Suddenly Pregnant, My Brother the Bugler & Other Stories

It's amazing how many people have commented on my Big Fat Belly this week now that I've started wearing maternity tops. I haven't suddenly gained a pregnant belly, but that's what everyone seems to think. It's probably just a matter of perspective. My belly has reached the right proportions that the eye can't just chalk it up to a little extra chunkiness, there has to be a kid growing in there. There are a few people I haven't managed to tell in the area, and I'm sadistically looking forward to seeing them at some point this summer now that I'm showing. I like the sort of life changes that you see before you hear about them, the positive ones, anyway.

In other pregnancy news, Andrew let me sleep through the night last night. Of course, it's because he wanted me to sleep for a good three more hours, but still. I fell asleep around midnight and woke up just before six with the usual "gotta pee, gotta eat" urge I usually wake up to a 3 AM or so. Too bad today was a work day, though, otherwise I would've fallen back into bed. Andrew's still miffed about me not getting more sleep as he's been kicking at me regularly this morning.

And with no seque, my mom told me about my brother's experience as part of a Marine color guard. Skipping past my confusion because I thought he had officially left the Corps and wasn't in the Reserves or anything that would require him to be in a color guard, I found out that my brother can bugle. Probably not as well as the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B, but that's not gonna stop me from calling Brad that when I talk to him next. Gotta hand it to those Marines: they don't miss a thing in training, especially when it comes to color guards.

Drew's Room

I could talk about how the workload at the DDJ managed to get a notch worse this week. Or I could talk about how Muse is damn near liquifying brain cells, trying to get me to write, or at the very least outline. But I decided it would be much more pleasant to talk about the decor in Drew's room. (I've always like Drew as a nickname for Andrew; now I love it. :))

Before we knew we were having a boy, Mark and I decided we wanted to go with gender neutral regardless of our child's gender. Blues, yellows, greens, stars, moons, teddy bears. We found this amazing nursery pattern at Babies R Us. Isn't it great? We're going to highlight the gorgeous sage green. Unfortunately for Andrew, the nursery will be coexisting as our study until Mark graduates and we're able to jet on out of here and (hopefully) into a house with at least three bedrooms. It'll make for an interesting look. The rocking chair that Mark brought with him from his family's home will be perfect for nursing Drew and soothing him on rough nights. And we're slowly but surely building our collection of fun baby books and such.

And that's about as far as we've gotten with the nursery. We probably won't get much farther, though, since we know it's likely that we'll be moving right about the time Drew's six months old. It's still a heck of a lot of fun to think about.

Allow Me to Introduce...

...my son, Andrew Thomas. Poor thing isn't even breathing air just yet, but he waves hello all the same--much to my bladder's annoyance. We had our spiffy ultrasound last week. Got to see Andrew's spine, heart, stomach, bladder, arms, legs, the lens of his eye. And, of course, we also got to see the organ that clearly defines Baby as Andrew. The technician gave us the usual disclaimer that only seeing the body part in question at birth would make everything 100% certain, but that third leg really couldn't have been anything else.

Mark and I had names picked out over a year ago when we decided to give this parenthood thing a whirl. And that's why Baby already has a name. So while I might occasionally reference this thing growing inside me as Baby and Junior, I'm going to be using his actual name more and more often. That way I also get used to the idea of having a boy, as intuition had me convinced Andrew was female. I promise that'll be the last time I inflict such horrible gender confusion on my son, though. But if Baby the Second is also a boy, then all bets are off. :)

Mmmmm....Steak....

Baby let me have steak this weekend!!!! A nice, medium-well, juicy piece of beef smothered with portabello mushrooms. I'm taking advantage of this sudden OK for beef by making a roast this weekend. Our menu can expand beyond chicken now. And there was much rejoicing.

