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Had a lovely, relaxing weekend up at my friend’s cabin. There are four of us who go up, all in our mid-to-late 30s. We all met through work, though we don’t all work at the same place anymore. What’s interesting about the trip is that these aren’t women I see on a daily basis or anything. We all socialize, but we see each other in person maybe once a month, if that. Nonetheless, for the past three years, we’ve made time in our busy schedules for the 4 1/2 hour trek up to the northern part of the state, to spend a long weekend at the cabin. We go sans husbands or partners (but sometimes with dogs), and when our sig-O’s ask us what we do all weekend, it’s sort of hard to explain! We eat, we talk, we knit, we play card games and board games … we stay up late and sleep in, we dance to our favorite tunes on the CD player, we go for walks and sit in front of the fire – really, we just sort of hang out. There aren’t a lot of people you can do that with. And it’s not like we all have similar personalities or anything! In fact, widely divergent: two squabs, a squin and a squo. But for some reason we all mesh perfectly for a weekend of vegetation. I hope it’s a tradition we can continue for years to come.

It was especially nice to have the relaxing weekend because this week is shaping up to be anything but. We’ve been planning for months now to go down south and stay with my grandma and aunt over Thanksgiving. My sister is coming, too, and we’d planned an extra long break: leaving tomorrow and not getting back until the 29th. We figured, it’s our last real vacation until the baby comes, which means our last real vacation for the next 18 years, so let’s do it right! Mr. Squab hasn’t ever visited my birth state, so we planned to show him around the area and take an overnight trip to Savannah just to see the sights. BUT. This morning, Mr. Squab got a tearful phone call from his mother to say that his beloved great-aunt passed away this weekend. She’s been in bad health for a few years now, and in rapid decline for the past few months, so her death wasn’t too much of a surprise and in many ways is a blessing. But in her prime, she was a sharp old lady with a wry sense of humor and a lot of love for Mr. Squab and his family, to whom she was basically a second mom/grandma. She’ll be missed.

As her funeral will be on Saturday, Mr. Squab and I had to rearrange our flights so we can get back from my grandma’s house on Friday night, meaning we’ll miss out on the Savannah trip and have far less time to spend with my rellies. Selfishly, I’m really disappointed that we have to cut back on our last real vacation. But of course we can’t miss the funeral (nor would I want to even if we could), and maybe this will mean I can take more time off over Christmas. But can someone explain to me why close relatives always have to die so near the holidays?

I’m leaving early today for a weekend up north in a cabin with some girlfriends. We’ll be, you know, wearing baby doll pajamas and having pillow tickle fights, because that’s what chicks do when they have sleepovers. (Just trying to keep Mr. Squab’s fantasy life intact.) So anyway, no posting from me until I get back, but I encourage you to check out the blogroll for some fine, fine reading. Have a good weekend!

Had my initial diabetes consultation today, and it wasn’t anywhere near as scary as I was afraid it would be. Which is nice. First off, the only other woman in the class was having triplets(!) in about four weeks, and had been confined to bedrest for the past two months. So right away my life was looking better. Second, they gave us a bag of free stuff. I mean, sure, it was a blood sugar monitor and extra strips and punchy things, but it was electronic and it came in a cool carrying case and they let us play with it, so it counts, dammit. I was *seriously* paranoid about the blood sugar monitoring. The only times I’ve had my finger punched to draw blood is when I donate blood and they have to check first for iron levels and stuff. And that shit HURTS! Also I have this irrational sense of ickyness about poking holes in my fingertips. I’m not scared of needles, and even punching my arm wouldn’t bother me, but my fingertips … *shudder*. I voiced my wussy anxiety to the nurse, and she acknowledged it, but said she thought I might be pleasantly surprised by how little I’d feel it – they’ve made a lot of improvements, and the meters they provide are touted as the gentlest. And she was right! I can feel it, but it’s more like a mosquito bite than the terrible spike of death I’d been fearing. Which is a good thing, since I have to test my blood sugar FOUR TIMES A DAY. Once right after I get up (which will make me love mornings even more than I already do) and then one hour after each meal. Oy.

