For those of you that have wondered where I have been, it's this insane place called Maternity Leave. And since my laptop has been broken forever and I didn't want to write any posts on my phone and I was spending "quality time" with my family... I haven't updated. But, I'm back! Hi!
My last post was on September 8th, and that is the day I learned how to successfully induce labor. I just had to resign myself to the fact that I was going to be pregnant forever. I had to completely give up all hope that Brown Sugar was ever going to be born. I did that with my blog post that morning. And I had done that in my heart the day before when I talked to my boss and decided to come back to work the day after labor day, because all I was doing was wasting my paid leave. Though it was nice.
So, for those of you interested in how Brown Sugar's birth went, just look at part two of Hamburglar's birth story. I was all like, "same birth, different day." Or something.
But really, I was at work on the 8th of September. Being all super pregnant and past my due date. Posting pictures of myself in my lab coat on Facebook, wondering if I would have to go up a lab coat size since I was going to be pregnant forever. My stomach had been tightening regularly throughout the morning, but I just figured it was Braxton Hicks or something. Then, around one, I was in the break room chatting with a coworker who also has two kids and she was telling my about how she went into labor at work with her second. While we were talking, I noticed my stomach doing weird things and she said, "I think you're having contractions." So, I started timing them. They were coming about every five minutes and were lasting about a minute. After talking with her a few more minutes, I decided I should probably leave work. So, I sent a few emails, got everything ready in my lab for me to be gone for a while, changed into my street clothes, told my boss I was "feeling birthy" and hopefully wouldn't be back at work until November, then I left.
I called Mr. Adventure on my way home and told him I was pretty sure I was in labor, but I would call him back to confirm it in a bit. (He was less than two months in at a new job, and they didn't want him to leave to be present for the birth of his son, for some reason). And I called him back about ten minutes later, before I even made it home. Hamburglar was at day care, so it was just me and the dogs at home, who I promptly sent outside and I took a shower, braided my hair and did my makeup (all exactly like my first baby).
My labor never really got as intense as it did with Hamburglar. And I was more present. I was really deep in transition when we went to L&D the first time, and I had no idea where it was or that I had ridden in an elevator. This time I was so present. I remember filling out the paperwork and signing it and I was able to read it! I was having regular contractions, but it was different and better this time. Mr. Adventure parked the car and got to L&D right when they were taking me back.
We arrived at the hospital around 3:45p. I let everyone know I had a history of fast labor, and that I was delivering with the laborist on call. I scribbled my birth plan on a 3x5 card before we left the house (For me: no drugs, no port, early discharge. For Brown Sugar: No hep B vaccine, no circumcision, early discharge) with some in-case-of-emergency stuff on the back (in the result of a c-section, dad goes with baby, skin to skin and breastfeeding ASAP with me, etc). They brought us back and put us in one of the eval rooms. They wanted me to pee in a cup, and while we were standing in the bathroom and she was writing my name on the cup, my water broke. I let her know that and told her that, with Chumby, it was 25 minutes from when my water broke and he was born.
Because of the amniotic fluid and meconium (which is pretty normal for babies born after 40 weeks) my pee-in-a-cup didn't look normal. I was trying not to freak out when I looked at it. So, mostly I just avoided looking at it. My contractions were getting more intense and no one had checked on me in several minutes. I was about to send Mr. Adventure out to get someone when our nurse came back. (Mr. A was great giving me water, keeping me hydrated, and not touching me. Which are the things I enjoy during labor). We went to the labor room. I was chatting in between contractions. They were never able to get a full twenty minutes of the baby on the monitor because of my contractions, which were continuing to intensify.
Pretty soon after moving to the delivery bed, I told the nurse I was pretty sure I was going to have my baby. She told me I wasn't. After my next contraction I told her I was pushing. She said, "Wait!" and I guess she slapped some emergency button to get people in there. I don't know how many times I pushed before the baby was out, but she's the one who caught him. And, it turns out, there was a room full of people who had poured in when she hit the button, but I didn't notice. NICU was on standby in case baby boy had aspirated meconium, which he didn't. So, Brown Sugar was born at 4:31p on September 8th, weighing in at 8 pounds, two ounces (a full 6 ounces smaller than his brother! That's, like, a serving of chicken breast, if you're still following a faux infant cannibalism meal plan).
After I was moved up to the maternity ward, Mr. A went to pick up Chumby from a friend's house (she picked him up from day care and fed him dinner). Then brought him back to the hospital to see me. He was really excited about his baby brother and totally loves him.
So, there you go. I've had two labors that lasted about 3 hours each, with the last hour being the most intense. Mr. A is an awesome birth partner. And I have two healthy boys. I swear, Brown Sugar has already tripled his birth weight in the past seven weeks. Dude likes to EAT.
And that's all I have time for today. But, just so you all know, two is better than one. And maternity leave was much more fun this time around.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Everyone is a liar.
Back when I used to be cool and I lived in Central America, I was sitting underneath my mango tree one day in a hammock chair, sunglasses on, gently nursing a hangover... my friend Roberto came by with some soup or beverage, something to help with my hangover. He looked at me and recommended a drink. I looked at him and groaned, "Ugh, I'm never drinking again!" And he told me:
The Three Greatest Lies in the World
1. I'll never drink again
2. I'll pay you tomorrow
3. Just the tip
It's even funnier in Spanish, I swear.
