yay

I cried. I admit it.

Canada's Game

I don't watch hockey.

I don't sit down every Saturday night and watch the game. I have no idea how my home team, the Canucks, are doing. The only reason I knew how the Leafs were doing when I lived in Toronto was that I lived near a street where people would drive home from games, blowing their horns if Toronto won. I couldn't name a single player on either team. I barely register if the uniforms change, and I have serious concerns about how much we pay professional athletes.

And I doubt that will ever change.

We're a nutty people. We love to watch people move really fast and aggressively on ice, plowing into each other, slamming against the boards, getting into fist fights, and chasing something the size of a child's toy with sticks.

But.

I will of course be sitting myself down in front of the computer at noon to watch what it likely to be the most-watched sports event in Canadian history.

I think it's nutty. But I expect I'll be screaming myself hoarse anyway.

My first conversation of the morning*

The Boy: Mom, what if it rained earwax? (1)

Me: Ew! (2)

....

Me: Would it be your earwax or God's? (3)

TB: *I* don't know. (4)

Me: Well, you think about that. (5)

....

TB: I think it would have to be someone who lived up in the sky. (6)

Me: Like God.

TB: (unenthusiastically) Yeah. .... (with considerably more enthusiasm) Or maybe SANTA!! (7)

* complete with footnotes!

1 Can I get a "what the hell, kid??"

2 Good answer, mom.

3 Seriously? You're going to continue this conversation??!

4 Better answer. Let's STOP THE MADNESS.

5. Now, I say this a lot because it's a good way to buy time when I'm driving / cooking / concentrating on something else, but PLEASE. STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP.

6 Well at least someone's exercising some logic here.

7 Yet again my superior religious education shines through. In my son's mind, "red-robed, portly gentleman who delivers toys once a year and perpetuates commercialization of religious holidays" and "omnipotent, omniscient deity who created the world and whose every commandment we should obey" are EQUAL. In fact Santa seems to have the edge.

Whoa

The men's curling team has two Very Cute players. Heh.

I am a bonehead

Yesterday I got home after work with the small child, and it was raining. The Boy decided he wanted a fire in the fireplace, so in between texting The Man, watching a child, and defrosting and making dinner, I lit a fire in the fireplace.

At the time, The Boy was texting his dad (which consists of typing random letters / symbols into the texter) and I said -- tell daddy we lit a fire! And I said -- type these letters. F. I. R. E.

And then I went back to dinner.

And a few moments later, the phone rang. No hello. "Is everything ok??!!" said The Man.

Of course he'd texted back ... what?? And neither of us had answered. And not being omniscient, he didn't realize that when I said "fire" it was just in the fireplace. So to him, on the bus, I had just announced something was burning, and then disappeared.

Yeah. Clearly Friday evening brain deadness.

Oh Canada

As a woman and as a Canadian, can I just say .... yay! :)

(I'm sure it's just the pregnancy hormones, but I'm tearing up!)

30 Weeks

Another five weeks, another midwife appointment -- this time I'm still measuring right on track in terms of fundal height, but instead of the recommended five pounds, I've gained ten. This would explain the feeling I have of enormity. Midwife is, as ever, unconcerned. "Sometimes you gain a lot in those middle weeks, it'll drop off around week 36." So she says. I think I gained more in the last weeks of the last pregnancy than in the entirety of the beginning; at least then it was mostly water weight.

At this appointment they also palpated me and checked the position of the baby, which was more uncomfortable than I remember from last time. Good baby is head down, back to the left side (which I knew, from the amount of abuse my right side / right ribs have been getting. There must be feet and hands over there!) Of course at 30 weeks the kid can flip right back over again before delivery, but I guess it's a good sign. However, the abuse that my bladder took at both the palpating and my kid not being pleased with same was not pleasant.

Anyway ... not much new. Thirty weeks. My back hurts, sitting hurts, and I'm feeling unpleasantly breathless whenever I lie down, but I'm watching my sugar intake and taking iron supplements and I'm feeling pretty good -- in many ways better than earlier on in this pregnancy. I anticipate this feeling will last another few weeks, five at most, before I start feeling like a whale and this whole thing starts being a lot less fun.

The other morning while lying in bed, The Boy leaned down and touched my belly. "Hi Bumblebee, it's your big brother, [name]. I hope you come out soon!" he whispered, and there lay mommy in a pool of melted goo. I really do need to get on this whole sibling preparation thing -- making sure he understands that mommy will be in the hospital for a night or two, that he'll be home with daddy or his auntie, that the baby won't immediately be able to play with him and that the baby for the first while will cry and poop and sleep and eat and not much else, and the same goes for mommy. I don't know how to do all this, and even if I do, whether it will get through to him. But I guess all I can do is try.

I worry a lot. He and I have a really good, wonderful, close bond. I love that, and I worry a lot about it being damaged and changed when the baby comes. I wonder if I will regret having the baby if my relationship with The Boy is changed too much. I value so much what we have, our closeness, and while I know it will change in time I'd hate to feel like I forced it; that it was my fault.

But I guess I just need to accept that the change is inevitable, that it will come regardless of a sibling or not, and that if I put in the effort, that things will be ok. It's times like this that I am actually kind of glad that we have had four years between them -- I may worry about our relationship, but we've had a good four years of solid bonding, and that won't be undone by a few months of change. (I hope!)

Anyway ... it's the unknown. It is what it is. We'll just have to see how it goes. In about ... ten more weeks.

Yikes.

Shocking

I'm watching Olympics and it looks like it is snowing on the North Shore!! Will wonders never cease!