We also went over the dietary restrictions, and those are looking fairly manageable as well. I have to eat a lot more protein than I have been, and I have to make sure I get enough carbs as well (though I have to be careful with those). The nutritionist said I *can* eat the occasional slice of pumpkin pie or Christmas cookie, I just have to be careful when I do it and adjust the rest of my meals and snacks accordingly. This should make the holiday season a lot easier to manage. Overall it looks like it will be a slight, but not massive, pain in the ass … though I may change my tune after doing this for a few months.

Also, can I just say that I frickin’ love nurses? Some of this may possibly have to do with the fact that my stepmom is a nurse, as are lots of my parents’ friends, but regardless: I think nurses are the bomb-diggity. With very few exceptions, the nurses that I’ve interacted with since I got knocked up have been extraordinarily kind, informative, and supportive – and the nurses today were no different. They took the time to answer all our questions, and were careful to emphasize the need to take care of our health as much as or more than the need to do it for the baby’s sake. (The feminist mom in me really appreciated this.) I’ve heard horror stories from friends and acquaintances about some of the horrible things their healthcare practitioners have said or done, but I’ve had nothing but luck with mine.

Oh – and I got back the results from my quad screen (the test for genetic anomalies) and it came back normal, as did the results from my 24 hour urine test. Man, you guys know a lot about my inner workings!

I think this quiz should actually be called “To which race of Middle Earth would you like to belong, because, frankly, I know I’m more of a Hobbit than an elf. But like the best Hobbits, I aspire to elvishness.

So. I have gestational diabetes. Fuckin’ right on. I didn’t even pass the fasting blood test – meaning that even when I hadn’t eaten anything in 11 hours, my blood sugar was still above the normal range. Normally they don’t even do this test until 28 weeks, but my docs wanted to get me in early for it, and I guess it’s a good thing they did. I’ll find out more about how this all works when I visit the diabetes specialists at the hospital early next week, but for now it looks like it will be managed with diet rather than insulin shots, which is good. Of course, I’ll still have to make like a pincushion and poke myself multiple times per day to check my blood sugar, so that will be super fun. Sigh. Onward and upward.

Had my monthly checkup this morning. Heard Hoss’ heartbeat, which was nice and strong; I’ll be getting a “level 2” ultrasound in a couple of weeks (this is a special targeted ultrasound that I get to have because my aunt was born with hydrocephaly. Just means they look for specific markers to make sure the baby is developing normally.) So all that was fine and good.

But the rest of the appointment …

For most of my life, I’ve had low-to-normal blood pressure. Even as I’ve struggled with weight issues, my blood pressure has typically stayed pretty low. However, about a month and a half into my first trimester, my blood pressure started creeping up. And it’s only gotten worse in the intervening time. (Currently it’s averaging about 150+/90+, as compared to “normal” 120/80.) There is a condition called gestational hypertension, where the increased bloodflow triggers high blood pressure. But that shows up in the second trimester, not the first. So as far as my doctors can figure out, what I have is regular ole hypertension that just happened to show up after I got knocked up. Cuz I’m lucky like that. Anyway, the fun part is that hypertension puts you at much greater risk for fun things like preeclampsia, where your body starts to reject the fetus and if you aren’t careful you can die and stuff. So my doctors are understandably concerned about the blood pressure issue, and are trying to keep a very close eye on it. Part of this means that I “get” to go into the doctor’s office more often than I would otherwise, which as an attention-grabbing Leo I don’t mind too much. And I’ll probably have more ultrasounds than most expectant moms as well, which isn’t bad. But it also means I have to do really pain-in-the ass stuff like the 24-hour urine collection adventure that I’m currently engaged in.