But there is a new lie I have learned about. And it's being espoused by nearly everybody. And I would like to let you all know, right now, that second babies do not come early.
Google "Second babies" and you'll get all sorts of hits letting you know to expect your second earlier than your first. Unless this baby comes today or tomorrow, that's a mother fucking lie.
I did, however, receive the only appropriate response to a woman telling you she is past her due date over the weekend.
I was at Dog Park Baby's second birthday party on Saturday. Dog Park Grandma was there (my friend's MIL) and we were chatting and she asked me when I was due. I told her, "Last Thursday." and I probably looked super sad when I said it, because she just said, "Oh honey!" and gave me a hug. I don't normally like to be hugged by people I don't know, but, somehow, it was the only appropriate response. Anything else would have been stupid.
Like the chick there that told me to shove my hand in my vagina and sweep my own membranes. Stupid. Or my friend's sister's girlfriend who told me to smoke pot. Okay, crazy lady. No wonder your kids were taken by the state of California.
I have tried just about everything else in the world, though. I've been walking a million miles a day. I tried "nipple stimulation" (I feel like that needs quotes for some reason); once with my breast pump for about 45 minutes, and the other time I did it manually. I read that the best way is to alternate sides every fifteen minutes. So I did. For an hour and a half. I've been sitting on my exercise ball. I have purchased all of the loose red raspberry leaf from the bulk section at my local Fred Meyer (red raspberry leaf is more for toning your uterus than inducing labor, for the curious) and I drove up the bumpiest mountain road near town. Twice.
So, now I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be pregnant forever. And I have come back to work. I took Thursday and Friday off, thinking maybe I needed to relax a bit to get myself in a birth-y state of mind.
I also tried self-talk and scrubbing the kitchen floor.
Hamburglar's birthday is in nine days. I would really like a few days, at least, to recover so he and I can have some good birthday fun. But I don't know if that's going to happen. If Brown Sugar doesn't come by next week, I'm assuming I will be induced. I see the doctor today. I'm assuming I will receive some comment like, "I wasn't expecting to see you blah blah blah!" And then I will stab her with my dagger eyes.
Mr. Adventure has been telling the baby to get out, too. And we have Chumby saying to my belly, "Come out, brother!"
But nothing. So, I'm going to be pregnant forever. And, I guess, if this guy comes today or tomorrow, people aren't total liars when they say second babies come earlier, but they are liars when they say second babies come early.
And all those assholes that say, "There is no early or on time. Babies come when they are ready," are totally right. Obviously. Otherwise something I did over the weekend would have shaken this bastard loose. Oh well. I wonder what the Guinness Record is for being pregnant. Maybe I can win that?
The Three Greatest Lies in the World
1. I'll never drink again
2. I'll pay you tomorrow
3. Just the tip
It's even funnier in Spanish, I swear.
But there is a new lie I have learned about. And it's being espoused by nearly everybody. And I would like to let you all know, right now, that second babies do not come early.
Google "Second babies" and you'll get all sorts of hits letting you know to expect your second earlier than your first. Unless this baby comes today or tomorrow, that's a mother fucking lie.
I did, however, receive the only appropriate response to a woman telling you she is past her due date over the weekend.
I was at Dog Park Baby's second birthday party on Saturday. Dog Park Grandma was there (my friend's MIL) and we were chatting and she asked me when I was due. I told her, "Last Thursday." and I probably looked super sad when I said it, because she just said, "Oh honey!" and gave me a hug. I don't normally like to be hugged by people I don't know, but, somehow, it was the only appropriate response. Anything else would have been stupid.
Like the chick there that told me to shove my hand in my vagina and sweep my own membranes. Stupid. Or my friend's sister's girlfriend who told me to smoke pot. Okay, crazy lady. No wonder your kids were taken by the state of California.
I have tried just about everything else in the world, though. I've been walking a million miles a day. I tried "nipple stimulation" (I feel like that needs quotes for some reason); once with my breast pump for about 45 minutes, and the other time I did it manually. I read that the best way is to alternate sides every fifteen minutes. So I did. For an hour and a half. I've been sitting on my exercise ball. I have purchased all of the loose red raspberry leaf from the bulk section at my local Fred Meyer (red raspberry leaf is more for toning your uterus than inducing labor, for the curious) and I drove up the bumpiest mountain road near town. Twice.
So, now I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be pregnant forever. And I have come back to work. I took Thursday and Friday off, thinking maybe I needed to relax a bit to get myself in a birth-y state of mind.
I also tried self-talk and scrubbing the kitchen floor.
Hamburglar's birthday is in nine days. I would really like a few days, at least, to recover so he and I can have some good birthday fun. But I don't know if that's going to happen. If Brown Sugar doesn't come by next week, I'm assuming I will be induced. I see the doctor today. I'm assuming I will receive some comment like, "I wasn't expecting to see you blah blah blah!" And then I will stab her with my dagger eyes.
Mr. Adventure has been telling the baby to get out, too. And we have Chumby saying to my belly, "Come out, brother!"
