Limbo Party!

38w3d

Sorry for the silence. But absolutely nothing is going on, I promise. Well, unless you count the decomposition of the very last pair of shoes that fit my swollen sausage roll feet. Said shoes  were woefully seasonally inappropriate (being flip flops studded with mother of pearl) but they went with everything (sort of) and were exceedingly comfortable. And so, you know, it's, um, been hard... sniff. I'm well aware that any two bit cobbler could resuscitate my beloved footwear but that would require removing my face from this box of O@tme@l R@isin Crisp and that is so not going to happen, people.

Holy shit. Nothing like a half a box of sugar for your pre-dinner snack. What's this I hear about people losing weight the last few weeks of pregnancy? Bwahahahaha!

Anyway, as of today's absolutely torturous internal with Dr TV, from which I'm frankly feeling a bit violated, not to mention very crampy and bleedy, I'm 2cm dilated. She said she doesn't think I'll go past my due date (which is next Sunday). So there's that.

Cletus' wallpaper is supposed to be installed tomorrow. If that actually happens, Mr Limbo and I hope to start throwing most of the room together shortly thereafter. I'm actually quite Zen about the fact that the curtains, glider, bumper and lamps have yet to arrive. Right now I'm just praying, praying, praying for a healthy baby and that the bathroom reno is finished before all Hell breaks loose. As much as I've enjoyed this month of sharing my apartment with three construction guys who are incapable of putting a toilet seat down, I don't think I'll be so into having complete fucking strangers in my house from 9-5 once Cletus arrives. You know I'm going to go into sudden labor and there's going to be no time to get to the hospital and these guys are going to end up delivering the baby, right? Is paint thinner a good antiseptic in a pinch?

You all rock, btw. Thanks for getting me this far. Really.

36w3d

From the moment I found out that I have a fashion-shaped uterus, I assumed that if I ever got pregnant, I'd have to have a c-section. Because all the literature on uterine anomalies said that this was frequently the case and I'm optimistic like that. And up until today, my assumptions were proving to be correct. Cletus appeared, to my untrained eye (and... mother fucker that hurt... ribs, bladder, liver, etc.) to be transverse--buns on the left, head on the right, digging his/herself into any and all soft maternal tissue. But today's ultrasound revealed that what I thought was Cletus' head is really his/her feet. The head is actually pointed south... as in towards the exit. So there's a good chance I could do the whole labor thing. What a relief... and a shock and a valid reason to start hyperventilating from sheer terror. As I explained to Mr. Limbo, who asked me what an internal exam felt like, imagine someone dragging a spiked bowling ball through your right nostril. If I was screaming for him to get me a sedative when we rushed to the ER 6ish weeks ago to investigate the cause of that pre-term bleeding and cramping incident, I'm never going to get through labor without having a heart attack.

One of the many, many reasons I don't relate to the women on those treacly birthing shows (besides the fact that it would never dawn on me to invite a camera crew plus my and Mr Limbo's entire family, my manicurist and 8th grade English teacher into the L and D room for a full viewing of my crotch. I honesty think both my FIL and I would pass out if anyone suggested that he watch the birth of his grandchild. Ick) is that they seem so... ready. It's not just that they have all their onesies, bugaboos, boppies and other cutsie whootsie whatnots in a row. More that they fully expect to walk out of the hospital carrying a child. I've tried, really I have, but I just can't convince myself that I will actually go through childbirth, let alone that I could very well be someone's mother in just under a month. A cop on the street practically stopped traffic to congratulate me yesterday. He was all, "You excited, Mommy?" as he grabbed his own protruding stomach. I was all, "About what? Oh. That. Sure. I don't know." He might as well have asked me if I was excited about possibly winning the Pulitzer someday.