24-hour urine collection, you say? Tell me more! Ok, ok. It works like this: the doctor’s office sends you away with a big fat orange jug in which you have to collect every drop of pee you excrete for a 24 hour period. To aid in collection, they also give you this collection thingy that balances on the top of your toilet and looks like a combination between a bedpan and something they torture nursing home residents with. Plus you get a big white bag to cart it all around in. Then, every time you get the urge to go for the next 24 hours (which, when you’re pregs, is A LOT) you gather up all the equipment, pee in the container, pour it in the jug, rinse out the container, and put the jug in the fridge to prevent bacteria buildup. You can just IMAGINE how much fun this was to do at work today. Not only did I look like a total freakazoid carting a huge white carrier bag into the bathroom with me every time I had to go, but … um … we only have communal refrigerators at work. And I’m *pretty sure* most of my coworkers would be a little, um, nonplussed to find a large vat of urine sitting next to their yogurts and ham sandwiches. But it had to be refrigerated – so I wrapped the jug in about three Target plastic bags, and hid it in the bottom compartment of the least-used fridge on my floor. Hopefully no one got curious.

The second crummy thing about the appointment was that I failed my initial glucose-screening test, which is the first way they test you for gestational diabetes. Which means that I get to spend approximately 1/2 my day off tomorrow engaged in a 4-hour marathon version of the same test. I’m “high-risk” for gestational diabetes (read: fat) so I’m not really looking forward to tomorrow. If I really do have it, it will mean some major dietary changes and maybe even insulin shots. Bleh. I think I could cope with either hypertension OR gestational diabetes, but can I please please not have to cope with both? Please? If any of y’all know any normal blood-sugar spells or incantations, feel free to say them on my behalf.

And the third crummy thing about the appointment was that I’ve lost 4 pounds since I last went in. You’re not so much supposed to lose weight while you’re pregnant, as you are supposed to, you know, gain it. Doctors = not so much happy with that. Most of it, I think, was because I was on a crummy new acid reducing medication that was making me sick. as. a. dog. I’m off it now, so hopefully I can start putting a few pounds on (and you have no idea how weird it feels to say that), but the upshot is that I felt like pretty much a total failure at this checkup.

At least Hoss is OK. I mean, that’s what counts, right?

I know Pam doesn’t like quizzes, but this one doesn’t demand any knowledge of Mayfair whatsoever. Enjoy.

comma
You scored 92% Sociability and 52% Sophistication!
You are happy around most people, and take pleasure in breaking large groups up into smaller, more managable units. This makes you something of a manager, though your subtlety makes it easy for others to overlook this aspect of your character. You are comfortable in most situations, and go about quietly being yourself even if there is chaos errupting all around you. The semicolon makes you a little nervous, but the semicolon makes everyone a little nervous.

This test tracked 2 variables.
How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on Sociability
You scored higher than 39% on Sophistication

Link: The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test written by Gazda on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Here’s a question for you to ponder: if I’ve been feeling especially sickish since the hurling episode on Wednesday, which explanation is less heinous?

A) I have or am getting some kind of flu (I vote avian!)

B) I’m one of those lucky, lucky women that starts to get really sick in the second trimester.

Much as I absolutely, positively hizzate the flu, I’m sort of plumping for option A.

(Sorry posting has been so insubstantial lately – just feeling kind of run down. But I’m finishing a pregnancy book that should result in a more interesting post later this week.)

The show is up. Opening night went very well, with a good audience and a nice reception afterwards. Now I can finally relax a little. Tonight’s plan: let my assistant director take care of the show, go home, get into my PJs, and curl up with either a cozy book or a cozy movie. Most of which I will sleep through. Or, as my friend Rebecca put it, “I’m going to happy hour, and you’re going to be pregnant.”

Last night, in the throes of my usual indecision as to what I could stomach for supper, I decided that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk would hit the spot.

Unfortunately, Hoss decided that the “spot” it would hit was the commode, as I violently heaved up the entire meal some 15 minutes after I’d eaten it.

Bonus: my entire face is now covered with splotches of broken blood vessels, making me look like I’ve either just been crying or have some exotic melanin-enhanced disease. And just in time for opening night!

Truly, a precious time in my life.