But nothing. So, I'm going to be pregnant forever. And, I guess, if this guy comes today or tomorrow, people aren't total liars when they say second babies come earlier, but they are liars when they say second babies come early.
And all those assholes that say, "There is no early or on time. Babies come when they are ready," are totally right. Obviously. Otherwise something I did over the weekend would have shaken this bastard loose. Oh well. I wonder what the Guinness Record is for being pregnant. Maybe I can win that?
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Missionary style
I was taking out the recycling yesterday and their were two baby Mormon missionaries all free range in my neighborhood. They had a car(!) they were walking toward and asked me if I needed help. I said no, commented on the fact that they were fancy and had a car. Then they started walking toward me and I threw up my hands and said, "I was raised Mormon." They asked me why I wasn't and I said "Mostly due to my atheism." And I have to tell you, baby Mormon #1 was the one doing most of the talking. He was 18, maybe 19, and had super light, clear blue eyes. Baby Mormon #2 didn't say much, was shorter and more portly and had acne. He was also maybe 19.
Anyway, so #1 asked me all sorts of questions like: When was the last time I went to church? I thought about it for a second... it's been almost 20 years. Longer than the baby missionaries have been alive. So I realized I'm old. Thanks, Mormons.
He also asked me where I worked before I became pregnant. Awww. Baby. People still work. I'm still going to work. He also seemed surprised that I am due Thursday and was taking out the recycling. I wonder if he thought pregnant ladies just lie around like a sea otter, being pregnant and barking?
Then he asked me where I work. I told him I'm a chemist and he asked what I studied for that. I told him chemistry. He said, "That makes sense." I think #2 wasn't talking because maybe he thought his buddy was super dumb?
Then he asked me if I have more of a "Scientology outlook" on life and God and whatnot. I told him Scientologists are kinda crazy. He asked me if Scientology was the Brad Pitt religion and I said, "No. It's the Tom Cruise religion." He said, "Oh! Those guys are crazy. I belong to a bit of a crazy religion, too."
So, that was my encounter with the baby Mormons. I hope I didn't ruin things for their future wives by shattering the illusion that pregnant women can do things like walk around, take out recycling, go to work at their fancy scientist jobs...
Other than that, I have a cold. I feel like I'm dying. I'm due Thursday. The baby is the size of a baby, I'm assuming.
I just googled "How to cook a baby" and some really grisly news stories popped up. I would avoid googling that, if I were you. But you can totally look at this cookbook.
I also took Chumb to the doctor yesterday. He's had perma-snot since about a week after starting daycare and he's been up late coughing. It was his first non-wellness check-up since he's been born (other than his trip to the ER). The doc said he's at a higher risk for continued febrile seizures since he's had one. But, he said right now dude just has a cold. Or several overlapping colds.
And that's about it. Keep your fingers crossed that I stop being sick before I deliver a baby. Because that would really suck to have a cold, deliver a baby, then have to handle a newborn and a toddler all while dying.
Anyway, so #1 asked me all sorts of questions like: When was the last time I went to church? I thought about it for a second... it's been almost 20 years. Longer than the baby missionaries have been alive. So I realized I'm old. Thanks, Mormons.
He also asked me where I worked before I became pregnant. Awww. Baby. People still work. I'm still going to work. He also seemed surprised that I am due Thursday and was taking out the recycling. I wonder if he thought pregnant ladies just lie around like a sea otter, being pregnant and barking?
Then he asked me where I work. I told him I'm a chemist and he asked what I studied for that. I told him chemistry. He said, "That makes sense." I think #2 wasn't talking because maybe he thought his buddy was super dumb?
Then he asked me if I have more of a "Scientology outlook" on life and God and whatnot. I told him Scientologists are kinda crazy. He asked me if Scientology was the Brad Pitt religion and I said, "No. It's the Tom Cruise religion." He said, "Oh! Those guys are crazy. I belong to a bit of a crazy religion, too."
So, that was my encounter with the baby Mormons. I hope I didn't ruin things for their future wives by shattering the illusion that pregnant women can do things like walk around, take out recycling, go to work at their fancy scientist jobs...
Other than that, I have a cold. I feel like I'm dying. I'm due Thursday. The baby is the size of a baby, I'm assuming.
I just googled "How to cook a baby" and some really grisly news stories popped up. I would avoid googling that, if I were you. But you can totally look at this cookbook.
I also took Chumb to the doctor yesterday. He's had perma-snot since about a week after starting daycare and he's been up late coughing. It was his first non-wellness check-up since he's been born (other than his trip to the ER). The doc said he's at a higher risk for continued febrile seizures since he's had one. But, he said right now dude just has a cold. Or several overlapping colds.
And that's about it. Keep your fingers crossed that I stop being sick before I deliver a baby. Because that would really suck to have a cold, deliver a baby, then have to handle a newborn and a toddler all while dying.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Birth plan
To the tune of the original Batman theme song.
So, the new doctor I found is all right. She laughed at my inappropriate jokes, and that's really important to me. She seems a bit gung-ho to get this baby out of me, though. At our first meeting, she offered to induce me at 39 weeks. And yesterday at my appointment, she said she'd check my cervix and sweep my membranes next week at my 40 week appointment. Not really sure why. Last time around the midwife did a membrane sweep because my blood pressure was super high, but it was 112/80 yesterday. I think I'm the only person in my family who doesn't have high blood pressure.
