Mini-Hope is visiting for the weekend. She inherited her father's sensitivity to wheat and/or gluten, but refuses to give up refined flour. So, of course, she woke up with an upset tummy (mac-n-cheese does that to the wheat and/or gluten insensitive) and immediately took up residence in our small ranch house's one tiny bathroom.
You can probably guess what happens next.
When I wake up in the morning, I make a beeline for the bathroom. I did this even before I was pregnant, but now that I am with child, my bladder is even more sensitive. I HAVE TO PEE, DAMN IT.
Only, I can't, because there's Mini-Hope.
I go back into the bedroom and say to Mr. Hope, "You're going to have to build me another bathroom."
He asks if I knocked on the door to let Mini-Hope know I have to use the bathroom, too. I didn't, because she embarrasses easily. But five minutes later, I can't afford to spare her feelings. I knock and say, "Hey, Mini-Hope. You almost done in there?"
"No," is her plaintive, 10-year-old response.
Balls.
I say, "Okay, but remember - we only have the one bathroom, and I need to go, too."
She doesn't respond. I putter around the house. Feed Precious Pup. Put away some things in the kitchen. Try to forget that my bladder is a ginormous balloon about to pop.
I go back into our bedroom. "So about that second bathroom...."
And then we hear it. The glorious flush of the toilet.
When Mini-Hope emerges, she's clutching her stomach. "You feeling okay?" I ask.
"No," she tells me. "My stomach really hurts."
So I don't go into the bathroom. I go into the kitchen to get her a small glass of ginger ale.
Which is when Mr. Hope takes it upon himself to use my bathroom and take the world's longest pee.
When he emerges, I duck in...only to discover the roll of TP is almost used up. I go to the linen closet. No extra rolls of TP.
"Hope!" I say. "There's no toilet paper! Go be a husband and GET ME SOME."
He does.
At which point I'm finally allowed to relieve myself - literally twenty minutes after first waking up.
Did I mention that I really, really, really need a second bathroom?
Showing posts with label Mini-Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mini-Hope. Show all posts
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Monday, March 30, 2015
my rollercoaster-y weekend with Mini-Hope.
Let me start by saying that our visit with Mini-Hope wasn't nearly as awful as I'd been anticipating fearing. In fact, it was pretty calm the first night/next morning. She ran some errands with us, didn't jockey for junk food, and was - dare I say it? - almost delightful.
And then around 3 p.m., when I was sending her off to see a movie with her dad, the first temper tantrum happened. It was a minor one - she wanted to bring her headphones so she could listen to music in the literally five-minute drive to the theater, and I said no, it's a short drive, just talk to your dad. That got arms crossed, feet stomping, and a big ol' pout, but it was fleeting, because then they were off and I had a few minutes to breathe (and rest - yep, still exhausted, still needing naps).
When they got back, it was later than expected and I was trying to get dinner on the table. They had tickets to a play that night and we were bringing the daughter of a friend who's around Mini-Hope's age. The friend's daughter arrived and that's when Mini-Hope started showing off, making snarky comments toward me and her dad, being difficult about the food on her plate. Meanwhile, friend's daughter is eating everything and declaring, "This is so delicious!" and not in an Eddie Haskell-y kind of way, either.
So, really, she was kind of underscoring Mini-Hope's bad behavior without even realizing she was doing it.
After dinner, I ship the three of them off, and see as Mini-Hope refuses to sit in the front seat with her dad. She wants to sit in the backseat so she can play on her phone. I personally do not believe that girls her age need or should even have smartphones, but I lost that battle. Her mom wanted to be the hero, so she was.
I spent the night apart from them but we arrived home at the same time. Mr. Hope confessed that he let Mini-Hope get dessert after the play, even though we'd gone for ice cream earlier in the day. He said, "I couldn't say no! All of the other kids were doing it!" To which Mini-Hope turned to me and gave me the smuggest little grin you can possibly imagine. Her mistake? Letting Mr. Hope see it, too.
