Whine Country

2:45 a.m. I think that’s suppose to be followed by something like, “And all is well,” however, all is not well as is evidenced by the time I’m writing this. Where shall we begin our tour of whine country?

Let’s start with the most obvious. I’m not sleeping. I rarely sleep anymore, and when I do sleep I don’t sleep well. Bedtime has become a series of rituals – prenatal vitamin with a few sips of water so I don’t pee all night, Native American flute music (Robert Tree Cody being my favorite) on the iPod, Adam rubbing my back until I drift off. Sadly, I don’t drift long. I usually wake in time to hear him begin snoring in time to Cody’s last chant. Eventually, I find a rhythm in Adam’s snoring and the stillness of the night and drift some more. Before long, though, I have to get up to pee. This usually continues about every hour on the hour until 4 a.m. when I finally fall asleep until around 8 a.m. Adam asks hopefully each morning, “Did you sleep?” :::sigh:::

Then there are nights like tonight when I can’t bear to stay in bed. Some times I take a warm shower. Other times I rock in the living room recliner until I start to nod. I woke Adam up while ago because I was scared and felt alone. He’s such a trooper. A slight nudge from me and he was on his feet, getting me a glass of water, holding and consoling me. He made a weird face, and I inquired. Still in a fog, he said, “I’m just trying to stay awake and be here for you as much as I can.” The man makes me cry almost every day. He doesn’t mean to, but his sweetness, compassion and caring can be so overwhelming. Like another friend of mine, I wonder what I did to deserve this and how I got so damn lucky. Anyway, this is about whine, not cheese. After a while, we lay back down. Adam quickly went back to snoring, but I was at a loss so I’m trying something new tonight – writing.

Most nights, there’s nothing particular on my mind. I think about the baby, of course, but only random half-thoughts. Other nights, I’m plagued by images and ideas I’d rather not visit.

You see, people and life have this nasty, nasty, nasty habit of reminding you of the bad. Today, for example, I visited the diabetes education counselor at Lexington Medical Center. She was nice, full of information and materials. She was also full of stories of everything that can go wrong, especially now that I have gestational diabetes.

I took my first glucose test at my OB’s office several weeks ago. (That was another night of sleeplessness, and another story for another time.) The cut off was 135; I scored 165. I had to return for a second, longer glucose test. The nurse called a few days later and told me some of my numbers were okay, some were bad, so I need to see a dietitian about checking my blood sugar levels and changing them through diet. Today, on the other hand, I learn I’m not seeing a dietitian so much as I’m seeing a diabetes counselor. And my numbers weren’t off; I in fact have gestational diabetes.

Now I have a little blood sugar monitor I have to use four times a day. I cried in her office when I tried to use it for the first time. I mean, come on, everything in your head says, “Don’t poke yourself with sharp objects,” and here’s there’s sharp object you’re suppose to use to make yourself intentionally bleed. I also have a big packet of information staring me in the face about blood sugar, diabetes, carbohydrates and plenty of notes about what gestational diabetes can do to my unborn child. (Never mind the picture she drew of a fat baby boy in a circle with a list of possible complications.)

On top of that, I have a tooth throbbing tonight. I don’t think it’s any secret I have really bad teeth. My mother has them, too. Teeth that are very susceptible to cavities and breaking. Teeth that are prone to cause you a world of hurt at the drop of a hat. This one, tonight, feels as though I decided to take an ice pick and ram it into my jaw. Take something for pain? Think not. Pregnant women are allowed Tylenol. Two of the extra strength variety. In moderation. What I’d really like to do right now is crush an entire bottle of Tylenol and cram the powder into every nook and cranny of my mouth. Get help for the tooth you say? Sure. Find me a dentist who will take Medicaid or allow me to make payments. Find me a dentist who’s willing to do work on a pregnant woman. I’ll be the first in the line.

But because that’s not enough, let’s throw in the dancing heads. The dancing heads? Yep. These are the heads of all of the people who have lovely little pregnancy horror stories to tell. “I knew a woman who…” “My best friend’s aunt’s daughter had the worst…” I would love to know the psychology behind these stories. Why do people want to tell a pregnant woman about bad things happening? How about something happy people???

Still not enough to keep you up at night? Well, there’s the never ending list of things I need to do. There’s the baby stuff like start packing a bag for hospital, finish writing the birth plan and shop for needed items (with what money I don’t know). And there’s the usual stuff like do the laundry, clean the house and balance the checkbook (Oh, look, honey! We have four dollars!).

And there’s the stuff no one wants to imagine. My four-year-old cousin, Katie, died two weeks ago. She had a rare form of childhood liver cancer, which she fought for almost a year. Adam and I went to the wake because I wanted to be there for my family, especially Katie’s mother. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around what she must be going through. But since then, every night, I can’t help but see Katie’s sweet face in that little white and pink coffin. It’s such a cliché, but it is every parent’s worst nightmare – the loss of a child. Even now, I can’t help but put my hands on my belly and weep.

So, no, I’m not sleeping. And let me offer up a big “fuck you” to the first person who says, “Oh you might as well get use to it!” I’m sick of hearing that particular phrase every time I can’t sleep, have a headache or am unusually tired. I’m also sick of hearing things like, “You look like you’re about to pop!” and “Time just flies, doesn’t it?” and “Don’t you just love being pregnant?” and “June 6 will be here before you know it.” Cram it, sisters.

