Toenails & Mucous Plugs

Yesterday, I passed what the doc believes was some or all of my mucous plug. I won’t indulge you with the details (beg all you want, still no) but I believe this mucous-plug-passing business is actually God’s way of easing you into the idea of slimy grotesque things oozing out of your vagina. She (God, that is) also apparently enjoys the element of surprise. That God… such a kidder. (Get it, “kidder”…. no? Oh, bite me- like you’re Dane Cook.)

At any rate, I pass this goo and think to myself “Self, you are only 32 weeks along… maybe you should call the doc.” So I did. And they ordered me into the office for an internal exam. One would think I’d be cringing and gritting my teeth because now the on-call doctor would be putting a metal instrument and a couple of gloved fingers inside of my intimate areas. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t excited about that part, but my first real thought was “OH MY GOD, THEY’LL SEE MY TOENAILS!” See, the boots I had on (one of only two pairs of shoes that fit my water balloo- I mean, feet) tend to get a bit malodorous. And that makes the trouser socks under them stinky. Which means there was no way I was putting my feet in stirrups, stirrups that would be right near the doctor’s head, without removing both boots and socks AND washing my feet in the bathroom right after I peed in the Dixie cup. But underneath those boots and socks? Dear sweet lord of the Twinkies…I can’t SEE my toes, much less reach them well enough to apply polish with any precision. I haven’t had time for a pedicure in weeks. In other words? My piggies were going “EWWWWWW!!!” all the way home. Chipped off polish, uneven edges, etc. etc… like I should be going barefoot in a gas station bathroom… to get condoms…for my Mom.

So what did I do? This is SC, I apologized of course. The sweet, kind (and skinny, perfectly made-up, might I add) nurse and doctor come in and I start babbling about how I’m so sorry for the state of my toenails and I can’t paint them myself and Husband offered, but that scares me and there’s no time for a pedicure because work has been crazy and I wasn’t anticipating having anyone SEE them today and I normally keep them so well done…… blah, blah, blah… Like a Mary Kay lady on meth, I was. To which the doc replies “Well, the important question is… did you shave your legs?”

Of course. I got Dr. Smartassypants. Yeah, he was kidding and meant absolutely no harm. He’s a big sweet gentle old giant of a man whom I actually like very much. But people, I am 8 months pregnant. NO SENSE OF HUMOR here. At least not where my declining beauty regimen standards are concerned.

But yes, I had shaved my legs. Might have missed a few spots trying to work around my insanely large child, but an “A” for effort, I assure you.

The rest of the visit told us this:
No, I am not dilating or effacing, so no imminent danger of early delivery.
Yes, the child is still huge. Estimated at 4 lbs. 6 oz. yesterday- on par with a 35 week baby.
She has hair. Lots of it. This prompted her father to ask “Honey, is there something you want to tell me?” Because he and I? Cue balls at birth.
The ultrasound tech said (ominously) “you’ll be coming back to see me…” and what she means is a 37-week ultrasound to determine exactly how freakishly enormous my daughter has gotten. And what that will mean for my delivery options.

Until then, my Mom has started the Baby Betting Pool. When will she come? How much will she weigh? We have everything from December 10th at just under 7 lbs (from baby Sister… she loves me…) to my Dad who says January 7th at 9 lbs. 12 oz. (clearly my father is holding some kind of grudge).

What do you say? I mean… other than “gee thee to a nail salon!” Here, let me distract you from my gnarly smelly toes with cute ultrasound pictures!

Scenes from an Ultrasound: Part Deux

Ultrasound Tech: Wow… she’s big….

Us: Really? How big?

Ultrasound Tech: Well, the measurements put her at 3 lbs. 2 oz.

Us: Hmmm….

*cut to OB’s office*

OB: She’s a big baby!

Me: Yeah, the tech mentioned that.

OB: No, really- only about 15-20% of babies are that big!

Me: Well, that figures. Her Daddy was 10 lbs. 3 oz.

OB: (palpating my abdomen) Yep, she’s a big big girl.

Me: Terrific.

So the general consensus seems to be that Vivian is A) healthy and B) large. This suits me just fine. I’d much rather partake of an epidural and other God-given medical interventions to birth my behemoth child than to worry over a tee-niny baby in the NICU. But don’t think Mama won’t push for the induction if Baby Girl continues to plump up at this rate.
Here’s the Reader’s Digest report on the physical aspects of the pregnancy.
Large. So large.
Heartburn, reflux, repeat.
Can’t reach itchy ankles.
Four words: feet in my ribs.
But the hard part is that I’m now officially riding the “pregnancy emotional roller-coster” as my favorite POS book called it. I cry. A lot. And I’m so damn tired I can’t see straight. Which probably doesn’t help the crying. It’s a crappy gig, since I am not accustomed to being unable to control these things with an iron… um… tear duct.
Don’t get me wrong- I am well aware these are temporary conditions and I will gladly do this for ten more weeks to get a healthy happy baby. But only doing it for nine weeks wouldn’t suck. Just sayin’.