"Mandatory Overtime"

Just as everyone was packing up on Friday afternoon, our Esteemed Manager (I'll call him EM from now on, and feel free to come up with other fun descriptors that begin with the letter E) decided that a particular project was falling behind and the team had to come in on the weekend to work on it. Technically, this isn't my project, and I'm only a "backup" member of the team. But I had to come in anyway. I had been planning on going in anyway as the project that is actually mine is also falling behind, and due slightly before this other one. The DDJ is still as awful as ever, but I'm not letting it bother me quite so much. Mainly because I came to a couple realizations: 1) I may have the skills and enough power to try to make things change around here, but if the Powers That Be refuse to listen to me, then it's SOL for them; and 2) I've got meeting minutes going back to November that clearly lay out how I had said we should handle a particular issue and more minutes that clearly indicate that no one was doing anything about my suggestions, so it won't be MY ass on the line if things get SNAFUed in a hurry. Plus I think my job's protected due to being pregnant at least until three months after birth. Then they can fire my ass.

Ah, the DDJ. I've got my application into my dream job, so keep your fingers crossed, that 1) they'll interview me and 2) they won't mind hiring a woman who is quite obviously pregnant and will be needing maternity leave just about the time she'll be fully trained at her job. :)

Scorcher

Today got into the 90s. And we're still in spring. Ick. I'm going to be very pregnant during July and August, and they're shaping up to be very hot months. I went on a maternity clothes run tonight, hoping to find some of those nice, loose, flowy skirts that never get wrinkled (or are just crinkly enough on their own that you can't tell). Found some light maternity t-shirts that will help, but no skirts. I think I'm going to check out Babies R Us this weekend and see what they have. My mom's friend's daughter recently had a baby, and she sent me all her maternity clothes. Unfortunately, she didn't have to work during her pregnancy, so I'm lacking in the nice pants/capris/skirts department. Plenty of good shirts, though. Oh, and I better pick up some maternity undies this weekend too. Junior likes to sit very low in my belly, right about where all the underwear elastic is hitting. Baby may not mind, but my bladder is beginning to feel like it's in a pincer attack with the elastic and Junior's enthusiastic punches and kicks.

And if anyone has invented one of those personal climate control suits, send one my way please. I have a feeling I'm going to be wishing I could walk around in a 68degree bubble for the next couple months.

Writing Status

Writing. Writing writing writing writing. Even my revised goal of finishing a draft of The Masque before Baby's Big Day seems less and less likely. I'll be very happy if I can finish my "Princess Incubus" short and submit it to a writing contest before Baby's Big Day. As for the on-line writing course for Strings of Betrayal, I'm slowly but surely getting caught up after lagging two months behind. And I still can't make up my mind about the fate of Human Dignity.

The good news? I go to my crit group nearly every Tuesday (there are some Tuesdays where I need sleep more than I need writing comraderie). I am being mentored by a published author on a monthly basis, maybe twice a month after the insanity that is May passes the both of us by. And as soon as I get the OK about using the author's name, I'll share it and my experiences with our mentoring here. I participate in the Forward Motion Think Tanks fairly often. I blog as often as I am able--which, you'll note, seems to be more often. And, of course, rarely does a day pass that I don't think about my various projects and manage to jot a note here and there.

So writing is still a part of my life despite the vagaries of my job and my pregnancy. It's not occupying the part I'd like it to play, of course. But I'm dealing with that necessity a bit better each day. It's still going to frustrate me. And maybe I'll figure out a way not to let it bother me quite so much by the time Baby and Baby the Second are out of the house. By then I'm sure I'll have a host of new Issues to work on. :)

As I go through these thoughts on my writing and it's place in my life in the past, present, and future, I'm reading with interest Holly Lisle's struggle with her own writing future. She seems to have reached a point where she doesn't want to propose (sell) a book and then write it. She'd rather do what us amateurs have no choice but to do: write the book THEN sell it. I confess that I'd rather do things that way for the rest of my writing career, but that's mostly because I'm an organic writer and I discover the books as I write them. Makes it hard to sell a book before it's written. As I will be providing only supplemental income with my writing when I no longer have to deal with the Dreaded Day Job, I may be able to get away with writing books then selling them. We'll see.

And that's the writing status as of today. Primary goal is to finish and submit "Princess Incubus". Secondary goal is to finish a draft of The Masque. Of immediate concern is finishing up my last couple weeks of missed assignments for the on-line course.

Rough Essay

Holly's doing a little contest to give away her ARCs of Talyn. I remember reading the first chapter or so of this when she posted them special at Forward Motion sometime last year or perhaps even the year before (isn't the cover art beautiful?). I pre-ordered my copy of this book last night, alongwith Holly's Last Girl Dancing and the new Harry Potter. (I also ordered the last Tori Amos album I need to complete my collection; no one keeps Strange Little Girls in stock.)

