Weekend Exposure: When I Listen to my Heart...

Happy Feet by JoshCarlton

To learn more about Weekend Exposure, click here.

Weekend Exposure: What are you doing this fall?

Never Surrender!! Shoot for the sky!

Weekend Exposure Project

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

I got another call this morning from my brother in law, Chris, who generously watches Walker for us. He was asking when the last time Walker had Tylenol, because teething is still kicking his little diapered butt. We hadn't given him any since last night, so it was a go for drugging my little tater tot.

About two minutes later, I got another call, this time from a very amused sister of mine. Apparently Chris went ahead and gave Walker the medicine, much to Walker's delight. He got very calm and began acting somewhat placid.

Chris moved in to play with him, Walker all the while giving Chris the big Puss In Boots eyes. Chris got closer and closer to my baby's sweet little face; Walker got cuter and cuter with every inch. Then, when Chris was within range and completely lulled into complacency, Walker took his opportunity:

He blew a big old Grape Tylenol flavored raspberry right in Chris' face.

My baby's a luller. Just like his father.

The List

The latest topic of conversation at my office has been "who is on your List?" We all know what The List is. It's the famous Friends episode: the five people that you're allowed to cheat with should the opportunity arise. Of course, The List really must comprise of The Unattainable; those with whom your path will likely never cross. But if it should, you are preapproved by your significant other to have an affair with the aforementioned List member.

My List has classically been comprised of two Lists, really. Because I don't want to get caught in the Ross Gellar / Isabella Rossalini trap, I've historically had a list of foreign and domestics. But, for the purposes of the office confab, I've tried to narrow it to one list only. While the list is officially only five people, the originator of this conversation could not narrow it down to five, and therefore, we are allowed seven choices. So here are mine. I'd like to add the disclaimer that this list is an ever evolving ever changing project and I would never go so far as to laminate my List. I would hate to commit to these seven for the rest of my life and then, in three years, a new actor arrives on the scene and bumps one of my List Members off. But I digress:


JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN

Ah, Denny. I fell in love with JDM as Denny Duquette in Grey's Anatomy. Then I realized he was in Supernatural as John Winchester. We watched the episode where Denny died the same week the season premiere of Supernatural aired in which John Winchester dies. I was crushed. Now I've found him in Weeds, where he plays Judah Botwin, a woman's DEAD husband. I'm noticing a theme here, Jeff, and I'm not happy about it.

ANDY GARCIA

I discovered Andy in When a Man Loves a Woman and have loved him ever since. I mean, come ON. Look at him, for heaven's sake! And that whole Cuban thing? Hello, Andy!!

JIM CARREY

I can't help it! He's funny! And laughter goes a long way for me!! He's lanky, he's got horse teeth, and I'd still do it!



ANTONIO BANDERAS

I've discovered during this process that I have a little thing for Latin men. I love Antonio. If you need to know why, just watch Desperado. That love scene! Wow. He's short, but he can sing, he can dance, and he's just plain pretty!

VINCE VAUGHN

Again with the funny. I love him in Clay Pigeons, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, The Wedding Crashers, Swingers, Made...the list goes on and on. But his dramatic stuff is also really awesome. I have to admit that I loved his version of Norman Bates better than Anthony Perkins', and if you REALLY want to see Vince in his prime, the movie that started the love affair: Return to Paradise.

ROBERT DOWNEY, JR.

I've maintained for years that RDJ's problem with drugs would be completely solved if he and I met and substituted sex for drugs. Problem solved!!



GERARD BUTLER

This is the reason I would never laminate my list. King Leonidas had to be added, especially after seeing him in PS I Love You with my friend, Jeffrey.



HONORABLE MENTION

STEVE IRWIN, aka THE CROCODILE HUNTER

Okay, I know he's no longer with us, but still...

Now and always, Steve-o!


So there you have it. And now I propose a new list. A list of those that you would probably add to your List, if you weren't just the slightest bit embarrassed about it. Any takers?

Weekend Exposure Catch Up

After posting my first "Weekend Exposure" picture, I started looking at the past 3 questions and decided I wanted to answer those, too. So here they are:

What are you currently daydreaming?

What is your most indulgent texture?

What is your favorite book?

Weekend Exposure: What do you appreciate most about America?

My friend at work told me about this project, and I thought it sounded really interesting, even if it just gives me a little introspection. I'd love to hear if any of you join in the fun. At any rate, here you have it.


