An update, after a long absence

So! The-Little-Fetus-That-Could, still IS. 22 weeks and counting. I am resting, resting, resting, and taking my blood pressure, which has been generally above "wonderful" but comfortably below "call the office". What the chances are of "Kittyboy all over again" (28 weeks, HELLP drama) depends on which doctor is looking at me, I think, which is either annoying or amusing, depending on my mood. My regular ob-gyn, Dr. Z, was pretty much happy with the way things were going, the many tests all came back at least acceptable, and apart from one little incident that involved a couple hours of having my BP monitored and a pre-eclamptic panel run on a Saturday afternoon, it all seemed fine. Except, to me, it seemed something, somewhere, somehow, was less than fine. Just little nagging oddities - the stairs at church seemed to put me out of breath, a walk that was normal in the first trimester would leave me exhausted the next day. I wasn't nesting, I was tired. I would sit for a moment and feel my limbs, back, and trunk muscles all give a great sigh of relief, and not after a day of work either. And the incident that sent me to the hospital for blood testing and blood pressure checking was exceedingly weird, sudden hand-swelling, out of the blue, 9 a.m., so that my fingers tingled and hands felt weird to close.
We have a pregnancy helpline through our insurance, and I must say, whatever Husband's employer is paying is worth every penny.
So I had just decided last week that at my next appointment with Dr. Z, I would mention, "So I know the tests have all been fine, but I just think something's not necessarily fine..." It's like when something, somewhere in the kitchen, is juuuuuuuust starting to go, not bad, but "off". All you know is that sometimes, at the sink - or is it closer to the garbage can? - you just get this whiff of something. But the garbage is out, the sink is clean, and then, darn it, just caught another whiff. What the heck? Am I smelling things?.... It was like that.
Then Monday, I had a sono appointment. Not seeing Dr. Z, just checking on Baby. Everything seemed good, tech mentioned she (baby's a she) was a little small, but neither of Baby's parents come from tall families. Then the nurse said "the doctor" would come in and talk with us.
Dr. T, whom we'd not met before, is a high-risk pregnancy doctor. I think she and Dr. Z have to compare notes (haha) because she's not at all convinced all's well. According to HER, the chances of Kittyboy-all-over-again could be 25-50%. She said I would be getting a blood pressure cuff for home. Aye aye, Cap'n T. She asked if I was taking baby aspirin. Um, nope, no one said to, but I will now. I took a big breath and said, "Okay. Blood pressure cuff, baby aspirin. What else, what do we DO?" She paused a second and said, "Well, there's really nothing you CAN do, if it's going to happen."
She did add that modified bed rest might help.

I've since calmed down, reassessed what exactly she SAID, not what my pessimist brain HEARD (which of course was the worst of all possibilities) and taken this as doctor's orders to take my body very, very seriously. I lay down enough throughout the day that when I have been up and lay BACK down, there is no release-of-tension, sigh-of-relief feeling, because if there were, it would mean I should have ALREADY been down. And laying down to that extent has amounted to partial/modified bed rest. I avoid ANYTHING that makes me have to breathe like I've been running, which means very slow on stairs, as few as possible (we live in a one-story house, I only take stairs at church), I sit whenever I'm not doing something (and all through church, basically), and Kittyboy is learning a great many household tasks.
But THAT is a story for another day... Kittyboy doing housework is a post all its own...

posted from Bloggeroid

The Little Embryo That Could

(We think you can! We think you can! We think you can!)

In March of last year, I went for a first sonogram at eight weeks pregnant, and the baby had no heartbeat. Not to be flippant, but a generally unpleasant and distressing experience I really didn't want to repeat. Now, to our joy/disbelief, I'm finally pregnant again.
We got a sonogram at 6.5 weeks this time - juuuussst wanted to see that heartbeat for real, before I got excited. Maybe that's morbid, but, well...
We have a heartbeat! Baby measures six weeks, five days! Heartbeat 114 bpm!
The sucky part is, we have four weeks until our next heartbeat-listening-to. I am going to be counting down the days. Basically, if all our tests come back good (already know my progesterone is right where it should be, that's one concern taken care of), there's really nothing that can be done any differently than before. Assuming no abnormalities with hormone levels or anything else, first trimester miscarriages can still "just happen". We're being calm but vigilant. There's only so much you can do. Although, thanks to my history with Kittyboy, things will get very different about 20 weeks. I don't know the details, but that's what the doctor said. And of course, to contact them if anything is unusual.
Is it me, or is it some kind of cruel joke, to say, "Oh, but don't stress about it! Stress is bad for the baby!" Because while I understand that to be completely true - do I need something ELSE to stress about? So I can stress about not stressing about something stressful, because if I stress about the stressful thing, the stress alone could cause said stressful thing to occur just because I stressed about it?
So! Not stressing - overly much! Holding on tightly, in my head, to my progesterone results! Counting days! Calling it The Little Embryo That Could (thanks to my friend Carey for that lovely and optimistic title!)!
33 days from yesterday, so 32 days to go!
And may Kittyboy's angels watch over his sibling in the meantime.

