Into their proper places

Moving from one box to another

From one bin to the final bin

It's hard to say goodbye to objects I've gathered

And picked up along the way

I've found myself saying goodbye

In little ways to things from the past

To things from the present

Things I've held onto for too long

For no particular reason

Covered in dust

And moth carcasses

It's time to make room for new things

New people...new life, I guess

So goodbye old stuff

It's been nice knowing you.

VDC

It was hard to drive. Admittedly, I don't think I should have driven, but Husbandido had some back problems due to working on the nursery (it looks nice, really), but I was both exhausted and hungry. I didn't eat dinner and I was emotionally drained from a program graduation. I had to force Husbandido to talk me through the trip. He couldn't sleep, nor could I keep in one lane. I'm glad we made it safely.

I didn't know what to expect from a childbirth class: the Apostle gave me a quick rundown, and that was nice, but if bringing two pillows and a blanket made me nervous about what kinda gymnastics we were going to do. In truth, the course was very light, and thankfully the trainer was very energetic and funny, so that helped a LOT. 

It was interesting, honestly, to see other pregnant women, and in different states of being. Some were freakin' ginormous, others were tiny, some were wobbly, and others were just there. I observed the dads/partners/random dudes just taking it all in, and noticed some of them breaking into a cold sweat. Interesting.

Husbandido started falling asleep at the end of the class...which is typical if he's in mass. Go figure. Cute thing is that at the end, the trainer played a Jamie Foxx song, U Still Got It. Pretty sweet song. Cute. Anyways, 37 weeks. Here we go, kids.

Voodoo

I have been blessed with three showers, one by my girlfriends (who I love love love), one by my coworkers (who surprised me with their outright generosity and wonderfulness), and one by my family (which was a surprise yet wasn't, but it was still cute, so thanks ladies). As a result, we have SO much stuff around our house that it's making cleaning up the baby room a MESS. I'm just glad that my parents are out of town and we can put all the stuff in the living room. It's crazy.

I'm winding up my last week at work, and what's exciting about it is that I'm going to be changing jobs from my directorship (which I loved, but it's time to move on, if you know what I mean) to running Freshman Programs. I'm really excited about it, but I know it's going to be a pain because the work is so heavy with details and drama that I'm going to need to learn how to round up the kitties. I'm excited. In a way it's a sort of demotion yet it's going to be easier for me, it's going to mean I keep my salary, but I can do MORE with MORE people. I'm also thinking long term when it comes to work with other schools when it's time to move on that this position has more versatility to it and will allow me to be a more attractive candidate. who knows.

I've had to redo my CV, and it's  nice to be able to see how much my life has changed over the years. I am excited about the future, not just because of the job, but because having Bambina will give me some opportunity to put meaningfulness in my work.

Al Trautwig, who does color commentary for the Tour de France, does the commentary for gymnastics. It's kinda wierd.

I have a bad crush on Michael Phelps and Jim Krasinski. I had a dream with both of them in it. I won't say anything else, but the last time I had a dream like that it was with Vince Vaughn (and he was brand new and skinny). Every time I look at Vince Vaughn now (the chubby version), I get a little embarassed about the situation. That kinda dream, yo.

I already packed my hospital bag (and Husbandido's). I figure he might ask me to do it when we're getting ready to leave, so might as well do it now cause the only thing I'm doing when we're headed to the hospital is to sit there and not freak out.

The baby seat and stroller aren't here yet. Crap. 

Made a grown up decision to not have a Filipino fiesta at the hospital when I give birth. You heard me, people? We're going to do this nice and quiet, have a few days rest, and then tell everyone to come by when we're at home. And it's going to be nice and orderly. No 20 million people over the house. Just a handful at a time. Shit, maybe we'll do appointments.

Anyways, Husbandido's doing a great job with the room. We did get into it because I do have a lot of crap and it's just time to get rid of all of it. It's hard parting with things from my life, but it's gotta be done, right? No, I don't have things to give you all, trust me, if I had things worth selling I'd have a garage sale by now.

