Author Archives: Cindy

more de-whitetrashifying, or perhaps not so much

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The process of getting new siding on our house has officially begun. And I am not happy, for the following reasons:

1) We were told that a “crew” is generally two or three guys. We have one dude working on our house. One.

2) The guy started over two weeks after the supplies were delivered, because the company allegedly just didn’t have any installers available until this week. In the meantime, the stuff has been sitting in our driveway, just waiting to be hung on our house, but fine, whatever.

3) The one dude crew? His name is Chuck. (Of course it is!) The first day on the job, he called my office number and left me a voicemail, wanting to know if it was ok – since he lives about 100 miles away – if he parked his camper in our driveway and lived in our yard for the next two weeks while he does the installation. And, um? Call me a privacy freak, but hell-to-the-no, that is not ok!

After I got his voicemail, I called the office manager lady who I’ve been talking to a lot lately, and asked her, “Don’t you guys pay to put him up in a motel or something?” I mean, the guy lives in the Olympia area, which is really far away, so I understand him not wanting to make the daily commute. But, camping out in my yard? What the hell? That issue is now resolved – I did some googling and found an RV park about ten miles from our house. So he can park his camper there, and then have access to toilets and showers and all of those other amenities that don’t involve him coming inside my damn house.

4) He starts hammering at about 6:30 in the morning. My alarm doesn’t go off until 7:00. I cannot think of a more unpleasant way to wake up. I need ear plugs, but then I’m afraid that I’d sleep through my alarm.

5) Last night, when I got home from my pre-natal yoga class (go me!), Dave took me outside to show me the first of the new siding that’s been put up. And I love the color, as I knew I would. (I’m the one who picked it, after all. I had to sell Dave on it.) But the seams, where the pieces of siding begin and end? Um. They’re bad. Lots of bubbles and gaps and things that shouldn’t be there. It looks like Dave and I installed it ourselves. And apparently Chuck told Dave that although he’s been installing siding for over 30 years, this is the first time he’s ever installed this particular type of siding. I have a major problem with the idea of being someone’s guinea pig, especially when we’re paying them a huge amount of money for a particular “service.”

This morning, I went outside and asked him about the gaps along the seams. He said that he doesn’t know “what idiot” told me that siding is supposed to look seamless. I told him that the idiot in question is the sales rep from his company who sold the project to us. He gave me this speech about how the siding is going to expand the first time the sun hits it, and then the seams won’t be visible anymore, yadda yadda. I had a total girl moment right then, because I was thinking, “But it’s vinyl, which is a man-made material. It doesn’t expand and contract like, say, wood…” I don’t know why I didn’t say it, I don’t think it was a fear of being too aggressive. I think it was just early in the morning and my brain and mouth weren’t cooperating yet.

Oh, he also does that thing that some people do where they say your name every time they address you? “Well, you see, Cindy…”, “Yeah, Cindy, I know what you mean, but…”, etc. I generally consider that to be a quality that dishonest people use to try to ingratiate themselves to others. I hate it. I get that you remember my name. You can stop saying it now.

Anyway, I’m going to make Dave go talk to him about the issue with the seams, because I think he might respond differently when talking to a man. Who knows. But if he gives Dave a bullshit answer about why the siding looks so bad, I’m calling the company and telling them that they either need to get us another “crew” or they can give up any hope of ever seeing a dime from us.

In other news, I planted flowers last weekend. Look, pretty!


vindication

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Friday evening, a nurse from my doctor’s office called me about my bloodwork. I’m completely annoyed that it took two weeks for them to notify me of the results. I suppose that’s probably normal, but still, it’s irritating. Of course, I’m ten weeks pregnant, so everything irritates me right now. Last night, I woke up because I heard Dave sniffling (he’s having allergy problems) and I was all cranky and said, “Ok, you need to do something about that right now.” What a sweet, empathetic wife I am, no?