An Open Letter

To The Women of the 2nd Floor:

It is horrifically bad she-karma to allow a PREGNANT WOMAN, much less any other sister, to exit the ladies room with her dress rucked up in the backside of her panties.

You know who you are.

A curse upon you. May your maxi pad adhesive yank at your pubes.

Sincerely,
The Waddling Woman in Green

Household Budget: Mortgage, Groceries, Health Care Fraud...

Over at DC Metro Moms today, Lawyer Mama started a discussion about health care. She correctly points out that for the average working class family (even those of us with “good” insurance) a single major illness or accident could prove financially catastrophic. And while it’s easy to point the finger at employers for not providing better (or in some cases, any) coverage or taking on bigger a bigger share of the premiums, the reality is that their costs for employee health care are also a financial burden, particularly for small businesses. Like Lawyer Mama, I want to see the candidates go after this issue in earnest. Also like Lawyer Mama, I don’t pretend to have all the answers. But let me offer a modest proposal.

The major barrier to more comprehensive and far-reaching health care coverage we hear about is cost. Nobody wants to pay for the oft-cited "skyrocketing healthcare costs" whether that's private employers or the government through socialized medicine. The irony of this is that health plans/payers/government agencies are missing MAJOR opportunities to cut those costs (and thereby making coverage more affordable/available) through comprehensive anti-fraud programs.

I work for a company whose primary line of business is as a Program Safeguard Contractor, or PSC for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services. Broken down into simplest terms, we detect, investigate, and hopefully try to prevent Medicare fraud and abuse. Truthfully, CMS is really the only bright spot, in that their anti-fraud endeavors through the PSCs have been amazingly effective. The one little company I work for (180 employees total) typically gives the government an 11/1 ROI. Yes, that's right- we return about $11 to the Medicare trust fund for every $1 they spend on our operations. Last year, we identified about $220 million in fraud and abuse just in Medicare claims alone. Bottom line is what we do WORKS. And works well.

But most private insurers don't have any kind of decent anti-fraud measures in place. In many states, they are required to have some specific controls, but nothing nearly so comprehensive as the Medicare PSCs. Most of them have an SIU (special investigations unit- Medicare Part D providers are required to have these) that responds to complaints of fraud, but do little or no proactive data analysis, much less trying to "connect the dots" so to speak and go after more than isolated incidents. Some have started buying into automated anti-fraud technology in the form of software (IBM is one of the major players). But without a more comprehensive program and personnel to pursue the leads, it's like turning your garden hose on a California wildfire. PSCs like our company combine data analysis with investigative services and medical review functions for a comprehensive product. Periodically-updated software that spits out reports to be analyzed by senior management with no fraud-detection experience? That's not a substitute for what we do.

There are a lot of reasons insurers don’t have better anti-fraud programs in place. Lots of payers don’t quite comprehend the worth of the investment. Some of them don’t want to risk alienating large providers with investigations. “Prompt payment” laws in most states limit the amount of time a company can spend researching claims before they’re paid. Anti-fraud detection isn’t a standard part of claims payment software or processes. Lots of reasons. But in my not-so-humble opinion, it often comes down to cost. Fraud investigation is, by the nature of the work, a slow process that doesn’t yield profits over night. Long-term savings and better health for American families take a back seat when the noisy voices of investors come calling.

The NHCAA has estimated that about 3% (about $39 billion in 2000) of what this country pays for healthcare is lost to blatant fraud, which doesn’t even account for erroneous payments and abuse. (Some of the other government agencies have put that estimate as high as 10%.) Can you imagine what recovering/preventing even a fraction of that would do for making healthcare more affordable for working class families and their employers? I would hope that the candidates would give some thought to doing a better job of mandating the level of fraud detection and prevention mechanisms that private health plans have in place. I think socialized or government-funded healthcare is a long way off in this country, but bringing down the costs of our current system would go a long way to make life a little easier for the average family.

Evil at home and abroad...

This makes me so sad. And so angry.
I mean… truly… what kind of evil has to be in someone’s heart to kill BUDDHIST MONKS protesting peacefully? Monks- a group of people who truly believe and live a doctrine of non-violence.
I imagine it’s the same kind of evil that prompts someone to shoot Amish schoolchildren. But that was just one man- we can comfort ourselves with that- just one man with a questionable grip on his own sanity.
This is a government. A GROUP of people who cannot possibly have any motive to shoot these monks who have taken to the street to protest for rights and liberties they believe to be in the best interest of others. No possible motive except for the hateful greedy desire to oppress and overpower.
I think to myself- shame on them. Shame on their cold hard evil hearts.
And then I think to myself about our government. And our leaders. Our wealthy, privileged nation…whose freely elected leader just vetoed an opportunity to provide healthcare to children. A nation that pays contractors who use violence to make money at the expense of vulnerable civilians in a war-torn country. A country whose leaders preach "family values", but will rip a family apart on technicalities created by their own muddy bureaucracies.
And I am ashamed.