The theme? Green and yellow. Her colors. Not pink. But you know, it really didn't stop people from getting us all pink stuff. It's just the way of the baby girl.

Okay, well that's enough blah blah for now. It's nice to be able to touch base with you all, and hope you're all doing well. Take care and much love!

Voodoo

I called into the Dr's office that night too, and hoo boy, there's not a whole lot they can do, huh. "Hope you feel better!" No crap, lady! I had to call in this morning as well because my glucose numbers were off too. "Oh that was probably because you were sick." RIGHT!

Oh well. So I've been resting it off, drinking tons of fluids and watching horrible day time television. Happily, I've spent most of the time passed out. Husbandido was peeved because I was intending to go into work, but waking up this morning, I knew I wasn't trying to get out there. Too worried that the toilet was too far away because last night I had to kick Husbandido out of the loo a few times LOL.

Anyways, I'm going back to doing...whatever. I guess I could pass out again. Yah that sounds good.

Voodoo 

I recently started feeling certain things that I haven't felt for three years, more specifically, since I got married: you know who your friends are, and you know who really gives a shit about you when things start to hit the fan. And BTW, someone said, "It's just hormones, don't take this stuff too seriously." Get the hell out of here. Hormones are one thing. Bitchassness is another.

I think it's been interesting to watch the ebb and flow of people both at work and in my personal life, so see what comes in and more specifically when it does.

I guess there's a question too I've been asking myself, and that is, how the hell do I contribute to the funk that I've been experiencing with people? It makes me want to lock myself away from certain individuals, yet I'm drawn to others in ways that make me want to keep it all separated. I wish I could go into more detail, but I'll keep those to myself. 

Maybe it's just me, but it's harder to repair damage than to keep putting it on thick. I'd rather hear the truth than be led on to believe other things, and what sucks is that I ALREADY KNOW THE TRUTH and I'm just watching certain people lay it on. God I feel bad.

****

So on a happier note, I was reading Wolf's post the other day, and I was feeling where he was coming from. I know I can relate to watching babies in another way, watching how parents interact, what stroller they bought. It's interesting, but I also do that to the new 1st years at my job: how the parents interact, what the first years do, how we all interact with them. But when it comes to being a new mother, it comes down to feelings of "okaaaay. that's going to be me soon enough."

Parents now tell me to enjoy this time because there's no time like the present. Soon enough there are changes ahead that are going to impact not only me, but others around me. The soccer player in my tummy makes me laugh, but has deprived me of the best of the best EVAR: thin mint ice cream. Rude. JK. I'm excited about it, but as always I have a very guarded excitedness about all of my projects, so this isn't any different. Maybe it's my guardedness that is offputting? I don't know. Bitchassness.

Let me tell you guys a story. I probably have mentioned this before in this blog (Side Note: did you know I've been blogging for at least 8 years now?). Anyways, it's really personal, but I'll tell you anyways. I never saw myself with kids. No lie. I was one of those women who could see themselves single forever, doing lunch, hanging out with other old biddies, shopping and having tea. No kids. Travelling. Seriously. I wanted nothing but handling my business, come what may. This is how I went through life, even with boyfriends through high school and college and even through grad school, this was how I was vibing my life. I'd be with some guy, he'd be talking marriage, I'd be nodding, thinking to myself, I wonder how he's going to take me heading off to Paris for months at a go. Hope he doesn't mind being second place. What a Leo.

All of this changed during one day when I was working on some homework at my apartment. I was 32, bent on single up until this point. I had a boyfriend at the time, a long distance deal that didn't keep me tied down. I was home alone, the day was nice, and on a Saturday working on my papers it hit me.

What is all of this for if I can't pass this down to someone else?

It was a simple, innocuous question. I thought about it for a few minutes, and the next thing you know, I'm bawling my eyes out because I couldn't find the answer anywhere save for one place: kids. It was literally like a light in a dark room: life now had more meaning, and it all made sense. Who literally gives a ickypoo about a dissertation and an education, goals and material things if it's not meant to be passed down to someone. I could easily give all my riches to my parrot, the Green Rock, but you know.

