Sweeeeet. Just packing up my boxes, cleaning up e-mails and downloading photos at the office and I'm outta here. It's been a helluva ride these last few weeks with the endless doctor appointments (all out of town, of course!), my final publishing week (which, btw, went extraordinarly well all things considered) and training my replacement (which, not surprisingly, I did not receive until 10 days ago), but in a scant six hours, office life will all be over for me for 13 months.
I'll be able to put up my swollen ankles and rest my hiney on the couch where it belongs, while I wait for #2 to make her much-anticipated appearance. And, if my latest medical quirks are any indication, the arrival should be shortly. I have a feeling #2 is ready to join the world--and frankly, I'm just about ready to greet her.
Promise to post some steak and potatoes soon. I'll even add some virtual gravy to the meal, as I have some new pics that I can't wait to share! Keep the faith, readers.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Lens is back!
Yeah!!! It's back. It's fixed, it's clean, it's slightly less stiff. It cost me $113....but, oh how the world is right again.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Gestational diabetes = swag
So, if you have been following the comments, you’d know that I have been diagnosed with borderline gestational diabetes—a condition that lasts only until the minute I give birth. Luckily, it does not transfer over to the child and is generally controllable through diet alone—or so I thought.
I met with a diabetic clinician and a dietician earlier this week, where I was told, in fact, that borderline diabetics are often those most likely to require insulin, as it may not be a diet issue, but rather a result of the placenta either not producing enough insulin or the body being resistant to the insulin it produces. I might have this all wrong—there was a lot of medical mumbo jumbo taking place during those two hours, but I think that’s the gist of it.
Anyways, before deciding my insulin-shot fate, the doctors have deemed it necessary to monitor my blood glucose levels daily and for me to continue keeping a log of what it is I eat each day. The journaling bit is easy enough to do since I had already started it back when I heard that diabetes could be a possibility. (The clinician and dietician were impressed by my pro-activeness. Gold star for me.)
When they looked at my diet, they determined that there really wasn’t anything wrong with it. I already stay away from concentrated sugars because:
a) I’m not a huge ‘sweets’ fan to begin with.
b) I had already cut out anything sugary from the diet, just to be on the safe side.
I eat regular meals, which are high in fibre and chock full of nutrients. I drink lots of milk. I eat protein with just about each meal and I've been careful about my carbs. Which leads the professionals to wonder if it my case is an insulin issue. In order to determine this, we need to keep track of my glucose levels, which is why they have given me a glucometre (or whatever it’s called).
Yes, folks. I get to stab myself seven times a day until the end of my pregnancy, just to ensure that I am in the right blood sugar range. Good times. Two days into it so far, and I’m as normal as can be. Hope it continues.
Next week, I meet with them again. My results will determine whether or not I need to add a daily insulin shot to the mix. Boy, do I love being pregnant. Sigh.
On the upside—apparently, when you develop gestational diabetes, you are awarded a consolation prize. Swag! Not only did I get my nifty little metre, my log bog and all my sample strips and needles, but I was given a handy, dandy diaper bag, complete with change pad and insulated bottle pockets! Inside was a big, thick paperback on naming your baby the Canuck way. Yeah! (Actually, it really is quite a nice bag, but what the hell? Seriously—a promotional diaper bag?)
I met with a diabetic clinician and a dietician earlier this week, where I was told, in fact, that borderline diabetics are often those most likely to require insulin, as it may not be a diet issue, but rather a result of the placenta either not producing enough insulin or the body being resistant to the insulin it produces. I might have this all wrong—there was a lot of medical mumbo jumbo taking place during those two hours, but I think that’s the gist of it.
Anyways, before deciding my insulin-shot fate, the doctors have deemed it necessary to monitor my blood glucose levels daily and for me to continue keeping a log of what it is I eat each day. The journaling bit is easy enough to do since I had already started it back when I heard that diabetes could be a possibility. (The clinician and dietician were impressed by my pro-activeness. Gold star for me.)
When they looked at my diet, they determined that there really wasn’t anything wrong with it. I already stay away from concentrated sugars because:
a) I’m not a huge ‘sweets’ fan to begin with.
b) I had already cut out anything sugary from the diet, just to be on the safe side.
I eat regular meals, which are high in fibre and chock full of nutrients. I drink lots of milk. I eat protein with just about each meal and I've been careful about my carbs. Which leads the professionals to wonder if it my case is an insulin issue. In order to determine this, we need to keep track of my glucose levels, which is why they have given me a glucometre (or whatever it’s called).
Yes, folks. I get to stab myself seven times a day until the end of my pregnancy, just to ensure that I am in the right blood sugar range. Good times. Two days into it so far, and I’m as normal as can be. Hope it continues.
Next week, I meet with them again. My results will determine whether or not I need to add a daily insulin shot to the mix. Boy, do I love being pregnant. Sigh.
On the upside—apparently, when you develop gestational diabetes, you are awarded a consolation prize. Swag! Not only did I get my nifty little metre, my log bog and all my sample strips and needles, but I was given a handy, dandy diaper bag, complete with change pad and insulated bottle pockets! Inside was a big, thick paperback on naming your baby the Canuck way. Yeah! (Actually, it really is quite a nice bag, but what the hell? Seriously—a promotional diaper bag?)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
I wanna be sedated
I can't control my fingers,I can't control my toes
Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh!
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp,
I wanna be sedated
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp, I wanna be sedated!
My kid is officially the coolest little girl. Just got back from taking her to daycare this morning (as I am working from home until my appointment with the dietician this afternoon--oh yes, people, borderline again! Gestational diabetes, here I come!) and this particular Ramones anthem was playing on the car radio on our way there. I can't help it. I'm a sucker for classic rock, so I turned it up.
B loved it! She bobbed her head to the music and started singing along: "Twenty, twenty, twenty...."
This, in turn, made me join in. Both of us belting out rock tunes at 7:30 a.m.
Gawd, I love that kid.
P.S. This ain't a recent pic--but it shows my B in her best rock diva form!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Bunnies aren't working!
Like many children, B is particularly attached to one toy--or rather, nine of them (I'll explain why so many in a minute.). