Friday, January 28, 2011
Not-So-Happy Pills
My anti-nausea meds are turning on me. Right on the label it says, "May cause headache," and yesterday they started doing just that. I'll try getting off them after we get through the weekend. Hopefully I don't need them anymore, but we'll see. In the meantime, I've traded one inconvenient malady for another. At least I'm not starving.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Car Wars
Everybody wants his car to look sharp, right? I know I do, particularly since it's not technically my car yet. So long as it has Daddy's name on it, I want to take particularly good care of it. I try to claim the driver's seat as often as possible, but I knew the time would come when necessity would have to pry my overprotective hands off the steering wheel and lend it to the husband. I also knew, long before entering into this marriage, that we would be attempting to combine two very different philosophies of car care.
This is not my car, but it looks just like it. Isn't it cute? I thought it quite spiffy and stylish for a sedan, and it was brand spanking new when it appeared in the driveway in 2009. My first thought was to keep it in it's original pristine condition as long as humanly possible.
I like my car to be clean, uncluttered, with perfect paint. No dings, scuffs, scratches, dents, and as little bird excrement and other natural debris as possible. I know my in-laws must have thought me rather obsessive, picking the wet leaves off the roof and hood and the pine needles out from under the wiper blades every morning. It ruined my french manicure right before the wedding, but preventing those horrible brown leaf stains was a bigger priority. After all, it was still a baby with hardly 9000 miles on it, and I was not about to let a tree ruin its shiny good looks. I have to say, my favorite part of this little house we've been living in is the covered carport.
Growing up, we were never conscious of a "family car cleanliness policy," but it was understood that everyone took out of the car when he brought into the car, and all trash was properly disposed of immediately. I always remember the car being uncluttered and generally clean, except for the usual crumbs that could be expected from a backseat full of kids. It wasn't oppressive, just second nature.
Enter the husband. Although he's perfect in most every other way, I knew Dave wasn't coming from a position that valued the cosmetic care of a vehicle as highly as I did, or that he at least hadn't developed any habits in that regard. For me, empty space is an insurance policy against surprise guests or unexpected luggage. For him, empty space is available for his use until somebody else needs it. Without any real discussion on the subject, the trunk and backseat became portable closet space, cup holders and door pockets became trash receptacles. Textbooks, coats, bags, paperbacks, old mail, receipts, wrappers, plastic bottles, uniform items, shoes. I'll admit that I was not entirely blameless during the collective five months that morning sickness had me out of commission, when despair and an all around lack of energy prevented me from cleaning it up. We are currently attempting to reconcile our views on the subject, particularly since we're driving up to visit a friend this weekend and I don't want plastic bottles rolling about underfoot.
Dave is not a bad driver. He likes to point out that he's been driving six years longer than I have. We just have different styles. I am at all times neurotically conscious of the car as an investment, and my precautions reflect it. Dave sees the car as a machine that he expects to perform for him as needed. Technically there's nothing wrong with that view, but he's not as careful as I am. In fact, I doubt most normal people are.
I brake lightly and sparingly (but safely) because I want the brake pads to last forever. I let the engine warm up in the morning before accelerating too much to avoid unnecessary wear and tear. I constantly adjust the wipers to the most efficient speed for the conditions and don't let them beat more than strictly necessary. When possible I opt out of using the AC to further put off the day when it will finally need to be serviced. I don't drive myself to distraction worrying about it, but it's always in the back of my mind. God forbid the CD player break down on me, because that's one thing I use mercilessly.
The little car did sustain two rather severe dings in the last year, one front and one rear, and it wasn't me who was driving. I always give him the keys back, because ultimately our marriage is too perfect to sacrifice to car maintenance. Still, I'll be glad when he finally has his own car back. He can do whatever he likes with that one, just so long as I don't have to drive it.
I like my car to be clean, uncluttered, with perfect paint. No dings, scuffs, scratches, dents, and as little bird excrement and other natural debris as possible. I know my in-laws must have thought me rather obsessive, picking the wet leaves off the roof and hood and the pine needles out from under the wiper blades every morning. It ruined my french manicure right before the wedding, but preventing those horrible brown leaf stains was a bigger priority. After all, it was still a baby with hardly 9000 miles on it, and I was not about to let a tree ruin its shiny good looks. I have to say, my favorite part of this little house we've been living in is the covered carport.
Growing up, we were never conscious of a "family car cleanliness policy," but it was understood that everyone took out of the car when he brought into the car, and all trash was properly disposed of immediately. I always remember the car being uncluttered and generally clean, except for the usual crumbs that could be expected from a backseat full of kids. It wasn't oppressive, just second nature.
Enter the husband. Although he's perfect in most every other way, I knew Dave wasn't coming from a position that valued the cosmetic care of a vehicle as highly as I did, or that he at least hadn't developed any habits in that regard. For me, empty space is an insurance policy against surprise guests or unexpected luggage. For him, empty space is available for his use until somebody else needs it. Without any real discussion on the subject, the trunk and backseat became portable closet space, cup holders and door pockets became trash receptacles. Textbooks, coats, bags, paperbacks, old mail, receipts, wrappers, plastic bottles, uniform items, shoes. I'll admit that I was not entirely blameless during the collective five months that morning sickness had me out of commission, when despair and an all around lack of energy prevented me from cleaning it up. We are currently attempting to reconcile our views on the subject, particularly since we're driving up to visit a friend this weekend and I don't want plastic bottles rolling about underfoot.