Anyway, when Holly posted the contest, I knew I had to enter. Not because I had to have the ARCs, which would be cool, but because of the topic of the essay contest: rediscovering honor. I've known since Thanksgiving that I have to write at least a short story about my brother's experiences in Iraq. I've also known since then that I'm nowhere near the kind of writer I need to be to do that story justice. But I've also known that I can't just leave the story unwritten. So here's the essay I entered into the contest.

----

I haven't seen my brother since he came back from Iraq the second time. I'll have a chance to give him the fierce hug that's been building at our family reunion in July, but until then all I have is a picture of him receiving his Purple Heart.

He's one of only a few Marines in uniform. The rest are standing in formation, at attention in the grass behind him. There's an SUV, a couple of civilians, and a trashcan cluttering up the background. My brother has the medal pinned to his chest, and he's shaking someone's hand.

But it's his eyes that I see right away whenever I look at this picture. I see him watching an improvised explosive device fling two of his men from the truck and send shrapnel into the driver. I see him fighting to save the life of the young man who didn't make it. I see him hearing the news that the two other men in the truck were honorably discharged, one without a foot, one with severe damage to his arms. I see him waking up suddenly under the bridge his company protected, thinking it was a bad dream but the bandage on his own arm telling him differently.

I see honor. I see its price. And I know I will never look at a Purple Heart without the same mix of pride, despair, anger, and relief that I feel right now.

----

There are a couple of details I wasn't able to put in the essay due to the 250-word limit. But that's only part of the reason why this little essay is just a glimmer of a beginning for the story I want to write about my brother. Love ya, Baby Bro.

Alive & Kicking

A few weeks ago, I felt the first flutterings in the general area of my womb that could've been attributed to Junior's active limbs. I've been paying attention for more certain signs of movement, but I didn't get a clear "Yes, this is definitely Baby kicking" until last week. I had just indulged in a plate of nuggets and fries, my usual late-night snack. I was laying in bed, watching a taped episode of The Simpsons. I decided to press in slightly to see if I could get a definite response from this thing growing inside me. Sure enough, I got a mild little thunk back that couldn't be anything other than Junior. So I had Mark repeat the process. Evidently we had annoyed or excited the kid, because Baby responded to Mark's mild pressure with a vehement soccer kick that most likely could've been seen had Mark's hand not been on my Big Fat Belly.

The best part about feeling Baby move is the reassurance and realization it brings. This child is no longer just something that makes me exhausted and sick. I have regular tangible evidence that this is a person, living and growing and learning and preparing itself for Real Life. It's amazing what these kicks have done for me. I've slept so much better. And the mornings have been so smooth, almost even normal. I'm still a little tired during the day, but it's not the bone weary exhaustion it's been. I feel more energized. Of course, this could just be a couple of good days and the swing back is somewhere on the horizon. But I feel pretty damn good right now, and that's what counts.

I do find it really strange that when I was just "sick" with no real tangible evidence of pregnancy (beyond that which could be obtained at a doctor's office) I couldn't feel normal. But now that I've got a creature kicking me from the inside, I'm back to my usual self. Pregnancy sometimes seems so bizarre as to be an abberation, not a normal part of life.

The Mystery of Three

My mother is the oldest of eight children. The youngest, my aunt DeeDee, is only three years older than I am. She got married three weeks before I did--I was a bridesmaid in her wedding and she was my matron of honor. I found out earlier this week that she is expecting her first child three months after my own first enters the world. I told her that if our second children our separated by some increment of three, I will start an investigation. :)

She's just starting out on this crazy thing called pregnancy. It seems so long ago that I too was fretting about how long I had to wait for my first OB appointment, or first discovering the joys of a constantly full bladder, or first realizing that sleep would be an elusive yet often demanded thing for the next year or so, or wondering if it would be possible to mainline antacid as a means to ease heartburn. She hasn't experienced any morning sickness as yet, and I'll keep my fingers crossed that she doesn't.

