2012: The Year in Review

It's hard to remember where I was last year, because this year has changed so much. We started out the year in such turmoil, I could never imagine that the year would end on such a happy note. We started out 2012 in an apartment with a roommate that was terrible, with a tenuous financial relationship. Matt was still, after six years, with the grocery store job he'd gotten in high school, barely making more than minimum wage when the store was asking more and more responsibility of him. I was watching an apartment full of children that I adored, but we were on the verge of losing two of those kids as they were moving and we had no clue how we were going to be okay in the face of that. Meanwhile, we were planning a wedding that was looking more and more like it would never be the dream wedding I wanted, and I was privately reflecting on fertility and trying to find the words to broach the question, "Can I even have children?" with Matt, figuring out how to find out the answers when we had no spare money and no medical insurance for me, and what a difficult answer might bring us.

And the year went on, and we found ourselves somehow thrown upon the waves. Sure enough, those kids did move, but at the very same time a friend mentioned his sister had two kids and desperately needed day care for them, so I was able to fill the spot and we could pay our bills. Matt went back to school, I started a business that ultimately failed but allowed me to get in touch with a woman whose husband had connections and could put Matt's name out in the medical field. Our apartment situation got even more full of drama and uncertain, but we were able to get away from that terrible apartment and the terrible roommate and move in with a really awesome couple who was renting out their room just as that connection paid off and Matt was hired to actually use the nursing license he's had for five years. As he began getting paid a living wage, I was able to stop watching children without it completely ruining our lives, he was in a position where we could get and afford health insurance.

And then I found out I was pregnant. Late July was the most intense moment of the year, for sure. Getting pregnant was the last thing I thought would happen in 2012, because let's face it. We're told our whole lives that we should be so careful with sex because pregnancy can happen so easily. It should be effortless to do it on purpose, right? Sure enough, I watched as one friend got pregnant twice while on birth control. Babies were springing up all around me, and it seemed like many of them from people who had been actively trying to prevent pregnancy. So why, after four years of irresponsible behavior and not really preventing, was I left without a child, caring for other people's children. It hurt, even though I tried my best in early 2012 to tell myself that possible infertility was likely the best thing for us because it didn't seem like we would ever be financially stable, even though I was doing well in school and Matt was starting to take the first steps to change where he was as well.

It was kind of a pathetic form of denial, really. It just felt easier to tell myself that our home was not one for children than to accept the fact that this thing I'd always wanted - motherhood - was never going to happen. But then it did, and with it came the next hurdle of making sure it didn't slip away. The stress of all of the medical facts against me, my own doubt over my body's capability to do what it should do, and the depression I've had since childhood started to build and my first trimester should have been so happy, so joyful, but it was so hard instead. We take that and we add it to the fact that I felt like a complete douchebag for being pregnant in the house of a woman who expressed to me she was having trouble conceiving and had experienced a loss, and feeling on the evil side of that unfairness.

I didn't feel the joy that I think I should have. My doctors could sense it too. "Is the pregnancy wanted?" I was asked with concern from each of the providers I saw. My dad asked me. Friends asked me. I asked me, and I felt awful for it. So I started therapy because I knew that more than anything in the world, this baby was wanted, but I didn't feel it was deserved. I still struggle with that flood of worthlessness and guilt.

Eventually, it got better, to the point where now we're at the end of 2012, and the last 11 weeks of my pregnancy. I feel joy and excitement the way I think I should be, I feel more attached to the baby within than I did a few months ago. Maybe that was just a way to protect myself, in case the doctors I saw a few years ago were right and I wasn't able to carry a baby to viability without miscarrying, in case I woke up and it was all just a dream anyway and we were still in a crappy apartment with crappy jobs and no hope in sight. We're standing at the curb to cross the street to 2013, moving into a townhouse with enough room for all three of us, the first time we'll be without roommates, financially able to provide for a child and pay the bills, the last year in my bachelor's degree to go for me, taking the steps into a life I had hoped for at the end of 2011, 2010, etc. but had never really thought it would be here so soon.

So now I guess I need to choose my resolutions, because that's what everyone does today.

