no whine before its time

today's dilemma: so many things about which i want to whine, but do i really have the time to expound on all of them?

let me start with food: for one thing, i made a giant pan of brownies for my in-laws with the new baby, and despite my wish to eat many, many brownies, i ate exactly one, about 1.5 inches square, and saved two for justin, who was at work, and sent the rest to my new niece, and it hurt me. it physically hurt me to hand the platter to my father-in-law and watch him walk out the door with it (i didn't go to visit because i would be pissed if someone with a sore throat who had a fever the day before came over to paw over milo when he was less than two weeks old). that one little brownie reminded me of what i am missing (namely, taste and fat, glorious fat) and it has been downhill ever since. like today, when i ate the black bean soup and steamed brown basmati rice justin made and packed for my lunch. it made me want to throw up. there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. those foods are two of my favorites. justin did nothing wrong. i just had an overwhelming urge to purge them from my gut and go eat a steak (with a side of brownies). poor justin: when i talked to him on the phone and told him they made me want to throw up, he paused, and then thanked me; he hadn't eaten his beans and rice yet. sorry, darling.

let me move on to the gd gd (because you haven't heard nearly enough about it lately): my fingertips are so uniformly bruised (from the constant pricking of them to test my blood glucose) that i cannot type without some agony. i work on a computer all day, and agonized typing is making me complainy. that complaininess is compounded by the fact that one of my co-workers is on vacation all week, and i seem to be getting ALL of her calls, which are all from people who should be committed to institutions with good drugs and art programs. and while i'm on the subject of the vacationing co-worker, let me also complain that while she is my primary workplace confidante, she last week expressed to me that she thinks i should "let nature take its course" and not worry about when milo is born. i let her have it, and, god bless her, she took it, but i'm still a little sore from that one.

which leads me to the subject of mental health, and my lack thereof: milo moved very little yesterday, and when i woke up from my afternoon nap, i started to freak out about it. i found his heartbeat, but it stayed pretty constant at 120 - a little low and not indicative of good aerobic movement. so i ate some granola and laid down on my side, and in an hour i counted six movements. clearly, he was functioning, but the standard is supposed to be at least ten movements per hour, and he usually kicks ten times in ten minutes and then i jump up and move on, and decreased movement precedes stillbirth by a few days, and i so didn't want to go to labor & delivery but i even less want another dead son - so i called instead. my own ob was actually there, and we talked and he asked me to count for another hour and then come in if we didn't do better than six. this time, we got to ten movements in about 50 minutes - not milo's usual movement, but an improvement, so we didn't go in, and of course today, he's behaving like a prizefigher in training and using my cervix as a punching bag. but i hate, hate, hate that should-i-go-in/i-don't-want-to-be-chicken-little/but-what-if-my-paranoia-is-right? roller coaster. i suspect a before-and-after brain scan would reveal that my brain now operates in panic mode as a matter of course rather than panic being an event. ugh.

moving on to physical health: for days now, my pelvis has felt like samson himself is standing between my legs, forcing the two sides of my bone structure apart with all his might. (you know, if he were a little person. or if i were a giant.) it's making me waddle and ache. sometimes it takes my breath away. i thought this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen so much after the first baby, but what do i know? well, i know it's affecting my ability to sleep through the night (as much as my bladder will allow). i might have gotten three hours of sleep last night, and i am paying dearly for it today (as are you, if you're still reading my whines). i need some f'ing sleep. i cannot function much longer without it, dammit, or someone's going to have to pay, and on a much larger scale than this one.

and then back to my mental state: i know i had more things about which i wanted to whine, but my pregnancy-induced stupidity is clouding my ability to recall them all, dammit. i just can't win. i am happy about one thing, and that's milo's room, which is full-to-the-brim but will work. we hung his french seasonal calendar and the pictures of the torres-garcia wooden toys we love, and it feels so ready for him. which of course increases my paranoia that now he'll die for sure.

well, that one didn't turn out to be so happy, so here's another stab: i started the end-of-my-rope ticker just before we hit 100 days, and now we're at 50! woo-hoo! plus (or rather minus) however many days early i'm induced, depending on when my medical team unites behind a common date, means i'm well below 50. it's almost enough to make me lighten up. almost.