A friend sent me a text yesterday and told me I should stop blogging. I asked her why, assuming I was some preachy weirdo blogging asshole that somehow bred a weird sub-group of super-sarcastic militant parents who think they are funnier than they actually are. But, no. Apparently it is because "Mommy bloggers are taking over the fucking internet." And, it seems, I am not preachy enough to be a real mommy blogger. I guess I should be more insistent on the meals you prepare for your faux-infant cannibalism diet?
At 39 weeks, Brown Sugar is the size of a watermelon or a rabbit. Did you know that watermelon.org is a site? Well now you do! And they have instructions on how to carve a motherfucking watermelon into a rabbit. Also, blogger tried to autocorrect 'motherfucking' into 'motorbiking'.
Oh, and you must carve a watermelon into a rabbit this week or you will be haunted by the creepy dead children from Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies.
What else?
NOOOOO!!!! I just went over to my new/old favorite pregnancy website, and the domain expired! Two days ago! So, instead, here is a flashback to the last time I was 39 weeks pregnant. It's pretty much the same. I haven't packed a hospital bag this time, either. Or installed the car seat. I did get a new car, though. I traded in the Fit for a 1998 Nissan Pathfinder that will be completely paid for in 6 months instead of three years. I'm pretty excited. Even though it's white.
Chumby is good. Now that he's in daycare, I feel like I never see him. I don't know why or how, but picking him up from daycare seems to add an extra 400 hours to my day. I'm ready to have this baby just so I can stop putting on pants every day. Also, Chumb weighs less than I thought he did. He's 31.5 pounds.
Finally, since I'm not delivering with the midwife, I typed up my birth plan. The midwife had a checklist because I guess the L&D staff are too busy "working" to read a 42 page detailed birth plan such as Jamie and Jeff's Birth Plan. Though I bet they may find the time to read that one through. Because hilarious.
So, I went through what we did last time and pulled the highlights that are important to me and got it all on one page. What?! That's right, suckers.
I think that's about it. The betting pools are open for when you think 2.0 will arrive. The prize is some melted and re-solidified dark chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader Joe's. They were only in the car for half an hour. But I guess it is summer in the desert.
Oh! And as for a billing update: I'm still going to wait a couple more weeks to make sure they have filed everything through my insurance but, after looking at my EOB's, they seem to have sent everything through and those fuckers at the midwife's office owe me $27. Assholes.
So, the new doctor I found is all right. She laughed at my inappropriate jokes, and that's really important to me. She seems a bit gung-ho to get this baby out of me, though. At our first meeting, she offered to induce me at 39 weeks. And yesterday at my appointment, she said she'd check my cervix and sweep my membranes next week at my 40 week appointment. Not really sure why. Last time around the midwife did a membrane sweep because my blood pressure was super high, but it was 112/80 yesterday. I think I'm the only person in my family who doesn't have high blood pressure.
A friend sent me a text yesterday and told me I should stop blogging. I asked her why, assuming I was some preachy weirdo blogging asshole that somehow bred a weird sub-group of super-sarcastic militant parents who think they are funnier than they actually are. But, no. Apparently it is because "Mommy bloggers are taking over the fucking internet." And, it seems, I am not preachy enough to be a real mommy blogger. I guess I should be more insistent on the meals you prepare for your faux-infant cannibalism diet?
At 39 weeks, Brown Sugar is the size of a watermelon or a rabbit. Did you know that watermelon.org is a site? Well now you do! And they have instructions on how to carve a motherfucking watermelon into a rabbit. Also, blogger tried to autocorrect 'motherfucking' into 'motorbiking'.
Oh, and you must carve a watermelon into a rabbit this week or you will be haunted by the creepy dead children from Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies.
What else?
NOOOOO!!!! I just went over to my new/old favorite pregnancy website, and the domain expired! Two days ago! So, instead, here is a flashback to the last time I was 39 weeks pregnant. It's pretty much the same. I haven't packed a hospital bag this time, either. Or installed the car seat. I did get a new car, though. I traded in the Fit for a 1998 Nissan Pathfinder that will be completely paid for in 6 months instead of three years. I'm pretty excited. Even though it's white.
Chumby is good. Now that he's in daycare, I feel like I never see him. I don't know why or how, but picking him up from daycare seems to add an extra 400 hours to my day. I'm ready to have this baby just so I can stop putting on pants every day. Also, Chumb weighs less than I thought he did. He's 31.5 pounds.
Finally, since I'm not delivering with the midwife, I typed up my birth plan. The midwife had a checklist because I guess the L&D staff are too busy "working" to read a 42 page detailed birth plan such as Jamie and Jeff's Birth Plan. Though I bet they may find the time to read that one through. Because hilarious.
So, I went through what we did last time and pulled the highlights that are important to me and got it all on one page. What?! That's right, suckers.
I think that's about it. The betting pools are open for when you think 2.0 will arrive. The prize is some melted and re-solidified dark chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader Joe's. They were only in the car for half an hour. But I guess it is summer in the desert.
Oh! And as for a billing update: I'm still going to wait a couple more weeks to make sure they have filed everything through my insurance but, after looking at my EOB's, they seem to have sent everything through and those fuckers at the midwife's office owe me $27. Assholes.