First, I want to take more steps to ensure that my husband is aware of how proud of him I am. Second, I want to read more, because I feel that the quiet time I've spent with books has drastically reduced in the last few years. I spend too much time on the internet. I think I only read one new book in 2012. D: The shame! Third, I have a goal of keeping my A1C numbers under 7, taking better care of my blood sugar than I have the last few years. Finally, I want to get to the point where I can wean off my anti-depressants. I want to get to a point where I feel like I deserve to be joyful about the good things that are coming around, and shed these feelings of worthlessness that I can understand as irrational. Most of the items on this list are focused on taking care of me, and my mental health, and I think it's the best thing I can do for myself and my family in the coming year.

A Quiet Love

I am very in love with my husband, though we've fought hard to get here. Our relationship didn't have the easiest of starts. We met online, tried a long distance relationship by spending hours and hours talking late into the night. He took a cross country trip to spend a week with me, and it was wonderful. Of course it was wonderful, we were two people in love who were finally able to be together in person. The week didn't last long enough, and we decided that I would move from Oklahoma to Virginia to be with him. Five months later, I was transplanted.

And I promptly discovered all the tiny habits and details that I hadn't been exposed to or noticed during the week long visit. I didn't know about his terrible cleaning habits, the way he would become obsessed with something and the way our personalities would clash. You see, I am a person who for the most part prefers silence, but at times feels a driving need for conversation, to explore a thought, and to listen to someone else talk. My husband is someone who for the most part will talk about whatever is on his mind, and at times goes quiet and contemplative. These times never seem to match up quite right.

In those first two years that I lived with him, it was rough. We would fight as any couple does, but it all seemed so much heavier. Maybe it was because we had gone from "friends with sometimes risque phone conversations" to live-in partners and that is quite the large step, and maybe it was because I was suddenly 1400 miles from the safety of knowing where I was, having a job, having a family, and having a feeling that if things went south I could just leave. Every fight seemed to be a big deal, every tension was a deal breaker.

But somehow, the fights would ebb quickly, the problems and the struggles were overwhelmed by the sheer happiness and comfort that we brought each other. While there were times I threatened that it was over, set ultimatums, threw a large bottle of glue at him, there were more times when he would hold me during my struggles with depression, stayed at my side no matter how shitty of a human being I seemed to be, and genuinely understood and supported me in a way that no one else ever had. And we talked, and argued, and made up, and eventually something clicked and we both started to change in ways that I think made us even better for each other.

Monday night is New Years Eve. Five years ago, I spent it on the phone with him, playing Puzzle Pirates while we chatted, he exhausted from having come home from work and needing to go back in relatively early the next morning, and I getting drunker on cheap champagne as the minutes ticked by. I remember we talked about resolutions, as every one does on New Years, and I wondered, as I always do, what I would be doing on a New Years Eve five years from then.

I was sure, in love and happy at that moment, that I would be married to Matt, that he would be my first kiss of the New Year, and I hoped that in five years time that our little family would be even more than just he and I. And I sit here tonight, flipping through pictures of us in October of 2011, and what do you know, I was right.

We haven't had a perfect love story, and but what a story it has been. We're both still doing our best, and I'm snuggled here, thinking of my fantastic husband and the baby that is rolling and squirming away in my stomach, and oh my, oh my, I do believe I like our love the best.

Christmas Comforts

The heavy depression of the weekend appears to have subsided, and I'm starting to feel more grounded. I went out and picked up a couple of craft projects that I want to complete before we move, and I'm hoping that having that focus will further help to keep these unreasonable feelings at bay. I did find myself completely content at one point this morning when I woke up, stretched and Lorelai was already awake and moving around. I cherish those movements, the quiet way that she seems to remind me of the good things that await us.

We had a great Christmas dinner with my in-laws, and even indulging in some harvest cake with whipped cream, my sugar was under where it was supposed to be after dinner. Huzzah!