It’s 3:37 a.m. now. Even the damn cats are sleeping. This is such a lonely time. Everything is at rest. In front of my house, Highway 6, usually a buzzing four-lane highway, is quiet. My mother’s dogs are quiet. The Mexicans who live behind us are quiet. There’s not even anyone logged in on Facebook. Everything is still except me and the baby. He’s kicking harder these days, and you can see my belly move. I have nothing else to say, no one to talk to, so I’m going to go curl up next to Adam and listen to him breathe. With any luck, it will lull me into the sleep I so desperately crave.

New Year

I’m back. I didn’t fall in a hole or off a cliff or lose my mind or anything of the sort. Adam had a delightful four-week vacation from school. (He’s working on his Mechanical Engineering degree — starting at Midlands Technical College and eventually transferring to the University of South Carolina.) We warded off friends and family alike in an attempt to start preparing ourselves for the baby. We cleaned out our storage space, cleaned out every cabinet, closet and drawer in the house, rearranged furniture, bolted bookshelves and other easily climbable and toppable things to the wall, washed walls… We even took time to register at Babies R Us and Target.  The time together was delightful, and it felt good to get that ol’ proverbial ball rolling. Too often we’re distracted by other things and neglect things we need to do for ourselves. I’m sure there’s quite a few people irritated by our disappearing act, but it was best for us. Now, we feel better prepared for the baby and won’t have to deal with a lot of this leg work while Adam’s in school.

We had our “big” ultrasound last week. How amazing, breathtaking, awe-inspiring… Our baby is now close to 10 ounces, and about the length of a banana. Yet, we could see his kidneys, his spine, his ribs, all four chambers of his heart beating, details in his brain, his fingers and toes. And, yes, I’m saying his because we saw his winkie, too! Everything in the ultrasound looked normal, and we see the OB again this Friday.

Adam and I have begun discussing names. The baby will have Adam’s last name, and we’ve settled on Louis as the middle name. My great-grandfather was named Louis, and Adam’s grandfather was also named Louis.  The first name we’re still debating. What do you think?

My pregnancy is becoming easier in some ways, more difficult in others. I’m not nearly as nauseaus or tired, but getting up, down and around is proving harder. Regardless, I’m trying to enjoy every minute of it as much as I can.

Adam is just amazing. He’s entertained crack-of-dawn trips to Bojangle’s for country ham and egg biscuits and late night runs to the convenience store for strawberry ice cream and Fritos. He’s gotten up in the middle of the night to refill my glass, check on me, rub my back. He’s helped move everything around in the house. And while he should do all of these things, he’s done them with no complaints and without even really having to be asked. I say, “Mmmm… a biscuit would be good.” And before I know what’s happening he’s dressed and out the door. He even makes me laugh during hormonal crying fits. Lol. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. I can’t wait to see him in his new role as daddy. Granted, I saw his with his 13-year-old son, Teddy, this past summer. But that’s different than the daily ins and outs of a baby. I think he’s going to be great. I think we both are.

Well, as much I could sit here and wax poetic about my great little life all day, I am horribly behind on e-mails, Web site updates and other daily life stuff.  I’ll write again soon! Happy new year!

The Heart Beats

A new day… in so many ways. A new president for our struggling country. A black man in the White House. No, I haven’t blogged or said much about this election. I made a concentrated effort to stay away from the election hype, learning just enough to make an educated decision to cast my vote. So much energy — too much energy in my opinion — was wasted watching, twittering, social networking, talking, e-mailing and so on about this election. Important election, yes. Important to understand what’s going on, yes. Important to vote, yes. But why spend so much of your time and energy feeding the media machine? I dunno. It’s lost on me.

Yesterday was historical to me, personally, as well. Adam and I had our first trip to our obstetrician. I had been looking so forward to the visit, and needed the comfort of knowing my baby was okay. I have a friend who had an ectopic pregnancy, and the memory of it had haunted me. We arrived early, and I eyed the women with their protruding bellies with curiosity and fascination. Adam and I both tried not to stare at the woman who arrived with seven children of various ages in tow, and her belly announcing an eighth — one more and she has a softball team.

The nurse called us back, and we began talking in her office. The person who made my appointment made a mistake. New OB visits are usually scheduled on Wednesdays; they didn’t have a record that I was pregnant. I almost started crying. “No, no, no!” I thought. You can’t make me wait longer. Fortunately, the nurse was very kind and professional and worked me into their schedule with no problems, though she said we were doing things a bit out of order.

First, pee in the cup, which always makes me wish it was easier to aim with my equipment. Next, the ultrasound. I had the image of the tech smearing my belly with jelly and glowing like those girls in movies as she waved her magic wand and my baby’s picture appeared. No, no. I had my arse hanging off the table with my feet in stirrups as she slipped an ultrasound device inside me. It was an odd sensation, especially since I hadn’t known what to expect. But within moments, there he/she was.

I cannot even begin to describe the feeling of seeing this tiny little thing on the screen and knowing that it’s growing inside. And just as I was adjusting to seeing him/her for the first time, the tech pushed a button and the room was filled with his/her heartbeat. 170 beats per minute. My hand tightened around Adam’s, and I looked up at him to see his eyes grow moist and a smile spread across his face. I was overwhelmed.

The nurse took us back to her office for complete medical histories, a few lessons in what I should/should not be doing, introductions to the various services they offer and more. She answered all of my odd questions, and then walked us to the lab where they took ALOT of blood. We return on November 21 to meet with the doctor, have more tests completed and discuss the results of the tests we had yesterday.

We stopped at the pancake house for lunch, and were overjoyed to know that our baby is exactly where he/she should be, is the right size and has a strong heartbeat. And, of course, we’re still scared shitless.

Our first baby picture!