It was one of those moments - my eyes open in horror as I realize what teenagerdom is going to bring me with this kid, and Mr. Hope's horror in realizing just how bratty Mini-Hope can be. He said, "Don't you dare, Mini-Hope! I saw that look. You wipe that look from your face right this second." Busted!
So okay, that was gratifying. And to be honest, this was the worst of things. I mean, after we went into the house, I ended up cleaning up the kitchen by myself (Mr. Hope was in the bathroom, Mini-Hope slack-jawed in front of the TV). The next day we discovered that she doesn't have any chores at home, nor does she earn an allowance. I told her that if she came to stay with us for a week this summer, she'd have chores but at the end of the week she'd earn an allowance, because that's how things work at our place. She seemed amenable to that.
And then our weekend got cut short because Mini-Hope's mom decided she wanted to get the hand off done as soon as possible, even though we'd planned to decorate Easter Eggs before taking her back. So that kind of sucked. But overall it was a decent visit. I mean, the kid is 10; of course there are going to be flashes of brat. That's what happens with kids her age.
Honestly, the biggest problem this weekend was my inability to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. I'm seriously exhausted.
I've also been spotting a little. I hesitate to even call it spotting because really, it's just a smidge of that brown-tinged mucus, and it's only in the morning and only when I wipe. I'm starting to think it's my cervix being irritated by the suppositories, just because it's only happening in the AM. But of course every morning I get totally freaked out by it. And then the heartburn flares up and I chew a couple of Tums and that's that.
Tomorrow's the big day. I'm not going to lie - I'm scared. I just want the u/s over with. I want to know this embryo has everything it needs to become a baby. And then I want to know that my numbers are good so I can exhale a little more deeply.
I want to know that I'm okay. That this jellybean is okay.
T&Ps appreciated.
And then around 3 p.m., when I was sending her off to see a movie with her dad, the first temper tantrum happened. It was a minor one - she wanted to bring her headphones so she could listen to music in the literally five-minute drive to the theater, and I said no, it's a short drive, just talk to your dad. That got arms crossed, feet stomping, and a big ol' pout, but it was fleeting, because then they were off and I had a few minutes to breathe (and rest - yep, still exhausted, still needing naps).
When they got back, it was later than expected and I was trying to get dinner on the table. They had tickets to a play that night and we were bringing the daughter of a friend who's around Mini-Hope's age. The friend's daughter arrived and that's when Mini-Hope started showing off, making snarky comments toward me and her dad, being difficult about the food on her plate. Meanwhile, friend's daughter is eating everything and declaring, "This is so delicious!" and not in an Eddie Haskell-y kind of way, either.
So, really, she was kind of underscoring Mini-Hope's bad behavior without even realizing she was doing it.
After dinner, I ship the three of them off, and see as Mini-Hope refuses to sit in the front seat with her dad. She wants to sit in the backseat so she can play on her phone. I personally do not believe that girls her age need or should even have smartphones, but I lost that battle. Her mom wanted to be the hero, so she was.
I spent the night apart from them but we arrived home at the same time. Mr. Hope confessed that he let Mini-Hope get dessert after the play, even though we'd gone for ice cream earlier in the day. He said, "I couldn't say no! All of the other kids were doing it!" To which Mini-Hope turned to me and gave me the smuggest little grin you can possibly imagine. Her mistake? Letting Mr. Hope see it, too.
It was one of those moments - my eyes open in horror as I realize what teenagerdom is going to bring me with this kid, and Mr. Hope's horror in realizing just how bratty Mini-Hope can be. He said, "Don't you dare, Mini-Hope! I saw that look. You wipe that look from your face right this second." Busted!