It turned out that bf at the time had a feeling that something changed, and I really couldn't tell a brother because how the hell do you tell someone that you felt The Call without making homeboy feel like you are talking about his donation in the matter? I wasn't about to tell him; it was too important to me to just share with anyone. I don't think I really told anyone about that revelation for a very long time. I just told him that I realized something. He thought I was cheating on him I was so giddy, and you know, now that I think about it, we broke up not too far afterwards, and well, that's life for you. Maybe he couldn't handle it. Oh well on that.

So since that day, this is the seed that's been growing: to be able to share this with someone(s) else. And 32 weeks into this journey (after 70 something weeks of trying and oh lord I mean trying) it's all coming together for me. And despite the earlier funktitude of people trying to step on my game, I won't let it break me down. I've waited too long for trifling people to get in my way.

Ready or not, here she comes.

Voodoo 

I'm not going to lie; it's been stressful in little ways: the pregnancy, mom and dad coming and going and coming back again, work, change, the impending arrival of the Bambina. It came down to waking up one night at 4AM and lying there with feelings of dread as I ticked off things I needed to do at work. I lay awake for at least another hour forcing myself to acknowledge that this was probably not a normal thing to do. At 4AM.

Early on in the pregnancy, both myself and Husbandido had to meet with a therapist. It was nerve wracking to me (there was a 3AM staredown with the ceiling for a few nights) because I didn't know why I was scheduled for an appointment. Turns out this is a normal "thing." Just a check in with all expectant mothers. Routine. Holy shit, I thought I had to prepare for some bad news or what have you. But no. Just checking in.

After my gestational diabetes check in meeting a few weeks ago, I ran into the therapist again. She recognized me, and knowing how stressed I was, I went ahead and scheduled some time with her.

Now I know this is highly personal. Telling someone you're seeing a therapist is akin to telling people that a) you got some stuff going on you can't handle (don't bite my head off for this yet, wait for it), b) you are going through SOME STUFF you shouldn't be handling, or c) you're just a wreck in general. I know this. Least you forget, I have a master's in counseling. I know the risks that I'm taking by putting this out there for you to read, but I'm also taking the chance to tell you that I'm doing this to take care of myself, Bambina, my Husbandido and whoever else I may have an impact on. I'm also going on record with sharing this because, honestly, I wanted to encourage anyone else who may debate on doing a similar thing - seeing a therapist - to go ahead and do it. Do I have stuff going on? Of course I do. Do I need help? Who the hell doesn't? Can I handle it? I'm handling it. Now.

The good news is that I found someone who I really liked, and I like to think we have a good thing going. I've seen her twice now, and while it's not rocket science, it's easy to see that it's been helpful to spend an hour of someone's time venting/chatting/laughing through it all. Also, no lie, it's nice to see someone who has very similar and more advanced training than I do, do her job. I'm a nut like that.

***

Anyways, pregnancy continues to move steadily ahead. Bambina is moving and grooving on a schedule now. That's kinda crazy, but I know when she's going to be moving around and fidgeting around. 31 weeks in, there are 67 days left to go. It's exciting, and I'm looking forward to the changes ahead, but I'm also keenly aware of how much things will have to change.

We've been toying around with the idea of moving out, but that's a long way off for us. The need for space has been a part of our daily life lately, especially with having to share, but what can we do? There's a part of me that says, "Why the hell did you go to graduate school on loans for?" I laugh at this, but that's a huge financial burden. Without it and my credit card bills (hey, I needed to go to europe, ok?), I could take care of a mortgage all by myself. Funny, isn't it? But yah, that's life.

Asides: Fast and Furious is a wierd movie. Husbandido actually said this: " I am never going to watch this movie...again. Six times is enough." Yet he still is watching it. Comedy.