Car Seats, Toile, & Quad Toggles

Hey, good news! We’ve finally started doing something that resembles getting ready for having a baby in the house!
Up until now, our general plan was to line a cardboard box with a nice fluffy towel and put the baby in that. You know, like with a kitten, only we’d use a good towel. My mom and sister had already given her enough clothing for approximately four outfit changes per day until she goes to kindergarten and I’m planning to do this breastfeeding thing, so we figured we were all set. OK… so we knew we weren’t. We were just pretending. (Kids like pretending, right? Right?)
Last weekend my glorious Girlfriends threw us a baby shower and we wound up with some truly useful items. For instance, we got a car seat which means the hospital will have no choice but to let her leave with us. (Suckers!)
We also started painting the nursery last night. The prior owners of our house had an affinity for the shade of yellow normally reserved for laboratory caution placards. That and very very large fruit patterns. And teal. Yes, it was a regular early 90s designer showcase. But the yellow? I believe it was a Sherman-Williams shade, “Anxiety Attack”. Or maybe “Prozac Lullaby”. It had to go. Pronto.
Now, I know infants can’t see most colors right away. (See! I’ve totally been reading those books!) But truthfully, isn’t nursery décor more about our sanity? That’s why I’ve never understood people who decorate in little animals with I’m-so-happy-I’m-smug-about-it expressions on their faces. Seems to me that at 3 a.m. when you’re rocking the baby who has been screaming for the last 14 days of its life, you’d be about ready to wring that pleasant little giraffe by his super cute neck. We’ve selected a nice neutral sage-ish green and the only animals around are some lambs with nice innocuous expressions that do not imply any superior zen levels.

And last night Husband and I had this conversation:
Husband: Do you need any clothes washed?
Me: Um yeah… can you grab that toile maternity blouse of mine?
Husband: …….. toile?........
Me: Yeah.
Husband:…… toile?......
Me: Yes, dear. The blue and cream flowery little pattern thing?
*silence*
Me: You know, this does make me wonder how much attention you were paying when you agreed to that green toile nursery bedding…
Husband: What toile nursery bedding? I’ve never seen or talked about anything “toile” in my life!
Me: You did too- we looked at it on Overstock.com!
Husband: I would remember using the word “toile”….I’m sorry, but there are things you don’t forget saying like “toile” and “quad toggle” and “not that hole!”

Yeah, so maybe we’re not totally prepared yet. But I figure we have at least 6-8 months after she’s born to clean up sexual innuendo… we’ll get to it right after the electrical outlet covers…

This just in...

Bill Maher is an asshat of epic proportions.

A misogynistic, prudish, uneducated asshat.

I won't even take the time and energy to expound. Other women bloggers have done as much, more eloquently than I could manage.

But I will say this...

If I ever see him in my post-partum days, I will promptly pull up my shirt and squirt him right in the damn eye.

Reference Manuel.. I think I met him once on Spring Break...

Husband has a new job! (Hooray!) Increased salary and better benefits aside, I’m pleased to report that he’s also learning a lot of new things. You see, Husband was hired for a professional position with in a large insurance-related organization. But for the first two weeks, he is taking the standard corporate new hire training as well as sitting in on some of the customer service rep training, since he’ll be delegating a lot of things to the CSRs. Husband (and I, by way of his daily recountings) have learned so much from the CSRs this week. First and foremost, we learned this:
We’re both really freakin’ grateful for our education and socio-economic status.

Here are some of the other valuable lessons!

1. We know which clinic in town pays the most for plasma donations and which blood types are more valuable.
2. An important question to ask of the trainer conducting new hire training is “What is the most common thing that gets people fired? Is it absences?”
3. When presented with a baby daddy who refuses to pay child support, it is best to seek him out at a relative’s house and threaten him with physical violence.
4. If your electricity is cut off for non-payment, you can call the utility company and tell them your child has a medical condition requiring equipment that runs on electricity- you know, like “a breathin’ machine”. This will restore your service regardless of payment status (and regardless of whether your child is actually perfectly healthy).
5. If you pay your boyfriend’s CO $100, you can get a little privacy for 15 minutes or so in order to engage in sex acts.
6. If your prior employer delays in getting you your last paycheck, you can always drive over there and threaten to blow the place up. You will be paid promptly.
7. Pennsylvania may well be either a city or a state, but it’s not one of the “major ones” that would be commonly known to everyone.
8. If a boy is semi-stalking your 16-year-old sister, there is no need to engage law enforcement or school administrators when you can simply pay $5 for admission to the high school football game and beat the boy senseless.
And last but not least…
9. If you’re at a loss, consult the “REFERENCE MANUEL” you’ve got on your desk.

I too have had some significant learning experiences at work this week. I have an office. I heart my office with rainbow and unicorn drawings all around it. Due to some ill-timed door varnishing, I had to relocate to a cube downstairs this week. It’s official, I am not cut out for life in the cube farm. Here are some notes for my fellow employees:

If I can sing along, your music is too loud. This is why the sweet baby Jesus gave us headphones.