Homemade yogurt

Last week, I had some milk in the fridge that needed using, so I decided I'd try what I'd been thinking about for a while - making yogurt. I did have plain yogurt in the fridge, and all I knew about yogurt making is that you put a little plain yogurt in, and the milk should just do it all by itself.
But given that there's such a thing as a "yogurt maker", and people talk about using crock pots and heating pads and whatnot, I went looking for directions. The first site I found was http://makeyourownyogurt.com/
I didn't have a big enough double boiler - I didn't have a crock pot - but I did have a thermometer!
I put a quart jar's worth of milk in a pan, heated while stirring constantly, and I mean CONSTANTLY, and took the temp every few minutes. At one point, Kittyboy got himself assigned to stir, while I hunted for a better food thermometer. And he did stand there quite responsibly, never stopped stirring, and at no point did he stick his fingers on the edge of the pan, into the heating milk, or on the burner (all of which he was sternly and repeatedly warned about beforehand). He can be a good helper when he wants.
Finally, after oh, forty-five minutes or so of stirring over a hot stove, it was heated to 180. I put the pan in a sink of cold water and stirred until it was just down to 110, stirred in a good-sized dollop of plain yogurt, and for lack of any means of keeping it warm, just covered the pan and set it back on the stove on the turned-off-but-still-warm burner. I figured, people have made this for centuries without necessarily a means of keeping it evenly and consistently warm - a crock pot or heating pad might make it take only 7 hours, but maybe I could just leave it for longer, like 24?
After eight hours or so, before I went to bed that night, I peeked. Hmmm - smelled like spoiling milk. I figured it was going to be a learning experience and went to bed.
The next morning - creamy white yogurt!! There was no whey to stir back in, the texture was even, it was perfect! It's whiter than store-bought, which I thought was funny, too. It worked great! Next time, I'm going to leave it longer to get thicker. This time, I was just so thrilled to have yogurt that I just jarred it up right then.
So far, I've twice made a bowl of homemade ranch dip for carrots, and used it as a base for beef and noodles. It goes well in place of sour cream, too.
Anyone have any good yogurt recipes to share?

Randomness...

I am loving my new knee braces!! In the last five days, I have dug several two rows of the expansion to my flower garden, planted a rose, put the sod from the expansion in my wheelbarrow, planted more plants, caged the maybe-cucumbers unknown-squash-vines in the big garden, and spread more cardboard in the garden. I even weeded! I had a LONG list of yard projects waiting for these braces to come in. The tomatoes need tying too, though it may be too late - they've grown all funky and weird along the ground.

Kittyboy informed me a few days ago that he had been sitting in his room, reading a book. To himself. I wonder how long it will be before the I Can Read books no longer interest him. He was looking at his globe last week and said, "Rrrrussian. This says Russian!" I said, without looking up, "RussIA. It says Russia." He murmured thoughtfully, "Russia... but there is an N." "What?" Oooops, forgot the age of his globe - Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic. "By golly that does say Russian! Good job!"

We've been using interstate travel to do math. If we're passing exit 264 and we need exit 267, how many miles are we from our exit? That question is best phrased "What is the difference between 4 and 7?" and to my surprise, he gets it right half the time.

