You guys. I have had a miracle.
On Wednesday, Michael and I went to my OB/Gyn for my eight-week ultrasound. We got a good look at our little bean, heard his or her wonderful, 164 bpm heartbeat and got a due date of December 29. Merry Christmas, baby!
God is so good.
Afterwards, I had that whole long "you're pregnant, tell us everything about everyone you've ever met" conversation with one of the doctors. I had only seen this doctor once or twice before during my last pregnancy, but I had liked him. He started off by asking me if I had any concerns, and I told him about how useless I've been with the hyperemesis gravidarum. He asked me what I've tried, and I said, basically, "Everything. Zofran made me feel worse; Phenergan I thought helped me last time but it's definitely not helping now except that it makes me sleepy and while I'm asleep I'm not throwing up but I just don't have time for two naps a day; gingersnaps/candy/ale makes me feel better for about 0.5 nanoseconds but then it comes back up like fire, Doctor, I am not even kidding; etc., etc., whine whine whine."
He asked me if I had ever tried vitamin B-6. I said no, and honestly I probably said it like, "Um, really, vitamins is your big solution? This nausea laughs in the face of cancer-patient-grade anti-emetics and you think a vitamin supplement is going to help? Don't waste my time, dude." Because I was about to barf and being about to barf makes me mean(er).
He was so patient with me, y'all.
He explained that it's a good first place to start, and that for some patients vitamin B-6 in combination with doxylamine succinate, the active ingredient in Unisom, is a nausea cure for them. Plus, obviously, it's not the same as blitzing the baby with all these weird chemicals (because B-6 is a vitamin found in nature, obviously, and doxylamine succinate is safe in pregnancy) so let's start there.
I did not run right out and get them, because I honestly didn't think there was any chance they would help. But the next day, on our odyssey from Virginia to the Jersey shore (from whence this story comes to you), we stopped at our favorite place on Earth: Costco in Delaware, home of tax-free shopping. (Can you hear the choir of angels singing? They also sell booze. TAX-FREE BOOZE.) On our way out I wandered to the pharmacy on a whim -- which is a miracle in itself because we had just had Mexican food for lunch and I was seriously feeling nauseated -- and the nicest pharmacist ever helped me. She got me the Vitamin B-6 from behind the pharmacy counter and even though they didn't carry Unisom she found me the Kirkland generic with the doxylamine active ingredient (and thank the good Lord for my chemistry background or else I would not for the life of me have remembered what to ask for!). When we got back in the car, I popped a vitamin.
Inside of an hour, I felt 80% better than I have in weeks. When I went to bed, I took the generic Unisom and slept like a champion. When I woke up, I was a little queasy because I was hungry, but I was able to face eating in a way that I'm usually not able to and I took more B-6 with breakfast. When Keira was having lunch several hours later and I smelled it without having eaten again myself, my stomach turned over a little but two days ago that would have sent me running to throw up.
I feel human again.
God is so good.
He put the right doctor in front of me at the right time, to push past my resistance -- 100% born of frustration -- and convince me to give this ridiculously-simple-sounding remedy a try. Even if it stops working in a week, I will be so grateful that I got a low-nausea Memorial Day weekend with my family at the shore. I'm sure I'll still hit the occasional wall, where I have to stop chasing a toddler and sit down, but my life until yesterday was all wall.
I even stayed in the house while my mom cooked meatballs today, and that is amazing. When I was pregnant with Keira, Michael was cooking meatloaf and I had to hide upstairs in our bedroom with a rolled towel under the door.
This is a miracle in my life. I am so grateful I could cry.
Sts. Gerard and Gianna Molla, ora pro nobis.
23 May 2014
22 May 2014
Role models for Catholic children.
So this is making the rounds on my Facebook page: Catholic School Apologizes For Picture of "Poor Role Model" Ellen DeGeneres On Dance Invitation. It's been shared by several of my "friends," probably because Newtown, PA, is where I went to high school (I lived one town over).