My answer can be found here.

I am an Official Tabbal

Over the Labor Day weekend we went to my inlaws' house to move their big screen TV from their living room to their family room. They were going to try to move it themselves, but we're not talking about the new fangled 50 lb. numbers. No, this is the kind of big screen TV that we all wanted when we were younger. You know, the first one ever invented, so it's really big and really heavy? And let's face it, the inlaws' aren't getting any younger, so we took pity on the old folk and went to move it for them.

After disassembling it into two "oh, my GOD this is heavy!" pieces rather than one "call 911, I think I just had an aneurysm" piece, and after assuring my father in law that I could lift it (my husband didn't marry some pansy princess!!), Trav and I started moving it into position to get it down the stairs.

Their house is arranged in a split level fashion, which wouldn't be so bad, except right in front of the stairs leading into the basement, there's a closet, so in order to move stuff down the stairs, the object in question has to be just the right size and just the right shape and you have to be able to do some fancy manuvering. We were in the midst of this delicate little dance with the behemouth of all TV screens when my father in law made a comment that warmed my heart and made me realize that I had arrived.

But first a word about my father in law's feelings toward his TV: it is generally assumed that Lori and Dennis Tabbal have only 5 children. This would be a completely inaccurate statement. They have two sons, three daughters, and one Big Screen TV. Guess which one is the favorite child? My mother in law's dream retirement is to buy an RV and spend a month at one of her children's homes, then move the whole production to the next kid's house and so on and so forth so she can see her whole fam without having to leave all her personal space behind. This dream will never be realized because the TV will not fit into an RV. I think the TV is actually willed all the good stuff in my father in law's estate plan. The rest of us get to split the debt and the "filing system."

So I'm trying to manuver Stevie the TV down the stairs, my father in law intently watching, a worried expression on his face. Then he tried to take my place going down the stairs. I had to reassure him that I could do it, that it was not too heavy, but rather just awkward, and that I'd be fine to carry it. And then he said it:

"Well...okay. But you be careful. I can replace the TV."

Travis nearly dropped the TV, my mother in law's jaw dropped, and I damn near cried.

Better Late Than Never - Pictures of Our Walker

As promised (months ago), here are some pictures of our little guy:

The day after the big arrival. Isn't he PERFECT!!

3 months old - Walker in his cute little blessing outfit that took me forever to find. God forbid I don't want my son in a dress!!!

I had to put the kibosh on the hat. What, are we suddenly Amish??

Walker giving Daddy "The Look." He hated tummy time and was very bitter that we were making him suffer the indignity.

Walker and his week older cousin, Connor. Can you just die over the cute hair on that little guy?!?

"Grandpa thinks I'm napping...hee hee hee."

Six months and all smiles...once I took his shoes off.

How Deep Doth My Paranoia Run?

This morning I was sitting at my desk, trying to talk myself into working when really all I wanted to do was go home, take a nap and play with the baby, when the phone rings. It was Chris, my stay-at-home-daddy brother-in-law that watches Walker for us while we toil in hell. Instantly my heart plunged into my stomach. What was wrong? Had the baby rolled off the bed? Had the girls shoved a pencil up his nose to see if he could write with it up there? What was wrong? DEAR GOD, PROTECT MY BABY!!!

So I answered the phone to hear a very somber sounding Chris:

Chris: "So I was feeding the baby and he started making this really weird noise."

My Mind: "Oh, no! Not throwing up again? What am I doing wrong!?! Why can't he go a whole month without projectile vomit? I'm a terrible mother! I've only been at this 6 months and already I'm unfit!!"

Me: "Yeah...?"

Chris: "So I looked down thinking 'what are you doing??'"

My Mind: "...and you found that not only had he barfed, but it was pure blood barf! There's something wrong with my baby!!! I'm on my way! HOLD ON, SON, MOMMY'S COMING!!!"

Me: "Uh-huh."

Chris: "And rather than eating, he was blowing air back through the nipple and blowing bubbles in his formula."

How cute is my kid? And how psycho am I!!

Updates and Such

Okay, so I suck at keeping up with my blog. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm a blogging failure? Cause you'd be right! And I've got nothing for excuses, other than they want me to actually work when I'm here (something about earning my paycheck), and at home I have an adorable baby and husband to attend to. So there you have it. Weak excuses, I know, but it's all I've got.