For Christmas, my in-laws gave us some gift cards, winter coats, and the usual little items like socks, hats, ketchup, ha ha. They also got us the changing table that matches the crib we got, and it's waiting out in the garage with the crib for when we move in two weeks. The night was hilarious as they got an RC helicopter that's controlled through an iPhone app, and Matt and his dad took turns trying to get it to fly around the living room. At first it wouldn't come up off the ground until Matt put it into expert mode to unlock the throttle, and got it to go across the room and turn back before it zoomed upwards into the ceiling. It ran out of battery life and needed to be charged right after that, and we relaxed and chatted, watched a bit of Top Gear, and then needed to cut out so I could make sure that my team assignment for class had been turned in. Happily, it had, and I got to snuggle up to Matt to go to sleep.

Double the flavor, double the fun

This morning I went a little overboard on my carbs for breakfast. I had a bowl of oatmeal with a banana sliced into it. If I had to guess, it was about 40 g of carbs. Within fifteen minutes of finishing breakfast, I felt the effects of a blood sugar spike, a light nagging headache. I probably should regret it, but nope.

My after-breakfast check came out to 155 (8.6). Now I'm relaxing, as best I can. This morning I was woken up by Braxton Hicks contractions so I've been taking it easy, knocking back water, and it's starting to subside. Lorelai is very active, so I've been singing to her while we wait for Matt to get home.

The next few days will be relatively busy. Today we're going to my in-laws for Christmas dinner and presents, then tomorrow Matt works in the morning and we'll spend the evening at his aunt's house for the family get together. He works Wednesday, but has off Thursday and we've got a date night planned. We're going to see Hotel Translyvania at the Byrd and eat sweet potato fries at Burger King. Ha ha. Aren't we a fancy bunch?

Hopefullly December will sweep itself out the door quickly and quietly. On the 2nd I have a Centering appointment and on the 4th we have an ultrasound to check up on Miss Lorelai's measurements. On the 8th we move.

Swag

Today we went out and bought two more diaper covers for our stash, and came home to a package on the doorstep. I was in a crafting swap where the aim was to craft for each other's children. I made her son a crocheted shark zippered bag, stuffed with lots of little goodies, some constellation embroidered canvases that I'd seen on her pinterest, and sent along some locally made candies from For the Love of Chocolate as a treat for her. By the way, never embroidering canvas again, my fingertips were raw for a full day afterward. Ha ha. Hopefully she loved them, though.

The package she sent me completely put me to shame, though. I'm completely blown away by her thoughtfulness and generosity. <3 She sent a painted plaque, painted photo frames, a framed Dr. Seuss/Dr. Who mashup picture she printed out, and a pair of little felt booties that are really completely adorable.

TARDIS plaque

The frame is painted in metallic blue!

I put pictures of my sisters and brother in the frames so that Lorelai can be watched over by her aunts and uncle. :3

Aren't these too precious?

The painting she did on the frames and in the background of the TARDIS has glitter! So ridiculously pretty.

 I've been really stressed lately. I think it's mostly because I'm so deeply anticipating moving and it feels like time is moving too slow for me. I get frustrated and irritated when I'm looking forward to something and it seems like time is just dragging on. I'm really happy that my best friend and maybe my sister are going to be coming to Virginia to spend time with me when Lorelai is born. Having my spirits lifted by being able to see Jenn again when I haven't seen her in fucking YEARS will do wonders to help me not fret and gripe in the days before the birth.

Maybe.

Is it bad that I'm seriously looking forward to all the laundry I'm going to get to do when we move? That's honestly not even sarcastic. I've been eyeing the box of cloth diaper covers/prefolds/all in ones that I have:

and the clothes that we were given or have bought:

and it all is going to need to be pre-washed/prepped/washed the first time before I put it away. The clothes will need to be sorted and larger sizes put away in the closet. I need to get bins that I can label with the different sizes. Squee!!

These are the two new diaper covers we grabbed today, along with the comic books I picked up for myself. I'm kind of in love with the hippos one. Especially one little hippo with a little rubber ducky friend. <3

Digital Nesting

The apartments that we are moving into have an online interactive floorplan. I've been playing and playing and I think I have things how I want to put them when we move in. We'll have both mine and Matt's desks in the living room by the patio, and that will leave me enough room in our bedroom to put my little sewing table and sewing machine in the corner by the window by our dresser. :)

The desire to nest has been hitting me hard. I really can't wait until we're in the apartment so I can start doing all the washing of the clothes, diaper, putting up pictures, decorating, working on craft projects, omg I am getting so excited just thinking about it.