So okay, that was gratifying. And to be honest, this was the worst of things. I mean, after we went into the house, I ended up cleaning up the kitchen by myself (Mr. Hope was in the bathroom, Mini-Hope slack-jawed in front of the TV). The next day we discovered that she doesn't have any chores at home, nor does she earn an allowance. I told her that if she came to stay with us for a week this summer, she'd have chores but at the end of the week she'd earn an allowance, because that's how things work at our place. She seemed amenable to that.
And then our weekend got cut short because Mini-Hope's mom decided she wanted to get the hand off done as soon as possible, even though we'd planned to decorate Easter Eggs before taking her back. So that kind of sucked. But overall it was a decent visit. I mean, the kid is 10; of course there are going to be flashes of brat. That's what happens with kids her age.
Honestly, the biggest problem this weekend was my inability to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. I'm seriously exhausted.
I've also been spotting a little. I hesitate to even call it spotting because really, it's just a smidge of that brown-tinged mucus, and it's only in the morning and only when I wipe. I'm starting to think it's my cervix being irritated by the suppositories, just because it's only happening in the AM. But of course every morning I get totally freaked out by it. And then the heartburn flares up and I chew a couple of Tums and that's that.
Tomorrow's the big day. I'm not going to lie - I'm scared. I just want the u/s over with. I want to know this embryo has everything it needs to become a baby. And then I want to know that my numbers are good so I can exhale a little more deeply.
I want to know that I'm okay. That this jellybean is okay.
T&Ps appreciated.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
and the second beta is...
...169!
Cycle Buddy had guessed it was going to be 172. I can't believe how close she was!
Other good news: estradiol is up to 146 and progesterone is up to 18.8. Blondie (aka Nurse Barbie) sounded genuinely excited for me this time and not, you know, like I was a total crackpot who needed to be handled with care.
To throw some more numbers at you, this beta shows a doubling time of 31.7 hours. Well within the 48-hour range.
I was supposed to go back on Monday for my third beta, but decided to push it to Tuesday since I'm taking that day off from work. I ran the numbers in a beta calculator and to stay within the nice, comfy 48-hour window, it will need to be about 678. If I reach or surpass that number by Tuesday, I'll have my first ultrasound the following week.
And because I'm me, yesterday had to be an Adventure of Epic Proportions. There is something about my car that doesn't like the trip to Posh Clinic. Last year, we blew out a tire on a pothole. Wrecked the rim and everything. Then there was the car accident on the way to an ultrasound. And yesterday, on the ride there, I got a warning light to service my power steering and power train system.
I called the dealership right after my ultrasound to see if I needed to have the car towed or if I could drive it back. It's a 34-mile drive, so I didn't want to risk anything. They didn't want to say, but after I said, "I am accepting full responsibility and releasing you of liability. In your expert opinion, can I drive it or do I need a tow?" she said, "You can drive it."
Okay then.
Only, when I tried to pull out of my parallel parking spot, I discovered that the power steering was gone. It wasn't working period. I popped the hood. It had plenty of fluid. This was something more serious. Fantastic!
I called AAA. They said the wait time was 75 minutes. In the snow.
I wanted to cry.
But, as luck would have it, the tow guy showed up within 8 minutes. He loaded my car onto a flatbed and deposited us both at the dealership, where I was greeted by a coworker picking up some equipment that I had in my car and the BFF, who drove me home.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't an EPIC journey home. But it took long enough. If my car hadn't crapped out I would've been home by 10:45. As it stood, I didn't get there until 12:30. And lost half a day's work to boot.
So, I'm going back on Tuesday, and between now and then, my goal is to focus on the freelance project, pulling everything together for the accountant, and keeping myself busy in general. Next weekend we have Mini-Hope and I'm not looking forward to it. For one thing, I'm going to have to put in a lot of time on the freelance project. For another, I have to hide all evidence of this pregnancy and lie about the shot I take once a night (I've told her it's for my psoriasis).