So Walker's tummy is continuing to be a pain in our collective asses. He's stopped the marathon pooping, though, but has now progressed into the occasional vomitting episode. Not just spit up, mind you. I'm talking full Exorcist pea soup projectile puking. Poor little thing. Though it really doesn't seem to bother him in the least. He barfs and then goes back to whatever little game he was playing before he evacuated his stomach. And it's not all the time. Just once a week-ish. And they weren't back to back. We did have a couple of weeks there where there were no delicate tummy issues. The doctor seems to think that he's just caught the stomach flu and is having a hard time getting rid of it. I'm hoping that's all it is.

On the up swing, he laughs all the time now and has mastered rolling from his tummy to his back, though back to tummy still remains elusive. I, personally, am of the opinion that he is resisting this feat because he can't see as much on his tummy as he can on his back, and he's a snoopy little thing. I'm not really sure where he gets that from. Must be from his father.

Trav's little sister got married in June, so Walker got a chance to meet his cousin from Alaska, who's merely one week older than him. I love that they're so close in age, though I wish Taya, Brian and Connor lived closer. Connor's cute as hell, though. And he's got more hair than I've seen on most adults, let alone a baby!! He's a little screamer, too. While Walker's been focusing on his physical development, Connor's been learning the intricacies of speech. Funny thing is that as soon as they had gone home to Alaska, Walker started screaming and Connor started rolling. Maybe it's better that they live so far apart!! If they're already playing off of one another in their babyhood, I'd hate to see them in their adolescence.

At any rate, I've got tons of pictures, so look for those coming soon to a blog near you.

The Joys of Motherhood

Walker's sick. And not just "Sniff, sniff, I have a cold" sick. I mean the four diapers in one changing, you'd better be quick on the draw, multiple clothing changes for he and I sick. Poor little thing!! Last night he was up all night, pooping and eye rubbing, and just when I'd get him to sleep, he'd poop again and we'd have to start all over again.

So needless to say, I wasn't in the greatest of moods this morning when I felt his little body wriggling next to me in bed. Yes, I was letting him sleep in the bed with us and I don't want to hear it! It was the only way I could get him to sleep and if he was asleep, then I could be asleep and that was really the goal there: Daddy, Mommy and Walker all asleep at the same time. So Travis got up with him this time, changed him, fed him, and tried to play with him, but Walker wanted none of it. He fussed and then the fussing turned into crying and by then I was awake, so I figured what the hell, I was supposed to be up a half hour ago, so I'll just get up.

And as soon as he saw me, Walker stopped crying and broke into the sweetest, brightest, amazing smile. So, of course, my heart melted and suddenly the fatigue was okay. And when I bent down to talk to him, the smile got bigger and open mouthed and he giggled. GIGGLED! As if to say "hey, Mom, all that stuff last night? No hard feelings, 'kay?" And there weren't.

Lamentations of a Working Mommy

Last week I returned to work after three blissful months at home with my beautiful new son. Being at home alone with your first child is trying. The first day Travis had to return to work and I was officially on my own, I cried most of the day. I felt lonely and inadequate and very, very scared. Not that I didn't know how to care for an infant. I've done my fair share of sitting and nannying. But then I could defer to the parent when an important decision needed to be made. And if it's the wrong decision, well Damn The Man, baby. Wasn't my idea to do it that way. But now I am The Man. I am the one to whom people consult to make decisions on how to care for this perfect little baby. I am the one that has the potential to make or break the foundation on which this life will be built. How freakin' terrifying is that?!

And a newborn isn't exactly a sparkling conversationalist, so I longed for another adult to sit and chat with. Travis would come home for lunch and then at the end of the day, and I would talk from the moment his shoes hit the back hall Pergo until he closed the bathroom door for some privacy. And then I'd start up again when the door opened, before the toilet even finished flushing because I'd been hovering outside, waiting very impatiently for him to listen to my reports about how many naps were taken, how much formula was consumed and how many diapers were changed. I'd ramble on and on, all the while Travis just looking for five minutes of solace and quiet at the end of a long day at the office. The man deserves an award, I'm telling you, cause I'da punched me in the beak.