Why yes, I am a dork. Thank you for noticing.

So placenta, it's come to this.

Possibly because I've been complaining about women with gestational diabetes, my own placental insulin resistance seems to have kicked in. My sugar has been running high, and today I'm having some headaches come and go with it. It's finally time to up my insulin dosage, so tomorrow I'll try upping it by 2 units and see where that gets us.

On Wednesday we have the hospital tour at MCV and on Friday the world is supposed to end. If that doesn't work out then next week we have Christmas,  and in two weeks after that it's moving day.

I focused on all the exciting plans for the next four weeks today in therapy, as the center closes down over Christmas break and my therapist won't be back until the 14th. I do have an emergency number to another therapist in case I have a crisis while she's gone, but I don't anticipate it happening. We've looked at the progress I've made in the last few months and there is a noticeable improvement in the way that I have been able to cope with stressful situations.

I'm mostly hopeful and anticipatory for Wednesday right now. I'm trying to get together all the questions that I need to ask on the hospital tour. Does anyone have any ideas for me?

Green Eyed Monsters

Many of the women due in the same month as I am are taking their Glucose Tolerance Tests now. Two or three of the women in my Centering group have had theirs. I would be scheduled for one in the coming weeks but hey, already have the beetus. And as there are failures, some women are joining the ranks of the diabetic. It all culminates in a feeling like I want to lock these women away in the closet and never have to see their faces again, and I think it's just jealousy, plain and simple.

It's the complaining that I can't stand, mostly. Complaining that they have to watch what they eat or else they'll have to go on insulin (boo hoo, cry me a river that you don't have to do the injections right now. My lord, what a terrible world you live in.) They complain that they're 28-30 weeks along and say things like "ugh, I have to restrict what I eat for 12 weeks!?" Congratulations, you have three months of frustration and struggles ahead with food and your blood sugar. For women who are diabetic all on their own, it's for life. You have that baby, you can go back to grabbing chips and candy bars, pasta and potatoes. Yes, how awful to be forced by your doctor to prick your finger four times a day and eat healthy and count carbs for three months. That sort of a life is just terrrrrrrrible. Oh wait. That's my life.

It might not make me feel so bitter if it weren't for the fact that well, I feel very alone in this still. Matt doesn't need to take medication to eat, or watch what he eats, or be constantly aware of whereabouts his body chemistry is, and therefore he doesn't. I wouldn't expect him to, really. Although it would be nice if he was more aware of what he was eating, how much, etc. Even if he just kept a carb count and not restricted it to nutritional guidelines, it might be easier, but then again who knows? It might not. I might still feel alone because I'm the one that can't go for a long walk without being asked what my blood sugar is afterwards or if I ate a snack. I'm the one that can't eat potatoes or Ramen. I'm the one whose dietary needs means that we eat far less pasta, rolls, and only get certain kinds of bread.

Today Matt brought up his worries about Lorelai becoming diabetic. "We'll have to watch her blood sugar and be careful with what she eats," he fretted. I thought he meant right after the birth because I had mentioned a few days ago that children born to diabetics might have low blood sugar directly after birth. He said no, he meant overall because she was going to be genetically disposed to being diabetic.

So I guess it's not just me that worries that I've gifted my child with a time bomb that means that one day she's going to be the one that has to sit and deal with feelings that food is an unfortunate, tedious necessity, and be questioned about if she can do certain things or eat certain things, and if she ever has a child she may be at higher risk for GD, or she might have diabetes when she gets pregnant.

And I feel guilty for that, even though I'm not sure why, because I've been trying so hard to make sure that both she and I are as healthy as possible. But you can't argue with bad genetics.

Innocent Obsessions

I've been consumed lately with looking for ideas for toddler birthday parties. It started when a blog I followed posted dreamy Instagrammed images of her 2 year old's birthday party. I started browsing Instagram, Pinterest,, and blogs, daydreaming and planning, deconstructing, reconstructing, and generally being excited for plans of the future.