Dave is not a bad driver. He likes to point out that he's been driving six years longer than I have. We just have different styles. I am at all times neurotically conscious of the car as an investment, and my precautions reflect it. Dave sees the car as a machine that he expects to perform for him as needed. Technically there's nothing wrong with that view, but he's not as careful as I am. In fact, I doubt most normal people are.
I brake lightly and sparingly (but safely) because I want the brake pads to last forever. I let the engine warm up in the morning before accelerating too much to avoid unnecessary wear and tear. I constantly adjust the wipers to the most efficient speed for the conditions and don't let them beat more than strictly necessary. When possible I opt out of using the AC to further put off the day when it will finally need to be serviced. I don't drive myself to distraction worrying about it, but it's always in the back of my mind. God forbid the CD player break down on me, because that's one thing I use mercilessly.
The little car did sustain two rather severe dings in the last year, one front and one rear, and it wasn't me who was driving. I always give him the keys back, because ultimately our marriage is too perfect to sacrifice to car maintenance. Still, I'll be glad when he finally has his own car back. He can do whatever he likes with that one, just so long as I don't have to drive it.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thank God for Zofran
I'm sure cancer patients around the world will join me in the sentiment. The doctor very kindly wrote me a prescription for these little magical pills of happiness on Thursday after my latest appointment. At 17 full weeks the nausea not only remained, but seemed to be getting worse. The daily schedule was generally predictable. Miserable all morning, puke in shower, puke again brushing teeth, have breakfast, puke before or after lunch, have early dinner, puke before bed. It seemed like most of the rest of my time in between sick calls was spent drooling into a mixing bowl waiting to be sick.
Now that we're entering the fifth month, I've officially lost six pounds, and am having no fun whatsoever. "Sticking it out" no longer seems like a viable alternative, so we opted for some antiemetics.
Hooray! Now I can have salad again without wondering how the little bits of soggy lettuce will look floating in the toilet. My human dignity has been restored.
Now that we're entering the fifth month, I've officially lost six pounds, and am having no fun whatsoever. "Sticking it out" no longer seems like a viable alternative, so we opted for some antiemetics.
Hooray! Now I can have salad again without wondering how the little bits of soggy lettuce will look floating in the toilet. My human dignity has been restored.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Baby Alexis
Yesterday was Baby Alexis' official due date, although he/she would probably have been earlier, more of a Christmas baby. Left this world on June 25, 2010, at 12 weeks and 3 days.
Baby #2 hit 12 weeks and 3 days on Gaudete Sunday, otherwise known as the pink Sunday of Advent. It seemed like more than a coincidence. Still hoping and praying.
Baby #2 hit 12 weeks and 3 days on Gaudete Sunday, otherwise known as the pink Sunday of Advent. It seemed like more than a coincidence. Still hoping and praying.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
New Year, Resolutions and Such
Actually, I never thought about resolutions for 2011. I probably should have, but I was too busy praying for relief from this two-month stomach bug they call morning (and midday, and evening) sickness. Besides being useless when it comes to household chores like cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping, I can only hold down crap food, which isn't helping Dave live up to his new healthful resolutions at all. I tried to have a banana and water for breakfast and threw up three minutes later. Sugary juice and a horrible frozen "french toast" waffle actually make me stable for an hour.
At this point I don't really care what I'm eating so long as it doesn't meet the toilet before its time. I have a steady record of losing weight during the first trimesters, so in my book any calorie is a good calorie. In the meantime, I have my vitamin supplements to pick up the nutritional slack. My fingers are shrinking rather than swelling; I lost my wedding ring for the first time on our first anniversary because it just fell off in the laundry basket. Dave the hero found it after a frantic search of the house.
This is actually Dave's first day back in class after Christmas break. It's high time I got my act together, or else we're both going to be fighting over the puke bowl in the car in the mornings. After sleeping in for two weeks, apparently early breakfasts don't agree with him. We certainly filled our vomit quota for 2010; here's hoping for a mostly vomit-free 2011.
In better news, we've officially passed 16 weeks and 3 days, three weeks longer than last time. We're daring to hope for the best, although the second trimester offers a new variety of risks for us. Apparently, statistics give us a possible 37-45% chance of miscarriage. Not terribly encouraging, but it is what it is.
What I really want right now is a cold deli sandwich, but apparently all cold sandwiches are simply crawling with lysteria and are thereby verboten. Getting tired of hot steamy food.
At this point I don't really care what I'm eating so long as it doesn't meet the toilet before its time. I have a steady record of losing weight during the first trimesters, so in my book any calorie is a good calorie. In the meantime, I have my vitamin supplements to pick up the nutritional slack. My fingers are shrinking rather than swelling; I lost my wedding ring for the first time on our first anniversary because it just fell off in the laundry basket. Dave the hero found it after a frantic search of the house.
This is actually Dave's first day back in class after Christmas break. It's high time I got my act together, or else we're both going to be fighting over the puke bowl in the car in the mornings. After sleeping in for two weeks, apparently early breakfasts don't agree with him. We certainly filled our vomit quota for 2010; here's hoping for a mostly vomit-free 2011.
In better news, we've officially passed 16 weeks and 3 days, three weeks longer than last time. We're daring to hope for the best, although the second trimester offers a new variety of risks for us. Apparently, statistics give us a possible 37-45% chance of miscarriage. Not terribly encouraging, but it is what it is.
What I really want right now is a cold deli sandwich, but apparently all cold sandwiches are simply crawling with lysteria and are thereby verboten. Getting tired of hot steamy food.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
A Year Ago
The First Year: very eventful, not always in the best way. But it really is amazing how the right person can make you happy even when you're both miserable. :) Life is definitely looking up.
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