Enough about my weird detached state, which I know is somewhat normal for IF survivors. We also learned today that Cletus is about 5lbs, 10 oz, give or take a lb. That measurement is slightly less than average (yeah I know that this isn't necessarily a bad thing but worrying is what I do, OK?) . Plus, considering that I've gained an ASSLOAD of weight, I was half hoping that ESLUT (English as a Second Language Ultrasound Tech, who some of you might remember from this post) would announce that the baby was weighing it at approximately 23 lbs. That would at least partially explain my triple chins. Dr. TV isn't concerned about the baby's weight. As for my girth, she was gracious enough not to say anything in front of Mr Limbo but I can't imagine she thinks gaining nearly double the recc'd poundage is a good thing. And... I'm about 1 cm dilated and feeling crampish, which means absolutely nothing at this point but Dr. TV  still predicts that I could go into labor a week early.

PS: Oh and a special shout out to the lovely and talented Anna, who relieved me and Mr Limbo of a crushing case of Whatthehellisthenameofthatsongitis. (See my last post for details.) I asked and Bloglandia delivered. The song in question was "Lady (Hear Me Tonight)" by Modjo, in case you were wondering.

PPS: The otherwise evil insurance company mentioned in my last post, the one that will pony up for pre-natal massages, is Un*ted H!alth C@re.

Now that's what I call a happy ending

I know I'm going to regret saying this... or even thinking it. But I just discovered a reason not to hate my insurance company. Seriously. Get this: The most wonderful massage place (not that kind, you pervs), which just happens to be in my hood, TAKES MY INSURANCE for prenatal rub downs. Yep, I'm crapping you negative on this one. All I had to do was get Dr. TV to sign a prescription form and shazam!, I'm covered for 2 massages a week for 8 weeks. These are no ordinary rub and tugs (again, not that kind. Sheesh!) We're talking full on muscle kneading by a physical therapist. And they have one of those tables with a cut out for the stomach. Bliss, I tell you. Bliss.

What else, what else?

Did I tell you that Mr. Limbo and I have finally started rehabbing the scary guest bathroom, which hasn't been touched since around 1940? No? Ok, yeah, um, Mr. Limbo and I have finally stated rehabbing the scary guest bathroom. And... so far, so good! Knock wood furiously. We actually LIKE our contractor and his guys (what, you thought we were doing the work ourselves? Now you know we are far, far too lazy for that) are really, really nice, quiet and clean. They even vacuum every day before they leave. I'm home all the live long day and I rarely even notice that they are here. Fingers crossed that I'm still enamored of them by the time the work is completed.

Let's see... I've been having non-stress tests every Monday, which has been great. For some reasons Cletus seems to move much less over the weekends and by Sunday night I find it impossible to control the DBTs. Hearing the hb and swooshing of his/her kicks quells my fears... at least for the hour or so that I'm hooked up to the monitor. I'll be 35 weeks on Sunday and have yet to dispense with the phrase "if we get a child out of this."

Oh... does ANYONE know who sings a dance song that was released around 2000-2001 and that goes a little something like this "Lady... something something... I just can't get you off of my mind. Lady... something something..." It sounds like Jamiroquai if that helps. Mr Limbo and I heard the ditty non stop on our trip to Ireland a few years ago and now for some reason we have it in our heads again. Our only hope is to listen to the damn song that we can stop obsessing. Help. Please.

Have a fab long weekend.

32w1d: What I know

...Kennebunkport, ME, where Mr Limbo and I spent part of our vacation, has delicious lobster but far too many tacky t-shirt shops for my tastes. I did however enjoy exercising my right to free speech and obscene hand gestures outside the Bush compound. Incidentally, has anyone heard this? I only wish P!ink had written several more verses. The fucktard in chief provides such a wealth of inspiration for protest songs.

...you CAN get sunburned while riding in a car, even if you religiously apply SPF 50. I now resemble on of the many lobsters who gave their lives so that I could stuff my big fat face.