Today I asked Matt if he thought having an outdoor birthday party for Lorelai's first birthday sounded fun, and tried to start a conversation for ideas to have it. The park, perhaps, or the local playground? Rather than play along, he scoffed. "That's a long ways off. And looking back, my parents never really planned anything big. They got a cake, got together some friends, and I was happy."

What a buzzkill.

But I don't think there's any harm in dreaming and thinking on things like this, especially considering that a year ago I honestly didn't believe that Matt and I would have a biological family that was more than just the two of us. I never thought I could have this, the rolling and push in my stomach of a baby stretching and moving as she grows, or a reason to wonder what we would do for a first birthday.

Anxiety and decisions

My work history has been a colorful one, and one filled with stressful jobs. I suppose that when you're in a line of work that is not what you want or dream or aspire it to be, it would be stressful. Right out of high school, I worked with the elderly in nursing homes. I've driven 18-wheelers, stocked shelves at Target, in high school and when I needed to pick up cash quick I've worked fast food joints and grocery stores. Driving trucks really felt like what I wanted to do forever and ever and the best job in the entire world but it didn't work out when I was diagnosed with diabetes. It wouldn't have worked forever anyway, because I met Matt, fell in love, and a life on the road is not one that's the best for a relationship. Especially considering that the open road is not where Matt was heading or wanted to head.

So after driving was shut down, I was working in a day care, and then as a babysitter and found that I really and truly enjoyed working with children. From there, my options began to bloom. I could go into the day care field, as a teacher, get certifications with working with those age groups, or as an administrator and run my own facility. I could run a home day care, or teach. While preschool children were a delight and I loved working with toddlers, I really felt that teaching was the way to go. So I finally went back to school for a college degree, with my eye on teaching. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that science classes in middle school had always been my favorite, brought me a ton of delight, and I wanted to bring the same wonder and excitement to other kids. Besides, I genuinely liked middle schoolers. Preteens are so special, because they have big hearts and imaginations, and yet they are entering puberty, poised on that transition into adulthood that is their teenage years. They're funny in how they are both still so goofy and yet so serious, so dramatic, so full of life. I set my sights on that.

When I found out that getting a science degree would benefit me most in teaching older children because I could specialize and qualify better as an instructor, I realized that I would not be getting the student teaching experience that I would if I remained an education major. Worried that my classroom experience would be minimal and my first years as a teacher would suffer because of it, I decided to substitute, and here we are, having substituted three classes in the past few weeks.

I already blogged about my first day subbing but early in the next week I took a job in a middle school science class. How perfect, I thought! It was terrible. The kids were at best disrespectful. At worst, they were tiny terrors. Well, I say tiny. Many of the children were as tall or taller than I was. Now I know why my mom was always so offput when she had to lecture me while looking up at me. I left the school that day and walked home instead of taking Matt's offer of a ride. I said it was because the day was beautiful (it was) and the school was near to our house (it was) but I used the time to have a good ugly cry alone.

And then I was scared to take another job because maybe subbing wasn't for me, or maybe it was subbing inner city public schools, or maybe did this mean that I was never going to be an effective teacher and I was kidding myself? My self esteem took a big hit that day, and even more of one when the responses I got from friends about the hard day was "You just have to be firm and show the kids who is boss." In that classroom, I was firm. I called security, I sent kids to the office. I split up problem groups, I said "no" when I knew the requests were unreasonable, and I was unwaveringly firm in the things I expected. I even raised my voice a few times, not that it ever did any good.

I spent a week staring at sub job lists and not doing anything, and then I went in and talked in therapy about my awful day and my fears and anxiety over taking another job. And my therapist is great and talked a lot about how having a bad experience early on in something might keep me from ever having a good experience. Her advice seemed to be pointing to thinking that I should try again, and if it's awful, it's awful and that's okay to decide that it's not for me. So I took another job today. It was an elementary art class.