Curling the Games

I'm not a fan of curling. But my mother is, so when she announced back in the summer that she'd purchased three tickets for Olympic Curling, one for each of her, me, and my sister (my father being a fan of curling, but not the Olympics), I didn't even consider saying no. I mean, for one thing, my mom had just done something nice for me, and for another, it's as much an opportunity to bond with family as it is about watching a sport. And what the heck, experiencing the Games while they are here is a good thing. Just to say I did.

I had heard terrible rumours of the difficulty of accessing venues -- tales of long security lines and difficult security, and my mother of course believed them all and planned to arrive a good two hours in advance of the starting time. I was a little more skeptical (and a lot less concerned about missing a few moments of the game) so got on the bus at a time that would give me a good hour to spare (even with my very slow waddle these days.) And I was very pleasantly surprised that not only did the security lines move quickly, but that my stash of food wasn't questioned (hard to find things to eat inside a sports venue when a.) pregnant b.) gluten intolerant and c.) glucose intolerant. Yeah.) but that I was offered the option to skip the xray machine and wand in favour of a polite and professional pat down by a security woman. I wasn't too concerned about the xray machine -- I flew when The Boy was in utero, and he doesn't seem damaged by the security screen -- but it was good to have the option to skip it regardless.

I don't know much about curling, either, but I figured (rightly so) that I would get caught up in the excitement of the game regardless, which I did. Canada played Sweden and won, which was great, of course, and I also appreciated that, while we did all cheer extremely loudly when the Canadians made a particularly good shot, there was a collective "awwwwww" when the Swedes missed a shot as well, even though it gave Canada an advantage. We're still nice people, us in the Curling crowd (I make no similar claims for the hockey crowds, however. They remain unpredictable!)

So all in all: pleasantly surprised by the entirety, even the after-event activities which allowed me to get on a shuttle to the nearest train station because I looked so pregnant and therefore qualified as someone who needed help in walking. Heh. (To be fair, it was a good thing ... I was tired of walking by that time, and was pleased to sit down on something more comfortable than the plastic arena seat.)

I still reserve the right to grumble about my increased taxes over the coming years, though.

Clearly large

Today I went to the Olympics. But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

I went to the Olympics by public transit, loaded up with food for the hours-long afternoon. So my bag was heavier than normal, filled as it was with three apples, some grapes, a bag of trail mix, and a peanut butter sandwich (all of which I ate during the afternoon, might I add, as well as a granola bar which I found in my jacket pocket. And a litre and a half of water). This added weight caused me to brush it against my head as I lifted it over my head. Against my ear, in fact, against the stud in my earlobe, which detached itself and fell to the ground. I was ten minutes from my bus, so I only had a limited amount of time to look for it. I found the stud, but not the backing, which is not surprising given their relative sizes, and I just had to leave instead of keeping on looking.

I've had the studs a good long time, so I figure, well, I can always buy new ones. Not so great, but I guess they've done pretty well for me. C'est la vie.

I walked two blocks to the bus stop, pausing along the way to get myself the first of three bottles of water. I waited at the stop, got on the bus. Went a dozen blocks, got off the bus. Walked to a second stop. Sat down. Waited. Got on the bus. Sat down. Moved seats because the guy who sat down beside me had just finished a cigarette and STANK (I cannot stand the smell of cigarettes normally, after an unfortunate vomiting incident once in university, which cured me from ever smoking again. Which I'm sure was a good thing, although I hate breathing bad / stale / smoggy air so much that I'm not sure I would ever have become a smoker at all. But that experience really did seal the deal. And now in pregnancy ... the stank is WORSE THAN EVER.)

And only then did I look down at my stomach .... to see a small bump under my shirt. I pause.

Huh. That's not my belly button, nor is it the top of my yoga pants.

Did I drop a crumb down my shirt while having lunch? Hmmmm. I reached up my shirt ... to find the earring backing. It had fallen into my shirt, and through all that walking and moving and shifting position, had remained STUCK between my shirt and my belly.

I was very much hoping that this shirt would make it until the end of pregnancy, and now I fear perhaps that is not so much so.

Ah well.

(Compounding this discovery was then my mother taking a photo of me and my sister at the event, and my looking at the photo only to realize GODDAMN I AM HUGE. I guess you just don't notice it while living it every day. I only see the top view, after all. The front / side is getting astonishing.)

Even a decade later

Last night I had one of those extremely vivid pregnancy dreams. The ones that are so vivid I have to convince myself they aren't happening when I wake up. The ones that are so vivid that if I fall back to sleep too early, I go straight back into the dream.

Last night's I was writing an exam. And I got up and left 45 minutes in, and went ... I don't remember where. And I came back with only about 10 minutes to go without having finished and I was totally panicked because I wouldn't be able to finish (despite the fact that the back 3/4 of the exam booklet was the yellow pages. Go figure.). And my panic? Because I was going to get a B. Or maybe even (gasp!) a C+.

Oh, the horror.

I woke up afterwards and shook my head -- I mean, honestly, no matter how much attention I paid to my grades, no one even asked me about them afterwards.

And then I reconsidered. I mean, the fact that I got good grades in high school got me into university. The fact that I got good grades in university (and an honours degree) meant that I got into my Master's program. The Master's degree probably helped me get my first job out of grad school, which led to my job right now which is a pretty good one.

And I know of two people who futzed around through their undergrad years, never finishing their degree, who have had immense trouble finding good, permanent work afterwards. Even a decade later. Oh, sure, it doesn't happen to everyone. But it did to them.

So no, no one ever asked me what I got in English 200. But it was probably worth all that studying anyway.