Kittyboy had his first dramatic nosebleed today - he came to me with his hand out, asking, "What is this?" Red smeared all over his hand and face. Nothing hurt, so he didn't even know it was blood. I asked if he had hit his head. "No." Hit his nose? "No." Hit, bumped, fallen down in any way? "No." Deep breath. Did he stick anything IN his nose? "No." I ran through the possibilities remaining - the air isn't dry, his sinuses haven't been running... couldn't think of anything else. Hmm. Well, it's been tough to keep him from sticking his fingers in his nose. Had he been scratching inside his nose? "Oh, yes." SIGH. And had the blood started coming out after he was scratching his nose? "Um, yes." Aaaahhhhhh. Well, YAY for not needing a doctor on the FOURTH OF JULY, because up to that point I was out of guesses, and spontaneous nosebleeds for no apparent reason are not generally a good thing. I told him that a) a finger qualifies as "anything", and b) here's another reason to keep your finger OUT OF YOUR NOSE. Delicate tissues, capillaries, etc... the fact that your fingernails are filthy...

We'll be hauling him out of bed about 8:30 tonight to go downtown for fireworks. I'm hoping to coax him into bed about 6, 6:30, which probably means we'll have to skip the nap. Or start the nap at 5, and then he probably would have been awake until after 9 anyway.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

"Like the sky. But different."

Kittyboy randomly spouted, this morning, "I saw there were angels! They were circling up over my bed. And God was standing next to my bed!"
"........? And when was this?"
"Oh, at night!"
"What night?"
"The night before this morning!"
"...And what did the angels look like?"
"Oh, I don't know! Like angels! They had wings on them!"
"What color were the angels?"
"Oh, I don't know. I think blue. Or green."
"........And what does God look like?"
"Um - I do not know! He is Our God!"
(as opposed to someone else's? huh?)
"He looked like the sky! [could have been 'He looked up like the sky'] But different."
"So God looks like the sky. But different."
"Yes!" Nodding emphatically, driving his car.
"Were you dreaming?"
"Oh yes, I was dreaming about my globe! The one that I found in the gift shop!" (a $400 inlaid stone globe he found at the Sheels gift shop)
"Were you dreaming about God? Or angels?"
"Um, no. God was just standing, next to my bed, and the angels were just circling."

I like the description of God as looking "like the sky, but different." How interesting...