Some background: The school sent out invitations to the eighth grade dance with the tag like "Live from the Red Carpet" and a picture of Ellen holding an Oscar statue. When some parents complained, the principal apologized ("I was obviously NOT thinking.") and requested (or, according to BuzzFeed -- ugh -- "demanded") that the invitations be returned so that they could be destroyed, and new invitations sent out. The principal, without referring to Ellen's sexual orientation, said that Ellen is not a good role model because she doesn't live her life in alignment with the principles of the Catholic Church.
Follow me so far? Good. Because the apology and the rescinding of the offending invitations are exactly right. It would have been better if the incident hadn't happened at all, but as that ship has sailed an apology was in order.
Now. If people I know were just posting this story, I wouldn't have much to say about it. But, naturally, they're posting with some of the most bigoted commentary I can imagine:
"These bougie, over-privileged, low-life white moms and dads of Newtown don't have anything better to do than call the principal of their kid's Catholic school and say they don't like Ellen because she's gay?"
"Priest's [sic] are raping Children [sic] whom [sic] attend the Church." [The young lady who wrote this comment might have benefitted from some Catholic schooling, by the way, as her grammar is atrocious.]
... And more, but let's just deal with these two, shall we?
First: Those "bougie, over-privileged, low-life white moms and dads" -- because their race is relevant here, according to the over-privileged white guy I know who posted said comment -- are paying a premium for a Catholic education. Newtown, PA, is in one of the top school districts in the state of Pennsylvania. Unlike some places, a Catholic education is not the only alternative to failing schools, but a sacrifice that parents make so that their children can receive a Catholic education. A Catholic school has an obligation to present good role models to the children under their care. Ellen DeGeneres is an outspoken lesbian with a wife. She is not the person you put on your eighth grade dance invitation. I bet that some of the moms who complain watch and enjoy Ellen's talk show, but that doesn't make Ellen an appropriate role model for eighth graders. If I enjoy watching Modern Family, but I complain that my child's Catholic school showed it to my child, I am not hypocrite. I am a parent who recognizes that children and adults are not the same thing. I am unlikely to be influenced by the depiction of a gay couple in a way a prepubescent child might. We spend most of our time as parents deciding what is age appropriate for our children.
I guess that makes me a bougie (ugh, that word appears here three times and it just makes me cringe!), over-privileged, low-life white mom. Because I would have called to complain.
Secondly: Can we cool it already "priests are raping children" meme? No priests were even mentioned in this story. I did a little Googling -- because for a hot second I entertained the notion of wading into the fray, only to decide not to argue with idiots, especially as it got uglier -- and in two seconds discovered that Catholic priests commit sexual abuse at a rate that is less than 100 times that of public school teachers. Furthermore, the Catholic Church did more to report and combat the abuse than did the school districts in question. The same 2004 Department of Education -- you know, that right-wing think tank -- report that is linked to above tells of 225 admitted cases of educator abuse in one year in New York. How many were reported to police? All of zero. ZERO. More facts about priest sexual abuse here.
To sum up: good for the parents who complained. Good for the principal for apologizing. And I should maybe think about pruning my Facebook friends list.
Some background: The school sent out invitations to the eighth grade dance with the tag like "Live from the Red Carpet" and a picture of Ellen holding an Oscar statue. When some parents complained, the principal apologized ("I was obviously NOT thinking.") and requested (or, according to BuzzFeed -- ugh -- "demanded") that the invitations be returned so that they could be destroyed, and new invitations sent out. The principal, without referring to Ellen's sexual orientation, said that Ellen is not a good role model because she doesn't live her life in alignment with the principles of the Catholic Church.
Follow me so far? Good. Because the apology and the rescinding of the offending invitations are exactly right. It would have been better if the incident hadn't happened at all, but as that ship has sailed an apology was in order.
Now. If people I know were just posting this story, I wouldn't have much to say about it. But, naturally, they're posting with some of the most bigoted commentary I can imagine:
"These bougie, over-privileged, low-life white moms and dads of Newtown don't have anything better to do than call the principal of their kid's Catholic school and say they don't like Ellen because she's gay?"
"Priest's [sic] are raping Children [sic] whom [sic] attend the Church." [The young lady who wrote this comment might have benefitted from some Catholic schooling, by the way, as her grammar is atrocious.]