Your chair squeaks. Loudly. Every time you move. For the love of all that is holy, FIX THAT SHIT.

I could say more… about the glorious redneck family dramas I got to listen to playing out on our phone lines, but frankly I’m exhausted. Just let it be noted that I will gladly panhandle before I sit in a cube again.

I know. I’m a snob.

I just don’t care.

Birth Order

“Is this your first baby?”

Um…uh…

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve faltered trying to answer that question… well, I wouldn’t be trying to sell Husband’s kidney to pay for daycare. (Sorry guy- but you do have TWO and they won’t take mine.)

Seriously, though. I have two daughters. This is my second child. That sounds so odd, because I don’t go home every day to a little girl about to celebrate her first birthday. There are no large pieces of brightly colored plastic fun in my den. The dogs have never known the joy of high chair leftovers raining down on them. My work clothes don’t have faint yellowish spots on the shoulders and boobs. (Except for that one shirt… margaritas involved… long story.) Husband and I spend leisurely evenings playing with said dogs and chatting about each other’s days over dinner eaten in a room with *gasp* carpet on the floor.

And yet, there she is- Cecilia Ruth. Born May 2006. First child of Charles and Lauren. Grandchild of Kenneth and Lynn, of Michael and Eileen, all of whom were there to hold her, see her, love her, and kiss her goodbye. She is as real and as human to me as any of the folks who were in the room that day. She is my daughter and she was a living being, as sure as she kicked and tumbled inside of me.

I feel dishonest and as though I am dishonoring my daughter to just answer “yes” to the first baby question. In my heart, acknowledging her seems the only logical and natural thing to do. I will always miss her, and her short life left an indelible and bittersweet impression on my heart. But she’s still my child and I’m proud to be her mother. I’m proud of what a little fighter she was and I’m proud of myself for making incredibly tough decisions that were in her best interest, as any mother would.

I don’t include Cecilia in my answer expecting sympathy or trying to make the asker uncomfortable, yet those are the responses it seems to invoke. They wind up mumbling something like “I’m sorry…” or “you poor thing…” and I find myself stammering and apologizing for … for what… for acknowledging my own baby’s existence? I hate that. But I hate making people uncomfortable. But I also hate the idea of ignoring Cecilia. Maybe I’m overanalyzing what should be a simple superficial social situation. But to any mother who has lost a child, especially a child she has held and dressed and rocked, it’s WAY more important than that. And after some time and some healing, we don’t mention our babies entirely with sadness. We mention them because… well, because they’re our babies. I find myself saying things like “don’t be sorry – I’m ok…” because it’s true. I am ok. And I’m ok in part because I haven’t pushed Cecilia’s life and memory into some dark closet and thrown away the key.

A friend said of my quandary “well, how would you WANT them to respond?” I want to be able to name my daughter, to validate her life and her place in our family, and to have people view that as a positive, healing thing. A simple “oh, so this is your second child- how wonderful!” or something along those lines would be perfect. I know it’s not the easiest sunshiniest (patent pending on that word…) of situations, but it’s as simple as this- let my daughter be my daughter in the light of day and public discourse. By simply letting me count her among my children without feeling so incredibly awkward and without living mired in past grief, you have done the heart of a mother a huge service. Births are normally happy, wonderful events. All the world loves a pregnant lady (except maybe if she has a married boyfriend…) but be prepared to acknowledge all children- because they all have their place in that pregnant lady’s heart.

Senator Craig and zone defense for babies...

Seriously? I mean… really…? Let me see… your premise is that you are:
1. an English-speaking native-born citizen
2. college educated
3. a millionaire with easy access to the best counsel you can buy
4. and a FUCKING SENATOR

BUT…you suffered a “manifest injustice” despite the fact that you
1. waived your right to counsel
2. plead guilty BY MAIL weeks later
3. and voluntarily never appeared before a judge

Craig apparently “wishes that he had sought legal council in the months between his arrest and entering his guilty plea.”

Yeah. In the words of that modern-day-philosopher, Justin Timberlake, cry me a river.

I wish I had never used a credit card for crap I didn’t really need. I wish I hadn’t been going 86 in a 60 when that state trooper saw me. I wish I had sought counsel from a personal trainer before getting pregnant 15 pounds over weight.

But you know what else?
I know how credit debt works and how difficult it is to pay off.
I know what “speed limit” means and what will happen if I get caught speeding.
I know the risks and perils of carrying extra weight and I know how to lose it and I have access to freakin’ Weight Watchers.

Point? We humans do stupid shit. And we get caught doing stupid shit. And if we are Americans who are reasonably well-educated , not destitute and English is our primary language and we have a working knowledge of the institutions of our country, WE DO NOT GET TO CALL A DO-OVER just because the press got wind of what we did.

Here is a man with every advantage and all the information. Here is a man knew damn full good and well what his rights were and the realities of how the justice system works. (At least he should have- if he didn’t, then he shouldn’t be a freakin’ LAWMAKER in the first damn place!) Here is a man who had class and native language and time and resources on his side. With all that, I’m sorry, you knew full and well what “guilty” meant. GUILTY means you admit to the wrongdoing. Don’t want to admit that? But don’t think you can win against the big bad justice system? (The system you have manipulated to be biased against everyone except you and your white wealthy allegedly-hetero brethren?) That’s what “no contest” is for, buddy.

