Vampire Soda Shoppe

You know, I’ve put up with a lot for this pregnancy.  Loss of bladder control.  Fat redistribution.  Hormonal swings. 

But probably the most unpleasant aspect I’ve undergone so far has been all the blood work I’ve had to do.  I don’t like getting stuck with needles, anyway (I mean, who does?) but the frequency of the bloodlettings is getting to be a lot.

Earlier this week, I arrived at my lab appointment.  I had two tests that they needed to run, one of which was a glucose test and the other tested my liver.  I had taken the liver test some time ago, only to be told that my results were “borderline”.  The result of which meant, aside from the fact that I would get Madonna’s song “Borderline” stuck in my head every time I mentioned it, that I would have to take it again.

The last time I took it I had to fast over night, but since my appointment was for the middle of the day, my doctor advised against going without eating for so long.  Still, I had just a light breakfast and avoided anything sugary, as was advised prior to taking the glucose test.

So there I sat, waiting to be called into the second room.  As I waited, I noticed a constant, high-pitched beeping noise.  It seemed to be emanating from the elevators just outside the waiting room.  I tried to ignore it, but its consistent beeping was beginning to needle into my brain.  (Ugh, needles.)  I hoped the next room was soundproof.

When at last I was called, I walked into the room and noticed the beeping was as loud as it was outside.  As the nurse got my information, I couldn’t help but ask, “That beeping must be driving you nuts, huh?”

All of a sudden, her demeanor relaxed a bit.  “Ugh, yes.  It’s the responsibility of the people upstairs, but they haven’t done anything yet,” she shrugged. 

“Man, that’s gotta be rough.  Sitting here all day and listening to that,” I offered.

“Yeah.  I swear I hear it even when I go home,” she chuckled.  I chuckled too, I guess hoping this bridge of comradery somehow meant she wasn’t going to hurt me with the needle.  As if she was going to say, “You know, we don’t normally do this, but since you seem like a nice person, why don’t you just spit into this cup?  We can get all the information we need by your mucus and saliva levels.”

Alas, no such luck.  Instead, she turned around and went to a small fridge propped up on the counter.

“Ok, you get to choose which flavor you want to drink for the glucose test.  We have orange or lemon-lime.”

“Lemon-lime!” I said, almost too excitedly.  I mean this was for a reportedly nasty-tasting liquid, not a Slurpee.  I guess I was excited that I got to choose my own flavor.

“Ok,” she said handing me the ice-cold bottle.  “Now, you are going to drink all of this and then let me know as soon as you are done so I can set the timer.  We have to wait for one hour before we can take your blood,” she said.  “And you want to drink it fast,” she added as she motioned for me to go into a smaller room.

So, I recalled my old college days and just chugged the small bottle.  Fortunately, the cold (and awesome zing of lemon-lime flavor!) masked whatever nastiness it held.  When it was all gone, and I had a second to analyze what exactly it tasted like, I determined it was reminiscent of one of those squeeze ice-pops that had just melted.

And then I played the waiting game.  I began playing with my phone to pass the time, and I noticed my hands becoming a little shaky and my heart racing.  Hmm, I thought, the sugar must be starting to hit my bloodstream.  And since this is the first sugar I’ve had all day, it’s feeling pretty potent.   I tried to ignore my jitters and went back to scrolling through Facebook.

By minute 45, I was becoming restless.  I had gotten as far as I could with Facebook and began to see posts I had already looked at.  I didn’t feel like playing any games (and what would be the point when my hands already felt shaky), and none of the two magazine options in the room seemed appealing.  Not to mention, I was still hearing that constant infuriating beeping.  I was nearing the end of my rope, until finally, the timer went off.

Another phlebotomist came forward and led me into yet another small room to get my blood sample.  As she was getting everything ready, I suddenly began to feel my stomach growling angrily.  It was now nearly past the time I usually eat lunch and my stomach was not letting me forget it.  I tried to ignore it, but it began to morph into a combination of nerves and hunger.  I couldn’t wait for this to be over.

She tied a strap tightly around my arm, looking for the vein.  The anticipation was killing me.  At last she found one and in a quick move, she was in.  I breathed, glad the initial pinch was over.  Now I just had to get through the throbbing pain that remained as she drained my blood.

Almost immediately, I began to feel dizzy.  I closed my eyes to steady myself, as the phlebotomist began trying to chat with me about my pregnancy.

“So how far along are you?” she asked cheerfully.

“Mhmmhm…about…7 months,” I muttered, feeling the blood rushing to my ears.

“Oh wow, I can’t believe you made it through the summer,” she chuckled.

“Mmmhmmm,” I breathed, my head now feeling both heavy as lead and light as a feather.  Dear God, I’m going to pass out, I thought.  Finally, she asked me if I was ok.

“I just…feel…like I’m going to pass out,” I sighed, my head feeling swirly.  I began to see a kaleidoscope of orange and black triangles intersecting and then explode into circles.

“Ok, but do you think you can just hang on?  We have just one more vial to fill,” she said anxiously.

I think I nodded yes and after I waited a few more dizzying seconds she finally patched me up.  I was still feeling loopy and sick, so she blasted the fan on my face and put a cool pack on the back of my neck.  I sat there for a few seconds waiting for the triangles to disappear completely.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so,” I said, enjoying the coolness on my neck and the music video-like fan on my face.  I began to get to my feet and walk to the door.

“We should get those results back soon and if they come back negative, we’ll have to do the three hour long test,” she said, gathering up her things.

I suddenly began to feel dizzy again.  I said fine and thanked her as I walked back out to the infernal beeping waiting room.  It was then I realized that being pregnant, and eventually a mother, really means doing things you don’t want to do, as long as it benefits your kid. 

Even if it means coming back to this vampire’s soda shoppe.

So what was your most unpleasant task or chore you had to do when you were pregnant?

buybuySanity

I have come to this conclusion- I am no good at registering.  I wasn’t good when I was getting married, and I’m even worse when it comes to things for the baby.

The first problem was getting to the store that everyone was telling me was THE place for baby gear- buybuyBaby.  The nearest location is in a town called Brandon, a good forty minutes away from my house.  Factor in that you’ll need a couple of hours just to walk the store and find everything you need, you’re looking at almost an entire day’s long excursion.

My mom bravely accompanied me the first time and what I thought might take only an hour turned into three.  We were there almost up until the store was closing for the day.  Thankfully we got some guidance from willing and helpful employees who walked us around and showed me some things to register for.

“But,” they all said, “make sure you actually book an appointment for a ‘personal shop’ where one of our associates will take you around and assist you more thoroughly.  That way you have someone’s undivided attention.”

Yes!  I thought.  I need THAT.  I need that exact thing desperately.  I was so overwhelmed by beanies, and mittens, and onesies, and sleep sacks (and those are just to clothe the child) let alone safety gear, feeding accessories, and sleeping materials.  I needed someone to take my hand and say, “there, there, little Mommy-moron, this is what you’ll need to keep your child alive and, hopefully, happy.”

I called and made an appointment for my personal shop and miraculously talked Joe into joining me this time.  We arrived a little late (shocker) and I half expected to be pushed to the bottom of the line, but as we stepped up to the registry counter, one woman sat at the desk.  No other customers or clients were waiting in the chairs.

She greeted us and I told her my name, apologizing for our lateness.

“Oh, you’re fine.  You’re actually the only appointment we have at this time,” she said, assuringly.  I sighed with relief and gave her the rest of my information.  After that, she handed me the scanning gun and said, “Ok, now if you have any questions, feel free to ask,” while remaining at her station.

Hmmm…, I thought.  Isn’t the point of setting up a “personal shopping” experience is that someone personally walks around with you as you shop?  Maybe I was supposed to use some sort of code word to activate her.

“Well, I could really use some help finishing out this registry.  I’m totally lost and bewildered by all this stuff,” I joked.

“Oh…yeah sure, of course,” she said coming to her feet.  I immediately got the impression that maybe she doesn’t normally do these, as she seemed suddenly nervous when she joined me at my side.

For the next few hours, she guided us on a tour of the store, explaining what each section contained and offered tidbits of advice on what people “typically” registered for.

It was helpful, but I was missing the handholding experience I was hoping for.  When we got to bottle sterilizers, she talked about one brand in particular.  It was a bit on the pricey side, so I asked if there were other brands that were good.

“Well, you could do with the Philips…or the Dr. Brown’s.  But this one we always push,” she said, indicating back towards the expensive one.  Again, I don’t think she does this all the time, but she was still very sweet and patient even after I registered for the one that was $10 cheaper.

As we continued on in our tour, the gun was beginning to feel useless to me.  We were seeing everything the store had to offer, but were getting very little done in the way of actually registering for anything and I was getting antsy.  I found myself scanning random stuff, like baby-safe hand wash, just to feel like I was getting something done.