Apparently this particular nurse only handles the results of genetic screening, because the reason she called was to tell me that I do indeed carry the gene for cystic fibrosis. I have a cousin who died of CF a couple of years ago, so I wasn’t entirely surprised to find out that I’m a carrier for the disease. All it means is that Dave now has to go have the blood test done too. In order for our child to have CF, not only would we both have to carry the gene, we’d have to carry the same strain as well. (There are something like 300 identified strains of cystic fibrosis.) Dave doesn’t have a family history of CF at all, so the odds of our child having the disease are pretty slim.

So, I’m trying very hard not to waste any time or energy worrying about something that is such a remote possibility, although I must admit that the worst-case scenarios do tend to keep popping up in the back of my mind. (They always do.)

Since I had the nurse on the phone, I asked her about the results of the rest of my bloodwork. I know that every woman who has ever been pregnant (including my own mom) keeps telling me that it’s normal to feel this tired during the first trimester, but I’ve had all of these little internal alarms that were telling me that something is abnormal. I have to take so many supplements because of my gastric bypass surgery, and I know how easily those balances can be thrown off. Also, I’ve had an underactive thyroid all of my life, and I’ve taken medication for it since I was 9 years old. My medication has been pretty stable for the past couple of years, but if anything should throw it off kilter, I think pregnancy would do it.

This is how the conversation with the nurse went, after she gave me the news about having the CF gene:

Me: Ok, and I was sort of wondering about the rest of my bloodwork…

Her: (very chirpy and perky) Everything looks good! You’re HIV-negative, and your gonorrhea and chlamydia tests both came back negative too!
(All of her sentences ended in exclamation points. Too bad there isn’t a font that will let me dot my i’s with hearts, because it would be totally appropriate.)

Me: (what I thought) Duh? Christ, I should hope so.
(what I said) Um, I was thinking more about my vitamin and thyroid levels.

Her: Well, let’s see… Oh actually, it looks like you’re a little anemic! And your thyroid is off too! I’ll have to have the doctor review this on Monday and have her adjust your medication!

Finally!! I’m not crazy, there really is something wrong. It was actually a relief to hear that, because it made me feel vindicated that this hasn’t been all in my head this whole time. My internal alarm system isn’t completely whacked.

And for the record, a normal thyroid level would be .3 or .4. Mine is .06, so it’s way off.

So, I’ve doubled my iron supplement, and I’ve been eating a lot spinach and lean red meat for the extra iron. I won’t know what to do with my thyroid meds until I hear from the doctor, but I’m going to call them this afternoon if I don’t hear from them. I’m really looking forward to starting to feel semi-human again.

je suis tres fatiguee

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I’ve been a bad blogger lately because I am so. damn. tired. All the time. This first trimester is kicking my ass. The nausea isn’t nearly as bad as the exhaustion. I mean, at least I can go a day (even two sometimes, if I’m lucky) without being sick. But the fatigue is constant. I’m really starting to wonder if there’s something else wrong, like maybe I’m not getting enough iron or B-12 or something. I do take supplements for all of that stuff, but this just doesn’t feel right. I wake up tired after sleeping for 9 or 10 hours. That can’t possibly be normal.

My doctor’s office took some blood when I was there a couple of weeks ago, but I have yet to hear anything as far as the results. I’ve contemplated calling them to find out if everything was ok with my bloodwork, but that would require me to get off my butt, look up the number for my doctor’s office, find the phone and call them. I know: I’m a bad pregnant lady, I don’t have my ob’s number memorized. But at least I know that it’s on a business card on our fridge. It’s just the effort of walking downstairs that feels a bit overwhelming.

Seriously? I am typing this entry with my laptop propped up on my knees while I’m lying in bed. Because sitting at my desk is just too draining.

Other than that, there isn’t too much going on. I suppose that’s logical, seeing as how it’s a bit challenging to plan a social life when you can’t keep your eyes open for any length of time.

Although, one of my friends from college is coming to town for some work thing, so Kris and I are meeting up with her for dinner tonight. Kris and I are going in separate cars too, because there’s a remote possibility that they might want to go out to do something after dinner, and there’s no way I’ll be up for that. Hell, the only way I’ll make it through dinner is if I get at least an hour-long nap in beforehand. But I am really looking forward to having dinner with the girls tonight, even if it’s only for a couple of hours before I have to go home and crawl back into my pajamas.

oh yeah, and a new job too

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What with all the baby excitement, I sort of forgot to mention that I’m changing jobs this week. The job that I’ve had since last December was a contract that was scheduled to end on June 30. Which was Friday. Which would mean that I would now be unemployed.