So please…go ahead and tell me the detective “misconstrued” your actions in the men’s room. Insist to me that you are not gay. But do not for a single minute tell me you didn’t understand or couldn’t have gotten full counsel before making this guilty plea. Was the plea a mistake? From the perspective of your political career, you betcha it was. But you gambled and lost. The game was as fair as it gets for you, Senator Craig.

Oh, and just come on out already.

And now for a funny interlude:

Husband: I can’t wait for next college football season! I’ll have Vivi in her little Clemson onesie and I can teach her all the ins and outs of (blah, blah, blah…names of strategies here…)

Me: You realize teaching her all that is only going to one day make her MORE attractive to teenage boys?

Husband: And then there’s karate class…

Me: For her or you?

Husband: Both... And Daddy may need a lifetime pass to the firing range for Christmas...

Scenes from an Ultrasound

Ultrasound Tech: “She is just NOT going to hold still and let me get a profile picture.”
That’s my girl!

Tech Again: “Woah…little thunder thighs on this one!”
That’s DEFINITELY my girl!

Blogosphere, Vivi Mae would like to wave hello. See her "fingeras" as the ultrasound tech labeled them?















20 week anatomy scan went very well. She has a small chorioplexus cyst in the right side of her brain, but we’re told that A) they’re very common and normally resolve by 28 weeks and B) we already know she doesn’t have Down’s Syndrome, so it’s really nothing to worry about at all. She flipped and waved and kicked and generally put on a show for her grandparents. Her Daddy and I got weepy, as usual. I’m about a week past the time in the pregnancy when I delivered Cecilia. I guess that makes me the most pregnant I’ve ever been. Cecilia was so small that I didn’t feel a lot of what I’m feeling now. It’s amazing how different this pregnancy has been. And hey- bonus! My cervix is nice and long and closed up tight. After the damage from Cecilia's delivery, that was a huge relief.


Mom & Dad were here for the weekend and I got an early birthday present. ALL HAIL THE SNOOGLI PREGNANCY PILLOW! If I could bend over comfortably, I would have kissed my Mom's feet for this one... I wonder if Husband would consider changing her name to Snoogli Mae?

In other non-baby-related news....
I hope Michael Vick winds up in a cell with a 400 lb. sociopath who was recently recruited by a PETA jailhouse program. That bastard deserves to have a set of jumper cables attached to his balls... and the other end attached to a Mack truck. If the NFL doesn't hit him with a lifetime ban, I will personally burn every piece of franchised logo-bearing clothing in a three-state radius. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

Anyone seen "The Pick-Up Artist" on VH1? I do not understand this show. I do not understand this "Mystery" guy. Well, wait... that's not right. I do not understand why in the hell so many women seem ready to drop their panties for this guy. Uh... let's see... you're an obviously 30-something guy who wears more eyeliner than I do and you call yourself Mystery.....yeah, you just REEK of relationship potential. I don't even understand wanting to sleep with him- he looks weasely and unemployed. Not exactly the type I'd trust put any part of his in any part of mine. Maybe that's a sign I'm getting old. I just want to call him Harold and tell him to cut his hair and get a legitimate job. What's worse is how he's teaching these poor regular guys all his "techniques". They seemed like pretty good fellas to begin with. And do they really want the kind of women who respond to Mystery's crap? Vapid is as vapid does, I suppose. Yeah, I'm old.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer

A few weeks ago, I had no idea what IBC was, much less that it was about to affect a woman whose writing I have enjoyed for some time now. And then I heard. And then all I could think about was how Widget and Little Bear are fighting to keep their Mommy... and they don't even know it. Her blog is here:
http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/
But today I repost her July 23 entry on IBC. I repost in her honor- hoping that by participating in her campaign to raise awareness, I may prevent another Mom, another sister, another friend from going through this ordeal. And you can bet that thanks to this brave lady, I will not cavalierly chalk anything up to "normal" changes from pregnancy and breastfeeding.