... And more, but let's just deal with these two, shall we?
First: Those "bougie, over-privileged, low-life white moms and dads" -- because their race is relevant here, according to the over-privileged white guy I know who posted said comment -- are paying a premium for a Catholic education. Newtown, PA, is in one of the top school districts in the state of Pennsylvania. Unlike some places, a Catholic education is not the only alternative to failing schools, but a sacrifice that parents make so that their children can receive a Catholic education. A Catholic school has an obligation to present good role models to the children under their care. Ellen DeGeneres is an outspoken lesbian with a wife. She is not the person you put on your eighth grade dance invitation. I bet that some of the moms who complain watch and enjoy Ellen's talk show, but that doesn't make Ellen an appropriate role model for eighth graders. If I enjoy watching Modern Family, but I complain that my child's Catholic school showed it to my child, I am not hypocrite. I am a parent who recognizes that children and adults are not the same thing. I am unlikely to be influenced by the depiction of a gay couple in a way a prepubescent child might. We spend most of our time as parents deciding what is age appropriate for our children.
I guess that makes me a bougie (ugh, that word appears here three times and it just makes me cringe!), over-privileged, low-life white mom. Because I would have called to complain.
Secondly: Can we cool it already "priests are raping children" meme? No priests were even mentioned in this story. I did a little Googling -- because for a hot second I entertained the notion of wading into the fray, only to decide not to argue with idiots, especially as it got uglier -- and in two seconds discovered that Catholic priests commit sexual abuse at a rate that is less than 100 times that of public school teachers. Furthermore, the Catholic Church did more to report and combat the abuse than did the school districts in question. The same 2004 Department of Education -- you know, that right-wing think tank -- report that is linked to above tells of 225 admitted cases of educator abuse in one year in New York. How many were reported to police? All of zero. ZERO. More facts about priest sexual abuse here.
To sum up: good for the parents who complained. Good for the principal for apologizing. And I should maybe think about pruning my Facebook friends list.
20 May 2014
Timeline of a slow-motion disaster:
Friday afternoon: idiot neighbor lady "gets dizzy" while driving and plows into the back of our parked car, knocking the tailpipe askew and doing a number on the bumper. Maintenance man comes to knock on our door, because he heard it happen and came to investigate (bonus: he told Michael that it looked to him like she was planning to hit and run until she saw him witnessing her). Idiot neighbor lady and Michael exchange insurance info, Michael makes requisite calls. Geico, her insurance company, requires that the damage be inspected to make sure that it's "new," because there's no customer service like treating the victim with suspicion, so Michael makes an appointment to bring the car to an approved body shop, which cannot take it until Tuesday.
Tuesday morning: Michael takes the car to the approved body shop required by idiot neighbor lady's insurance, then goes to nearby rental car place to get the pre-arranged rental car, as we are going out of town over the weekend and cannot do it in our second car, which is a tiny Honda Civic. Rental company tries to give us a Dodge Journey, which is NOT the same class as our Honda Pilot, and which we know from previous rental experience is the least comfortable car we've ever had the displeasure of riding in. Michael stands his ground and they agree to give us a Tahoe.
OH BUT WAIT.
The Tahoe is sent for cleanup, but in the meantime the rental agent comes back and tells Michael that idiot neighbor lady's insurance policy was brand new, and in fact had become active the very morning that she plowed into our poor, unassuming, did-I-mention-parked car. Therefore, Geico has to perform an investigation and thus he cannot take his rental and leave. Because somehow, the age of the contract between idiot neighbor lady and her insurance company is our problem.
Moral of the story: Geico is the worst. I'm not crazy about idiot neighbor lady either.
{I know, I know, repeatedly calling her "idiot neighbor lady" is not charitable. She claims to have been dizzy during the incident. But I lost a lot of sympathy when our hero maintenance man told us that she appeared to be fleeing.}
Tuesday morning: Michael takes the car to the approved body shop required by idiot neighbor lady's insurance, then goes to nearby rental car place to get the pre-arranged rental car, as we are going out of town over the weekend and cannot do it in our second car, which is a tiny Honda Civic. Rental company tries to give us a Dodge Journey, which is NOT the same class as our Honda Pilot, and which we know from previous rental experience is the least comfortable car we've ever had the displeasure of riding in. Michael stands his ground and they agree to give us a Tahoe.