Friday, August 14, 2015
Rage against the billing machine
I'm 37 weeks pregnant. My midwife is on holiday this week. Her partner in her practice is totally delightful and I was super looking forward to seeing her. My midwife is bad ass. Retired military, no kids and was the first midwife in my city to get rights to deliver at the biggest hospital chain in my state. Her partner is a former student who has two boys, two years apart (like mine will be). And I adore them both. Also, I like the practice they are at. But, I do not like the billing department.
After being a single income family for two years, money is tight. Having an unexpected pregnancy, money is tight. I've made payments when I can, I've been in regular contact with the billing department, but holy fucking shit. Now that we are at the end of the pregnancy, I received a voicemail from Becca in Billing letting me know that I need to be prepared to make some kind of payment at my appointment on Friday. I called her back and let her know that, I'm well aware I owe them money, but telling me I need to make a payment won't make money magically appear in my bank account. Then she started saying things like, "Well, because you've only paid x amount of money, you're essentially receiving services for free." I countered with, "That's bullshit. My insurance covers 80% of the costs." Then I told her how I used to see the best chiropractor in town, until their billing department back-billed my insurance for services I'd paid for out-of-pocket, without telling me. They were acting all shady, so I didn't trust them. And you don't mess with people's money. It makes them angry. And now I see the second best chiropractor in town. When I can afford my co-pay to see the chiropractor, which isn't very often. (Side note: I haven't had a pedicure since February. And that was a birthday present from a friend).
So, after my phone call with Becca from Billing, I called back to get the results of my group B strep test (negative) and cancel the scheduled appointments I had. I also talked to the billing manager. Then I started researching what happens if I don't find a provider before I go into labor. The hospital has laborists that work 24/7, so that's not an issue. But the nurse I talked to in L&D at the hospital told me I should page my midwife when she gets back from holiday to let her know about my billing issue, and that my midwife will probably be pretty freaking angry that the billing department is costing her clients. Especially since we moved hospitals when the midwife moved hospitals and our toddler was one of the first ten babies she delivered at the larger, fancier hospital.
So, I'm totally going to call her and let her know what happened, but I'm not going back there. I received an estimate of what I owe for services I've received and I'm trying to figure out what to do for the next couple of weeks. If it was just me, and I wasn't pregnant, and I needed three more weeks of doctors exams for something, I would just say fuck it and not go to the doctor, but shit can still go wrong even this late in the pregnancy game, and I have to make sure Brown Sugar is good.
And I came to a conclusion through this whole billing thing. You know how the billing department is always separate? I've determined it is for the same reason that nurses give shots in the pediatrician office: it's so you don't have a negative association with your direct care provider. And I don't. But I do have a negative association with the whole practice in general.
So, I called a local birth center to get a quote. My insurance doesn't cover the facility fee, so it's a minimum $1500 right there. And I don't mind delivering in a hospital anyway. Particularly if this labor goes even half as fast as the last one. So, I'm just trying to figure out the prenatal care issue. I'm going to call the health department to see if they have any recommendations. Or I may just hit Primary Health or something. It's a $20 copay when I go in there, but whatever. What extra super sucks is that we, as a family, are in that income bracket where we make too much money to get any kind of help, but we don't make enough money to have things like money in savings or a liquor cabinet so we can drink away our financial worries.
In other news, Chumby went to the dentist yesterday. They said his teeth look really good. His molars still haven't busted through yet (they're taking FOREVER) and they even let him use the whirring tooth polisher thing to polish two of his teeth. And they had a cool dragon with a mouth full of teeth and a giant toothbrush so Chumby could brush some dragon teeth. Yay! And he got a new toothbrush and the hygienist and dentist both complimented him on his manners. Such a polite young man. And I asked about flossing. They said it isn't necessary yet (until his teeth are touching) but may as well start to get him used to it. Maybe flossing his teeth will make me better about flossing mine (once a week FTW!).
This week, Brown Sugar is the size of a winter melon, Swiss Chard and a large mouth bass. So, make this. Just replace the radicchio with Swiss Chard and you will still be following the guidelines of an appropriate faux-infant cannibalism diet.
And, just for fun, here's a flashback to the last time I was this pregnant.
After being a single income family for two years, money is tight. Having an unexpected pregnancy, money is tight. I've made payments when I can, I've been in regular contact with the billing department, but holy fucking shit. Now that we are at the end of the pregnancy, I received a voicemail from Becca in Billing letting me know that I need to be prepared to make some kind of payment at my appointment on Friday. I called her back and let her know that, I'm well aware I owe them money, but telling me I need to make a payment won't make money magically appear in my bank account. Then she started saying things like, "Well, because you've only paid x amount of money, you're essentially receiving services for free." I countered with, "That's bullshit. My insurance covers 80% of the costs." Then I told her how I used to see the best chiropractor in town, until their billing department back-billed my insurance for services I'd paid for out-of-pocket, without telling me. They were acting all shady, so I didn't trust them. And you don't mess with people's money. It makes them angry. And now I see the second best chiropractor in town. When I can afford my co-pay to see the chiropractor, which isn't very often. (Side note: I haven't had a pedicure since February. And that was a birthday present from a friend).