But I still don't think I need the panic dream ten years later, thanks anyway subconscious.

It begins

It's hard to tell, but I usually have larger ankle bones / smaller
legs than this. Swelling isn't too bad still, compared to last time.
And there's nothing like a good reason to sit down and knit.

Odd

Today my mother brought me some onesies that state on them they are good for 0-12 pounds. Now, I'm not sure, because my own baby was close to eight pounds, but I'm pretty sure that a child who is less than a pound will not fit into the clothes that will fit a 12 pounder. Just sayin.

* * * * * * * * *

Today I took my kid for a haircut and had to leave after five minutes. He wasn't tantruming, he was just absolutely determined not to get in one of the chairs. Period. End of story. Nothing I said or did would change his mind. I just had no idea what to do, so I just left. I have a feeling this will not be my favourite memory of childrearing: utter frustration and impotent fury.

* * * * * * * * *

Every once in a while I wake up and the child inside me has spread himself so thin somehow that my belly is flat -- I mean, bigger than before, but flat. I can't figure out where his body is, let alone his head. Now I know he HAS those things because we saw the ultrasounds, and while I may be pessimistic about things, even *I'm* pretty sure that they can't just disappear. Where do they go? Is it just that my intestines are completely squished and there's just lots of room down there?

* * * * * * * * *

I'm calling the baby he, because we've been referring to it so much as "she" that I was starting to believe it was a girl, and I really didn't want to be shocked and surprised by a little boy at birth. The Boy (the one we currently have; may have to come up with a new pseudonym) believes it's a girl, so he calls her "she", and so do we, his parents. And I want to try and balance the two in my mind.

Last time, six months in, I was sure it was a boy. Sure. I just knew it. So much so that I wasn't surprised when they said it was a boy at birth, and I had this feeling that I had already known. This time I have no such conviction (and I might add that according to most gestational metrics, I'm at seven months). I kind of flip flop back and forth between sure it's a girl and sure it's boy. So either I'm having twins (despite the single baby on the ultrasound) or the baby has indeterminate genitalia.

Man, am I going to be sorry I said that if it's actually true.

Damn pregnancy hormones

I drove to get my son from daycare today and Rod Stewart came on the radio. I'm not a big fan, I admit -- oh, he's fine and all but I don't own any albums or anything. And he's singing Forever Young and I started to cry. In the car. And God, literally at the point he sings "When you finally fly away / I'll be hoping that I served you well / For all the wisdom of a lifetime / no one can ever tell" and seriously tears were welling over my eyes. (Just as they are now, might I add. From writing it.) Had I not been in the car I'm sure I would have been SOBBING. My baby! Will he be ok?! I'll always love you my wonderful child !!!!!

(Never mind that said wonderful child has had an ... er ... challenging week. The kind when you wonder if trading children is legal.)

I remember this from the last pregnancy: country songs would reduce me to tears.

But the difference this time is that there's a person in my mind when I think about it. It's not the baby. It's The Boy. And I know this is a normal thing, I mean, I have one child, of course I'd picture him. But I've spent so much of this pregnancy not thinking about this pregnancy, I kind of wonder if when the baby finally arrives I'll wonder who it is. And my mind will go back to my little boy instead.

Despite the fact that some days I'd like to auction him off.

Must be the hormones.

A few photos ...

In answer to my question ... I wonder if I look pregnant in my coat?

Frankly the question should have been answered by the fact that I have been wearing The Man's coat for several weeks now. Duh.

This is right outside my house!!

And THIS was down the block ... uh ... guess someone's trying to pretend it's still winter?

Frankly all I could think was ... damn, I hope I don't slip on that ...

I was on my way to the maternity shop to see if I could find a dress to wear for the remainder of this two months / maybe three ... something comfy! That didn't bind on my torso! A dress would be perfect!

A dress WOULD be perfect. Alas a dress would be nothing like, say, flattering. Yeah. I took a photo, but it's SO bad I can't publish it. Somehow it puts all the bumps in the wrong places.

Anyway, so much for comfort.

Meh. It's overrated anyway.

And frankly probably not worth the $55 I would have spent for two months of wear anyway. Not when there are YOGA PANTS.

!!!!!!!

I am watching Olympics today, the women's downhill, and -- sorry if this is a spoiler -- can hardly keep my eyes on it given that this sport has morphed from skiing to "Massive Wipe Outs on Snow". It's horrifying!! So far I haven't seen any skiier not be able to get up again afterwards, so no one seems permanently damaged, but I imagine the bruises tomorrow will be absolutely frightening.

Awesome

One of the best things so far about these Olympics is that I'm only working half time through the next two weeks, which allows me to watch Olympics live, tidy my house, make dinners in a relaxed fashion, and go for walks in the brilliant February sunshine.

Love. It.

Wish I could afford to work part time from home all the time.

Sticking up for us

It has come to my attention that the world isn't so happy with Canada.

I read a lot of news, and a great deal of the foreign news I see is critical. And I'm tempted to dismiss it, because whoever hosts a huge international event is ripe for criticism. We live in a sad world where bitterness and anger get more readers than accolades, and most papers pay people to write nastiness when they could focus on achievements. I get that. Which is why I ignore it most of the time.

And I want to this time, but this is MY country and MY city and I'm sick of people denigrating us. We're overlooked, the butt of jokes, dismissed and patronized in everything from sports to foreign policy. But the fact is that we get as many things right and as many things wrong as anyone else, in the Games or in anything else. There hasn't been a Winter Olympics that goes off without a hitch -- there are always problems organizing something of such magnitude. And while I do think there are things that could have gone better, we don't have any control over such things as weather and I think that there are hundreds of small things that we've done right that no one has even noticed. (You never notice when things run smoothly, right?)