So I thought the adjustment of coming back to work would be a relatively easy one. I'd have the best of both worlds. I'd get to hang out with my friends at work (and maybe do a little work here and there) and then come home to spend quality time with Walker. Oh, how misguided was I?! My first day back, it was reported to me, Walker cried most of the day. And the separation anxiety was torture on me, as well. Since then Walker's done really well. He loves spending the days with Uncle Chris and the girls and even seems to enjoy Sofi, the Chihuahua's, company.

For me, however, it's gotten progressively worse. I thought that the first day would be the worst, but then it would get easier. Not true, my friend. The second day I cried the whole way home, and I could see the thought running through Travis' mind: "increase your Zoloft, increase your Zoloft." When I originally thought of the eight hours I put in at work, I neglected to take into consideration my lunch hour and then an hour travel time each way. I'm away from my baby almost twelve hours every day! And when we finally do pull into the garage and I throw myself out of the barely stopped car and run across the driveway to my sister's house to fetch him, I have to share our time together with Travis. Now, I know he misses the baby as much as I do. But I've gone from 24/7 to 4 hours if I'm lucky. I want to bogart.

Anymore a woman is crucified for wanting to stay home with her kids. She's looked at as only a mother. Yeah. Cause raising the next generation of humans is cake compared to building a career that ends with a cheap gold watch. Raising my children is all I want. I felt lonely at home with only the baby to keep me company, but I feel more alone here at work, surrounded by people, without my son. He was with me every minute of every day for 11 months. To suddenly be separated from him is almost unbearable. I want to have tummy time and spit up on my shirt. I want to fold laundry and change dirty bums. I want to clean the house and make dinner for my husband. I want to teach my son to clap and hold things in his hands.

Call me provincial or old fashioned. I don't care. It's far more important to me to be with my son than anything else in the world. We do have a plan to make that happen. I keep telling myself that this arrangement is only temporary. That, even if it's a year, we'll pay things off and I'll be able to stay home. Until then I'll just plaster the walls of my office with pictures of Walker and wait, though impatiently, for the day to arrive when I can quit and be a full time mommy again.

Triumphant Return to Blogging

So I haven't blogged in ages. I have no excuse, except that I got busy having a baby and, really, who reads this thing anyway? Being on maternity leave for the last three months I became very remiss in my blog reading obsession. Now that I'm back at work, though, I've used my down time to catch up on my usual sites, and even added a new one that, so far, has proved interesting.

I love reading blogs. I, like Crazy Aunt Purl, am a blog stalker. Something about being invited to snoop into other people's lives appeals to me. Makes my natural born "curiosity" feel a little less wrong, a little less dirty. I read blogs of my friends to catch up on what's happening in their lives and to stay in contact with them. And then I have my AnonoBlogs. You know, the blogs written by people I've never met, never will meet, but I love to read them anyway. My favorite is Dooce.com. I may not always agree with the things she says, but she's entertaining and insightful and always there. That's the best part. The "always there" part. There's something comforting in knowing that my day at work can be broken up by five minutes of blog-reading here and there.

Lately, though, I've found myself being very jealous of the throng of Mommy Bloggers out there who have made their blogs their jobs. Not that I find anything wrong with that at all. Quite the opposite, really. I love that there are people out there who make money from sharing their thoughts and ideas online. Seems no different to me than reading an article in a newspaper.

With the recent necessity of having to return to work after having my adorable baby, I've got a burning desire to become one of them. How exactly do these people break into the career field as a professional blogger? I mean, is there a BS of Blogging out there I need to obtain? Does one need to sleep with the Blogging Boss to get ahead in the Blogosphere? 'Cause at this point, I'm ready to take one for the team on this one.

Alas, I think the world of professional blogging will be forever closed to me. I will continue to blog, though. My words may not find a home. They may float out into the abyss and fade away, but I will have found an outlet. And really, that's what it's all about, this Hokey Pokey of life called blogging.

The Little Fabric Tree

So this morning I was reading this article. And no, I'm not going to go into another rant on my thoughts and feelings on polygamy. What I'm thinking is this: how many of us as children, or even adults, for that matter, would be satisfied with the Christmases the author so fondly describes? I mean, a homemade doll and a pair of new shoes as opposed to an iPod for everyone and months and months of debt?

But it made me think of my husband telling me about his fondest Christmas. His family was living in St. George at the time, I think, and didn't have a penny to their name. There was no money for food or electricity, let alone a Christmas tree with presents piled all around. Trav and his siblings put lights on a small, tabletop fabric Christmas tree his mother had made and decorated it the way you would a full blown 9 foot tall tree from the lot. Then he and his sister (the only two kids old enough to work at the time) pooled their money, went to the store and bought five dollar presents so the other kids would have something to open on Christmas Day.

