Friday, June 15, 2012

why can't Little C stand for CORNDOG?

Our air conditioner 'crapped itself' this week (Michael's technical term for everything that breaks).  On Monday there was a nice surprise of wet stinky carpet in the basement because something was leaking from the a/c.  Michael did some investigating and found a hole in one of the coils, called the a/c repair dudes and told them what part to order, and then rigged it up so that we could use it short term while waiting on the part. 

I got a call from Michael sometime around 10 and the first thing he said was 'are you dressed?' so I knew right away the a/c repair dudes were on their way.  And yes, I happened to be dressed.  Morgan wasn't.  She was nakey sitting on her potty at that moment.  So I had to encourage her to hurry and finish (plus took a picture of her sitting on the potty to text to my best friend Paul to gross him out...), clean the potty out, get her in some clothes, kick the cats out of the way, and get downstairs just in time to open the door for the repair dudes. 

Sometime during all of this, one of my doctors called and left an urgent message.  The Little C titer is increasing.  The antibody levels are getting 'critical.'  She encouraged me to call back as soon as possible so we could set up an appointment Monday in Pittsburgh for a special ultrasound to check the baby's brain for blood levels to see if he's anemic yet.  I called Michael, freaking out a bit, because that's what I do.  Then in the middle of trying to call my doctor back I hear 'Mrs. McCumbers?' from the basement so I had to hang up and go write a $381 check for a/c repairs (seriously?!  $381?!?  OUCH!!!) and tell them thank you while trying not to inhale the sickening smell of the snuff the repair dude is sucking on. 

I spend the next ten minutes trying to call my doctor.  That office is always ridiculously busy, like they seriously need to hire more people to answer the phone.  During the 5th attempt to call, I had an incoming call.  It was the doctor's office!  They were actually calling me back.

Wow, I felt important.

This time it was a nurse instead of the doctor, which is unfortunate because I would have liked to have asked some questions.  But she told me that my doctor called and talked to the doctor in Pittsburgh and they set up an appointment for Monday at 1 for an ultrasound.

Let me just vent for a moment....

Months ago we met with one of the specialists in Pittsburgh.  Super nice doctor!  And he assured us that the chance of my levels increasing were VERY slim and we wouldn't have anything to worry about.


...that 'very slim chance' is happening. 

Not the doctor's fault, I know that.  But I'm still irritated.  And I'm freaking out a little.  Because that's what I DO.  Have you met my family?  And have you seen my family members in a stressful situation?  It's almost comical honestly.  One time our chimney caught on fire and while my dad was on the roof checking it out, my mom threw my brothers and me out in the snow in our pajamas with the box full of family photos from the closet while she called the fire department and screamed at them 'I don't KNOW where I live!!!!!  Just get here!!'


So I texted all of my friends to give them an update and because I needed their moral support (I really do have some amazing friends) and now I'm on an adrenaline high.  I've got to get my house cleaned!  I've got to get bags packed!  My mom is on red alert.  My local friends are on standby in case we need help with Morgan...what if we find out Monday he's anemic and has to be born right away for a blood transfusion?  Crazy! 

So this weekend I'll be cleaning like crazy.  The doctor said he will probably be born next week since the antibody levels have increased.  The longer he stays in there, the higher the chance of him becoming anemic.  Plus he's already a fatty, he's cooked enough in my opinion.  I'm tired of finding new stretch marks every day.

One of my friends texted me with 'boys are a pain in our butts from the beginning' which made me laugh. 

All I can say is that Jack had better be the easiest baby ever after he's born.

And I really really want a corn dog.  Random, I know.

toddlers are not human.

I'm taking a break from an adrenaline rush induced cleaning spree (thanks to a call from the doctor earlier today, separate blog to come) and distracting myself with a little blog writing.

Last night before 'lights out,' Michael and I were talking about Morgan.

Me:  how is it possible for her to run in circles for 4 hours at the pool in the heat and not be worn out?
Michael:  she's not human.  she's a toddler.
Me:  this is true.  toddlers have superhuman powers. 