From Toddler Planet, July 23, 2007
We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer?
I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams, and found no lump, I’d be fine.
Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN because my breast felt funny. It was red, hot, inflamed, and the skin looked…funny. But there was no lump, so I wasn’t worried. I should have been. After a round of antibiotics didn’t clear up the inflammation, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist and did a skin punch biopsy. That test showed that I have inflammatory breast cancer, a very aggressive cancer that can be deadly.
Inflammatory breast cancer is often misdiagnosed as mastitis because many doctors have never seen it before and consider it rare. “Rare” or not, there are over 100,000 women in the U.S. with this cancer right now; only half will survive five years. Please call your OB/GYN if you experience several of the following symptoms in your breast, or any unusual changes: redness, rapid increase in size of one breast, persistent itching of breast or nipple, thickening of breast tissue, stabbing pain, soreness, swelling under the arm, dimpling or ridging (for example, when you take your bra off, the bra marks stay – for a while), flattening or retracting of the nipple, or a texture that looks or feels like an orange (called peau d’orange). Ask if your GYN is familiar with inflammatory breast cancer, and tell her that you’re concerned and want to come in to rule it out.
There is more than one kind of breast cancer. Inflammatory breast cancer is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there, and early detection is critical. It’s not usually detected by mammogram. It does not usually present with a lump. It may be overlooked with all of the changes that our breasts undergo during the years when we’re pregnant and/or nursing our little ones. It’s important not to miss this one.
Inflammatory breast cancer is detected by women and their doctors who notice a change in one of their breasts. If you notice a change, call your doctor today. Tell her about it. Tell her that you have a friend with this disease, and it’s trying to kill her. Now you know what I wish I had known before six weeks ago.
You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer

Mother, Whore, Warrior, Hero... Crazy Cat Lady

Text Message from Baby Sister 8:56 p.m.
*throwing hand to forehead* no on is ever going to love me! I’m going to die a crazy cat lady!

Text Message Reply from Me 8:58 p.m.
What? You’re what? 26? Isn’t that a little early in life to start buying litter in bulk?

Baby Sister is reeling from a bit of an ugly breakup. She will be fine and her text message was sent mostly in melodramatic jest. (Hence my smart-ass reply… I would never have done that if I thought she was serious.)

I called her not long after this and we embarked on a lengthy discussion about the archetypal Crazy Cat Lady. We decided we need to commission an anthropological study of the phenomena. How exactly did the ownership of excessive numbers of cats become tied to older, unmarried women with varying degrees of mental illness? Why cats? Why not mice or hamsters or something squirrely… like squirrels? When did it begin? Were there Biblical crazy cat women? Were those the widows in the streets the Old Testament spoke of? And how many cats does one need to qualify? 10? 20? More? I’m thinking of pitching this to the History channel as a documentary- “Lonely Lunacy: The Legacy of Crazy Cat Women”.

We’ve already unraveled one piece of the puzzle. The crazy cat woman is a cross-cultural persona. Apparently Russia’s got ‘em too. (Warning: the video in that link will scare the shit out of you in a very Hitchcock kind of way.)

But my sister will not be one of them. I won’t let that happen. I figure once she gets more than 10 or so, she won’t notice if I smuggle out a couple each visit.

Of musicals, heat waves, and Scott Baio...

As previously documented, Husband’s migraine prevention drugs have the charming side-effect of making him have really ….uh…. groovy dreams. He seems to have a propensity for musicals. Yes, musicals. I don’t know why, as he is a) not a huge musicals fan in his waking life and b) decidedly heterosexual.
But musicals it is. And last night he reported to me that Lola Vader apparently had her very own Rogers-and-Hammerstein-esque extravaganza. It involved:

a row of high-kicking Lola Vader’s in pink helmets and capes
an elaborate, lengthy rendition of his Lola Vader song
and… wait for it…
SCOTT BAIO.

Now don’t go all conspiracy-theorist on me… just because a man has a dream in which Scott Baio figures prominently doesn’t mean he’s using me and this baby to do some hetero-posing. (Right??) No, really, it’s true. We had been watching Scott Baio is 45 and Single before we went to bed. And besides, Scott Baio was completely clothed in the dream. Or so I’m assuming…

I lay in bed the other night writing (in my head) a thought-provoking commentary on the ban of freebies from formula companies in NYC hospitals. And then things went positively ape-shit at work. So as soon as I have time to breathe, I’ll write that one out.

Speaking of breathing…easier to do when you’re not pregnant in A HUNDRED AND FIVE DEGREE HEAT! Yes, it was 105 here yesterday. I went home early. The dogs and I stripped down to our skivvies and laid around in the AC. And then I went out and got a quart of birthday cake flavor ice cream from Marble Slab. I did put clothes on first, but not before I called ahead to clarify that it was really necessary. Apparently that “no shirt, no shoes, no service” policy doesn’t have an exemption clause for pregnant persons in hellish heat waves. Fascists.

I have to go. This child is demanding food yet again. But first, let's document the great food inventory at 9:45 a.m.

1 bowl oatmeal, 1 cup cranberry juice, 1 serving diced pears, 1 Kashi granola bar.

Yes, that's breakfast and TWO SNACKS before 10 a.m. I am AWESOME!

Cue the Imperial March & hand me a maracca....

Husband is a very funny guy- I think I’ve mentioned that before. He’s also one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet and you’d be hard pressed to get him to ever say anything intentionally hurtful or cruel. It’s just not his style, but irreverently humorous IS his style.

So you’ll understand why I was amused and not aggravated when he began responding to my requests for him to [insert random task here] with “Yes, Lord Vader.”

After a few months of this, I stopped him one day and said “Um… that’s LOURDES Vader, thank you very much… but you can call me Lola.”