So, after my phone call with Becca from Billing, I called back to get the results of my group B strep test (negative) and cancel the scheduled appointments I had. I also talked to the billing manager. Then I started researching what happens if I don't find a provider before I go into labor. The hospital has laborists that work 24/7, so that's not an issue. But the nurse I talked to in L&D at the hospital told me I should page my midwife when she gets back from holiday to let her know about my billing issue, and that my midwife will probably be pretty freaking angry that the billing department is costing her clients. Especially since we moved hospitals when the midwife moved hospitals and our toddler was one of the first ten babies she delivered at the larger, fancier hospital.
So, I'm totally going to call her and let her know what happened, but I'm not going back there. I received an estimate of what I owe for services I've received and I'm trying to figure out what to do for the next couple of weeks. If it was just me, and I wasn't pregnant, and I needed three more weeks of doctors exams for something, I would just say fuck it and not go to the doctor, but shit can still go wrong even this late in the pregnancy game, and I have to make sure Brown Sugar is good.
And I came to a conclusion through this whole billing thing. You know how the billing department is always separate? I've determined it is for the same reason that nurses give shots in the pediatrician office: it's so you don't have a negative association with your direct care provider. And I don't. But I do have a negative association with the whole practice in general.
So, I called a local birth center to get a quote. My insurance doesn't cover the facility fee, so it's a minimum $1500 right there. And I don't mind delivering in a hospital anyway. Particularly if this labor goes even half as fast as the last one. So, I'm just trying to figure out the prenatal care issue. I'm going to call the health department to see if they have any recommendations. Or I may just hit Primary Health or something. It's a $20 copay when I go in there, but whatever. What extra super sucks is that we, as a family, are in that income bracket where we make too much money to get any kind of help, but we don't make enough money to have things like money in savings or a liquor cabinet so we can drink away our financial worries.
In other news, Chumby went to the dentist yesterday. They said his teeth look really good. His molars still haven't busted through yet (they're taking FOREVER) and they even let him use the whirring tooth polisher thing to polish two of his teeth. And they had a cool dragon with a mouth full of teeth and a giant toothbrush so Chumby could brush some dragon teeth. Yay! And he got a new toothbrush and the hygienist and dentist both complimented him on his manners. Such a polite young man. And I asked about flossing. They said it isn't necessary yet (until his teeth are touching) but may as well start to get him used to it. Maybe flossing his teeth will make me better about flossing mine (once a week FTW!).
This week, Brown Sugar is the size of a winter melon, Swiss Chard and a large mouth bass. So, make this. Just replace the radicchio with Swiss Chard and you will still be following the guidelines of an appropriate faux-infant cannibalism diet.
And, just for fun, here's a flashback to the last time I was this pregnant.
Friday, August 7, 2015
WTF?
Chumby and I went to see my dad the other day. My stepmom is out of town, so I thought I'd check in and see how he is doing. He's doing really well. His cancer isn't in remission, but the doctors believe the tumor is dead. So, now he's living with cancer and has to get periodic maintenance chemo. He looks pretty good though and he's walking without a cane. Which is kind of amazing and surprising, since a year ago we were all (doctors included) pretty sure he was going to die.
The problem with my dad feeling better? He's back to his weirdly awkward, zero boundaries self. Every time I see him, he asks me some weirdly inappropriate or awkward question. He had asked previously if he could be in the delivery room when Chumbercules was born. (No). He asked if Chumby could have his last name. (No). He asked if Sean Connery/Brown Sugar/Cthulhu could have his first, middle AND last name. (No). I have two brothers. My dad already got to name his kids. And we aren't and never have been close, so I don't really get it. But the best? The best was the other day.
He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Let me say that again. He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Like, he opened his mouth and asked that question, thinking it was a completely appropriate and not weird question to ask someone. I was a bit taken aback and said, "What?! No!" And he said, "I've heard it doesn't hurt." Which lead me to ask if all his experience having a uterus taught him that. Then he asked if Mr. Adventure was going to get snipped. I told him I'm not interested in having an in-depth conversation about my contraceptive choices with him. If he brings it up again, I'm just going to tell him that my future plans solely involve using abortion as a contraceptive afterthought.
Seriously? WTF? I think that was on Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm still traumatized. I wish I had a therapist, just so I could talk about this. Mr. Adventure called me after work to see how my visit went (and to find out what weird fucked up thing my dad asked me/said to me. Because it's enough of a regular occurrence that it has become A Thing). Even he was surprised. I can't remember, though, if he was always like this or maybe it's the brain tumor? I don't know. I think our next visit will be after my stepmom gets back. She tends to let him know when he's being inappropriate and just fucking weird.
At 36 weeks pregnant, Sean Connery is the size of a honey dew melon or a breadbox. So, buy yourself a breadbox and shove a honey dew inside it, forget that it is there, then in a few months, wonder what the smell is in your kitchen! Or you can buy a honey dew, cut it up, bring it to a barbecue where no one will eat any of it, then leave it for the host to deal with. They also make excellent house warming gifts.
The same as last time, I can't sleep anymore because I'm peeing every ten minutes, then can't get back to sleep afterward. I saw the midwife yesterday to do my Group B strep test. I'll get the results next week.
