty for having beaten the weight gain at its own game, I reminded him that I usually weigh in the afternoon, having eaten most of the food I will consume for the entire day and about three and a half liters of liquid. The morning weight measurement was totally invalid and not really a measurement of anything. Take that, doctor smarty pants.

Today the nice nurse called me at my desk, while I was in the middle of attempting to catch up on my overdue emails that are still hanging out there from last week (I may never get ahead at this point and I am not kidding), and told me that not only do I process sugar properly, I am iron rich and gorgeous. Well, maybe not that last part, but you know how I love to embellish.

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Happy Hallmark Day!

Posted by on Feb 14, 2007 in Uncategorized | 4 comments

So today is Valentine’s Day and I’m guessing you probably purchased something red or pink or made something with those colors. That was awfully nice of you. You are just like me and totally buy into the holiday that was created for Hallmark.

I stopped in there the other day and the place was hopping. Tons of people crowded around the cards and trying to select the one that says just what they want it to…”I sort of like you, but if someone else came along, that would be okay too” or “We used to love each other and then you had that gastric bypass surgery and now I sort of loathe you for all the attention you get” or “You have no idea how I feel about you, but I’m sure that restraining order was just your way of playing hard to get”.

I found one that said enough of what I wanted it to say “I’m living in the kind of marriage everybody wishes they had and I can’t believe how amazing it is. They should be jealous because you really are that awesome” and then I added my own little personal note, of course.

We had no idea how Happy we’d be Today back Then

Although, writing the note took some effort because it’s one of those cards with the velum/clear plastic so they used this thick, treated paper inside that forced me to press down really hard and make indentations in it before the ink would come out. I guess they figured the card said enough and a simple “Love, me” would suffice, but that is the worst way to give a card.

I never understand why we get Christmas cards and birthday cards from people who just sign their names (this is the part where I offend all of them and they never send me a card ever again, to which I say both ‘sorry!’ and ‘I won’t really miss your impersonalized sentiments because I never remembered that you sent them anyway.’ I should note that the only people who can get away with this are the elderly. My grandmother almost never wrote personal notes in her cards when her eyesight was good and her hands didn’t shake, but now that both of those things have been worn away by the tide of years, I couldn’t imagine her painstakingly forming all those letters to write a note. She is given a full reprieve, but all others who are able bodied and of sound mind should really just take a minute to find a kind word to say. It’s not that hard. Is it?
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aaaaahhhh…FREAK OUT!

Posted by on Feb 9, 2007 in Uncategorized | 6 comments

Leaving work early for a doctor’s appointment isn’t usually exciting, but when you’re headed to the behbeh doctor, it’s actually pretty nice. Traffic was nice and light and Jud got back from class just a little bit before I drove up. Everything was running very smoothly.

We were 15 minutes early for the appointment (even after no longer being a military dependant for the past five years, I still can’t shake the early arrival to the doctor (What if they bump my appointment!?!). Then we waited. And waited. And waited until I thought I might loose my stuff. We finally saw the doctor forty-five minutes after our scheduled appointment. Awesome!

I have loved this doctor since before he removed the cancer and told me not to get pregnant right away and then I didn’t listen and all of that. He is nice. He is reassuring. He is kind of Dave Ramsey-ish. But he set me off on Tuesday. Not at first though. At first I was just sad.

He was looking over my chart and noticed that I have gained a total of 24lbs (for those of you not aware of the standards of body expansion during gestation, you are only ‘supposed to’ put on 30lbs total and that is a maximum. This is my 26th week, so that would only leave six more pounds for the last 14 weeks, meaning that I will obviously surpass that amount and be monumentally over the amount if I continue on this gaining trend (I’d be 15lbs above the maximum at a whopping 45 pregnancy pounds, bringing my weight to a grand total of….wait for it…169lbs. I can’t imagine that my body would even hold up under that kind of weight, but I suppose it could).

He was all “You put on 12 lbs in 4 weeks” and I was all “Oh, no I didn’t. You people didn’t weigh me last time I was here. I put on 12 lbs in 8 weeks (this is still a half pound more than is recommended, but I needed to make the distinction). ” Then he lectured me about watching what I eat.

Here’s the deal. I do. I have not gone crazy. I do not stuff my face with sweets. I do not eat until overwhelming full. For the most part, I make pretty good decisions. He (and maybe now you too) didn’t believe me. But here’s the thing, before I got pregnant I worked out. A lot. A whole lot, considering that I’m an American. I was easily burning 3000 calories a week at the gym. Easily. Guess what? I don’t do that now because my heart rate isn’t supposed to go above 140 and frankly, walking at the gym seems like a gigantic waste of time. Want to know why? Because in order to burn 100 calories I have to walk 5 miles. FIVE. FIVE MILES for 100 calories. That’s why I don’t go to the gym and walk to “stay in shape” by walking. I don’t believe that it even helps. Thank you, unhelpful doctor, for suggesting I start walking for a half hour per day, as if that’s going to be some sort of magic. It’s not.

But like I said. I didn’t get this angry at first. At first I just got sad. More than sad. Crazy, ninth grade, counting calories obsessed sad. And then I got hungry. Really hungry. Low blood sugar + baby hormones making me weep and wale. It was horrible and ugly and I felt both of those things.

And then I got a grip. Sort of. And got angry. Angry that my doctor didn’t ask me a bunch of questions about why I thought my weight had sky rocketed versus just making assumptions about how I must be using donuts, smothered in ice cream as a dip for my french fries and chips. I’m not. And accusations to that end only make me neurotic and cranky and depressed. So, Doctor whom I used to rave about, but for which I now harbor resentment, shut your pie hole.

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