By the end, we finally arrived in the stroller section.  This was one of the main reasons I wanted to bring Joe with me- so that he could try out the stroller and we both could practice opening and closing it.  I also had more questions about the one I had registered for, so I was relieved that I would have some one-on-one time with an employee that I could ask questions to.

“Ok, so, I’m not as well-versed in the stroller-area but there are a few guys here that can answer your questions more thoroughly,” she said.  She grabbed the attention of one of the guys and told him that we would have some questions about strollers, but that we wanted to take a quick look at the baby carriers first.  The guy said sure, and then disappeared into the gathering crowd of couples milling about all the strollers.

After we had had our look at the carriers, the girl said, “Ok, well, I’ll leave you to the experts in our stroller department.  You can just bring me the gun whenever you are done, OK?” she said, smiling kindly.  We thanked her for her help and walked back over to the strollers.

It took me a few minutes to recognize the one I had registered for, and when I did, naturally, it was up on a shelf.  There was a similar one from the same brand on the actual floor and we began playing with it as we waited for our turn with an associate.  The one guy who had acknowledged us earlier was nowhere to be found while the only other guy was deeply engaged with another befuddled couple.  We continued to busy ourselves with the false-stroller, waiting and waiting for someone to approach us.  After nearly fifteen or twenty minutes, I had had enough.  My pregnancy hormones began to shift from a mild simmer to a stewing boil.  Fortunately, I had kept it all in check as we gave up the hope of actually talking to someone and walked back to the registry counter.

“Hi!” said our girl associate, “How’d it go?” she asked excitedly, but still glancing at her computer.

“Great!” Joe said, laying on the sweetness.  All I could muster was a “Good,” but I kept a smile on my face.

“Were you able to get a lot more stuff done?” she asked, eyes still fixed on her screen.

“Sure…,” I said weakly.  It wasn’t her fault, but I was disappointed and couldn’t help letting some of it seep out.

“How about the strollers?  Were you able to get your questions answered?” she asked, glancing back at us.

“We actually couldn’t get a hold of anyone,” I began, about to let more of the annoyance out, but at this she looked at us fully.  I could see she was concerned that she was about to get an earful, so I backed off.  “But it’s ok.  I understand.  It’s a weekend, and there are a lot of people here now…” I said quickly trying to smooth it over.

She apologized but there was nothing that could be done at this point.  The day was pretty much shot.   I regretfully handed back the barely-used scanner, and we walked out.  Joe tried to keep me from boiling over, but I was frustrated and couldn’t help it.  We have this huge list of stuff we are “supposed” to have for the baby, and I don’t think we even have 20% of it accounted for.

I came home and began thinking of all the mothers I know who could give me advice on what to register for and (even better) what I don’t need to bother with.  I got some great tips from my sister and sister-in-law, but then I thought, why not pose the question to YOU as well?

So I ask you, as one desperate mother-to-be to another- What are your Top Things I Must Specifically Register For and (conversely) What are the Biggest Money-wasters?  Sound off in the comments!

Yogi Barely

I said I was going to do it and now I have really done it.

At least, I think.

Last Monday I tried yoga for the first time.  Granted, it was just prenatal yoga, but it’s a start.  What made it more fun was that I had another preggo-buddy, Rachel, to join me on this new endeavor.

Alas, like most of my journeys, it had some bumps along the way.

Let me take you back briefly to one week earlier, the day we were SUPPOSED to start our yoga adventure.

Back at my doctor’s office, I was given a sheet listing all the classes I could take to prepare for childbirth, one of which listed the prenatal yoga class.  I called the number listed to find out about rates and other info, and was lead to a generic hospital office where I left a message.  When they finally called me back, they left me a message with the name and phone number of the class instructor, but explained that I could simply arrive a little early to the class and sign up then.

I texted my friend Rachel and we made a plan to meet outside the hospital before going in together.  As I waited for her, two worries suddenly popped in my brain:  I only had my debit card to pay for the class and I forgot to bring my own yoga mat.  Meanwhile, Rachel was dealing with worries of her own.  She had gotten mired in traffic jam after traffic jam and let me know she was running late.  By the time she arrived it was a few minutes after 6, but we decided to go for it, anyway.

We crept quietly to the door and slowly opened it, fearing we would disturb and a darkly lit class already in progress.  Instead, we found…nothing.  The room was still set up with desks and chairs in the way, but no soothing music was heard, nor yoga enthusiast or instructor found.  I decided to call the instructor directly to find out if she was still coming.