According to my favorite pregnancy website, the baby is getting cuter. And I have been relieved of the ability to breathe. I mostly just announce that there is baby in my lungs and people look at me weird. But they do that anyway. All the time. Because I'm related to my dad. Probably.
We saw the Book of Mormon musical the other weekend. It was even more hilarious than I thought it would be. I wish I had lots of money, because I would have seen it three more times at least.
And I have heart burn.
Chumby is doing well in day care. The Little Miss is getting ready to start second grade. And she's super excited to have another little brother.
And I still have heart burn.
I feel like I'm running out of time. It was brought to my attention recently that I could have a baby as early as next week. So I should probably get a car seat or something, right?
And that's about it. Happy weekending!
The problem with my dad feeling better? He's back to his weirdly awkward, zero boundaries self. Every time I see him, he asks me some weirdly inappropriate or awkward question. He had asked previously if he could be in the delivery room when Chumbercules was born. (No). He asked if Chumby could have his last name. (No). He asked if Sean Connery/Brown Sugar/Cthulhu could have his first, middle AND last name. (No). I have two brothers. My dad already got to name his kids. And we aren't and never have been close, so I don't really get it. But the best? The best was the other day.
He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Let me say that again. He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Like, he opened his mouth and asked that question, thinking it was a completely appropriate and not weird question to ask someone. I was a bit taken aback and said, "What?! No!" And he said, "I've heard it doesn't hurt." Which lead me to ask if all his experience having a uterus taught him that. Then he asked if Mr. Adventure was going to get snipped. I told him I'm not interested in having an in-depth conversation about my contraceptive choices with him. If he brings it up again, I'm just going to tell him that my future plans solely involve using abortion as a contraceptive afterthought.
Seriously? WTF? I think that was on Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm still traumatized. I wish I had a therapist, just so I could talk about this. Mr. Adventure called me after work to see how my visit went (and to find out what weird fucked up thing my dad asked me/said to me. Because it's enough of a regular occurrence that it has become A Thing). Even he was surprised. I can't remember, though, if he was always like this or maybe it's the brain tumor? I don't know. I think our next visit will be after my stepmom gets back. She tends to let him know when he's being inappropriate and just fucking weird.
At 36 weeks pregnant, Sean Connery is the size of a honey dew melon or a breadbox. So, buy yourself a breadbox and shove a honey dew inside it, forget that it is there, then in a few months, wonder what the smell is in your kitchen! Or you can buy a honey dew, cut it up, bring it to a barbecue where no one will eat any of it, then leave it for the host to deal with. They also make excellent house warming gifts.
The same as last time, I can't sleep anymore because I'm peeing every ten minutes, then can't get back to sleep afterward. I saw the midwife yesterday to do my Group B strep test. I'll get the results next week.
According to my favorite pregnancy website, the baby is getting cuter. And I have been relieved of the ability to breathe. I mostly just announce that there is baby in my lungs and people look at me weird. But they do that anyway. All the time. Because I'm related to my dad. Probably.
We saw the Book of Mormon musical the other weekend. It was even more hilarious than I thought it would be. I wish I had lots of money, because I would have seen it three more times at least.
And I have heart burn.
Chumby is doing well in day care. The Little Miss is getting ready to start second grade. And she's super excited to have another little brother.
And I still have heart burn.
I feel like I'm running out of time. It was brought to my attention recently that I could have a baby as early as next week. So I should probably get a car seat or something, right?
And that's about it. Happy weekending!
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Brown sugar
Pregnant Chicken tells me that, at 34 weeks pregnant, Brown Sugar is the size of a five pounds bag of sugar. Delicious.
Speaking of Pregnant Chicken, there are a couple pretty amaze balls giveaways sponsored by her and BabyList. I thought about using BabyList to set up a registry for Brown Sugar, then I realized that I don't really need shit for a second baby, and our house is only 1500 square feet. 1350 square feet of it seems to be devoted to baby shit, 100 square feet for the dogs and the other 50 for the mister and I).
The most amazing giveaway is the $4000, everything fancy for your baby plus a year of 7th generation diapers. If you think that your baby deserves nice, fancy things that you would never spend money on because you're poor and can't afford to live anywhere better than Idaho, this is the perfect opportunity for your new bundle to get a taste for the finer things before he is bitch-slapped into reality and forced to realize that the neighborhood his parents decided to buy a house in is probably one of the worst in town for schools. (But he's not even born yet. Why is he worrying about schools? You never should have entered that giveaway from BabyList! Pretentious little fuck.)
There's also the Body After Baby giveaway. I've been thinking about tight lacing to get my ribs back where they belong, but maybe shape wear could do the trick? And if it's free, why not try it?
And there's also a Babyganics and Target giveaway. I've never used the Babyganics products because, as mentioned above, I'm not fancy. Any more. I used to be fancy, though. I would drink $14 cocktails made with elderflower liqueur and squid ink and eat Basque tapas at the fancy Basque tapas bar that was right next to my house and go to fancy and ridiculous art parties at the underground gallery and venue that was two doors down from me and up the creepy stairs.
Anyway, enough about me in my twenties. Back when I was cool. I was also really drunk. And all those $14 fancy cocktails could have gone into an IRA or something grown up and fancy. Instead, all my paychecks from my first real environmental job went to booze, books and music. I WAS LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM.