So there you have it, I am Lola Vader. And now he’s making up songs like “Her name was Lo-la, she had a Death Star…”

I just hope I can get my light saber through airport security on my way to the Copa Cabana.

GIT IN MAH BELLY!

It’s official. I’m hungry. And I’m not talking about polite ladies lunch “oh, my, yes… a finger sandwich would be lovely, but only half, please…” I’m talking about truck driver hungry. I’m talking linebacker in the off season hungry. I’m talking coworkers walking by and going “you’re eating AGAIN?” hungry. I eat and an hour later, my stomach is growling. Loudly.
PREGNANT HUNGRY- it ain’t for the faint of heart, folks.
Need proof?
Ladies and gentlemen, I present Exhibit A: What I’ve Eaten Today.
1 bowl of oatmeal
1 cup of cranberry pomegranate juice
1- 8 oz can of pineapple chunks (in juice, mind you!)
1 Kashi TLC peanut butter granola bar
1 single-serving container of steamed broccoli
1 Amy’s organic black bean burrito (so good!)
½ a snack bag of Cheetos
2 Hershey’s special dark miniatures

Oh, and the best part?
It’s 12:30.
Yeah- only HALFWAY THROUGH THE DAY.

Tremble in fear, mortals…

Preparing for Baby...just add water!

And now, courtesy of Parents.com, a list of ways to “prepare for baby!” (*gag*) and my rebuttals.

First off, let me say that whoever wrote this list has clearly never been pregnant or lived with a pregnant woman. In fact, I’m pretty certain the author ascribes to the stork/cabbage patch theory. And they probably have a perfectly organized linen closet. (Ass.) But I digress… here we go…

1. Reduce Stress In Your Life- This is a lovely sentiment, but I’m afraid it flies in the face of the very fact that OH-MY-GOD-THERE’S-GOING-TO-BE-A-TINY-HELPLESS-HUMAN-HERE-FOR-WHOM-I-AM-ENTIRELY-RESPONSIBLE!!! If you have any idea the magnitude of the commitment you’ve undertaken, you SHOULD be stressed. Not to mention the fact that reducing stress is much easier when you aren’t pondering questions like:
What do you mean FMLA is unpaid?
The average cost of raising a baby is WHAT?
My vagina/cervix is going to get HOW BIG?
When do I stop puking and start glowing?
What the hell is a “boppy”?
Does training the dog to prop up a bottle count as adequate childcare?

2. Increase Your Social Support Network- Another lovely idea- and yet highly impractical for the pregnant person and partner. On a list of priorities topped by sleep and food, the pregnant woman places “increase social support network” right down there beside “learn the rules of Australian football.” When you fall asleep sometime right after Wheel of Fortune and long before any prime-time programming, you’re not likely to get invited to many a supper club. Your only hope is to befriend other pregnant women and their partners at the height of some sport’s playoffs so you can fall asleep together and the partners won’t care.

3. Begin Thinking About the Birth- Huh? Was I supposed to be thinking about ANYTHING ELSE? No, seriously… after the initial elation (or panic, depending on your circumstances) of finding out you’re pregnant passes, the very next thing you do is to start obsessing about giving birth. I know, the authors are speaking of the neatly typed double-spaced “birth plan”. As they said in Clueless… “WHAT-EV-ER.” Here’s the thing, birth is nothing but a series of messy, unpredictable, big ol’ fat unknown variables which normally render the “birth plan” little more than extra toilet paper (equally scratchy as the hospital variety, too). That scares the shittola out of most women which is why the first thought after “that IS a second line!” is usually “oh my GOD- this baby has to come OUT!” So if you have to actually instruct a woman to begin thinking about the birth, she’s either not pregnant yet or she’s so far in denial she will give birth in the bathroom at the prom and get back out on the dance floor. Is this one intended for these “partners” the article mentions? Because that would make sense. I wouldn’t want to think about birth if it didn’t involve my va-jay-jay either.

4. Take Care of Your Soul- Seriously? My soul? Now does that come before or after I take care of this freakin’ body of mine that has ceased to function normally? ‘Cause I bought some of those chicken soup books and so far they’ve been terrific ergonomic footrests to help with this low back pain. But my soul? Still the same black mar on the face of humanity it ever was. (Just ask the Republicans we know.) Should I have gotten that fixed before I got pregnant? I knew I was forgetting something…


5. Explore Your Expectations of Parenting with Your Partner- Now THIS is a suggestion I can get behind! It’s very important that expecting parents agree on the important issues. Like… exactly who is the baby daddy and discipline questions like to cage or not to cage. No, seriously…got to have a chat about those expectations. For instance, do you both consider getting 7-8 hours of sleep a night a reasonable expectation? If you do, consider psychopharmaceuticals and that you may be able to save money by buying in bulk. Does your partner expect that since you are breastfeeding, you will attend to the baby every time it cries at night? If he does that’s fine, but he should adjust his expectations to include you attaching the electric breast pump to his scrotum while he sleeps. See? Compromise!

We need a practical list of ways to prepare for baby. I’ll start it off… commenters, add on for me!