...this place, where Mr Limbo and I spent the other half of our vacation, has truly awful service but incredible views (esp from the beach cottage rooms.... swoon!) and the world's most amazing chocolate chip cookies.

...that forcing yourself to start buying strollers and cribs and wallpaper suitable for a baby's room after years of infertility is some scary ass shit, people. I had two hysterical nervous breakdowns (one in the middle of an extremely crowded store) before I was finally able to buy a stick of nursery furniture. Every last bit of it will be stashed in our apartment's basement storage bin until needed. I still haven't opened my grandmother's baby present, either. I just can't.

...that it isn't just my imagination or my negative body image talking... I really have gained too much weight. Even the laid-back-and-zaftig-herself Dr. TV thinks so. I believe her exact words were, "Let's keep an eye on that scale, ok?" This was after I'd gained 10 lbs in between appts, for a grand total of 30 lbs. And no, I wasn't severely underweight before I got pregnant. This is just what happens when you coat your constant miscarriage fear in cheese and butter (with a side of lobster, chocolate chip cookies and pizza) and never quite get around to exercising for 8 straight months.

...that rushing to the L and D triage unit shortly after returning home from a five hour car ride is the perfect way to render insignificant any end-of-vacation blues. Mr Limbo and I were just sitting there, watching Family Guy and fighting over the last piece of pizza we'd ordered, when I started having that gone-but-not-forgotten premenstrual crampy feeling. And lo and behold, it turned out that bloodshed wasn't imminent at all. It was happening. Doctor TV's answering service was called and I was instructed to get myself to the hospital toute suite. I immeditaely began to freak the fuck out... to the point that I couldn't really breathe and demanded that Mr. Limbo get me a sedative as soon as we arrived at the hospital. Yep, not my finest moment. And I wasn't even in pain... just spazzing at the thought that I could be in labor... now... with my due date 9 weeks away and so much left to do/buy/come to terms with.

I calmed down considerably by the time I got to the hospital, where the resident in charge eventually (after hooking me up to the monitor and giving me the most torturous internal ever and then making many, many unnecessary condescending statements) declared me to be not labor. Not even a little bit. In fact, I'd probably just ruptured a blood vessel by lifting a heavy suitcase when Mr Limbo's back was turned. (I don't know what came over me but I can assure you that this momentary lapse of laziness was a one time thing.) The bleeding/cramping has finally stopped but I can't get over the fact that the next time I see the L and D triage could be THE time. Anyone have some extra valium lying around?

28w1d

I'll spare you my laundry list of excuses for not posting. You've heard them all before. Without further ado... What's been happening in the land of Limbo:

I failed my 1 hr glucose screening test.... miserably. To quote Nurse Twat, "Your glucose levels were through the roof. You've been a bad, bad girl." Correct moi if I am wrong, but I was under the assumption that one cannot control how one's body breaks down glucose when one is pregnant. I was also under the assumption that one's prior sugar consumption has no bearing on one's performance on the glucose screening test, and in fact that the test is notorious for creating false positives. Furthermore, I'm paranoid enough about dong anything to jeopardize this thing I've got going. The last thing I need is a guilt trip from some misinformed skankbag who hasn't had a haircut in years. Yes Nurse Twat, I'm talking to you. Oh and Stevie Nicks called. She wants her split ends back.

In any case, I succumbed to the 3 hour glucose tolerance test this morning. It wasn't the hypersweet, flat Fanta-esque drink that bothered me (altho that was quite barfalicious, must say) so much as the fact that that I was required to fast from midnight last night until the end of the test (1pm today). By the time I staggered out of my OB's office into the 100 degree heat, I was severely dyhydrated. How is that good?