I've never had a Christmas like that. When I originally heard Travis and his siblings remembering that Christmas, my heart just bled for all of them, particularly my parents-in-law. I can only imagine how they must have felt wanting to give their children the world but having to tell them that Santa won't be coming this year, oh, and PS no Christmas dinner either. Even though the circumstances are totally out of your control (ie layoffs, medical problems, etc), that would kill a parent.

But instead of focusing on the sad, depressing part of the circumstance, they ended up having the best Christmas in my husband's memory. He never talks about that time as being miserable, but rather about how they all came together as a family and made the best out of a crappy situation. He remembers playing board games and chatting with his family rather than sitting around watching football or the millionth showing of A Christmas Story or It's a Wonderful Life. And now I think of how proud his parents must be that their kids actually got the point, even at a young age. I hope I can instill that in our child.

My mother in law made all of us a fabric Christmas tree for our table top and it's the only decoration that Travis really gets excited about. It's not that he's a full blown Grinch (though "the term 'Grinchy' may apply when Christmas cheer's in short supply"), but I think it's the one thing that doesn't seem so...commercial to him. I think that, though he'd never admit it lest he lose Man Points, it reminds him of the true meaning of Christmas and I frequently catch him looking nostalgically at our table with the little fabric tree and remembering his favorite Christmas ever.

Coming to a Sad Realization

Last night I listened to the baby's heart beat with our rented doppler monitor (worth every penny) and counting the beats, making sure the baby was okay. Why, you ask? Since I began feeling him move a few weeks ago, I've been religiously paying attention to when he wiggles and when he doesn't. Usually, if I'm laying down trying to relax, he's up and ready to play. Which is fine with me, since I love feeling him move and he's still small enough that the kicks are cute rather than painful or obnoxious. For the past few nights, though, when I'm laying in bed waiting to drift off, he seems to be peacefully sleeping, because he's no longer kicking me furiously.

So I was just sure there was a problem. Hence the counting of the heartbeat and listening for anything abnormal. 'Cause if I actually HEARD anything abnormal, I'd be able to identify it right away. You know, because of all those pregnancy books I have.

This morning, as I was leaving for work, Trav put his arms around me and started talking to my belly to say good morning to the baby (an adorable little ritual that began a week or two ago after Travis felt the first definite movement). This time, though, rather than just the "Good morning, baby! Be good! Daddy loves you!" that usually accompanies this bonding between father and son, there was this little gem: "And make sure you kick Mommy a lot, 'cause she worries. Now you and I both know that there's nothing to worry about, but she can't help it. So really kick today, okay?"

And that's when it hit me: in 16 short weeks, I am going to be outnumbered in this house and they're already plotting against me.

It's a boy!

Travis and I found out a few weeks ago that we're having a little boy. We are so excited! Not that we wouldn't have been just as happy with a little girl. I've had a lot of people saying "oh, aren't you SO glad to be having a boy first!?" or "I would much rather have a boy than a girl!" Personally, I'm just glad we're able to have one that's healthy. I ceased being picky as soon as the first pregnancy went south. Healthy became my only priority. But so far it looks like we're on track: the integrated screening came back completely normal, and his spine has closed beautifully (according to an ultrasound tech).


We go in next week for our "medical ultrasound," which will check the baby's organs to be sure they all developed correctly. This will be our 7th ultrasound. Someone was saying "you're so lucky! I wish I had gotten to see the baby that often." I thought "yeah, lose one and then have some jacked up, bizarre pregnant but not situation and they'll pretty much give you as many as you want." I have to admit, though, it has been fun seeing the baby so much. I love watching how much he's grown and changed. It's fascinating to me how it all progresses from a little blob to a little person. So much so that two of the ultrasounds were at Fetal Fotos because I just couldn't wait to find out what he was. The first time he was cooperative, but his umbilical cord was not. The second time he was more than happy to let us see that he was, in fact, a boy. It was so clear that both Travis and I, who can rarely pick out the baby in the Magic Eye picture (think Rachel on Friends), could CLEARLY see that he was a he before the tech even said "well, we definitely have a boy here!"