It's nice to have someone I know very well going through this with me. DeeDee's not close by, but she's close at heart and that makes me feel a whole lot less alone in this process. Maybe alone is not the right word. But I didn't have anyone I knew to share this with who's going through it too. It's nice to have that now. Plus I get to share the little nuggets of womanly and motherly wisdom that I've been learning along the way instead of just taking all that wisdom from others. Makes me feel useful, even when I can't be bothered to drag myself off the couch or out of bed on the weekends.

So congrats to DeeDee and her husband Mike. Now when we all get together for my grandparents' 50th anniversary in July, I won't be the only one waddling or stretching out clothing. I'll have to make shirts: DeeDee's will say "Grandchild on Board" and mine will say "Great-grandchild on Board".

Fun Quiz

Via Kat, a nice time-waster. I found the results pretty well in-line with how I think of myself: overall, balanced. :)

Your brain: 80% interpersonal, 100% visual, 100% verbal, and 120% mathematical!

Congratulations on being 400% smart! Actually, on my test, everyone is. The above score breaks down what kind of thinking you most enjoy doing. A score above 100% means you use that kind of thinking more than average, and a score below 100% means you use it less. It says nothing about how good you are at any one, just how interested you are in each, relatively. A substantial difference in scores between two people means, conclusively, that they are different kinds of thinkers.

Link: The 4-Variable IQ Test written by chriscoyne on OkCupid Free Online Dating

Two Heads Not Better Than One

I am two people right now. No, not in the "quick get the crazy pills" sense, but in the "philosophers might have some fun with this" sense. This miracle of life can get pretty mind-boggling at times. To think that this child can't survive without me is pretty daunting. My body is sustaining myself and Junior. And meanwhile, Daddy is only having to deal with some second-hand impacts. Lucky duck. He contributed some nucleic acids, maybe some vital proteins, and that's it. Everything else has been all Baby and me. That leaves me wondering exactly how men came to be and still are the "dominant" sex. I don't mean to sound bitter or sexist. It's just one of those things you think about during a bad bout of morning sickness. Right along with the thoughts of "we've been doing this for HOW many thousands of years and evolution hasn't found a better way to create new life" and "can't we just lay eggs like lizards".

But back to the two people, one body thing. I can definitely say that two heads are most certainly not better than one. Simple case in point: food. I miss steak. Juicy, spicy, covered in A-1 steak. Baby clearly is not interested in this delicacy. I'll think about the taste of steak and start to salivate. Then I think about swallowing a bite of steak, and my stomach gives the negative anticipatory rumble. This dichotomy has me bothered enough that I haven't even tried to repeat this thought exercise with something like salmon. I should really start building menus that I can stash somewhere and just start having all of these Lost Meals as soon as Junior's out and about. That's assuming that the little runt won't decide to take issue with any of the Lost Meal byproducts showing up in breast milk. At least then I'll be able to pass the kid over to Mark for him to deal with whatever unfortunate results occur.

Similarly, having Baby's input on my life right now makes getting work done interesting. I'll be all excited about getting some writing done, and Baby will promptly decide it's Nap Time. It's to the point where a successful weekend is one in which I've conned this child into letting me clean the bathrooms or balance my checkbook. At least I can get a lot of reading and TV-watching and music-listening done. Baby seems to enjoy the Simpsons and Whose Line and CSI, but can't be bothered to let me stay awake through the Star Wars trilogy and finds Law&Order unimpressive. Baby loves Carol Berg's fantasies and Nevada Barr's mysteries, but isn't very interested in Lemony Snicket or the morning paper. Tori Amos is a fave, especially the really melodic piano bits, and the string-quartet awesomeness of Bond is appealing, but nearly all radio stations are a no-go--at least while I'm driving. In short, it seems Baby really likes me to laugh and think and dream. While I certainly loved these activities before, I get extra joy and reward from them now. It's interesting.

OK, so I guess two heads can be better than one. Rather, this second person growing inside me is finding some ways to give back as it takes sustenance from me. Maybe Baby will feel so generous as to let me enjoy a big steak this summer.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

I finally snapped last week. All because of warm milk and turkey sandwiches, or rather the suggestion of them.