OH BUT WAIT.
The Tahoe is sent for cleanup, but in the meantime the rental agent comes back and tells Michael that idiot neighbor lady's insurance policy was brand new, and in fact had become active the very morning that she plowed into our poor, unassuming, did-I-mention-parked car. Therefore, Geico has to perform an investigation and thus he cannot take his rental and leave. Because somehow, the age of the contract between idiot neighbor lady and her insurance company is our problem.
Moral of the story: Geico is the worst. I'm not crazy about idiot neighbor lady either.
{I know, I know, repeatedly calling her "idiot neighbor lady" is not charitable. She claims to have been dizzy during the incident. But I lost a lot of sympathy when our hero maintenance man told us that she appeared to be fleeing.}
17 May 2014
"Answer Me This" Linkup, Week 6.
Kendra at Catholic All Year is hosting a weekly linkup. She provides the questions, you provide the answers, and then you link up with everyone back on her page. It's a great way to get to know a little about your fellow bloggy travelers, as well as a chance to consider some things about yourself that you hadn't before. Join us!
But! Kendra is in France with her family, the lucky ducky, and so this week's AMT is being hosted by Haley over at Carrots for Michaelmas.
1. What's the scariest thing that's ever been in your yard?
Well, we live in an apartment and don't have a yard, and in fact I've never had a yard in my adult life (sad), so I'm going to go back to my childhood: when I was twelve or so, we were hanging out in the back yard and all of a sudden my sister started screaming that I had a daddy long-legs on my face. I slapped myself across the face hard enough that that sucker landed four yards down.
Goll-Y that story still makes me shudder.
2. Beards. Thumbs up or thumbs down?
Generally pretty thumbs down -- my imaginary prince has a military high-and-tight haircut and is clean-shaven -- but my real-life prince, my husband, does have a goatee most of the time. It works on him aesthetically so I deal with the fact that it's scratchy and occasionally poke-y when he kisses me. It's just an issue of length, I think.
3. If stuff breaks, can you fix it?
I'm pretty good with my hands. I build furniture like a champ, and I used to help build sets when I was in plays in high school, so I am proficient with power tools, etc. But I'm not very good at things involving electricity. I'm an engineer, but not that kind.
4. What was your first car?
I drove my dad's hand-me-down Lincoln Town Car for about two years, during my senior year of college and my first year living in Virginia. My friends all called it the Land Yacht or The Good Ship Colleen. It served me pretty well even though it only got like twelve miles to the gallon. (It was a little hard on my wallet.) It eventually died -- actually it tried to murder me when the tie rod broke and I lost my steering (thank God in Heaven that I was parking when it snapped and not on the Capital Beltway, which I had been about half an hour before!) -- and I had to buy my first car.
5. How often do you eat out?
Too often. Entirely too often. If I put a number on it, I'm just going to feel bad. In my defense, I'm pregnant and very, very ill. Cooking is just not possible right now.
6. Why is your hair like that?
Oh. Oh jeez. I know you asked this question without being able to see me, Kendra (via Haley), but I feel like you must have been able to see the disaster on my head. My feelings are, irrationally, just a teeny bit hurt.
Okay so I'm too far out from a hair coloring so I'm pretty shot through with gray -- because I am the daughter of and sister to hair dressers, I will not be letting my hair go gray (not intentionally, anyway; neglect is another story). Added to that is the fact that I've decided to give up the pipe dream of ever having nice bangs, so I'm trying to grow them out and they are at THE most awkward length. Basically it's just a graying mop. It. Is. Scary.
End essay about my hair. But it's a sore spot right now.
14 May 2014
In which I decide to stop making excuses about my lack of bloggery.
The more I think about this, the more I think there's no good reason for keeping it off the blog. I'm currently blogging fairly incognito-ly, which is to say that I don't think anyone I know "in real life" is reading.