Fact is we've done a damn good job of welcoming a quarter of a million people to our city, and making sure they can have a place to sleep, places to eat, and the ability to get to venues.

And what's more is, I'm sorry, but we are proud of ourselves. The media that suggests that humble Canada is more palatable ... well, screw you. We've been humble and self-effacing for years and what we get for it is more jokes and more dismissals. And when we finally get the opportunity to blow our own horn like everyone else does we get slammed.

F*ck that. Canada is an awesome place to live, and the world knows it, and maybe part of that is because we are self-effacing, but that's only part of it. We have a great country, and it's time that we stood up and said so. It's not bragging or saying we're better, but we damn well have the right to say We're good, dammit.

Not better. Just good.

By the skin of my teeth

The midwife's number came up on the phone about ten minutes ago, and I thought ... well, here we go. It's positive.

And she said "Thought you'd like to know I'm calling with good news!"

It came in like I'd hoped it would: I passed.

BUT I'm also not surprised to find out, given how I'm feeling, that I'm on the high side of the range. The test came after a week with a strict no-refined-sugar diet. Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada, not even dark chocolate which I would guess is the thing that has the least sugar of the things I think of as treats. (Way less than cheesecake brownies!)

I even cut down on the bread I ate, because most gluten free breads have empty starch flours instead of whole grains.

So: I don't have GD.

But damn, am I ever flirting with it. It's a very close thing; I am certain that if I hadn't been as careful as I was, I would have edged over the line.

So what does this mean? Honestly it's kind of the same result (diet-wise) either way. I mean, if I want to feel my best and I want the baby to be at its healthiest, I need to eat a lot less sugar so that my poor pancreas can keep up.

(Interestingly enough, since I have been reading about this, the biggest difference between GD and regular diabetes is that this is NOT that my pancreas can't produce insulin. It's that the placenta produces SO MANY hormones, and those hormones dampen the EFFECT of the insulin that I DO produce. And while in many (most!) women the pancreas can just keep up, in some women the pancreas can't, if there's just too much sugar. And it looks as though my pancreas is just fine when I eat well; but if I overload it, it can't take it. This is why people are at higher risk of Type 2 diabetes (the pancreas can't adapt as well as it should) but why GD does tend to go away post-partum (no more hormones decreasing the insulin I produce.))

But diet is the answer. Not insulin shots, nor do I need to keep being tested for glucose in my blood if I can keep it up.

So I guess it's all good. I wish I had passed with much lower results, of course. I wish I had license to indulge my every craving and whim for food. But honestly, that's not that good for you, GD or no GD, so ... it is what it is.

Whew.

Now I'm off to find something very nutritious to eat.

Still waiting

They promised the results would be in today, so either they were wrong
or it was negative. Think I'll wait until this time tomorrow before I
let out the breath I am holding.

With bated breath

I am waiting for the call from the midwife. True enough, she didn't call until the end of the day with the bad news last time, which is a good 1.5-2 hours from now. I remember it precisely because I had to parse what she was saying while getting my work things and preschooler out of the car, shutting the door with my hands full while still holding the phone to my ear, locking the car, and trying to respond to my child all at the same time. And of course I was all "what? Seriously? What the hell? Me?" Not my finest multitasking hour.

The midwives have a "no news is good news" policy meaning that they won't call at all if the results are negative, which will (of course) leave me wondering if perhaps it IS positive but they just didn't get a chance to call. Although I suspect they would make an concerted effort to tell someone they had diabetes so the de-sugaring can commence as soon as possible.

Of course I am also rather tempted to spend the next hour running down the battery to 0 on my cell so that I can finish the cheesecake in peace tonight. Just one more day of ignorant bliss! one more!!

Getting in all the sugar I can

Apparently I have decided that I must get in all the junk food I can just in case that call comes through from the midwife tomorrow that says ... yep, you tested positive. I've been having ice cream, and chocolate, and today I went down to the local Purdy's (a chocolate / candy store, local chain) and bought chocolate hearts and cinnamon hearts ... almost bought a bag of raspberry jelly hearts too, but stopped myself. Tonight we had some guests (relations from England here for the Games) and I ate cheesecake.

I mean, I don't suppose I will stop eating every tiny ounce of sugar if the test is positive. But I'll know that I should, and that will make all the difference. If I cheat a little, with something low in sugar but higher than it should be, I'll know I shouldn't. Right now I have blissful ignorance. Blissful, blissful ignorance. I eat candy hearts, several of them, shoving them into my mouth with a rapidity that is almost obscene, and not know better.

(well, I know better. It's still not good for you to eat so much chocolate, gestational diabetes or no.)

Still.

I'm praying it won't. I'm praying I passed. I know it's kind of pathetic, but it'll be hard to get through the next three months without the foods I love. I love to eat, and I love certain foods. I look forward to them. I crave them. I reward myself with them. And living without any sugar will really make an impact on my day to day existence.

And yet I know very well, writing this, that three whole months without sugar is not by any kind of metric a hardship. I mean, seriously. It's more pathetic to even voice it, to whine but I'll miiiiissss it.

God, even *I* want to tell myself to Get over it already you total wanker.

So.

So I'm just going to sit here and eat a few more candy hearts. And a bit more cheesecake. And realize that tomorrow it may all be over, that I'll have to be careful. And that I just need to suck it up, for God's sake. It's hardly the worst that could happen.

Also ...