Well, I'm going to go back to reading The Count of Monte Cristo. The unabridged version, bitches. Take that. Yes, I'm halfway through. LOL

Off to count kicks. 

Voodoo 

Knowing that diabetes runs in my family, and watching people succumb or come out of the woods changed and transformed really made this diagnosis hit home for me. I don't want to make it seem like this is a minor thing...I've tried to play it off these last few days, but it's not really working.

I've made a conscious decision to do my best to take care of myself better, but at the same time, I've made promises to myself and have broken them before (see boyfriends #2, 6 and 9...JK, not really). So while it's hard to turn down a piece of cake, god, how hard it truly is, especially when it's a handmade lemon cake, it's a fact of life for me now, not just until Bambina gets here, but even afterwards. Well, maybe after I have my post-birth celebratory sushi, beer, and ice cream party in September. You're all welcome to Gluttony Fest 2008, btw.

Anyways, so I get a terse email from my doctor with two sentences. "You have gestational diabetes. Nurse will call you." I sat in front of my computer screen and stared at it. It was hard to not feel like I was just handed a death sentence. Holy smokes. I'm condemned to eat rabbit food for the next few months, I thought to myself. If you know me, which most of you do by now, you'll understand this is just like taking candy away from a verified sugartooth, which is me, entirely!

Secondly, in honor of Father's Day, I got to do all the laundry that Husbandido started (but didn't finish), wash all the dishes that he used (but didn't wash), and clean up the room (that he occupies), and take him out to see a movie of his choice (when is it ever my choice, I mean really...we don't go running off to French movies. Only really actiony movies).

Anyways, he chose The Hulk, since Husbandido fancies himself to be the hulk in stressful situatiosn because rather than deal with it, he'd like to turn big and green and smash things. Funny thing is that when we went off to see the movie, there is a loud explosion at the beginning that made Bambina jump which made me laugh, but also made me feel bad because apparently we're waking up the homegirl. Husbandido asked me if we should not be going to loud movies like that because it might affect her personality. Little does he know that I drive the car, the car that goes boom, and maybe she likes the loud noise already. ;-)

So other news I might have to share is that Indiana Jones for the Wii is possibly the most awesome game ever. EVAR.

Also, I had my second rough night last week; my first one was early in the first trimester where I started to feel things loosen up and tweak. It was my hips causing me problems, and I couldn't sleep to save my life. Last week I enjoyed a SWEET salad and it kicked my ass literally. I had gas so bad that I had crazy stomachaches most of the day and couldn't find a comfortable position to lay down in. I got up at 1:30 and didn't go back to sleep until after 4AM. I wound up getting up and walking around in hopes of dislodging the goods. Didn't work, but I wound up going to work all groggy and tired, and I made myself walk around outside of the office, and that, well, did the job. I felt much better. Tonight I feel the same hard belly thing kicking in, so I'll be doing laps around the house tonight.

There are two more babies headed down the way in my family, and I went ahead and sent them gifts. I feel wierd that I don't have enough toy-ish kind of things on my registry. Should I? Nah, I figure people are already giving me enough toyish things already! Now if only I could get the so-called baby room up and running.

I feel like I might need to get a dumpster just to throw all the shit that I have in there in it. Seriously. It's our office. I was thinking the other day that I used to share that room with my brother, and wow, we didn't have half as much crap as we do now. Go figure.

Anyways, enough about silly things. Oh yah, my test results. So here's how it all came down. Any advice is welcome, but I'm sure my doc will have something to say about the situation. Anyways, my fasting test: 91. The normal levels are below 94. Sweet. Then I took my lovely flat soda. It wasn't so lovely because that shit wasn't cold like I had it the first time! I was kinda mad. anyway, my 2nd test was booyah: 192...normal level? below 172. Ew. Okay 3rd test: 162...normal level 154. Still high but not ohshet. Last test: 143..normal level 139. 'snot so bad. But yah, elevated levels all around. Guess that means I gotta do what I gotta do and do some serious cutting down.