Rob a bank or implement plan for hostile takeover of Trump Enterprises.
Hire a cleaning service or drastically reduce your cleanliness standards.
Build conveyor belt from nursery straight to washing machine.
Learn to sleep standing up while rocking back and forth and bouncing lightly.

What else?

State of the Uterus- I mean Union... and a Meme

Hi! Remember me? No? Sorry about that...

Here's the Reader's Digest version of things:
Went to the beach (Charleston- Isle of Palms) for half of July 4th week.
Came back and worked Thursday and Friday.
Went back to beach for weekend.
Came back to angry cat and pitiful dogs.
Hosted a management conference.
Spent the night in the ER with Husband mid-conference. (Migraine.)
Collapsed into coma this past weekend.

So much to update...

Had an OB appointment this morning. Miss Vivi (as her father is calling her) is doing fine. Mama has gained only 5.25 pounds despite... well, despite a lot of things. Our baby girl spent some quality time kicking the doppler thingie this morning and refusing to hold still long enough to get her heart rate counted. *Sniff* I'm so proud!

The lovely and talented Suburban Hostage has tagged me for a meme, so here you go. (A more profound post soon- I promise!)

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Let's see... July 1997... Working as an office manager for a construction company and preparing for January wedding to the ex. (One of those was a mistake... the job is still on my resume, so you do the math...)

What were you doing one year ago?
Going to Bro-in-Law's wedding at the beach in NC. Still hurting from the loss of our girl, but starting to see the light more days than not.

Five snacks you enjoy:
HA! Just five? I am pregnant, you know... I do not discriminate. Fine- just five...
1. Swedish fish
2. herbed goat cheese on club crackers
3. hummus & pita points
4. sweet sixteen powdered sugar donuts
5. chocolate milkshakes

Five songs you know all the words to:
Uh... lots of them. Lots and lots. To the point that I amaze even Husband... and this is a guy who knows all the words to "The Humpty Dance".

Five things you'd do if you were a millionaire:
1. Take care of my parents and in-laws.
2. Pay off baby sister's student loans, and other sisters' houses/cars
3. Travel. Extensively. With Nanny in tow.
4. Hire Stacy & Clinton to dress me.
5. Make a huge donation to my alma mater.

Five bad habits:
1. Leaving drawers open. (Dressers, kitchen, etc... such a safety hazard. Must remedy pre-baby.)
2. Chewing my nails to nothingness. Add "get weekly gel manicure fill-ins" to my millionaire list.
3. Huge. Piles. Of. Clothes. All over my bedroom. To be fair, 1/2 are Husband's. Still...
4. Talking on my phone while driving. (I do use my bluetooth now... that's better, right?)
5. Procrastinating. See, I even saved that for last on the list!

Five things I like doing:
Remember... PREGNANT.
1. Sleeping.
2. Eating.
3. Napping.
4. Snacking.
5. Cooking.

5 Things I'd never wear again:
1. Any scrunchie.
2. A band t-shirt.* (*Exceptions for around the house and doing yardwork. Band t-shirts in public after you're 30 just make you look a tad pathetic.)
3. Black or dark red lipstick. (It was right at the time... I swear!)
4. Velvet.
5. Plastic shoes. I was the only 30-something on Isle of Palms without Crocs this year and dammit, I won't give in. I know, they're practical and comfy at the beach... I just can't get ever the idea that they're basically yuppie jelly shoes.

5 of my favorite toys:
Toys I have, or toys I want? Hmm... we'll go with have.
1. My Treo.
2. My KitchenAid mixer.
3. My Wusthof santoku knife.
4. My Calphalon roasting pan. (See a theme yet?)
5. My little 2 cup Cuisinart food processor.

It doesn't get much better than this...

The genetic counselor called.
The baby's screening came back perfectly normal.
It's a girl.
Her name is Vivian Mae.

Gratitude doesn't begin to describe it. Neither does joy.
For Husband, for this baby, for our families, for my life, for all of it... I am completely and overwhelmingly joyfully grateful.

I could not ask for more.

:)

Damn Husband with his stupid logic...

Email to Husband:
I want her!!!
http://search.petfinder.com/petnote/displaypet.cgi?petid=8557550


Husband's Reply:
What are you doing on this unapproved website? Get back to work! ;)

Me:
Silly Husband!
I am not that easily diverted!
WANT. THAT. KITTY.
Dammit.

Husband:
Ummmm...Not trying to point out the obvious, but we are about to have another baby running around the house. Not to mention the cat and nearly 200 lbs of dog. We might already be at full capacity. Maybe.

Me:
Full capacity? I think not.
Besides, I am just trying to restore order and balance to our home. We have
two of us, we have two dogs, we plan to have two kids... we need TWO CATS.
See? Give it up- duality is ingrained in our Western way of thinking.
Resistance is futile.

Husband:
But we don't have two kids yet. You see MBM (that's my-baby-momma), this duality that you yearn for is a process. An ongoing transition. We can't expect to achieve it immediately. Be patient, Grasshopper. One day you will find the duality you seek.