Week 15 of my pregnancy had been fantastic, notwithstanding all the damn car minutiae we were going through. Week 16 brought back the joys of bad sleep and morning conversations with Earl Chunks, my trusty green bucket. By the time I got to Week 17, I was starting to fall asleep in meetings at work and losing concentration during simple tasks. I called my OB to try to convince him that the normally trivial pregnancy symptoms of exhaustion and morning sickness were having a profound impact on my life and health. I thought for sure that mentioning that I had run a red light and caused a car accident most likely due to exhaustion would finally get this guy's attention. But no. He comes back with warm milk and turkey sandwiches as the next fix to try. This came the day after I was seconds away from quitting my job because I had just gotten a new pile of work and no help to get through it. I lost it.

Week 18, this week, of my pregnancy saw me at home, taking a week off from work (without pay because my three remaining vacation days are spoken for with family trips) so I could try to get some sleep and get on top of all this stress. And, of course, find a new OB. I did get a lot of sleep, and most of my mornings were fine, although Baby can't seem to let me go longer than ten days without finding fault with something I ate for breakfast. But trying to get on top of the stress has been rough. I had some heart to hearts with Mark to find the best ways for the two of us to deal with my stress and his stress without creating more stress. I progressed further in my quest to accept the reality of my current situation: energy levels that I can't depend on, rough mornings, lots of naps, strange reactions to even the mention of some foods, etc. But when it came to figuring out how I might handle returning to work, I kept coming up empty.

Then I realized a couple of things. One, that I've dealt with exceedingly stressful situations before in my life and emerged just fine, and even weathered the storms with a helluva lot more grace. Two, that in those previous situations I had the comfort of knowing exactly where I was going in life (career in research) and of good, unwavering health. Three, that while I now have life goals and direction again, I am unable to proceed toward them with the gusto I would like due to Mark's needing to finish up his degree and my needing to bring home the bacon until he's got the letters after his name to do so. Four, that I can't rely on my body at all to be healthy at any given time. In short, nearly all of my strength is tapped in just getting through the unique stress and health issues of each day, sometimes each hour. So it's no wonder that a downward spiral in my work situation combined with the extracurricular joys of a car accident and root canal are all converging to make me a basket case on a regular basis. I've got to learn new coping strategies because the fallbacks of life direction and health are no longer givens that I don't have to worry about.

So while I don't necessarily have any answers to make the months leading up to October 3 any easier, I at least have a better understanding of where I am and why things get to feel so overwhelming. And knowing those things will hopefully help me see warning signs well in advance of the snapping point I hit last week.

One Day I'll Learn

I've been grousing a lot about how icky I feel. And I got to thinking about how that might be misrepresenting both me and pregnancy. Let me make this clear: I am not a wimp or a whiner, and pregnancy isn't this awful condition to be feared or avoided lest you feel as miserable as I've been describing or worse. It's just that, with Mark being "stuck" in grad school for another year or so (pray for cooperative fruit flies so we can lower that number), I'm the major breadwinner for the family. I feel this responsibility acutely. And it's driving me crazy that the one time I absolutely need my body to be 100% so I can provide for this child in the future is the same time that I have to make every concession my body asks of me in order to provide for this child right now.

So I'm getting a tad irked with my pregnant body for not letting me work the 40hours or more without collapsing from exhaustion every night and weekend. I'm rather pissed at this mortal casing for not letting me finish a book that I could try to get published in time for Junior's arrival or shortly thereafter (yes, I know that's not all that realistic anyway, but this "gotta provide" thing is freakish in its primal, instinctive nature). And I'm really annoyed that I have to kowtow to my stomach before I can make weekend plans to work with some writing friends on putting together a consulting business. Does it matter that it would be unreasonable to consider 100% non-stop effectiveness while trying to work three jobs (the nine-to-fiver, writing, and consulting) even without the added "job" of pregnancy? Apparently it didn't to me.

I know--in the logic sense--that our financial situation is fine. Sure, it's not ideal, but it's very capable of keeping Mark, Baby, and myself fed and well cared for. Even with the unexpected car loan foisted on us last week. I know that we'll find a way to keep day care costs and frequency of use to a minimum. Mark is a genius when it comes to finding ways to make the best of tight money and time situations. But there's that illogical, emotion-ridden part of me that feels the weight of this child growing in me and knows that I want more than "we'll find a way" for this new life. I have a feeling I'll be fighting this part of me for the rest of my life, and that I'm in no way unique as a parent to feel this. I'll always try to find even more resources to give this baby. Always be willing to run myself into the ground to get those resources. Because, after all, my life isn't nearly as important as this child's. So sayeth the illogical, emotion-ridden, Mother Bear, instinctive part of me.