The No-Good, Very Bad Day

It started with Husband being ill with sinuses, and Kittyboy and I scurrying out the door without him, fifteen minutes late to church. As soon as we got there, I sent him to the bathroom, to forestall the five-minutes-in, "I have to go on the toilet!" hassle, since I knew I'd be in front reading. Ten minutes later, "I have to go on the toilet!" We went to the bathroom and then I said we'd just sit in a pew, because it would be disruptive for the both of us to go traipsing back up, and the other two chanters would be more than fine. Kittyboy wasn't happy. He spent the rest of Orthros bugging me about when Sunday School would start, and wanting to lay on the pew and kick his feet. Finally it was 10 and I sent him to Sunday School. One of the benefits, for me, of him being in Sunday School, is that I can sing in the choir. The Sunday School class came in right before the Gospel reading - and Kittyboy started whining for me. And whining. And whining. Finally the teacher let him go up to me in the choir. He wasn't too much happier in the choir - he kept asking me if it was time for Communion, and arguing when I said no. He sat on the floor. He fiddled with the power cord for the organ. He whined that there was no pew. He tried to get under the organ bench. He asked if it was Communion again. He required that I hold a book for him to follow, and sang a little, but then when he wanted to flip pages, I took it away. This did not please him. We had a quiet discussion concerning the fact that I wasn't holding the book for him to play with it, and if he didn't want to follow along, no book. We tried the book again. (By now you've gotten a fair picture of how church went, it was pretty much that)
Finally it was time for Communion! And after that, we went downstairs to discuss, not so quietly, the fact that he cannot be in the choir if he's going to disrupt the choir and prevent me from singing, and if he can't sit with his class, he just won't go to Sunday School, and we will sit in the pew the entire service.
Today was the feast of the Elevation of the Cross, and I had intended to keep Kittyboy downstairs just until the procession and then zip back up just for that. I miscalculated - and Father did the procession before the end of church - and we missed it. I love Soson Kyrie, this is the day we sing that a lot, didn't get to sing it. Not pleased.
When we got home, he was VERY due for a nap. I went to put him in bed, and his sheets were wet. I eyed the humidifier, and sniffed them - NOT wet from the humidifier. He gets out of bed himself in the morning, and he wears a pull-up overnight, so gee, it had not occurred to me to check whether he had completely soaked his bed! I still haven't figured out what happened. All bedding needed to be washed - and his weighted Toy Story blanket was washed just two or three days ago. It takes a while to dry, too. I couldn't believe it. This nap was now going to be delayed by 2-3 hours.
Can't get worse, right?
After this on top of our problems at church, I was Severely Displeased. Then - I carried everything to the laundry room and found the washer full. The dryer was full. What was in the washer was clean and needed drying, so I couldn't toss it back in the hamper. But what was in the dryer, wasn't quite dry. I had to restart the dryer, wait for it to dry, switch out loads, THEN I could start the load on which hinged the very fate of the world, or at least of my afternoon.
Kittyboy started saying he was hungry. He had a bunch of fruit and sweet breads at coffee hour, but being still awake, he was hungry again. This was when I discovered that the rice and vegetables he'd had for breakfast - because they were from dinner last night - which he still hadn't finished for breakfast because we were running late - were still sitting out on the table, four hours later. We'd been in such a rush this morning, I'd not put them away. Well, they were garbage now. Gave him a bunch of grapes. Seriously, he ate a LOT at coffee hour, and he usually has a bird's appetite. I've never fixed lunch after church. He spent the laundry time being, well, tired four-year-old in need of nap. Fun times. Whining, "I want to boouuunce!" I put down his trampoline - in the hallway, because his room's a disaster and I was folding laundry in the front room and the hallway was where I had room. "But I want it in theeerrrree!" My response was less than gracious. Emptied the dryer as soon as the washer stopped, tossed the still-wet things on a table, put The Load of Loads in the dryer. 3:30 in the afternoon, I was finally making Kittyboy's bed. Got it made despite his "help", got him in it, then had to take off and put back on his covers. They were in the wrong order. Not kidding. FINALLY tucked him in to his exacting standards, and I turned on his music.
"Oh, but IIIII wanted to start it!"
Are you kidding me?
Fine. Whatever. I was done. I told him to start the music himself if that was what he wanted, and tuck himself back in. Couple minutes later, crying that it wouldn't play - I went back in. He'd pressed the play button twice, pausing it. I started it for him. I tucked him back in.
Then he began to say that he was still hungry.
I wanted to scream. Husband was up. I gave him a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and charge of the Kittyboy, because I was VERY MUCH DONE.
And I did the mature, grown-up, mommy thing of hiding in my bedroom.
After his nap, Kittyboy came looking for me. He came in the room, flung his arms wide, and declared, "Mommy, I like you a lot!"
Aww. I told him I loved him, and asked why he'd come looking for me. "I am happy to have you!" That translates, "I want you to be with me!" Awww! I asked him, "Even when I'm cranky and grumpy and yell a whole lot?" And he climbed up in my lap and said quite sincerely, "Yes! When you yell, God forgives you!"
Aaawwww! I take that to mean we're friends again!

posted from Bloggeroid

Homecoming Anniversary

We were at the doctor's this morning, just checking on the seasonal sinuses, and Kittyboy wanted me to read him his wristband. He is learning to read, and wants to know what everything says. I saw the date, 3-23, and told him that FOUR YEARS AGO TODAY, he came home from the hospital!
It was a Friday, the 5th Friday of Lent that year. I know that because that night, he was churched after the 5th Akathist service. Between the hospital and home, we stopped at Target, because there was something the nursery still needed - I want to say it was a lamp. I didn't know what to do with a baby in car seat and a shopping cart, and didn't know that car seats fit onto carts, so Husband pushed the cart and I carried Kittyboy in my arms. When we got home, my first phone call after the initial "HE'S HOME! HE'S REALLY HERE!" flurry of calls was to my mother - "Um, Mommy? How do you go to the bathroom with a baby?" And I was shocked when she said, "Oh, you just take him in with you!" But Mother! He's a boy! "Yes dear, but he's a baby. It really doesn't matter!" The second "What do we do...?" question was to NICU the very next morning - "And WHY is it that we are setting an alarm all night and waking a sleeping baby for feeding?" "Oh, because preemies don't always wake when they're hungry." Ah. O...kay.
And it was so weird to have him be really all ours.
He went to church that night, that Sunday, the next week which was Palm Sunday, and we were thinking what we should do about Holy Week and the deluge of services. We'd always gone to all of them before. We decided to take him Palm Sunday evening, Monday through Wednesday, and then start keeping him home Thursday when the crowds start. By Wednesday, we realized that nowhere was he calmer and more quietly content than in church. We continued taking him to all the services, all Holy Week, and he was perfectly happy.

posted from Bloggeroid