Let's see... what else, what else? My 91 year old grandmother came to visit a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't told her about the pregnancy bc I was wary of having to eventually tell her about a miscarriage so I just never got around to it. Should I be insulted that when I approached her on the street she didn't sense anything different about my physique? Despite the fact that this woman is in her dotage, she's in full command of all her faculties. I mean, she reads three newspapers a day! During her trip she bought Mr Limbo and I our first baby present. And let me tell you that silver box with the white ribbon just MAKES my kitchen. Yeah, I can't open it yet and I have no idea when I'll be able to. I haven't even contemplated buying anything baby-related. 

Some friends offered to throw me a shower and I just don't know what to say. Because deep, deep down there's a part of me that woudln't mind FINALLY having something to celebrate (not to mention hauling in the loot). I had to cancel my 30th birthday bash, for Chrissakes. I deserve this. But even deeper down, there's a feeling that I just can't handle being the center of attention at an event where everyone will expect me to gleefully throw around phrases like, "When the baby comes," and "the baby's room." That I just can't do. The point is probably moot anyway as I have so few close friends left in this city. I feel like I've spent the last few years dodging invitations and not returning phone calls beacuse I was too consumned with IVF (etc.) to socialize with non-infertiles. The last thing I should be doing is expecting these people, most of whom I haven't even talked to in months, to fete me.

Mr Limbo and I are trying to escape for a week or so before the thing that might or might not happen. I'm thinking beach with adirondak chairs in which to while away many hours reading Gourmet magazine (aka porn) and lite literature. Said beach must be located on the East Coast and must be in close proximity to a major hospital with at least a level III NICU. Ideally the hotel will have a fabulous spa and won't mind constantly re-filling the pool after I jump in and displace all the water. Any suggestions?

Live, from my navel!

I've always wanted to use that completely non-sensical title and, well, it's my blog so now I can!

The lovely and talented DD has tagged me. Here are the results and yes I am aware that I listed more than 5 item in each category. But I'm trying to procrastinate ovah heah, so cut me some slack.

 

5 Items in my Fridge

 

• Cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. I've discussed my obsession with the moldy stuff on more than one occasion, so this should not come as a shock.
• Organic produce, dairy and meat. Because pesticides and homones (my own AND those used to treat food products) freak me out. But then again, I've been known to use Coffee Mate. And Pam. And I Can't Believe It's Not Butter spray all in the same day. So I'm not quite granola. ]
• Many varieties of dried fruit. Why I keep these in the fridge, I have no earthly. But know that dried cherries are like crack in that they are expensive and completely, totally addicting. Also know that if you fill your kitchen with dried fruit and then you go to visit your 96-year old grandfather-in-law, who also has a kitchen filled with dried fruit, you WILL feel old. Just sayin'.
• Fresh pasta. Fresh basil--even if I never get around to cooking with it... because it smells heavenly. 
• Several bottles of Champagne left over from Mr. Limbo's bday party. Drool...
• Ciao Bella Sorbet in Raspberry and Blood Orange. Frozen, edible org*sms these! Technically sorbet is kept in the freezer, but since you'll very often find me staring into the fridge while sampling from one or both of these containers...
• A giant grocery bag filled with Follistim, Repronex and the requisite syringes. These I will not be getting rid of any time soon. For one, I like the slightly bad-ass cache that comes with having syringes in my fridge. (Yes, I was a dork in high school. In fact I'm still a dork.) And, yeah, throwing away thousands of dollars worth of fertility drugs just seems like asking for it. Plus, I will most likely be using these drugs someday (if they're not expired by then.)

5 Items in my Closet

• 8 new pairs of shoes,  2 of which were given to me as bridesmaid's gifts. Did I mention I've been spending too much money lately?
• A sweater shaver, which is a dream when trying to remove wooly pills from cardigans. Just don't get overzealous-- I've actually cut holes in several sweaters with this thing.
• Very little that I feel attractive in. Did I mention how much maternity clothes suck? Although I did buy a delicious Betsy Johnson dress and the most comfortable, flattering pair of cropped 7 jeans (in gigantic sizes) that I plan on wearing as long as I can during the pg and then forever after (with some alterations... hopefully.)
• A Laura Ashley makeup bag containing much of the (hilariously tacky) jewelry I wore in high school. Earrings made out of Coke bottle tops? Believe it. These days I'm strictly a diamond/pearl studs girl.
• My wedding veil.
• More than one coffee cup. I drink coffee while I get dressed, then space and leave the cups on the closet shelf. I'm a slob with a very short attention span... things like this happen a lot.