Remember my kid who thought the cartoon man was Italian pretending to be Canadian? Well for those of you getting the Canadian channels, it's the RBC man. And now every time we see him (which is often, with the ads) he says "Hey, it's that Italian guy!" If he doesn't happen to have the flag, he will remark "He's not trying to be Canadian right now."

OH My God SO Weird!!!

Olympics, Day Two

There was nothing much on this morning, so we betook ourselves today downtown to see the amazing torch that was lit up by none other than Wayne Gretzky last night.

(Amusing Wayne story: When I was in my primary years at school, Wayne was the hero of most of the small boys. At the time, he played for the Edmonton Oilers, and so most of the kids cheered for that team even over the Vancouver Canucks, which were technically closer but didn't have number 99. One day in third grade, we had a very special show and tell because one of the boys had written a letter to Wayne and Wayne had written back. We were all in awe. He got to stand at the front and read it to us. It was a momentous occasion. Such is life growing up in Canada.)

Anyway. We didn't bother with the car, preferring to take a short bus ride to the new train line and take the train into downtown. The Boy got to stand at the very front (which I think was the highlight of the trip for him) and pretend to drive the train. We got downtown in the spitting rain and walked a few blocks to the torch site ... and had a great look at it from 100m away through the chain link fence. They had, at least, kindly taken down some of the banners so we could see it relatively unobstructed.

Yeah.

I admit I'm not terribly fond of the Games, but the protesters sure are ruining it for everyone. Not the protesters who just have signs; I have no problem with people standing up for what they believe, in a nice respectful way (damn, I really am Canadian!) It's just the protesters who seem to come to create mayhem and don't give a damn for the issues, they are just looking for a reason to break a window or two.

I hate that we live in a society where there are people like that.

Anyway we saw the thing along with about a thousand other people, The Boy got tired and unhappy, and we decided to go home to our cozy place and watch a few events at home. I enjoyed the speed skating (man, I can't believe those guys can skate 5km in six minutes! That's plain crazy!) the women's moguls (although my knees hurt just watching them!) and the women's hockey (go Canada go!). Although in the latter game when the Canadian women scored four times in the first ten minutes I did think that they might want to back off and make the Slovaks feel like they had a hope in hell of getting a goal.

We're polite but we play hockey like demons, it seems.

Anyway the Olympics are on pause right now in the midst of that game (don't tell me how it turns out) while The Man puts the child to bed. We had breaded pork chops and fried potatoes and green beans for dinner, and I'm eating chocolate in case Monday's diabetes test comes back and tells me I have to give it all up for Lent (and a little beyond). Alas not being terribly Christian I think that my giving up sugar for Lent and beyond won't give me much in the way of heavenly grace.

You know, except for my own health and the baby's, which are I suppose rather important.

Anyway. Events are going ahead at most venues despite the warm weather (have a look at that footage from Whistler. You have to realize that they are televising the reports from what is literally the bottom of the ski hill; those hotels around the Blackcomb Gondola are ski-in-ski-out in optimum weather. And there are puddles on the ground. People are not wearing gloves. Or hats. I saw one guy in a tshirt. Yeah. Not so good.) and I'm enjoying them. The weather is just supposed to get warmer, though, so we could have some interesting days ahead ... (As I type this ... it's raining outside.)

28 Weeks

Well, here we are ... I definitely look like I'm, you know, going to have a baby.

Strangely enough, most of the rest of me, such as my hands, are not looking very pregnant. A strange thing to say perhaps, but last pregnancy at this time I had little sausage fingers and my watch was tight; my entire body was enjoying this process and wanting to join in the fun. Legs too. This time, I still have ankle bones! Will wonders never cease! Even after an active day! Last time I was wearing old lady support hose that required both The Man and me to exhaust ourselves getting them on and off.

Oh, yes, there's still time for these things to happen, I know. But the fact that it hasn't happened yet is pretty nice.

Anthem

Oh, and for those of you not Canadian, our national anthem sounds nothing like what this woman sang / is singing. What a mess!

Also ...

I am so sad that the first day of these games has been marked by such a tragedy as death of an athlete.

Sucks.

Irony

I am, despite my dislike of these particular Olympic Games, at least watching the Opening Ceremony. Ten minutes in, it's going well so far. But can I just say it's HILARIOUS to me that the whole stadium is decorated to look like ice, and there are flowers blooming RIGHT OUTSIDE? In fact it's raining and warm today, about 10 degrees.

Hee hee.

Big brother is watching you

The number of police helicopters circling above my house (being that we live in between downtown and one of the other Olympic venues) is positively alarming. It's beginning to feel like a police state around here.

Take THAT, sugar addiction!

This evening as I lay in bed with my son, my thoughts wandered (as they often do these days) to what I could eat later for my late evening "meal". And while over the last while those thoughts had most often involved ice cream and / or chocolate, or something similarly sweet, I had to admit to myself that the one thing that sounded most appealing was another of the brown rice muffins with nuts and dried fruit I'd bought earlier today when we went to get dinner.

I also admit to you that before I went to meet the doula, I got the ice cream from the freezer, and had a few bites, and they just didn't taste as good as I remembered.

ha HA!

Now if I can just keep it up ...

In other news ...

I recently returned from a meet-n-greet with the doula / acupuncturist, and have "hired" her on the spot. Well. After the hour we spent over tea. Turns out this whole combination of professions is a new one, there are only three people doing this in Vancouver (all working for the same practice, of course). No wonder I hadn't heard of it before, with the last one. Anyway, she was very nice and professional yet warm, and we had a good chat (although it was disconcerting to sit with someone over tea, talking all about me. Disconcerting because I felt that the conversation was strangely one-sided, but at the same time it felt a little strange to ask someone I was "hiring" as a medical practitioner about her own daughter.)