And so I grouse about the exhaustion and the morning sickness. I get frustrated every time I have to set aside weekend plans. I feel the stress levels rise every time I think of the long list of items I haven't been able to get to since February. I take on more and more at work, hoping to compensate for all the sick days I've taken and all the times I have to leave early or arrive late and make up the time at home or on the weekend. Every "relapse" into exhaustion and morning sickness after a day or so of feeling good drives me insane. Not because I can't hack it (though I'd much rather NOT have to deal with these symptoms), but because it's keeping me from being in what I think is the right position to provide what I want for this child.

But I'm trying to be easier on myself. Every woman experiences pregnancy in different ways, and I can't keep denying the way my body's responding. And railing against it doesn't do anything for my blood pressure or general state of being. I'm trying to live better with this, give myself evenings to just read and watch TV without feeling guilty, actually take lunch breaks even if it means working an hour or so on the weekends (which I can now do from home, a definite plus). Funny how it all works out. I've spent much of my life living for others, working for others, beating myself into oblivion to make everything around me run smoother. Now I'm facing a situation where in order to work and live for someone else, I have to work and live for myself because that someone else is physically a part of me.

This child is a blessing in so many ways.

The "New-to-Us" Car

Bought a used car last night. It's another Saturn, same year as our dearly departed car, less miles, a few upgrades. The big selling point for me was that it had cruise control. Ever since I had surgery on my right knee, I'm unable to drive for more than an hour and a half without cruise control. Otherwise fluid builds up in my knee and things get stiff and very, very, very painful. Thankfully, anywhere I have to drive in the area rarely takes longer than an hour and a half to get to. Unfortunately, I can only spell Mark for an hour and a half whenever we go on road trips to see sights and visit family. He doesn't mind too much, but I do, because I do enjoy driving, especially in the Southwest. I'm also far more alert than he is in the morning, and it'll be better if I take the first leg while he gets a few more winks of sleep.

Other cool bells & whistles: keyless entry, power windows & locks, CD player. It's one detraction: it's gold with tan/brown interior. Not my fave color combo. If we had been a bit quicker yesterday, we could've gotten almost the exact same car but in silver. Oh well. I'll live with the color for all the other perks. Here's hoping we're not having to do this again in another four or so years.

Turning Point

I think I might have felt Baby kicking and punching last night. I felt a few odd fluttery spasms on one side of The Womb, and then the same thing on the other side a while later. It could've been Junior thanking me for the yummy dinner. Or it could've been gas. Or just some new symptom of pregnancy. Can't seem to run out of those. Still, it was neat and got me looking forward to the coming weeks.

I seem to be out of the first trimester woods. I'm getting five hours of sleep every night, and they're good hours. If I time my schedule a bit better, I may even be able to get six or seven hours consistently. I still wake up every morning at 4:30 AM, but now I can climb back into bed and get a few rounds of 20-minute light naps in before the alarm goes off at 6 AM. And my stomach isn't unsettled in the mornings anymore. It's nervous. I can't explain it, I can't seem to appease it, but at least food goes down and stays down.

But all of this could change by the weekend. Who knows? I don't think it will, though. It's like I can tell my bod's adjusted to Junior's presence. I feel more active, more alert, more stable. I think this finally means that my weekends are finally mine again. I don't think I'll need to spend this entire weekend passed out on the couch or in bed, recovering from a work. This has me so excited! I have a ton of stuff to catch up on. Like my on-line writing course assignments. And research for a writing consultant business so pals of mine want to start up. And how 'bout actually WRITING some more, eh? And then, once I get caught up, maybe I could start participating in housework again and give Mark a breather from running the house. The possibilities boggle the mind.