I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I find myself being obsessive about the pregnancy, the baby, etc. There are two other women here at work who are pregnant and they seem to be able to function in society without making everything about crib sets and fetal development. I asked one of the other Preggies how far along she was (which was a total rouse...I know full well she's a little over 8 weeks ahead of me, but I had to bring up my new obsession somehow) and she had to stop and think about it. THINK ABOUT IT!! I can tell you practically down to the millisecond how far along I am: 19 weeks, 2 days, 16 hours, 41 minutes. Okay, so I made up everything but the hours and minutes. But I'm just saying! You had to pause and think?! I can't WAIT for Wednesdays to roll around so I can get on babycenter.com and see where the baby's development is now or get out one of my 5 pregnancy books (didn't even buy a-one...4 given to me, completely unsolicited, and one borrowed) to see what's happening and what there is to pay attention for.



Apparently I should be able to feel the baby moving consistently soon. I say consistently because for several weeks now I think I've been feeling him. Every now and again I feel like there is a little bubble popping in my stomach. Rumor has it that's probably the baby, but who knows? I have no idea what I'm supposed to be feeling for. But I can definitely feel the results of his movements. Suddenly I'll have to rush to the ladies room because he's shifted onto my bladder (thank heaven he can still shift off), or I'll feel a little lopsided because there's pressure in the left side of my abdomen and 10 minutes later, he's all on my right side. I figure those are all very good indicators that I'll feel his little movements all the time very soon.

16 weeks!

Today we're officially 4 months pregnant! Honestly, I never thought we'd make it this far, but I'm SO excited we have!

Yesterday we made our first pilgrimage to Fetal Fotos to see if they could determine the baby's gender. Baby was actually quite cooporative and was in "the perfect position to find the sex." Unfortunately, the umbilical cord was not nearly as cooporative. After a half an hour of rolling onto one side or another, jiggling my belly and generally irritating the baby to see if it would kick the cord out of the way, we had to admit defeat. Fortunately the wonderful rad tech at Fetal Fotos gave us a voucher to come back in a week and try again.

So was I disappointed? Not really! No opportunity to see the baby could ever possibly be disappointing to me! We saw it's little spine very clearly and even got to watch it swallow some amniotic fluid (eew!!). It rubbed it's tiny face with a miniature fist, and kicked it's little feet. I found it very exciting. And now we get to do it again next week! Woo hoo!!

On the way home I started wondering which I would prefer. I came to the conclusion that I'm not really lying when I say either would be fine with me. I think of all the perks of having a little girl and get giddy with excitement. Then I think of all the bonuses that would come with a son and can hardly wait. The only downside to this attitude is that if it's a boy, I'll be a little bit bummed that it's not a girl and if it's a girl, I'll think of all the things I'll miss out on if it had been a boy. There's just no pleasing me!! But I have to just keep remembering that we have every intention of having more than one, so I don't need to have everything at once.

These days I can feel my uterus, which is kinda weird. I feel like I swallowed a volleyball that got stuck three quarters of the way through! But I figure that means I'm mere moments away from feeling the little alien move in me, which will be completely surreal. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's gotta feel like that scene from Alien when the baby alien tears out of that guy's stomach. But it will be OUR alien, so I think that'll make it all worth it!

So at long last and after much ado....

I'm PREGNANT!!!

When we found out we were pregnant...again...the doctor ordered an ultrasound to make sure that we didn't have another "pregnant but not" situation. The ultrasound tech had the personality of a wet mop and argued about "what exactly does your doctor hope to see???" How about a viable pregnancy, Witch Woman?!??! Now look in my tummy! She was much nicer once she saw Travis' and my reaction. She even printed the above picture for us, which now we kind of chuckle at. The yolk sac is bigger than the baby! But a baby was there, none the less, with a heart rate of 114...MUCH better than the first time. We were cautiously optimistic.

It was this ultrasound I was dreading, because this was the point during the first pregnancy when there was nothing there. But our blob had grown and the heartbeat was still present and accounted for!! The doctor didn't have a guage to see what the exact heart rate was, but she estimated that it was going at "at least 150 beats per minute." This was also the ultrasound that earned the baby the nickname "Blobbie." Okay, yeah, not really nice. But, come on. It's a little blob! A damned cute blob, if I do say so myself.

I found online after this ultrasound that once you've seen a strong heart beat (which we didn't the first time), then your chances of miscarriage go down to 2%. I don't know if that's true, but it made me feel better, so I ran with it.