Anyway. I'm excited about this. And hopeful that this time the birth will be a little calmer and a little less medical. I mean, I admit I'm fully prepared to go the full medical route with caesarean if needs be, but I hoping that a few preparations might flip the balance towards natural birth. You never know, right? It never hurts to get a few cards in your corner. They may not be the right cards, but having cards is better than not.

Ok, weird metaphors aside: hiring doula = good. We'll see if it has any effect whatsoever on this whole process!

All done

And amazingly, I didn't feel nearly as bad as I feared I would (or as I read might happen on teh intarwebs. I should probably stop searching for other people's experiences of such things. People hardly ever sit back and write "I had that test and it really wasn't a big deal!")

But here you go: I had that test, and it really wasn't a big deal!

(For anyone arriving here searching for it, it was the three hour glucose screen for gestational diabetes.)

The drink was in fact sweeter (ugh! double ugh! especially after fasting!) and I did have to sit around for three freaking hours in the waiting room of a lab (fun!) but I had an iPhone and a book and didn't get too bored. (The iPhone: never be bored again!)

I spent actually less time than I anticipated fantasizing about what I would eat for lunch, and less time feeling hungry. I'd like to think that my moratorium on any sugar this week helped out to regulate my blood sugar levels, not to mention the fact that the Freaking Olympics mean that I can't park anywhere near my office and thus I have been waddling slowly for 15 to 20 minutes each way to and from my car each day. (Along with lunch time jaunts should the ligaments / braxton hicks allow.)

Of course I did come home and eat a piece of toast and honey (among other things), so ... sugar. But it could have been worse.

I could have come home and downed the ice cream in the freezer.

(Which is still tempting, by the way.)

Anyway. Results should be in Monday, so we shall see.

Interestingly the baby had a major kick fest throughout the morning -- way more active than normal. I'd like to think s/he was also missing the sugar. Probably not the way I was, though.

I have to admit I've always had a pretty bad relationship with sugar. I do tend to get into these habits of indulging myself at work / in the evenings, and once I get into it, it's very hard to stop. I blame the Christmas baking -- I started eating WAY more sugar than normal, and then for the past month have been eating well all morning and indulging all afternoon and having ice cream in the evenings. And I've been CRAVING it. Just like I do while not pregnant. And I've found (while not pregnant) that I have to quit cold turkey for two to three days before the physical craving will lessen (and those days suck!). And that's what happened this time, and now I'm back to my normal level of sugar craving. I know there are tons of books out there that suggest that refined sugar is The Enemy, and while I'm not going to completely endorse this view, I can say from my own experience that it is for me rather addictive.

All this to say that I hope very much that my overindulgence was responsible for my borderline positive result.

And to say that, knowing that, I'd like to think that I'll be a bit more cautious in future. Not just for another three months, but for the foreseeable future. I don't think I'll be able to give up treats. But more attention to moderation might be good.

(She says now, while awaiting results of the test. Ask me again when I have a small baby and a preschooler alone for days on end and the best way to get through it is through vast quantities of chocolate ... )

Living it up

For the first time in ... I don't know how many years ... I switched the blog template. Yessirree, that's me: living it up with a new template. I don't know if we can all handle the excitement.

* * * * * * *

My kid, the other morning, as we were driving about going about our day, noticed that one of the busses had a little cartoon man holding a Canadian flag on it. It is of course advertising someone's spirit of the Olympics, which he sussed out, but he was most excited about the flag. He's been loving atlasses since he was a wee tyke (it was one of the first books he read. A wee almost two year old gleefully pointing out "Zimbabwe!" Very trippy.) and knows he's Canadian and know our flag, etc. I said something about how the man must be Canadian, and he's cheering for Canada in the Olympics, and he paused thoughtfully and replied:

"No, I think he's actually Italian, and he just thinks he's Canadian."

I had no idea what to say to that. How the heck do these thoughts get into his head? Where does this come from? What on earth would have prompted the Italian reference, for pete's sake? Are there many Italians masquerading as Canadians in his daycare? Because that's the only place he gets to go without me or his dad.

* * * * * * *

He's also gotten into this new fun game of "what if". "What if we drove past that car? What if the car hit us? What if we got hurt? What if we bumped into that tree?" and then sometimes "What if we went to the moon? What if a bad guy was there? What if he had a laser? What if ... "

I could go on, but I'm pretty sure I've made my point.

This afternoon's questions (I might add he does this the entire commute home. I am now more than ever glad that our commute is only ten to fifteen minutes.) had something to do with bad guys and ... God, I don't even know. Volcanos. "What if we saw a volcano? What if it was erupting? What if there was a volcano in Vancouver?"

We eventually got around to the fact that volcanos DO exist, and we CAN see them, and even see them erupting in some parts of the world, and that volcanos used to exist near Vancouver, but they ... er ... ran out of lava (can you blame me for not wanting to get into tectonic plate movement while fighting rush hour traffic? Really?)

After passing quickly through jungles with no seasons where leaves don't fall off trees, and the seasons of the earth and travelling to hot places, we then started on going underground, and to the centre of the earth, where it is hot, because of all the lava. "What if we went underground to the centre of the earth?" And I explained that because of all the lava, it was very hot underneath the earth, at the centre of it all.

"Guess we'll have to stay inside the drill," he replied thoughtfully.

Indeed.