Except! I went and found myself a new job. There was a different team at the Giant Software Company that I worked with a lot, and the manager of that team really liked me, so when he found out that my contract was ending, he found a spot for me on his team. This works out well for a few reasons:

1) It’s the same stuff I’ve already been doing, so there’s no major adjustment period necessary.

2) The new job is part-time, I’m only going to be working Tuesdays through Thursdays. So, about 20-25 hours a week. I really love the idea of working for three days and then having four days off. It makes scheduling doctor’s appointments a lot easier, and it gives me time for the million or so little nesting projects around the house that I want to do before the baby gets here.

3) It’ll last until my eligibility at the Giant Software Company runs out. I will have been there for a year sometime around late November or early December, so that’s when this job will end. I’ll be about 7 months along by then (first trimester qualifying statement: assuming nothing bad happens, of course!). So I’ll be able to spend the last couple of months at home before the baby arrives, which is nice.

4) Did I mention that it’s part-time? Because I really love that. And with the July 4th holiday being tomorrow, I don’t actually start until Wednesday. So I’m only working two days this week. That’s right: out of the first ten days of the month of July, I’m working on two of them. Awesome.

I haven’t quite figured out what’s next for me, career-wise. I know I want to spend the first few months at home with the baby, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to be a permanent stay-at-home mom, or if I’m going back to work – and if I am, full-time versus part-time, etc. Or maybe I’ll try to find something that lets me work from home, I don’t know.

Dave and I have decided to just go with the flow on this one, and see what feels like the right thing to do when the time comes. Pretty much everything in our lives is going to change over the next year, so there’s really no point in trying to write anything in stone just yet.

tummy issues

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Even though I’m 5’5″, I am what one might call a short-waisted girl. I remember, several years ago, when low-rise jeans first became available in stores. I still praise that day because it was the first time in my life that I was able to buy jeans and wear them off the rack.

Before that sacred, blessed day, every time I bought a pair of “regular” jeans, I had to get my mom to alter them, because either: (a) the waist of the jeans came up to about 2 inches below my bra line (sexay!), or (b) if I pushed them down so they were actually on my waist, it created this weird bulge in the crotch that made me look like I had a package. Not a good look, to say the least.

Because of that, I knew before I got pregnant that I would probably start to show a little earlier than some people. When there isn’t much up-and-down room for the baby to grow, it tends to go straight out in front of you. I know that’s something that my cousin is dealing with right now. Also, when I was in college, I worked with a woman who was about 5 feet tall, and by the time she was 4 months along, people were looking at her sideways, going, “Um…. are you sure you aren’t having twins?” (And even though I thought I understood at the time, I really understand now why those sorts of questions infuriated her.)

But still, I had this delusion that I wouldn’t start to show until my third or fourth month. I don’t know where I came up with that. I think I was basing it on the fact that Madonna was something like 3 months pregnant when she was filming “Evita,” and you couldn’t really tell except for that one scene where she danced with Antonio Banderas. Remember? She was wearing that white satin-y dress and if you looked closely, you could see that she had a little bit of a tummy.

Um, yeah. Comparing my pregnancy to Madonna’s. I’m clearly totally sane.

The point of all this is that I feel like I’m already starting to show, and I’m not even 9 weeks along. Is it possible for me to be showing this early? Or have I just taken up temporary residence in Bloatville? Because I don’t feel like I have a “baby bump,” I feel like I’m just carrying an extra spare tire around my middle. But I’ve actually lost two pounds since I found out I was pregnant a month ago. (Hooray for being too nauseated to eat, although I don’t think that’s a diet plan that I want to stick to.)

