So. Things have been happening, and I have been too tired and lazy to blog about them. Last night, the third of five times waking up to pee, I thought of something very hilarious to say on this blog, then I fell asleep and forgot it by the fifth pee.
Well, it was hilarious at two in the morning when I was half asleep and trying to navigate to the bathroom to pee without opening my eyes, anyway. Maybe we're all better off?
Last week I had to wait almost an hour for my OB appointment. Mark and I sat in the room, listening to some lady next door bitch out the OB over something. I know this because the OB office has paper thin walls. I hope the workers there realize this and don't walk out of a room mumbling obscenities because you can totally hear it. I know I will keep it in mind, should I ever have an It Burns When I Pee situation to discuss with my doctor.
Anyway. Waiting. For an hour. Pissed off. Starving.
Mark and I seriously considered running the appointment ourselves and just leaving notes on the white exam table paper for the doctor to copy into my file.
Finally, the doctor comes in and is all sorry about that blah blah blah. And I'm all, "hey, you could totally make it up to me by giving me an ultrasound, mmmmkay?"
Amazingly, he said that he would but not until next week!
Then he realized that during our hour wait, we were supposed to be having a non-stress test. He was lucky that he dangled the ultrasound in my face like a Twinkie, because when he apologized, I said, "You had me at Ultrasound. You had me at ultrasound."
Last week, cupcake was measuring at 33 weeks, which was perfect. Her heartbeat was perfect, my glucose readings were perfect, and the only thing that was not perfect was that I was so hungry I wanted to eat the elastic bands on the torture device strapped to my abdomen for the non-stress test. Elastic has no carbs, right?
The test was cool. We could constantly hear the heartbeat, and every time she kicked, it sounded like thunder. Mark realized it first that the kicks sounded like thunder, then he said, "that is totally blowing my mind." Then he lit up another doobie.* I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions and got to see them on the graph.
Continuing the tradition of milking my insurance for every single precious maternity coverage penny, I will be going to THREE appointments this week: a non-stress test, my 34 week appointment, and an ultrasound.
So help me, if we see a penis on that screen...
Speaking of penises**, my second shower was Saturday, and Nostradamus correctly predicted Armageddon: Ohio Style. The roads locally were passable, so we still had 10 people come. We had fun, I think! And really, everyone got a prize, because we were supposed to have 26 people crammed into my living room to play games. So the guest-prize ratio was very favorable.
I admit to a few tears in the morning over the weather, and how it so effectively fucked my shower right in the ass. However, it was a fabulous time - here is a pic of the cupcake tower and adorable favors:
And here is me, in all my 33 weeks pregnant glory and whatnot in front of the fireplace:
I think I have earned my good weather karma - there was a blizzard on my shower day, so I will have a crystal clear day for my drive to the hospital. It's My Name Is Earl, except My Name Is Jennepper, and I didn't win the lottery.
Eating karma? Not so favorable. At the shower, I was a horrible human being who deserves to birth a toddler because I ate two cupcakes, pasta salad, Pizza Hut, AND BURGER KING. Like some sort of diabetic junkie going on a total bender. (You know what? My sugar wasn't all that shocking after my performance - it was 132, and my limit is 120.)
Wilford Brimley is probably setting fire to a fertility clinic right now.
*Not really, but it's not often that Mark sounds like a pot head. Except that last night he couldn't remember how to write a cursive B, and said, "how come I can't remember how to write a cursive B?" and I couldn't breathe because I was laughing so hard. He sounded hiiiigh then, too.
**It has nothing to do with penises, but there aren't enough changes of subject where I can use "speaking of penises," and since all the pretty pretty pink clothes I got at my shower would be useless in the event that a penis appears at the ultrasound, I thought I'd seize the day.