 

5 Items in my Purse

 

• Ipod. Favorite cheesy songs right now: One by Bono/Mary J Blige. Thunder Road by Springsteen.
  
• Sunglasses. Because under eye concealer rarely works well enough for my tastes. And, if I'm being honest, because I'm so shy that I hate making eye contact with random people on the street.
• SPF 5000. Because I just got back from the dermatologist, who informed me that I have a suspicious looking growth on my nose that needs to come off as soon as the suDD mmer is over.  (She doesn't want to remove it now as exposure to the summer sun will just make it come right back.) I'm slightly freaking out about here. This thing is on my FACE! And with my fair skin and totally slack attitude towards skin cancer prevention when I was a teenager, there's bound to be more where that came from. Would it be overkill to consult a plastic surgeon? The growth is microscopic--smaller than the size of a pin head.
• Lipstick. Specifically, Neutrogena Blushing Tulip. Lurve this color so much I often use it on my cheeks, too.Book.
• Right now I'm reading The Emperor of Ocean Park.
• 5 million crumpled up receipts. Two reasons: 1) I'm a freelancer. You never know when something might be deductible. 2) I rarely carry cash, so I'm always running to the ATM.

 

24w3d

As I am both woefully behind in my posting and feeling a bit too scattered to write anything coherent, I'm going to make this update easy on all of us by breaking the latest down by category. Et voila! Easily-digestable blogbites, fully of snarky goodness!

Disclaimer: Do NOT proceed if you're feeling fragile. What follows is an  honest assessment of some of the negatives of being pg post IF. It is most definitely something I would NOT have enjoyed reading a few months ago. Hell, I'm not sure I'd enjoy reading it now. But it's what I'm feeling...

Body: Let's put it this way, I've spent the last few weekends doing my part to make my fellow bridesmaids and wedding guests feel svelte. I'm a fucking boat, people.... HMS Limbo. And don't give me that "You're pregnant, not fat!" BS because I know damn well that I look like I'm gestating a hippo. Frankly I'm shocked to be hating my shape so much. I killed myself for years to try to get pg. Shouldn't I be reveling in this new look? Easier said than done. While I'm thrilled and grateful to be where I am, I guess I'm also realizing that old body issues die hard. I hated my body before I even tried to get pregnant. I really loathed my body when it proved incapable of getting knocked up/carrying a pg to term/producing decent quality eggs for over two years. And now I dispise my body for looking overly pregnant. The poor thing just can't win. I also don't like the fact that now that I'm showing, my reproductive status has become public knowledge. I'm still not comfortable talking about being pregnant with my close friends and family, let alone random assholes who think it's perfectly acceptable to fondle my stomach and or quiz me on my birth plan. (In case you're wondering, there isn't one.)

Placenta previa: Seems to have resolved itself. Last ultrasound tech saw no evidence of it and the bleeding has stopped.

Random weirdness: My right thigh has been completely numb for going on 11 wks now, most likely due to nerve compression. Freaky deaky.

Cletus the fetus: That's what I'm calling the being currently occupying my uterus. The "Baby" just seems too presumptive.   

Amnio a no go: After nothing came up at the 20 wk ultrasound, we decided against the amnio. I'm still worried about the quad screen results (which showed slightly elevated risk for neural tube defects), but with my increased risk of mc due to the septum stump, we just couldn't take the chance. Plus, after 2 ivfs, 2 surgeries, and 2 d and c's, I'll do anything to avoid another needle.