My mom keeps insisting that she was in maternity clothes by the time she was ten weeks along. She also has a memory like swiss cheese, so I don’t know how much I believe that. I’m not at the point of wearing maternity clothes yet, but I keep eyeing the few maternity tops that I’ve bought, and thinking that they look really comfortable right about now. My choice of summer clothes is pretty slim since I’ll only wear shirts that are loose around my waist. And my jeans (even my baggy ones that I always had to wear a belt with) are so tight that they’re starting to leave little denim imprints on my flesh, which isn’t too comfortable. Getting dressed for work the past few mornings has not been fun for me.

So, any of you who read this who either are pregnant, have been pregnant, or are close to someone who’s been through it – when is it “normal” to start to show? Is this what the early stages are supposed to feel like, or do I just need to pop a Gas-X and chill out?

first photos

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Apologies for the last two posts being flashbacks, I think we can bring things up to present day now.

I had my first doctor’s appointment yesterday, complete with ultrasound. Dave came with me, although I made him scoot the chair around so that he was up by my head. As it is, he’ll witness my body enduring numerous indignities over the next year; I figured that he really didn’t need to see how the business end of a speculum works. At least not this early in the game.

Although it was sort of strange to have Dave in the room during my physical, I just reminded myself that my cat once witnessed one of my pelvic exams, and then it didn’t seem so weird. That’s actually a true story: it was back when Dave and I were first dating and I was flying out (for work) the next day, so I was bringing Teenie to his house while I went out of town. It was one of those situations where I either had to spend an extra 2 hours in traffic or bring the cat with me to the doctor’s office (on my way to Dave’s). And it was like 90 degrees outside, so I couldn’t leave her in the car. So, Teenie sat in her kitty carrier on the floor of the exam room while I had my physical. Luckily, my doctor thought it was hilarious.

Ok, back to current day. Here’s something I didn’t know: eight-week ultrasounds? That is not the kind that they do on your belly. Oh no, it’s an “internal ultrasound” – aka the DildoCam. I kind of had a suspicion about that, but I really wish someone had warned me. It isn’t exactly the most comfortable way to experience the first glimpse of your unborn child, but hey, whatever.



See how cute it is? I don’t think either Dave or I have ever gotten that excited about a fuzzy gray blob.

(Oh, as for my use of the word DildoCam: hi, Google perverts! This is not the site you’re looking for. Move along.)

I also managed to resist the urge to make a joke about whether or not the internal ultrasound had a “vibrate” switch. I think my doctor probably would’ve laughed, but I knew Dave would be mortified, so I behaved myself. (Instead, I just shared my internal-monologue joke with the Internet. Hooray for my lack of a censor button!)

It was sort of weird that I didn’t get emotional or weepy at all during the ultrasound. It was more like a “whew, alright, everything’s ok” relief sort of feeling, not an “oh my gawd, that’s our BAAAYYYBEEE!!!” thing.



But, getting to see the heartbeat was pretty awesome.

So, it looks like everything is ok so far with the baby. As for me, symptom-wise, the fatigue is the worst. The nausea comes and goes, although I still haven’t thrown up yet (I’ve just had a few moments where I really wished that I could have). Other than that, my skin is breaking out and I keep having crazy hormone-induced technicolor nightmares. Oh, and I feel like I’m starting to show, although I’m pretty sure it’s just bloat. Whee! Pregnancy is super-fun!

Whatever. If this is the worst of it, I can take it. As long as this baby comes out healthy, I can deal with a lot worse than this.

behind-the-scenes in New Orleans

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So, when I wrote the New Orleans recap there were a few things I left out. It’s kind of funny that I had so convinced myself that I wouldn’t be pregnant because I didn’t want to be disappointed again, that I had gotten myself all psyched up for this trip to New Orleans, where I could eat oysters and drink hurricanes from Pat O’Brien’s. Since I found out I was pregnant about a week before we left, obviously my dreams of alcohol and raw shellfish were dashed, but I didn’t really care when I considered the trade-off.

That whole first week when I knew I was pregnant? I didn’t have a single symptom. I mean, ok, I was a little more tired than usual, and my boobs were sore, but it wasn’t anything bad. Friday, the day we flew out, is when all of this morning sickness stuff decided to rear its ugly head for the first time. I hate to fly, and I would normally have a drink or take a Dramamine before getting on a plane so I could sleep most of the way. Neither of those are an option for me right now, so instead I learned the hard way that:

motion sickness + morning sickness + one layover + 6 hours of actual flight time + the middle seat (because I’m short, so I always give Dave the aisle) = absolute, pure hell.