Total Loss

Our four-year-old car is totaled. Just like my last car, I managed to mangle the frame just enough that trying to fix the thing would be way more than the car is worth, and probably wouldn't be anywhere near as safe and stable as it had been fresh off the assembly line. And, of course, the car has grossly devalued in the past four years. Shockingly so, actually. So we're looking at a small loan to get even a decent quality used car. I'm of the "in for a dime, in for a dollar" school of thought when it comes to loans. I figure we might as well get a brand new car and try this again if we have to get a loan anyway. Mark's much more financially savvy than that, but if we can get a steal of a deal on financing for a new car, then he might think about a new one.

Last night we visited our young, dead auto at the tow lot and cleaned the puppy out. This was the first time I got a good look at the damage. Yipes. I really beat the shit out of that car, considering I was only going 30mph. Managed to hit the other car with enough force and at the right angle that it spun and slammed into me, smashing my rear bumper to bits. In addition to crumpling the front right side like an accordion.

And the car still reeked of that godawful airbag dust. But hey, at least I've got my Tori Amos CDs back.

A New Family Tradition

When my mother was about 14-15 weeks pregnant with me, she was in a car accident. Crossing a state road, got clipped at the rear by an 18-wheeler. Did a 360 into a ditch and a 180 back out of it. Gave her some bruising and whiplash, decimated the groceries in the trunk. Probably rung my bell a bit, too, but I turned out just fine (except for a few pesky genetic issues that were already set in stone by then for me).

So Friday afternoon I decided that I couldn't let my mother outdo me and a root canal while pregnant certainly couldn't compete with a car accident while pregnant. Yup, good a reason as any to run a red light, right? Before I give all the fascinating details, be reassured that I am fine and Baby is fine. I have a small scrape on my arm from the airbag deployment, a tiny bruise on my knee from hitting the bottom of the steering wheel, and a few sore muscles on my neck and where my seat belt kept me in place. Oh yeah, and my ego's a bit battered, but it can take it. Baby's ticker is still going at 159-161 bpm (my nurse says this is an indicator of a girl), and we even heard some more kicking and punching today, not that I can feel it yet.

It all started Friday morning when I decided that Mark and I needed some Mommy and Daddy time. We arranged to take the afternoon off and grab some lunch together and then maybe pick up a baby toy or some baby books or something equally sappy. I was on my way to pick him up, listening to Tori Amos and getting a little day-dreamy about the whole "and baby makes three" thing. The sun was shining, creating all sorts of fun shadows, and I was about to head under a bridge just before a stoplight. The car next to me slammed on the brakes, my first indication that perhaps the light was red and not green. I checked, saw the red, immediately slammed on the brakes, and started swerving to the left to avoid the car already pulling out into the intersection. For a few blissful milliseconds, I thought I had stopped in time. I relaxed and exhaled, only to come to a half-second later, trying to catch my breath, staring at a deflated airbag, a bumper (not mine) twenty feet in front of me, and a neatly crumpled hood (mine).

By this point, the delusion that I had avoided the accident was looking mighty preferable, and I had a hard time getting back to the present. Then I started to freak. The baby, the car, the money, the bay, the car, the money, THE BABY OHMIGOD THE BABY WHAT HAVE I DONE WHAT HAVE I DONE. Then I started to multitask like I've never multitasked before. Other people were out of their cars, checking on me, bystanders were calling the cops, I was trying to answer everyone's "are you OK" questions, assess the damage of the car, my own personal "broken/good" gauges, apologize profusely to Baby, call my husband, and sob. While trying to assure Mark that I was OK, but to just get here now, I realized the car was smoking slightly. In a strange haze of "what do I save", I fumbled for my purse, took my glasses off because they had been knocked askew by the air bag (and in my disheveled state I had failed to realize that I just needed to resettle them on my nose), and got the heck out of my smoking, greenish-yellow fluid-leaking car.

I made it to the curb and the sobbing started in earnest. By this point, two people had attached themselves to me: an EMT who happened to be there, and a very nice woman named Linda who took it upon herself to get me calmed down. The driver of the other vehicle stayed with the cars, checking out the damage. I'm pretty sure he was the first to ask me if I was OK, but I honestly don't remember. Eventually Linda got me calmed down and joking about the fact that my mother had been in an accident while pregnant, how we had just the day before replaced the car battery, how a root canal wasn't excitement enough for Junior, etc. This gave the EMT time to take my pulse (an adrenaline-fueled 120 bpm). And then the cops and paramedics started showing up. This was a haze of very kind faces making sure I was OK, taking care of all the details like getting the other guy's info, clearing the intersection of debris, towing the cars away, etc. At some point, the put me in a neck brace and started to get me on a backboard. I asked them to wait a few seconds until Mark got there so he didn't have to show up just as I was getting wheeled into an ambulance, because this was all precautionary, not necessary.