To say it was awful is somehow a strange understatement. I had four groups of kids for 45 minutes each. The first group was 2nd graders, and they weren't awful. There were a couple of problems but for the most part they acted just how I would expect seven year olds in the morning to act. They were terrible at cleaning up after themselves, and there were some problems sharing, but goodness, if I didn't expect that, I'd be crazy. They left and in came my pre-k class which started out well, and slowly progressed into madness. I told myself that they were just spirited, and prepared for the 3rd graders I was supposed to have. They ended up not coming, and I saw a note saying they had a field trip this week. I cherished the break, my blood sugar was dropping, and had lunch.

After lunch, I was set for first graders. And there is where my day, with only two groups left, utterly degraded in front of me. The boys in the class were violent, one girl continued to wander the room trying to get into the supplies that she and I both knew she was not allowed to touch. She tried to sneak paint onto paintbrushes and paint on the floor when she thought I wasn't looking. She tried to abscond with the sharp scissors meant for the older classes, and while I was trying to keep her out of those things and sitting down to the activities that was prepared for them, two groups of boys kept getting into altercations that were getting steadily worse. One boy kept pushing and shoving other students and then trying to sneak out of the classroom. Another boy was getting angry and grabbing classmates and throwing them to the ground, hard. I sat them in the time out area so I could call the office. I explained the situation and asked if I needed to send the boys up to the office. They told me they would send someone. That someone never came.

When the second boy got up and started throwing trash cans and chairs at me, I tried calling the office again, as well as their teacher. No answer from either. When he came at me and tried to deck me in the stomach, I caught his hand and went down on one knee while holding his fists at his side. He looked so angry so I tried to talk with him. He was completely unresponsive. I tried to call his parents because I was still getting no answer from the office, the teacher, and because the art room is in the basement, I couldn't call for help from a nearby teacher. The only teachers in the basement with me were the music teacher. From the echoes of the cacophony next door I knew that I would not be heard. The P.E. teacher didn't have a class right then and the gym was empty. I was utterly alone. Not one single child in that room was behaving well enough for me to feel I could send them to the office for help without them ditching. At one point the first young man I had problems with did indeed manage to slip out of the class and disappear for 20 minutes.

I was in tears by the time their teacher came. The anxiety had risen to a level that I was exhausted, completely out of patience, miserable, and cramping. I was stressed out and having Braxton Hicks, which just seemed to make everything so very awful. As the 1st graders left, the kindergarteners, my last group, were coming in. Their teacher assured me that they were a very good class.

However, as the hour progressed, they too got into fights. Splitting them up did no good, although they weren't nearly as violent and out of control as the group before them. I managed to get them to line up at the door, albeit a bit early, to wait for their teacher. When she arrived, I explained their behavior. She said they had been much worse than normal all day, and she thought it was because it was so close to Christmas break. The boy in that class that had been the one causing the most fights, unresponsive to me, and generally causing havok was a new student. "I've called his parents several times," the teacher confided in me, with a very unamused look on her face. "He's only been here for three. hours."

The teacher took her kids out and I cleaned up the art room. I got upstairs at 2:47 and found the office locked, I managed to get the attention of someone in there and they said that I wouldn't be allowed to sign out and leave until 2:55 when my shift should be over. Not really knowing what to do, I went into the auditorium to wait with teachers who were watching students who were being picked up by parents and family members to go home. At one point, someone said, "Are you the art sub?" and I said yes. They said, "You're supposed to be on the bus ramp to help control kids." How was I supposed to know? No one told me anything this morning, or this afternoon. There were no instructions about that from the teacher, only about her lesson plans.

I came home and took a nap. The sub line has called with job offers 6 times. I haven't answered, and I have no intentions of answering. Oh. Make that 7 times. Still not answering. I'm not sure I will take another job before winter break, and to tell the truth, I'm not sure I'll take another job after that either.

THE CLOTHES

A good friend of ours gave us a bin of baby clothes once we knew the sex of the baby, and I sorted and folded and they're waiting in a laundry basket for us to move into the new place so I can get them washed and put up. We got a call from my mother in law the other day after she and my FIL had visited family out of state that they had a trunk of baby clothes, bedding, bottles, and toys from one of Matt's cousins. We assured them we had a bin for storage and came over to look at it. My mother in law said, "I don't think your bin will be big enough." Well, we've got 2 20 gallon bins to use, so I thought she might have thought I was talking about one of the little baskets we were using in shelving units in our last apartment. Oh my. No, there is way too much for the bins we have.