Welcoming the world

I started off what was meant to be a humorous post about the Olympics taking over the city and it turned into a three or more paragraph rant about the insanity and the elitism and the cost and the absolute pointlessness of holding these silly Games, and I thought ... you know, one of my resolutions for myself is to TRY and be less negative, and to let some of the things GO. (really? says The Man. This is news to me!) So I erased it.

But I will leave you with one amusing anecdote.

The busses in Vancouver are all getting ready to be one of the official transportation methods of the games, since parking is in short supply everywhere. So across there electronic boards that usually announce route number and name, they are also including cheery sentiments such as "welcome to canada!" and "Go for Gold!" and other such things.

But they are also, in their usual fashion, responding to rush hour demands, which in this city means often carrying passengers in one direction, but not in another. So now the busses read "Welcome 2 Canada! Sorry, not in service!" which really doesn't strike me as terribly welcoming.

Ah well. Can't have it all.

Super!

The Man set up our precarious TV antenna system to get the Olympics to his computer on Friday. As an added bonus CTV is also carrying the SuperBowl today, so I am sitting here with my kid introducing him to his first football game.

I am probably not the best person to be doing this. I have No. Freaking. Clue. what is going on.

Edited to add: Also, I think we have completely the wrong snacks. Grapes and dried cherries. Hmmm. Clearly we are newbies.

Yesterday our child went for a four-hour playdate in the afternoon. He arrived home at 5, and then had a major meltdown over dinner. He and I went into the bedroom to calm down, and cuddled for a few minutes while he stopped sobbing, and then he pushed me away and rolled over. After less than five minutes I thought .... hmmmm. He's awfully still.

He was completely zonked. At 5 minutes to 6.

Which only left us with one problem: what the heck time would he wake up if went to sleep two hours ahead of normal?

And frankly, one other: what the heck would we do, the two of us, for two more hours in an evening than we usually get? It was actually rather confusing. I had time to watch a movie! But ... which one? And ... how?

Yes, our lives are full of problems.

Anyway in fine form he slept until 5:45 this morning, which is frankly better than I expected. And since it was Sunday and my day to sleep in, The Man got up at 6 and I slept for another two blissful hours.

So far (for me, anyway) it's been a great day.

* * * * * * * *

Oh, except for that whole pubic symphysis diastasis thing. Yeah, did I mention? Seems that between the relaxin of pregnancy and my inherent tendency towards loose joints, and this second pregnancy, my hip bones have decided they no longer need to be quite so close to each other. Now truth be told I don't think I have it as bad as some women, but I have now found that sitting / lying / standing too long in any one position means AGONY when I try to move my legs again. Seriously, at one point last night I didn't think I was going to be able to get out of bed again.

It is this way that this pregnancy is very similar to the last one: I had no major complications, but a whole host of small ones, meaning that I spent a great deal of the time just .... uncomfortable. You know? Nothing really to complain about, because goodness knows so many people have it worse, and really, don't complain about problems in pregnancy unless your life or your child's is in danger at all ... but still. Between this and the early contractions and the possible diet issues, there's just one small thing after another.

But I am not complaining. I am merely writing this down in case I get the urge to procreate again.

I am, however, greatly amused by the problem that poses itself: if I'm supposed to get 3o minutes of good exercise each day to stabilize my blood sugar levels, but those 30 minutes of exercise are a.) agonizing and b.) cause my uterus to contract, exactly how am I to accomplish this? I mean, the slower I go, the less I contract, but I think walking the length of the block at a snail's pace for 30 minutes might not have the blood sugar levelling effect I'm searching for.

Ah well. Again. You just have to laugh.

Baking for breakfast

This morning's new gluten free adventure was from a new site that I found this week -- someone who, like me, wanted some whole grain gluten-free baked goods. I found a recipe for quinoa flake pancakes and since I still have a continuing obsession with the grain, I thought -- perfect! Not only healthy, but the quinoa flakes might make a baked (fried) good that was similar to oatmeal pancakes / oatmeal muffins. Worthy of an experiment, because those are pretty yummy.

(I'm not eating oats right now either; we didn't have time to experiment with oats before pregnancy, and now I don't think I'll be able to be sure if oats cause a problem or if it's a hormonal issue or something else, so I'm waiting until post-pregnancy to test.)

And they were ... meh. I can't pinpoint the problem. Maybe just TOO quinoa-y. Too much of a good thing, you know. Most of the recipes I've tried before have been quinoa mixed with other things; this one has a CUP of quinoa flakes and a bit of another flour to bind. Or maybe it was the baking powder; it tasted like too much baking powder.

Or maybe it was the fact that I substituted honey for the sugar it called for; breakfast pancakes, to my mind, should taste slightly sweet (not like dessert pancakes, but a little sweet.) In light of next week's test I've decided to try to cut out all refined sugar for the week and see if a.) I can stop craving it, because I've been eating a lot of it lately and b.) it helps me pass the test. (Of course, if I DO pass the test without refined sugars, I suppose it would be a good idea to keep it up ... and in which case I've kind of made the test pointless, given that I'm going to keep my diet strict for the remainder of the pregnancy, which was, ironically, the one thing I DIDN'T want to do.)

Anyway. She has another recipe for whole grain muffins which I intend to try later today or tomorrow. If they are good, I'll keep a watch on the site for more; if not, guess I'll just chalk it up to someone with different tastes than me.

But damn, I hope the muffins are yummy. I could use something carb-y that I could actually eat. Sigh.