For those of you who have never been on a backboard before, I really don't recommend it. For the first half hour, it's not so bad. But by the time you've been on the damn thing for two frickin' hours, you're ready to invent an entire new language using nothing but profanity. Any pain I had in my neck from the accident was nothing compared to the back pain from being stuck on that damn orange backboard for two hours.

Everything slowed down and became basically ordinary at the ER. Some Xrays, a CAT scan (here's hoping Baby takes the trace amount of scatter radiation and turns into the Stops On A Dime Xman), a quick fetal heartbeat monitor, and we were ready for our friend PJ to drive us home. All in all, while Mark and I got to spend quite a bit of extra time together this weekend, this was not the manner in which I had hoped to spend it. I slept away most of Saturday, waking up only long enough to pick up the rental car after Mark found out that his driver's license had expired. Sunday I was supposed to host a writing group, but we were hammered with a decently impressive snowstorm yesterday and had to cancel the meeting. And I didn't have to mess with Earl at all this weekend (excluding the intense conversation we had Friday evening; note to self: Baby does NOT like spicy pork BBQ).

I was quite content not having any exposure to the reality of what emergency response folks do. But now that I've experienced their skills firsthand, I'm truly amazed and grateful that we have people like that in the world. Everyone who helped me get through Friday afternoon was amazing. I felt safe, protected, cared for. It was nice to have a moment to look around and realize that everyone wants to help.

Now I'm just waiting for the phone call that will tell me whether or not the car is totaled. If it is, this will be the third car Mark and I have lost since we've been together, two of them within days after replacing the battery. I think I've satisfied my adventure quota for a while. Hopefully at least for the next six months.

Good Stuff

I was so absorbed in my little "woe-is-me" tirade on Sunday that I neglected to mention the big, awesome news from last week. My brother is back from Iraq, safe and sound in the good ol' US of A. Of course I can't see the pipsqueak until he has time to drive up here in May. But he's back, and he'll be out of the Marines by the end of the week, maybe even done with Reservist duty. Big Sis is very happy. About that, anyway.

I actually had a somewhat normal morning, excluding the fact that it started at 4AM. But my stomach seemed almost pre-pregnancy stable. The "almost" reared its head when I tried to eat a nice bagel, egg & cheese sandwich Mark whipped up for me. The concept of such a breakfast sounded good when I asked Mark to make it for me. The concept started losing its appeal as soon as it was placed in front of me. I took a test bite and my stomach advised me that taking another bite would be most unwise. So Mark got a spiffy little breakfast instead. But at least there was no bucket hugging this morning. (And I've decided that the bucket's name is Earl Chunks.) And I also found a blog that made me realize things could be a lot worse. This poor woman. She seems to have the support network she needs to get through this, and she doesn't have to be anywhere for 40hours a week for that silly money stuff. But I had a brief glimpse of what she must be suffering on Saturday when I couldn't get anything to stay down until I finally passed out from exhaustion and gave my stomach time to sort itself out. If every day of the past 14 weeks had been like Saturday morning, I would be making appointments for a vasectomy and a tubal ligation the day after I delivered.

I'm so glad my body is behaving today. I was just so tired of it all last night that I cried for a good ten minutes. I needed today to be a good day. Who knows what kind of day tomorrow will be, but at least today is good. At the moment. :)

Bad, Bad Week

So much for pulling out of the first trimester woes. They were back with a vengeance this week. I'm thinking of naming my constant companion, the green bucket of former mopping yore. Afterall, we're getting to know each other fairly intimately, especially after yesterday morning. It took my stomach five hours to realize that it actually wasn't supposed to return the items I kept trying to give it. And then there's this whole sleeping issue. Junior seems to think that it's not all that important. That four hours of sleep is enough to enable a pregnant woman to get through a forty-hour work week. This child and I are going to have words if next week doesn't show some glimmer of improvement.

And don't even get me started on the DDJ. Or my writing. Not after this week.