Bags and bags of clothes, two full large shopping bags of bottles and nipples, a bottle dryer, a huge bag of bedding, and a bag of toys. I am going to need to send one hell of a thank you card to Matt's cousin! And for the most part, the clothes were all really cute. There was only one thing I really didn't like, which was a sweatshirt with glittery text on it. I am not a fan of glitter text. Ha ha. But I guess my mother in law also gave her a heads up on our gender-don't-mean-a-thang-here-are-the-things-we-think-are-cute attitude because there was a ton of dinosaur and elephant stuff in there. :3 So cute! The bedding set is farm animal, which won't really work in our Dr. Who nursery, so my MIL is going to keep it at her house for the crib that the end up getting for the baby there.

I'm already floored by the generosity of friends and family, and I don't think we'll have to buy any clothes for the first year of Lorelai's life, ha ha. I know my sister is already going through the clothes left over from my niece and as my mother in law said, "You're going to buried alive in clothes at the baby shower." Ha ha.

Since I may not really know a lot of the people at the shower, I asked my MIL if she'd make sure to jot down who was there, who brought what, and send me addresses so I could make sure everyone was thanked properly.

And as for today, there's only 100 days left until my due date. I hope time flies from here on out, though I have a feeling it might go by a little too fast for my taste once we get into the apartment and I'm so busy trying to get everything ready for our Baby Blastocyst!

IKEA

Today I was supposed to meet up with some other pregnant ladies due in March at the IKEA in Woodbridge, Virginia. I ended up sleeping in this morning and wound up at IKEA later than I thought I would be. The WiFi I picked up from a McDonald's wasn't going fast enough on my phone to load facebook so I caved and bought a month of data so I could try and get in touch with my fellow preggos and meet up. Only facebook wouldn't load on the network either. So I wandered around IKEA alone, thought about asking a few ladies who looked like they MIGHT be pregnant if they were in fact the people I was supposed to meet up with, chickened out, ate some Swedish meatballs and toast to keep my sugar from crashing and went shopping alone.

I saw on Pinterest where someone was using the Bekväm spice racks as book shelves. I much prefer book shelves for toddlers to have the front cover facing forward rather than the spine. I feel it's much easier for little hands to take and replace specific books with confidence as well as spot the books quickly. So I went looking for the racks, but alas at our IKEA they don't carry them and I can only order them online anyway. Blah.

I did pick up a couple of things for the nursery. I picked up the Lekplats play mat for $15

And the Rotera tea light lantern for $4.

I'm going to put an LED tealight in the lantern and put it on a shelf over the crib. The TARDIS has a light on the top in a lanternesque box so I wanted to get a lantern for nursery decor for a while and this seemed perfect. Plus, it looks like it will throw little stars out onto the ceiling when the tealight is lit inside.

So I spent about $20 at IKEA today, which was probably about the same amount as I spent in gas to get up there. Oh well. It was also overwhelming inside the store. I don't know if it's because I went on a Saturday afternoon that it was so packed or what, but I think if I ever need anything from IKEA, I'll be ordering online. I was experiencing major sensory overload with all the people there. Although there were some amazing ideas in the model rooms.

Strike a Pose

We had our ultrasound today to get the rest of the measurements we needed from our anatomy scan and everything looks great. The tech managed to get this profile shot for me and I don't know but from what I can see it looks like Lorelai will have her dad's nose. :D I'm just hoping that she won't have his terrible nosebleeds.

After the ultrasound, we went and picked up the Christmas present we're giving my in-laws and came home and I made tacos for lunch. I cut Matt's hair and we've enjoyed a mostly quiet day since then. I like quiet days.