“No, I don’t hold classes for less than two people and both of my people canceled.  The hospital should’ve told you that,” she explained.  “But we can have you come next Monday.”  We gave her our information and Rachel and I agreed to meet the following Monday.  I was actually relieved; I got a second chance to be more prepared.

The week dragged on but at long last, Monday arrived (incidentally, I can’t remember the last time I was looking forward to a Monday).  I changed into my workout clothes at work and, with cash and yoga mat in hand, met up with Rachel at the hospital. 

I was pretty pumped.  For years, I have seen gorgeous girls in tight black pants walking around, practically advertising yoga programs with each confident stride, and I had heard about how great yoga was for both body AND mind.  I had wanted to try it for so long, and now, I was taking my first steps towards my goal.

We walked into the same room we had one week earlier, but this time it had changed…a little.  The desks and chairs were still there, but pushed mostly out of the way.  One girl was already there setting up her mat and putting her things away.  She was clearly into her third trimester, and had that genuine glow everyone talks about.  We introduced ourselves and set up our mats as well.

The instructor greeted us all and as we all took our chairs and chatted nonchalantly, the door opened again.  In walked one of those girls I always thought of when I pictured a yoga-goer.  She was tall and lean, with perfectly long blond hair, long legs, tight little butt, and the cutest little pregnant belly I had ever seen.  She was dressed in immaculate and fashionable workout clothes that perfectly carved out her shape.  She looked like an ad for a pregnancy-workout DVD.  I looked down at my own shabby faded tank top and barely-fitting pre-pregnancy yoga pants. I would’ve hated her easily if she hadn’t been so infuriatingly friendly.

At last, the class began.  We started with some breathing exercises to relax our muscles.  Unfortunately, my little baby boy wasn’t interested in feeling relaxed.  He was apparently attending a baby kickboxing class in my uterus.  With every cleansing breath I took, I could feel him wallop my inside.

“Deep breath iiiin...” cooed the instructor.

Pow, went the baby.

“Cleansing breath oooout,” sighed the instructor.

Slam, went the baby.  C’mon, kid, work with me here, I thought, hoping my mental telepathy would travel umbilically.

After that, we finally got to do some poses.  As I tried to concentrate on my breathing while holding a pose, the soothing music began to include Indian-like chants.  It was nice, but my mind immediately changed from its place of serenity to suddenly thinking, man I could go for some samosas and chicken tikka masala…mmm…

Not exactly the deep thoughts I was hoping to have.  And some of these poses really required some deep introspection to figure out how to do them, especially when it looked like all we were doing was just standing there.

“Ok, now I want you to think about expanding yourself.  Widening yourself and expand.  Expaaand,” the instructor said.  I watched her closely to see the slightest muscle on her twitch, giving me some clue as to what I was supposed to be doing.  I looked over at Rachel who was in front of me and the other two girls.  They too looked like they were just standing there. 

I figured she was just using the word to encourage more breathing, but as we bent down into another pose, she said it again.

“And think about opening yourself up…expand…” she said quietly.  Hey, lady, this is what got us all in this trouble in the first place, am I right?  I thought to myself with a smirk. 

At the end, she had us get on the floor and lay on our sides.  She told us to close our eyes, concentrating on our breaths as we let our bodies collapse.  I snuck a peek at everyone else, once again confused by what exactly we were working out.  Rachel had moved from her side to her back, and had her eyes closed.  She looked totally relaxed.  I glanced over at the other two girls.  The model-like girl was in the same position as me, looking lovely in her limp state.  The more heavily pregnant girl had gotten up and taken a chair instead.  I didn’t know what else to do, so I just closed my eyes and continued to lie on the floor.

At the conclusion of the class, we all got up and shook off our “pose”.  I did feel more relaxed, for sure.  But I was lacking that nice, exhausted feeling I am used to getting from a typical work out.  Rachel and I said our goodbyes to the teacher and other two girls as we walked out to our cars.

As soon as we were clear of the hospital, we both blurted out our confusion over some of the poses. 

“How exactly do you ‘expand’?” Rachel asked.

“Was that last movement basically ‘nap time’?” I wondered.

We agreed that we enjoyed it for the most part though, and decided to go back again soon.  I’m not ready to give up on it just yet.  I’m hoping to achieve that combination of clarity and fitness that so many yogis enjoy.  But maybe next time, I’ll bring a pillow as well.