Real Life Infertile Friend: Her water broke at just 17 wks, taking with it the majority of her amniotic fluid. So far, tho, the baby is ok and a bit of the fluid has regenerated. It's a miracle that she hasn't miscarried by now. She's on bedrest indefinitely. I'm so worried about her but she seems to have the best possible attitude one could muster in this situation. Needless to say, her experience has been a wake up call chez Limbo. It's not like I was busy putting together the nursery or anything. But I'm not going to exhale any time soon. Very selfishly RLIF's story gives me ammo to use when dippy friends say things like, "I just know everything is going to be fine! Why aren't you more positive!? You're PREGNANT!" Ack.

Why I love the Dixie Chicks: Exhibits A  and B.

(Ok, yeah it's a little strange to hear two women who have a gaggle of children btwn them discussing infertility. But at least they're admitting that they struggled to get pregnant and that they wouldn't be where they are without IVF. How many other celebrities are willing to go there? Ahem. Julia. Cough. Roberts.)

Thank you: For checking on me!!

It's been so long since I've posted that there must be something I'm forgetting. Please alert me if there's any situation I've failed to update you on.

Swoon!

Jim is my TV boyfriend. All you other ho's better step.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=mGD-MvIOltI&search=the%20office%20casino%20night

(Spoiler alert: don't click if you're you've got the season finale of the The Office saved for later.)   

Ultrasound report

Baby appears to be ok... The ultrasound tech said she couldn't find anything wrong with the spine/heart/head/hands (curled up hands are a bad sign) but that she couldn't get perfect angles bc the baby refused to assume the proper position, then decided it would be a laugh riot to cover it's face with it's hands for the duration of the sonogram. At least I think that's the upshot. The ultrasound tech had such a heavy accent that it's anyone's guess what she was actually trying to convey. Witness this exchange...

ESL ultrasound tech (heretofore known as ESLUT): "How big is your body?"

MM: "What?!" I'm quite aware that I've overdone it on the Cheet0s. Thank you so much for pointing that out, bitch.

ESLUT: "Your body. How big?"

MM: "Huge! You can't tell just by looking at me?"

ESLUT: "No."

MM: "Well, I've gained about 10 lbs... so add that to my original weight of (REDACTED TO PROTECT THE MORTIFIED)... you do the math."

We went on like this for another five minutes until Mr. Limbo finally caught on. "MM, she wants to know how BAD the SPOTTING is."

ESLUT: "YES! YES! How big your body?"

D'oh.

We left things on a cautiously positive note. ESLUT reiterated that she thought everything was OK but would have the head of the OBGYN ultrasound dept look at the sono pics and then call me to confirm. Of course that was three days ago and I'm still waiting for that call or at least a call back from Dr. TV, who has the world's worst front office staff. They never give her the messages. Or so she says. Oh how I miss RE #3, who not only took the initiative to check in on ME (ME!) when he sensed I was getting nervous but who always, always returned my calls promptly. Anyway... will continue to harass both doctors today so that I can (hopefully) relax a bit until the anatomy scan in roughly two weeks. Have a great wknd, everyone. I'm off to eat Cheet0s.

PSA

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Enough about you. Let's talk about me...

Ultrasound to check for neural tube defects is tomorrow morning. If you're just tuning in, my quad screen results showed elevated risk for this sort of thing. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how unreliable these tests are. But you try to keep calm when a doctor tells you not to worry but there's a slight chance your baby could have spina bifida. Or worse. It doesn't make me feel better to know that only a tiny percentage of mothers who show elevated risk actually end up with babies who have these genetic conditions. Someone has to be in that tiny pool.

In slightly less terrifying news, my real life infertile friend (RLIF), who has a similar issue with her ute and who has also been through Hell over the last couple of years, just called to say she's pg. If I could do a cartwheel for her, I would. But I'm just not that coordinated so I'll just sit here with a giant smile on my face and clap my hands.