I'm 7.2 weeks pregnant (or so... I don't yet have a due date), and thank the good Lord for his blessings. I only had to undergo two rounds of Clomid to conceive this time, and that is a wonderful, miraculous thing. I am overjoyed, truly.
However.
Oh, however.
For the second time in two pregnancies, I am dealing with the scourge that is hyperemesis gravidarum (HG).
You guys. It is the WORST. If you gave me the choice between a) delivering a full-term baby every six weeks for nine months and b) HG, I would unhesitatingly, unblinkingly choose to a) give birth all of those times.
I can only imagine what morning sickness is like. I have only ever had morning-noon-and-night, unrelenting misery, not mere morning sickness. It was in some ways easier with my first pregnancy: my responsibilities were fewer (read: I didn't have a toddler), and thus if need be I could sacrifice whole weekends to just sitting around trying to curb the nausea and vomiting; plus, I had some naïve hope that it would only last for the first trimester. On the other hand, this time my husband knows what to expect and that is immensely helpful.
He has been a rock star. I mean that with the utmost sincerity. He rearranged his work schedule so he can handle both the morning daycare drop off and the evening pickup, he's been doing all of the baby's baths and most of the meals (picking them up from restaurants, that is, because I could cook but only if they want me to actually vomit in their meals).
I don't know how to even describe the magnitude of the disruption to our lives. But when Mama literally can't do anything without retching, life changes. A lot.
The best part of my day is the time between dinner and Keira's bedtime because I sit on the couch while she runs around being funny and distracting me from the horror show happening in my stomach.
Please say some prayers for me that this time the HG doesn't last every moment of my pregnancy, as it did with Keira. St. Gerard has been getting an earful from me already, but I would appreciate a few more intercessors!
I'm 7.2 weeks pregnant (or so... I don't yet have a due date), and thank the good Lord for his blessings. I only had to undergo two rounds of Clomid to conceive this time, and that is a wonderful, miraculous thing. I am overjoyed, truly.
However.
Oh, however.
For the second time in two pregnancies, I am dealing with the scourge that is hyperemesis gravidarum (HG).
You guys. It is the WORST. If you gave me the choice between a) delivering a full-term baby every six weeks for nine months and b) HG, I would unhesitatingly, unblinkingly choose to a) give birth all of those times.
I can only imagine what morning sickness is like. I have only ever had morning-noon-and-night, unrelenting misery, not mere morning sickness. It was in some ways easier with my first pregnancy: my responsibilities were fewer (read: I didn't have a toddler), and thus if need be I could sacrifice whole weekends to just sitting around trying to curb the nausea and vomiting; plus, I had some naïve hope that it would only last for the first trimester. On the other hand, this time my husband knows what to expect and that is immensely helpful.
He has been a rock star. I mean that with the utmost sincerity. He rearranged his work schedule so he can handle both the morning daycare drop off and the evening pickup, he's been doing all of the baby's baths and most of the meals (picking them up from restaurants, that is, because I could cook but only if they want me to actually vomit in their meals).
I don't know how to even describe the magnitude of the disruption to our lives. But when Mama literally can't do anything without retching, life changes. A lot.
The best part of my day is the time between dinner and Keira's bedtime because I sit on the couch while she runs around being funny and distracting me from the horror show happening in my stomach.
Please say some prayers for me that this time the HG doesn't last every moment of my pregnancy, as it did with Keira. St. Gerard has been getting an earful from me already, but I would appreciate a few more intercessors!
In which I make some excuses.
It's been relative radio silence around here for the last week or two. I'm working on a couple of things but they're not ready yet, and I'm feeling a bit clogged in terms of other discussion topics.
So just a note to say that I'm not giving up and I'm not giving in (did I just slip into song lyrics there?), and we'll be back to our regularly-scheduled all-over-the-place-ness of this blog soon enough.
Stay tuned!
So just a note to say that I'm not giving up and I'm not giving in (did I just slip into song lyrics there?), and we'll be back to our regularly-scheduled all-over-the-place-ness of this blog soon enough.
Stay tuned!
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