Wierd thing is that I have all kinds of moms coming up to me lately and saying, "Seriously? You're tiny compared to where I was." Give me some time. Apparently inflating is in the near future. I can't wait to have someone drive me to work cause I'm so close to the steering wheel as it is! LOL

Okay. that was a long blog. You guys take care...and I'll get back to you later! Ciao for now.

27 weeks!

Voodoo 

VOODOO 

 Anyways, so today I had an appt with my OB and beforehand, I go to take my glucose test. I check in at the lab, and the lab tech points me over to a podium where Homegirl is standing. She gives me a paper cup then cracks open a bottle of orange fluid. Looks like Sunkist (or any orange soda for that matter). I happen to LOVE LOVE LOVE (nom nom nom) orange soda so I'm just thrilled to down it. I ask her, "Do I have to drink it in front of you?" It feels like being in jail. Nice. Take your meds. Show me your tongue. Under tongue. A ha! You swallow that damn pill. While I'm downing it like a shot (really, I love orange soda), she explains to me that some women just don't want to take it, don't get diagnosed with gestational diabetes and then bad things happen. Gulp. I can't believe there are people like that. Oh wait, I take it back. There are some really mad folks out there.

I put the cup down and she gives me a second shot. I down that as well. I feel like I should get a prize for being a willing patient. I didn't find it all nasty iike some of my friends have told me it would be like, although I can readily see how it could be all bad; it does taste of flat orange soda, and me being me, lover of orange soda, I've had my share of flat orange soda and it's still all good to me. One of the things she said to me was "If you throw up..." If I throw up? WTF! What do you mean if? I could? I think one of my biggest fears is yakking in public view...not that it's stopped me before, come on  I know some of you were around for my three count 'em three yakitudes.

I head off to my appt with my OB that lasts all of 2 seconds. She listens to Bambina's heart beat (it's slower, but apparently that's normal, I hope). She measures the belly. Weight is good (ack I weigh that much), blood pressure is good, and we chop it up for a bit. I bring my notebook full of questions, and we're good to go!

I have to go downstairs back to the lab to get my blood drawn. I for one am not scared of needles. I used to get blood tests once a week, and it doesn't bother me in the least. I hang out, read some of the literature sitting around and get my needle stick and I'm on my way.

Blood test came back okay, but I'm still waiting for the results of the glucose Orange Soda dream drink. I'll keep you posted!

Voodoo

PS: 25.6 weeks! 

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

Voodoo 

As she flipped through her data, I kept thinking to myself that there was a 1 in 300 chance. There was a 1 in 250 chance. The only thing I remembered rattling through my head was "In a room full of 300 women, one of us is going to be affected by the condition." I visualized the group of women and randomly pausing in front of one woman. Would that camera shot pause in front of me? I didn't know if I should have started praying that it wasn't me, or if I should start praying for someone else. Either way, there was prayer involved.

As many of you know I got the all clear and after I got off the phone, I was ecstatic. For a week, I walked around gingerly, pausing every now and then to pat the front of my belly and make sure Bambino/a (we didn't know at the time, right?) was doing well. I played over and over the conversation on my brain that the genetic counselor and I had. "These are the chances. It all depends on when the baby is born, not how old you are now." Thirty-something. I felt screwed. Like I waited too long, and this was my punishment for waiting.

I thought long and hard about the woman who got the call urging her to come in. What tipped me off right away was that the counselor wanted to go over the results with me over the phone. Whenever it's over the phone, it's usually good news. Whenever they want you to come in, it's never a good thing. Someone out there got the call. Somewhere, there are 298 other women, other than myself, who are heaving a sigh of relief. Somewhere, there is someone who is devastated.

It turns out, I know someone who got that phone call. Chromosome deformity. Likelihood of birth, low. Worse than Down's Syndrome if baby survived birth. I felt my heart sink when I got the news. She herself has been carrying this news for a few weeks now. The joys of motherhood dashed? I don't know what my heart would be like if I were here. The person who told me gave me a big hug, and said, you're so lucky. I guess I am.

Voodoo