Fight like Jackie Chan

This has been a pretty stressful week, all told. I'm noticing that it's affecting me in behaviors that are normally ones that I display off of medication when it's harder for me to cope. Mostly I get irritable and start picking fights with Matt. Not exactly the best behavior, and I'm working on it with therapy so that when I (hopefully!) am able to come off of medication and regulate my anxiety and depression myself, I won't be like this. Last night was especially bad, and we went to bed frustrated because he couldn't see why I was mad at him, and I couldn't see how he couldn't see that he was a braying jackass.

It started with a friend of ours losing her father on Thanksgiving Day. The mood was really pulled down, because we were grieving for our friend. After the craziness of Black Friday had subsided, we hadn't really heard from her until she invited us to the memorial service. Sometime before then, we realized quickly that for the first time, we hadn't been working together well for our budget.

When I moved in with him 4 years ago, Matt and I got a joint bank account. And a lot of our friends called us crazy, because we were really just getting serious in dating, and they knew plenty of married couples who fought over finances enough to need to keep their money separate. How could we possibly make this work? Well, it worked out pretty great, actually, We've never argued about money. We've always made decisions together about what to spend, even very small amounts, and it's worked well for us.

Until the last few months, apparently.

We've both been making purchases, myself on baby things, Matt on grabbing fast food before and after work, without really checking to see what each other has been doing. And somehow it turned into a situation where I assumed we were fine when in fact we were not fine. So we overdrafted the checking account by a few dollars, and Matt's been driving back and forth to work more lately and didn't account for the gas, and we came close to going over our limit on the credit card. Well fantastic.

Then I ran out of insulin. HURHURHUR.

So we fought, for the first time in our entire relationship, about money. And it was awful. We borrowed what we needed for my insulin and to get us through on gas, we thought. Until we'd underestimated how far the drive to our friend's dad's memorial service was, and Matt got called in for an extra shift to his job that has a very long commute, and suddenly we were just shy of him being able to go get his paycheck and get to the bank and a gas station afterwards. Faaaaaaaantastic. So we had to borrow another ten dollars. And we fought some more, and I've been feeling completely and irrationally mean, like my worst day without medication.

It doesn't help that I also have been feeling a little neglected in the love department, but it just seems that lately I can't stand Matt's FACE. I just want to punch him repeatedly every time I see him. I think I just need to get out and away from him, and the only time I've been out of the house has been in high stress situations (substituting). Going to my prenatal appointment alone yesterday helped a little, until later in the evening.

We are taking proactive steps to ensure that this does not happen again, especially since we're getting into the home stretch. In two (or three?) weeks, I'll be in the third trimester. How weird is that feeling? Ha ha. But I've set up a budget tracker on Excel, and told Matt that I needed a copy of every paycheck and receipt, even for the tiniest purchases, from now on. We aren't just some couple of young college kids that can get by on Ramen and the hopes and dreams of our car's gas tanks anymore. Lorelai is coming and we really need to step up our game and be *gasp* adults.

And I'm sure it'll be better for our marriage if I'm not karate chopping my husband in the face just because I don't like the way his nose is pointy.

You take my breath awwaaaaayyyyyy....

I'm not sure if it's because I'm carrying to the inside (Apparently. I sure as hell don't look 6 months pregnant to anyone) but for the last couple of days I've been having trouble breathing. It's not enough to make me worry, but it is enough to be annoying as all fuck. At first it was just when I was laying down on my back, which I expected because at some point the uterus/baby/placenta/etc become heavy enough to cut off an artery that returns blood from your legs to your heart and it can cause shortness of breath. So I've just been adjusting my position, trying to stay off my back. But last night I was having trouble keeping up with my friend John while we were walking, coming short of breath in bursts. I figured it's just because I'm starting to waddle a little bit and working to keep up was a bit of a work out. I'm out of shape anyway, so who cares, right?

But today I've been feeling a little short of breath when sitting up, standing, walking from the bedroom to the bathroom, and this morning when Matt and I got a little frisky, I almost passed out on him. Ha ha. That probably would not have been very conducive to the mood, just me blacking out and collapsing. Although it would have been hilarious.

I have a centering/prenatal appointment on Wednesday, so I'll be mentioning it to the doctor then, but hopefully it doesn't get any worse before then.