Archive for February, 2008

Bumpdate #2

Okay, so I saw the doctor again today.

I weigh exactly the same amount that I did before I was pregnant.

I am now 21 weeks along = almost five months pregnant.

I look like this:


This is what I see when I look down:


At current count, I’ve had about 20 Samoas over the past three days.

We are clearly not following any sort of healthy diet, as it is freezing and awful and we are so sick (yeah, Mr. K loooooves to share).

How is this possible?

I’ll ponder it further as I frighten people on the beach tomorrow.

In my bikini.


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How the Mighty Have Fallen

Saturday morning Mr. K was an unusually high grade of ass-hoooooole. Unfortunately I left almost immediately after this display and spent most of the drive to Chicago trying to figure out exactly what his problem was. He seemed to be over it by Saturday night, when we talked before bed.

So today I return home with my Ikea bounty (which I acquired while staying within my budget!) to discover Mr. K firmly buried in the bed… around 2:00 p.m. Apparently he tried getting up around 11:30 and it wore him out. I managed to get a thermometer in his mouth – a prime indication of how bad he was feeling – and discovered he was running a temp of about 100 degrees. In the 13 years we have been together I have never known him to run a temperature, or even allow someone to take his temperature, so this is sort of a milestone event. I brought him some chicken soup and toast in bed, got him to eat the soup and take one bite of the toast, and put him back to bed so I could go to rehearsal. My generous offers of Nyquil or Tylenol were definitively rebuffed.

After rehearsal I went to the grocery store so I might have some food on hand in case he was hungry. No go. He requested a Tahitian Treat and an orange for dinner. He had a few bites of orange and chugged the Tahitian Treat. He then went straight for the Nyquil that he was so uninterested in before and started asking questions like, “how long will it take to knock me out?” I got the thermometer back in his mouth – 101. He snuggled back up to wait for unconsciousness and that’s the last peep I have heard out of him.

On the one hand, I’m glad that he’s sick this weekend instead of next so as not to interfere with our vacation plans. On the other hand, I’m not entirely convinced that he’s right in thinking that this bug is something he caught from me. I haven’t had any big fevers recently. I’ve been sick but I don’t think I’ve been that sick -and if it’s hitting him this hard I can only imagine how long I would have been knocked out. On the other hand, I have been on antibiotics for a week.

So. I’m going to try to spend this week, which is already so busy and hectic on paper, trying to stay healthy, for BabyK and so that we can go to Florida. And also so that I can take care of Mr. K, who normally takes such good care of me. I’m really really hoping that he is feeling better tomorrow morning so he can come with me to our big ultrasound. Which is at the hospital, after all.

If you pray or meditate or think good thoughts, we could use some. It’s probably best for you if you do it from a distance, though.

Be well!

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Vacatiooooooon! Vacation!

Ten points for anyone who can guess (correctly) the musical reference in the title.

As you may have deduced from the oh-so-clever title of this post, we leave next weekend for St. Pete, FL. I’ve never been there, but we got a good deal on a package at a resort so with a waterway for paddleboats, five pools (one adults only), and actual honest to goodness beach for a week it seemed like a no-brainer. We got direct flights too, which is a nice concession for pregnant-type people.

Unfortunately, pregnant-type people are not a fixture of the beach scene, typically. So this whole swimsuit thing is an adventure. I can still wear my bikini from a few years back (sweet Puerto Rico memories) but when we played, ‘Fat or Pregnant?’ Mr. K said, “well, maybe a little pregnant, but maybe more like oddly fat? Like, I would have to take a few looks to make up my mind, but I might still be confused, because you’re still very twee in some places but bigger in some others?”

Readers, this is not the way to fill your sick, hormonal, tired, pregnant-type person with confidence.

But Old Navy is having a sale on maternity tankinis and several sizes of said tankinis should be making their way to me by Friday. I do not know if this will bring clarity or more confusion to the ‘oddly fat’ dilemma, but we shall see. I do know that being pregnant in the middle of the summer I will most likely be very attracted to pools and my increased floating abilities, so a swimsuit seems like a good investment. Like, $25 for the whole shebang type investment.

In other news, there haven’t been many posts lately because I was 1) actually feeling good and being very productive and busy and then 2) sick with whatever nastiness is going around. Again. I went to the doc on Friday and got some antibiotics but then suddenly felt a lot worse today, so who knows. Maybe it is viral. Or I got the viral on top of the bacterial. At any rate, I suck at the middle of the day antibiotic. Inevitably I remember to take it about two hours before I take the one for bed. I’m adding that to my list of ways I have already begun to fail BabyK (taking antibiotics to begin with is already on there, regardless of their purported safety. Shouldn’t I have just been a paragon of health and avoided it altogether, or toughed it out with herbs and positive thinking or whatever that shit’s about?). I am going to blame my sudden crying fit at the office this afternoon on this lingering illness. Because if you know me, and if you’re reading this blog you probably do, then you know that crying does not happen to me. Not for negligible reasons at my office in the middle of the afternoon. So.

I am writing this from Mr. K’s computer because it seems like my laptop is losing its ability to talk to our wireless router. Mr. K is blaming this on my laptop being old, which seems like a cop out to me because we all know how much he HATES being in-home tech support. Thankfully I can usually handle it on my own, but this is getting beyond me. This isn’t helping me work at all, of course. So I’m trying to be very zen about it and just spend my evenings being sick instead. Between the writer’s strike and the wireless strike, I am often very lost in my house. I also attribute this to having strange 15 minute increments of free time. What are you supposed to do with 15 minutes if not browse the interweb and check your email? I have already read all my magazines for March. When I have taken the time to actually stop and be sick, I’ve made it halfway through the second season of Buffy. I love Buffy. I am Buffy. But with less highlighting and more clothes.

This weekend I am headed to Chicago with my girls for some Ikea and choreography showcase action. Hopefully BabyK’s room will be painted by Friday, but I got the sketches today and they made me so happy I almost cried (ALMOST). I lurve them. So that is good news. Also in the extremely happy making department, it now looks like BabyK will have THREE playmates born in October this year. We have been hoping for this news for a long time, so it is good good good good good. And no, they are not all being cooked together. Multiple bellies. It’s great to have friends who are struggling with infertility when you are struggling with infertility, or it might be impossible to survive. But it’s twenty gazillion times better to be pregnant with your formerly infertile friends. No one wants to break up the band, but not everyone can get knocked up together. So kudos to my friends (who do not know each other) for getting simultaneously impregnated.

See, good things can happen, right?

I’m going to try to meditate on that as I head for the bathtub to brood about our upcoming ultrasound. I’ve been selling it as, ‘we’ll find out the sex!’ but it’s really more like ‘are those the right organs in the right size in the right place?’ Which is scary. But they’ll probably just turn to me and say, ‘This is all because of those antibiotics. And because you’re a terrible mother and crack whores in the street are doing a better job than you. Hey, wasn’t that your boss on the line? Do you not have to get back to work? No? Never? Well then we’ll just spend some more time investigating these gross abnormalities in your unborn child. Hey, I think that bath cooked its brain!”

You know. Whatever.

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