Seriously, when we were taking off from Dallas (the location of our layover), I thought I was going to have to make use of the barf bags that they put in the seat backs. I’ve never been that sick on a plane before. (Well, except for the time I flew from Atlanta to Seattle with quite possibly the worst hangover of my life. But at least on that trip, the airline accidentally upgraded me to first class, so I suffered quite comfortably.)

I had made it very clear to my immediate family beforehand that I didn’t want the news of my pregnancy to be announced. This weekend was for my cousin and his fiancee, I didn’t want them to feel like I was stealing their thunder by showing up and being all, “hey everybody, guess what?” Plus the fact that it was still so early that I just didn’t want to talk about it yet. (For the record, I’m still terrified about the risk of miscarriage. I think I’ll feel safer about that when I’m in my second trimester.)

The trip started off ok. My uncle Stanton and aunt Susie (Cat’s folks) went with us when we toured the city on Saturday, and I’m sure they might’ve wondered what was up with me when I was the only one crying over all of the devastation. Or, when we stopped at a gas station to use the restroom, and all they had was one un-air-conditioned porta-potty outside, and it was well over 100 degrees in there, and I seriously almost fainted. Which, ew. Can you think of a grosser place to pass out? I kept thinking that I just needed to get my pants up so I could open the door – that way, if I needed to faint, I could fall forward, land on my aunt (who was next in line) and that would cushion my fall somewhat. (Sorry, Susie!) I made it out of there ok, but then I was all, “Um, could someone please get me a bottle of water and an apple juice, like, oh, NOW?!?!!” (My sister came to my rescue on that one.)

The wedding was that night. And I did ok at first. Then, you know the part of the Catholic service where everyone kneels on the little prayer benches? While I was kneeling, I started to shake and sweat (even though the church was probably 65 degrees), and I thought I was going to pass out. I tried to hold it together, I really did. Dave got me to sit on the pew rather than kneeling, and that was ok. I was still sweating and feeling sort of cotton-mouthed, but the shakiness wasn’t as noticeable as it had been when I was kneeling. The next part of the service was where everyone stood up – everyone except for me, that is, and Dave, who was holding my hand and looking at me really intently because he was waiting for me to keel over any second. I lasted about about another minute like that before I said, “ok, I need to get out of here.”

Both Dave and my mom helped me out – it was mortifying because it was one of those really old cathedrals that doesn’t have a restroom inside. Instead, we had to go out the huge 20-foot door on the side of the sanctuary, and when it opens you can suddenly hear all of the street traffic outside, so it’s really, really noticeable. I think only – oh, everyone – saw me leave in this very non-discreet fashion.

Then, my aunt Michele came chasing after us to make sure we could find the bathroom, because it was sort of confusing – you had to go around the back of the church and through a fence to enter the rectory, and somewhere hidden back there was a bathroom. With no air-conditioning. Again. And no lights, either. Lovely. I drank some (disgustingly warm) tap water out of the sink, splashed a bit on my face, and my mom flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and made me sit on it. After a minute or so, it started to occur to me just how big a spectacle we were, leaving the church like that. I said to my mom, “I guess I’m busted now, huh?” She said, “Well, unless you want people coming up to you all night asking if you’re sick…”

So. We snuck back into the church just as the Communion part was wrapping up. We sat in the back while the ceremony finished, and then we went forward to catch up with the rest of the family. Everyone was sort of milling around the church and chatting, so I went ahead and told everyone then about being pregnant. It wasn’t quite the way that I wanted to handle it, but it was pretty cool. Everyone was really excited for us. And throughout the reception, people kept coming up to Dave and me to congratulate us – all people we hadn’t told, of course, that’s just how fast word spreads in our family. But that’s fine.

Also, when I said to one of my great aunts that I wasn’t planning to talk about it yet because it’s so early, she said, “You told people in church, honey. It’ll be fine.”

Let’s hope so.