Michael is onto something here.  Toddlers fall into a different category and join homo sapiens perhaps by the age of 5?  Or is it just MY toddler? 

I watched her at the pool.  She played in the baby pool, then ran over to the 'splash zone' area where she would run circles through all of the spraying water, then back to the baby pool, then splash zone, then pool, the splash zone...

you get the picture.

Lucky for me, it was not busy at all and I could sit in a chair and watch (and get sunburned).  After 4 hours I had to drag her away.  She cried most of the way home because she didn't want to leave the pool.  Wouldn't most 3 year olds be exhausted after 4 hours in the sun at the pool?  Not mine.  She came home and dragged every toy she owns into the living room while I worked on dinner.  She was awake until about 10:00 after an hour of fussing and being down right bratty (because she was tired but couldn't wind down).

It's like watching a windup toy....she goes and goes....and then gets slower....and slower....then stops.  The only time she's not moving is when she's asleep. 

Superhuman power of extreme energy.  Can't they sell that in pill form?

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Fat Boy!

Five hours at the doctor today.  Five hours!!!

Ultrasound at 9, appointment with doctor at 9:45.  Of course even though it was early in the morning, they were already running behind.  I'm glad I dragged myself out of bed to get there on time, and I was really queasy this morning and had to sip Gaterade on the way there.  While I was waiting I saw both the ultrasound tech and doctor arrive so I knew it was going to be a long morning. 

Oh well. 

Thank goodness my mom happened to be visiting and kept Morgan while I went to the doctor. 

Ultrasound tech squirted the goop on my stomach and started to work her magic and immediately said 'oh wow, he's big!'

What?  I don't have big babies.  That's not mine. 

At 35 weeks pregnant he's already weighing 8lb 5oz!!!

Uhhhh....I'm supposed to last another 4 weeks before the c-section.  So he might be 11 pounds?

Morgan was 6lb 13oz and 19 inches long when she was born.  She wore preemie clothes the first week, then wore newborn clothes for 5 weeks.  Jack is going to be wearing 3 month clothes at birth and size 1 diapers....maybe he'll be big enough to go on to preschool too.

And I thought he was breech like Morgan and I kept rubbing his head, under my left ribs, same position as Morgan.

Turns out that's his big butt.


The doctor told me to try to rest and keep my feet up so I don't go into early labor.  Apparently a fatty baby takes up so much room that my body might try to get rid of it early. 

Rest and keep my feet the 7 hour shopping trip with my mom and Morgan yesterday wasn't a good idea?  Of course it was.  We found Babies R Us, Burlington Baby Depot, and Trader Joe's!  I bought this awesome body pillow called a Snoogle that takes up half of the bed.  Michael has about 5 inches of space to snooze in.  But I can't help it that his son is a fatty and takes up so much room!

So then they wanted to do a nonstress test.  I'm surprised they haven't scheduled any sooner.  I'm diabetic and they usually want to do nonstress tests once a week starting around 32 weeks.  I had to do them when I was pregnant with Morgan.  They put straps around my stomach and hook me up to a monitor to keep track of the baby's heartbeat for 20 minutes and I have to push a button every time the baby moves.  I get to lounge in a recliner and watch tv and play on my phone and listen to the heartbeat.  After the 20 minutes, the nurse looked concerned and came back with orange juice telling me to drink it.  She said the baby wasn't moving enough.  Then the doctor came in and told me to go eat and come back to do it again. 

What?!  It was after 12, I had been there since 9.  I had a babysitter and I'm spending my precious kid-free time stuck at the doctor?!  Yuck.

So I went to get some lunch, and a big iced tea, hoping the caffeine would help.  Then I drove back and waited to be hooked back up.  Everything was fine.  Fat boy was just hungry.  Finally at 2 I was finished and could go home.

At least I got a free glass of orange juice out of all that...

So my son is going to be huge.  Maybe he will be fat and happy and will be an easier baby than Morgan was.