Okay. Now that's really enough.
This is Mr. Adventure's first week of work, and Chumby's first week of not being at home with him. Things are going great with the mom from my mom's group, though. Chumb doesn't really care when Mr. A drops him off and he cries when I make him leave. I think he wants to live with them. They have all the cool toys, so I totally don't blame him. They also have a really nice yard and lots of windows in their house. I want to live with them, too. But, today is his last day going there. I'm taking tomorrow off and next week he starts Day Care and I start working Tuesday through Saturday so we can save a couple bucks on childcare expenses.
And my best friend from college is flying in this weekend with her husband! I'm assuming it's mainly so she can make fun of me for being so fat.
I have an appointment with the midwife today. I'm meeting her partner for the first time, just in case she is the one who is on call when I deliver. I think it's so that way I know who she is, but when you're balls deep in labor, you kind of don't give a shit who comes in the room. At least, I didn't. I didn't even open my eyes when my midwife came in. I heard her voice and she got there just in time to put on gloves and catch Hamburglar as he came flying out, like Slimer from Ghostbusters flying through a wall. But less green. And more solid.
Brown Sugar is the size of a butternut squash or something. You should probably just eat some butternut squash soup. Anything more than that and you'll end up with heartburn anyway.
According to that weird pregnancy website I found, the tip for this week is, "If you are facing trouble sleeping, try drinking a warm cup of milk and eat a banana. This will soothe you and even rock you to sleep. Try it out as it may work for you!"
I want a giant banana to rock me to sleep.
I think that's about it. I need a nap. I've been at work by 5:15 every morning this week. And I'm all fat with baby in my lungs, so it's hard to sleep. Boo hoo hoo, poor me, etc, etc.
Speaking of Pregnant Chicken, there are a couple pretty amaze balls giveaways sponsored by her and BabyList. I thought about using BabyList to set up a registry for Brown Sugar, then I realized that I don't really need shit for a second baby, and our house is only 1500 square feet. 1350 square feet of it seems to be devoted to baby shit, 100 square feet for the dogs and the other 50 for the mister and I).
The most amazing giveaway is the $4000, everything fancy for your baby plus a year of 7th generation diapers. If you think that your baby deserves nice, fancy things that you would never spend money on because you're poor and can't afford to live anywhere better than Idaho, this is the perfect opportunity for your new bundle to get a taste for the finer things before he is bitch-slapped into reality and forced to realize that the neighborhood his parents decided to buy a house in is probably one of the worst in town for schools. (But he's not even born yet. Why is he worrying about schools? You never should have entered that giveaway from BabyList! Pretentious little fuck.)
There's also the Body After Baby giveaway. I've been thinking about tight lacing to get my ribs back where they belong, but maybe shape wear could do the trick? And if it's free, why not try it?
And there's also a Babyganics and Target giveaway. I've never used the Babyganics products because, as mentioned above, I'm not fancy. Any more. I used to be fancy, though. I would drink $14 cocktails made with elderflower liqueur and squid ink and eat Basque tapas at the fancy Basque tapas bar that was right next to my house and go to fancy and ridiculous art parties at the underground gallery and venue that was two doors down from me and up the creepy stairs.
Anyway, enough about me in my twenties. Back when I was cool. I was also really drunk. And all those $14 fancy cocktails could have gone into an IRA or something grown up and fancy. Instead, all my paychecks from my first real environmental job went to booze, books and music. I WAS LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM.
Okay. Now that's really enough.
This is Mr. Adventure's first week of work, and Chumby's first week of not being at home with him. Things are going great with the mom from my mom's group, though. Chumb doesn't really care when Mr. A drops him off and he cries when I make him leave. I think he wants to live with them. They have all the cool toys, so I totally don't blame him. They also have a really nice yard and lots of windows in their house. I want to live with them, too. But, today is his last day going there. I'm taking tomorrow off and next week he starts Day Care and I start working Tuesday through Saturday so we can save a couple bucks on childcare expenses.
And my best friend from college is flying in this weekend with her husband! I'm assuming it's mainly so she can make fun of me for being so fat.
I have an appointment with the midwife today. I'm meeting her partner for the first time, just in case she is the one who is on call when I deliver. I think it's so that way I know who she is, but when you're balls deep in labor, you kind of don't give a shit who comes in the room. At least, I didn't. I didn't even open my eyes when my midwife came in. I heard her voice and she got there just in time to put on gloves and catch Hamburglar as he came flying out, like Slimer from Ghostbusters flying through a wall. But less green. And more solid.
Brown Sugar is the size of a butternut squash or something. You should probably just eat some butternut squash soup. Anything more than that and you'll end up with heartburn anyway.
According to that weird pregnancy website I found, the tip for this week is, "If you are facing trouble sleeping, try drinking a warm cup of milk and eat a banana. This will soothe you and even rock you to sleep. Try it out as it may work for you!"
I want a giant banana to rock me to sleep.
I think that's about it. I need a nap. I've been at work by 5:15 every morning this week. And I'm all fat with baby in my lungs, so it's hard to sleep. Boo hoo hoo, poor me, etc, etc.
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