Friday, July 27, 2007

Sweet Tooth and Stripping

I want to know why my OBGYN's office doesn't have candy. I mean, c'mon, even some dentist's offices will give you a sugarfree lollipop if you're good during your appointment. And they just stick things in your mouth. I really could have used a candy yesterday. For starters, they lost my chart (verrrry impressive) and then I had to wait, half-dressed, lying in a very uncomfortable position, for the doctor to come. So he could check my cervix (ow) and then strip my membranes (freakin' OW!). And I was SUCH a good girl. No swearing, no kicking the mean man in the nose, or anything. I think I deserve a lollipop.

As far as baby goes, things look good. Her head's really low. I'm about 75% effaced. If I haven't gone into labor by next Friday, they're going to induce me by the next Friday. So apparently, come heck or high water, I'll have my baby in two weeks.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Locked and Loaded

Now that I've discovered that someone actually reads my blog, it's much more fun to write in it. (Hi Miriam!) Tee hee. It also helps that I've quit my job and am sitting at home with nothing much to do but wait for the killer contractions to set in. Speaking of contractions . . .

Napoleon did something really good at his job last month, so his boss gave him a nifty bonus: "go take your wife to a nice restaurant, and I'll foot the bill up to $50." Eeeexcellent. The sad thing is, we had to do some serious thinking about how to spend that much. :) We ended up going to Chili's and getting drinks and appetizers, which we NEVER do, along with nice expensive entrees, and a dessert! Yee-ha, livin' the high life. My lower abdomen had been hurting all afternoon, but figured it was just a normal pregnancy symptom. We gobbled our yum-yum-yummy dinner, or rather, what we could of it: we ended up taking home four boxes, including the entire dessert. (I used to not be a fan of buying dessert at restaurants, since it always seems so expensive. But the last two times I've gotten it, the desserts have been HUGE and really really yummy! Plus, Chili's packed all the parts separately, which meant we assembled the dessert at home later so it wasn't all mushy and mixed together. I'm converted.)

So we headed home in our jolly, stuffed state. I don't remember what else we did that evening, probably because I developed a fever and chills, and basically felt like I had the flu. I know we went to the grocery store and the pharmacy, because we came home with a (pretty nifty) thermometer and found out I had a fever of 100.3 degrees. Yick. I was sent to get ready for bed, which, unfortunately, includes brushing my teeth. I should've known better. Goodbye, Chili's. I love my Napoleon. He insisted on doing the cleanup.

I slept probably a total of 3 hours that night, in 10 minute spurts. Ahhh, so restful. Napoleon went to work, and when he came home and found out I felt no better, he prodded me into calling the doctor, who told me to go to Labor and Delivery. Apparently, "constant lower abdominal pain and flu symptoms" is also known as "periodic contractions and labor symptoms." Oh. Good to know. They hooked me up to the contraction-and-fetus-monitoring-machine (which I would like to have one of at home), and when I could see the contractions on the screen, it was a lot easier to tell that the pain really was coming and going. Every 2-4 minutes. The kept me there for an hour, then booted me out and told me to come back when my contractions hurt too much to talk through. But first, they offered me morphine. Heh heh heh. Um, no thanks--I think I'll wait for the heavy-duty drugs until these contractions actually hurt. How's that sound?

So that's why I'm sitting at home, trying to figure out how to rearrange our stuff so that we can fit in the baby's stuff and the baby. My baby shower is set for Saturday, so I'm also trying to get the baby to agree to wait until at least then to make her first appearance. My parents are trying to get me to tell her to wait for another week, since they're on vacation all over the East and having fun. Napoleon is telling her to hurry and come out, because he's ready to hold the baby. I think I'll stick with Saturday. :)

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Phil: Agent 003

I have a new car. Mmmmm. And it gives me road rage.

How, you might ask, do starving students afford a NEW car? Yes, new new new, not new-to-us. It had about 30 miles on it when we brought it home. Nice '07 Sonata, deepwater blue, with leather seats. I named him Phil. He's my graduation present from my parents, who are deeply concerned with the welfare of their children and therefore dangle the carrot of a new car next to those of parental approval, greater earning potential, and bigger smarternessness (oops, looks like I only nibbled that one). So, after three and a half years of intellectualism, I've been rewarded with my pretty car.

Napoleon is always very whole-hearted. We did lots of research about safety ratings, mileage, true cost to own, yadda yadda yadda. It's a good car. And it's got some REALLY good warranties. That was a big selling point for me, since our &^#@* Kia had barely lost its second-user warranty when it decided it was time to crumble to dust. I never liked driving the Kia much anyway, since it was a manual, and I liked driving it even less with the Check Engine and Airbag warning lights on.

So now we have Phil. Napoleon recently read an article (like this one) which said that people who name their cars are more likely to have road rage. I'm not sure if that's the reason, but something about this car makes me fiesty. I live in constant fear of my carport neighbors (who I'm not fond of anyway) dinging Phil's beautiful blue sides. I snarl at reckless drivers on the freeway. I nearly told off Br. Johnson after we gave him a ride home and he shut the door too hard. I have nightmares about teenage punks keying my car. And I try to beat everyone else off the line. This could be bad: what will I do when I have a little tyke who spits up, flings full sippy cups, and crumbles crackers in the car for entertainment?

At least I can enjoy having a nice clean car for . . . two more weeks?


I have never felt so enormous in my life. Napoleon, sweet man that he is, tries to assure me that the baby is huge, not me. That does not make me feel too much better--she will, after all, have to come out of me. And, amazingly enough, it should be quite soon. We're into once-a-week visits to the doc. The visit before last, they told me they were going to test for group B strep, which I was okay with, since I'd heard that it doesn't hurt. And it didn't, so all is jolly and well, until the doctor says, "okay, now let's see if you're dilated." Uh, ok. He checked, informed us that he wouldn't even call it 1 cm yet, you're doing fine, see you in a week, and walked out of the room. As soon as he shut the door, I turned to Napoleon and said, emphatically, "OW!" How come nobody told me that getting your cervix checked stinkin' HURTS? Thinking about it later, my guess is that it's kind of overshadowed by the whole labor thing. And, ok, it didn't really hurt that bad, lest anyone think I've no chance of surviving actual labor. But still, they coulda told me!