This is our baby during a completely unexpected ultrasound. I was having the integrated screening to rule out a myriad of different birth defects and thought I was only getting blood drawn. Poor Travis wasn't even there. The point of getting this ultrasound was to look at the fluid on the back of the baby's neck to rule out Down's syndrome. Stubborn little thing woudn't roll over, though. So they looked every way they could, jiggling my tummy (that'll make you feel pretty) to get it to change positions, and it would just wiggle around disgustedly and settle right back into it's soft little spot on my cervix. Okay, so I don't know that it was disgusted, but since I'm growing it, I get to apply little personalities to it. And let's face it: it's a Walker-Tabbal hybrid. Trust me, it's stubborn. Heart rate at this appointment was 162. So far so good!

And now we're at 14 weeks. Sadly, no new ultrasound pictures. In lieu of pictures, though, we've rented a fetal doppler and can listen to the heart beat whenever we want, provided, of course, that our stubborn little one will move out from behind my placenta and then hold still long enough for me to find it!

Memories of my Gram

So my Grandma died late Sunday night (or really early Monday morning, depending on how you look at it). I'm bummed, though I know it's what she wanted. She was 94 and had outlived her husband, many of her siblings and friends, and one of her children. She was ready to go.

I'm supposed to speak at the funeral on Friday, which I am honored to do, but I'm afraid I won't do her justice, or tell really inappropriate stories (ie the time Gram saw Travis naked). So I figured I'd brainstorm here and see what I could remember and what might be good for the service.

My Gram was a hip old bird. I was the only high school senior who didn't have a boyfriend, but who's 82 year old grandma had two. She liked to play the field. :) She always was ahead of her time, though. When she and my grandpa got married, it was illegal to be a female teacher and be married, so they lived apart for several years, pretending she was still single. I think it was only her pregnancy with my father that blew their cover.

Grandma was never happier than when she was with her family. As long as I can remember we had Sunday dinners at her house. She would slave all day long cooking for us and would refuse to let anyone else help her. We kids would play in her living room, lining up the footstools and jumping from one to the other until it was time to eat. Then we'd eat and chat, the adults talking about the events of the past week and reminiscing and us kids fighting over the black olives, putting them on our fingers and pretending to have black witch's nails.

I remember when I was little Gram would read to me on the old green couch in her living room. We'd read certain literary masterpieces over and over again like "Stand Back," Said the Elephant "I'm Going to Sneeze." And at one point we had a children's song book and I would make her sing "Skip to My Lou" over and over as I danced around her living room. And she never once complained, though the monotony must have driven her insane.

She was the picture perfect grandma. She always had some kind of treat around, even if it was just some frosting leftover from a cake spread between two saltine crackers. Every morning before school my sister and I would go to Gram's house for Cocoa Puffs and Mr. Gadget. After school it was Channel One and MathNet and playing outside while she worked in her garden. Wednesday nights were my parents' bowling nights, and we'd go to Grandma's, eat dinner with Uncle Niel, Aunt Cec and Gram, and watch Perfect Strangers on TV. I literally cannot remember one day of my childhood without Gram.

I remember one summer my dad was remodeling Gram's bathroom, Grandma wasn't home and Dad got some wild idea to smash out two walls and make Gram's front entry way lead into the family room as well as the living room. He handed me a hammer and said "Hey, go smash out that wall, will ya?" I guess I must have looked at him like he was insane, because he said "She's not gonna kill YOU." So I knocked it down and when Gram came home, she just looked at it for a minute and then went on to tell us all about the ADK meeting she had just been to. It was like she expected nothing less after raising three boys than to come home to find her house in a shambles.

She was SO generous, too, not just with her time, but with her money as well. She would go on vacation for a month or two and "hire" me as the dog sitter. This basically amounted to me hanging out at her house, free to munch on the treats she would leave, watch TV, having sleepovers with my friends, and play with TK, her dog, letting her out every now and again. Gram would get home and pay me for what "work" I had done. Later, after high school, I would do her nails and when her checks were WAY more than any salon would have charged her, I was informed that it was her money to do with as she pleased.