Thank heavens for Friday

What a week! I had cramps, braxton hicks, a tiny amount of spotting*, a sick kid, a doctor visit, two calls to the midwife, and a positive blood glucose test. Yeah. I am SO ready for a new week. And this weekend? Two playdates, a visit with a friend from out of town, and a new whole grain muffin recipe! Should be a good one (the weekend, not the muffin recipe. But I hope that's good too!) And the last weekend before the Olympic madness, too. I'll try and enjoy it while I can.

But just so you know, there are crocuses coming up outside my front door. Lovely, beautiful purple ones. And the trees are starting to leaf. Seriously, warmest winter I can recall. Maybe ever. God bless El Nino. Life is fun.

* Everything is fine, so says the midwife. Just an anomaly. But not something you want to see at this stage.

Well.

So I got home last night and had a little cry about the situation (what can I say? I'm a tad hormonal.) And then realized that I kind of should have seen this coming -- the fact that I got tired easily (although I am, as ever, borderline anemic too), that I had to eat protein in the morning to feel ok during the day (and I'm talking eggs / bacon here, not just yogurt or shakes with protein powder, which have proved efficient for breakfast in the past), the fact that if I managed to get out for a walk I also felt better.

And don't get me wrong: I'm also in full appreciation of the fact that I really should have had this test last time. Ah, hubris. I'm so low-risk! ha ha! I won't even bother checking!

Well. As I've said before: the universe has a sense of humour.

Anyway this morning I'm trying to laugh along with it. The test itself was only borderline positive, which may translate into a false positive. Or it might mean that I'm just a borderline case, which is better than suddenly realizing I have diabetes for real. And there are worse things that a pregnancy which forces you to be healthy. I already eat pretty well; this will just mean cutting out the excessive chocolate gorging, but probably not removing it all together, and getting some exercise. And if I do this for three months maybe I'll develop some better habits in the future, and, crossed fingers, when the gestational diabetes goes away, I'll have some healthier habits to show for it.

I might also add that there are worse things to happen in a pregnancy that borderline gestational diabetes.

Anyway I'm off for the three hour definitive test next Thursday. I'm kind of dreading it, given the above -- I have found I feel nauseous if I don't eat well in the mornings and with this test I have to fast and then spend three hours taking the damn thing, and that won't be fun at all. (Funnily enough I can eat like crap most of the afternoon and feel just fine; it's only the mornings that are a problem.) Hopefully if I eat well between now and then my body will rally and I'll pass it.

But you know? Even if I do pass it, I think that a borderline result still merits taking into account, and being more careful with diet and exercise. And not eating pints of vanilla ice cream throughout the last trimester like last time.

Go baby! Make mommy healthy!!

FAIL

Failed the glucose screening test.

FUCK.

Awesome

So much for going back to work tomorrow. Now my kid has stomach issues.

Sigh.

The first year The Boy was in daycare, he was sick almost constantly. Most of the time it was mild -- it was just like one cold that got a little better and a little worse for months on end. He had a mild bout of pneumonia which we caught very early, thankfully, but other than that, nothing serious.

And then the second winter, he didn't have a single sick day. Seriously. Not. One. I was all busy patting myself on the back for this one. My extended breast feeding and his exposure in daycare meant that he had developed an excellent immune system! Excellent parenting!!

Ha ha ha.

This winter we've had two vomiting illnesses and we're on our second (or extended?) cold that's bad enough to stay home. I even bit the bullet and went to the doctor this morning, because this cold just will. NOT. go away. And it's just a cold, as I suspected, but it was good to rule out anything more serious. But he's worn out and tired from the coughing keeping him up at night. And we are home today. (which isn't so bad given I am also awake from the coughing and too tired to be any good at work today!)

I am more realistic now. The second year in the same centre was probably all it was; really now I just need to realize that each time he switches environment we'll have a winter with a few more colds. And I also need to realize that a few colds and mild vomiting incidents are really pretty good all things considered.

I am merely hopeful now that, next winter, the second in this care centre, will be a little less sickly. Especially important with an infant around.

In the meantime, given that now they've pretty much gotten rid of every damn thing you can medicate your child with, we're just bringing out the honey and the humidity, and hunkering down hoping for the best ...

Ugh.

This morning I went off to the lab and spent a very dull hour getting my glucose test for gestational diabetes. This was a first for me; when pregnant with The Boy, I opted out of the test. (I like midwives. They let you opt out of pretty much anything.) We figured that with no family history, not being overweight or having high blood pressure, the risks were tiny, so why go through that? So I was bizarrely nervous about this, despite it being probably one of the least invasive tests you can do. Drink something sweet! Sit for an hour! Get a small vial of blood drawn! How simple does it get?

This time around I am of course four years older, and the politics among the birthing community have changed. Now they frown upon not doing this test, so the midwives are more encouraging to get it -- especially since being over 35 means that my chances, simply due to age, go up (they go up as you get older regardless, I'm told, it's not just an over 35 thing.) And if complications happen later in the pregnancy, with the delivery, or with the baby, it's good to have the baseline test done.

Anyway what I really wanted to mention was: MAN, is that stuff GROSS. The stuff they make you drink? WOW. I mean, first of all, there's a LOT of it. The first sips aren't so bad, but by the time I got halfway through I was seriously thinking that this was the grossest thing I'd ever had to drink.

And second of all, it's a revolting sickly-sweet fake orange flavour. As someone who genuinely dislikes most soft drinks, especially those with artificial flavours, and who tries not to put such revolting substances into her body, the drinking of this was especially revolting.

And here's the kicker: can I just ask here why the medical community, which on the one hand tries to get people to stop drinking / eating poorly, then turns around and, for a test, gives you the exact same type of thing to drink that they've already said is so bad for you? I mean, where's the logic in that??!

It boggles the mind.