But lastly, the biggest issue is this: Most of the time the kid drives me nuts. I didn't raise her, and I don't approve of the way she's been raised. She's spoiled. Bratty. She's not always nice to Precious Pup. Her grandmother has given her massive food issues, so the kid sneak-eats when we're sleeping and begs for more food (particularly junk) when we're awake. It is a constant battle. Plus, she just turns into a zombie in front of the TV. Like, for hours.
I have spent years trying to forge a relationship with this kid. Sometimes she loves me. Most of the time she just tries to manipulate me. I don't go for it; her dad does. I am the Mean One Who Says No.
God, I sound like a horrible bitch, don't I? I don't mean to. Dealing with Mini-Hope just wears me out, and at a time when I don't have any energy to begin with, I'm kind of dreading that.
Cycle Buddy had guessed it was going to be 172. I can't believe how close she was!
Other good news: estradiol is up to 146 and progesterone is up to 18.8. Blondie (aka Nurse Barbie) sounded genuinely excited for me this time and not, you know, like I was a total crackpot who needed to be handled with care.
To throw some more numbers at you, this beta shows a doubling time of 31.7 hours. Well within the 48-hour range.
I was supposed to go back on Monday for my third beta, but decided to push it to Tuesday since I'm taking that day off from work. I ran the numbers in a beta calculator and to stay within the nice, comfy 48-hour window, it will need to be about 678. If I reach or surpass that number by Tuesday, I'll have my first ultrasound the following week.
And because I'm me, yesterday had to be an Adventure of Epic Proportions. There is something about my car that doesn't like the trip to Posh Clinic. Last year, we blew out a tire on a pothole. Wrecked the rim and everything. Then there was the car accident on the way to an ultrasound. And yesterday, on the ride there, I got a warning light to service my power steering and power train system.
I called the dealership right after my ultrasound to see if I needed to have the car towed or if I could drive it back. It's a 34-mile drive, so I didn't want to risk anything. They didn't want to say, but after I said, "I am accepting full responsibility and releasing you of liability. In your expert opinion, can I drive it or do I need a tow?" she said, "You can drive it."
Okay then.
Only, when I tried to pull out of my parallel parking spot, I discovered that the power steering was gone. It wasn't working period. I popped the hood. It had plenty of fluid. This was something more serious. Fantastic!
I called AAA. They said the wait time was 75 minutes. In the snow.
I wanted to cry.
But, as luck would have it, the tow guy showed up within 8 minutes. He loaded my car onto a flatbed and deposited us both at the dealership, where I was greeted by a coworker picking up some equipment that I had in my car and the BFF, who drove me home.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't an EPIC journey home. But it took long enough. If my car hadn't crapped out I would've been home by 10:45. As it stood, I didn't get there until 12:30. And lost half a day's work to boot.
So, I'm going back on Tuesday, and between now and then, my goal is to focus on the freelance project, pulling everything together for the accountant, and keeping myself busy in general. Next weekend we have Mini-Hope and I'm not looking forward to it. For one thing, I'm going to have to put in a lot of time on the freelance project. For another, I have to hide all evidence of this pregnancy and lie about the shot I take once a night (I've told her it's for my psoriasis).
But lastly, the biggest issue is this: Most of the time the kid drives me nuts. I didn't raise her, and I don't approve of the way she's been raised. She's spoiled. Bratty. She's not always nice to Precious Pup. Her grandmother has given her massive food issues, so the kid sneak-eats when we're sleeping and begs for more food (particularly junk) when we're awake. It is a constant battle. Plus, she just turns into a zombie in front of the TV. Like, for hours.
I have spent years trying to forge a relationship with this kid. Sometimes she loves me. Most of the time she just tries to manipulate me. I don't go for it; her dad does. I am the Mean One Who Says No.
God, I sound like a horrible bitch, don't I? I don't mean to. Dealing with Mini-Hope just wears me out, and at a time when I don't have any energy to begin with, I'm kind of dreading that.
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