She was always a quiet and calm spot in our lives. I remember one family trip to Disneyland when we got lost driving around and spent the next hour making each other crazy. Eventually we got to laughing about our respective roles in the car: Beth was the Frazzled Driver, Dad was the Questionable Navigator, Mom was the Backseat Driver, Connie was the Whiner, I was the Grump, Dustin was the Instigator, and Grandma was Switzerland, just watching patiently out the window, happy and enjoying the ride.

Gram was a short woman, so once we started growing, it was fun to stand next to her and tease her about how much taller we were and ask her if she was shrinking. She'd usually feign a disgusted look and poke us in the ribs.

Gram was a crazy driver. I can remember seeing someone run the stop sign at the fork in the road and hearing my mom go nuts saying "Who's the maniac! They should have their license revoked!" and then Gram would pass us and we'd all sit there in awe that my grandma was the maniac. I remember a few times when she'd go the wrong way down a one way road, or start to drive down the wrong side of a split highway. So when I turned 16 and got my licence, Gram would have me drive her around to places she needed to go. I loved it because I could drive with an adult who wouldn't back seat drive and even if she did, I was confident that I was still the better driver in the car.

My own pathetic delusions of grandeur

Ah, the joys of trying to reproduce and the mysteries of the female body. For about a week at the end of March, I thought I was pregnant again. After the miscarriage in January, my doctor thought it would be prudent to check my hormone levels with the new pregnancy to be sure that they were rising at the proper rate. Unfortunately they were not, and she thought that we probably had an ectopic pregnancy. After much ado, including having my blood drawn five times in one week and an ultrasound by a radiologist who should NEVER be allowed near a vagina ever again, they decided that there were some cells making up a non-viable pregnancy somewhere in my person, though not in my uterus, and that I would need a few shots of chemotherapy to kill the cells and make sure that they didn't spontaneously start growing, potentially rendering my infertile, if not kill me. And since death was not on my to do list, I figured, okay, let's get the shots.

My own personal opinion was that I was not actually pregnant again, but rather that there were a few leftover "pregnancy cells" that didn't get removed in the D&C and were still wreaking havoc with my hormone levels. Alas, no. The doctor assured me Friday that, after the miscarriage, I had gotten "pregnant again, but not." You'll notice the quotes around that last statement. That's a direct quote from a medical professional. "Pregnant again, but not."

How the hell does THAT work? you may be asking yourself. It was a question that sprang from my mouth before I found a nice, tactful way of saying "what the fuck?!?!?" Apparently I'm a medical anomaly. She said that what probably happened was that an egg was fertilized, but never attached anywhere in my body, but also never left the body, so it just floated off into the abyss that is my abdominal region. It was fertilized, thus pregnant, but since it never attached, not.

Huh. Okay then. So I asked if this was considered another miscarriage. Nope. Pregnant, but not. The whole situation made me feel strangely happy. If it never attached, I was never pregnant, therefore I'm not confirmed broken yet, and hopefully we can continue on to have a happy healthy baby one day soon.

During the whole Pregnant But Not Pregnancy Extravaganza, I became somewhat of a regular with the phlebotomists in the lab. After the 5 Draw Week, the chemo shots, and the subsequent blood work that confirmed the hormone levels were dropping (two draws that week, once in Phoenix), the doctor wanted to monitor the numbers to be sure they continue to drop, so I've had to go in once a week to have blood taken. Friday after my appointment I stopped in for my weekly visit. Tuesday morning's been my usual vist time, but last week it just didn't fit into the old schedule. So Friday afternoon, I stopped in to find a whole new staff works in the afternoons. Okay, no worries. I'm sure they're capable folk. But here's the alarming part. When the gal called my name, she said "oh, we were wondering if you were coming in this week!" Then two other phlebotomists, two that I had also never seen before, poked their heads into the room to take a look. Then they all looked at one another as if to say "Oh, so THIS is that Tabbal woman who's in here ALL THE TIME."

What the hell?!?! Have I become some kind of Phlebotomist's nightmare? I've now gained a spot in Hypochondria Folklore?! And then this morning when I called to get the results of my test, the office voicemail system no longer has the option to speak to the nurse. Have I been driving them all so crazy that they have altered office protocol in a vain attempt to avoid me? Have I become that woman, the one that you dread seeing walk through the doors of your office? The one that causes all employees to scatter like roaches when the light turns on?

I feel like going into their office yelling "I'm NOT crazy!!! I'm pregnant, but not! My hormones are all over the board!" 'Cause THAT wouldn't make them think I'm nuts.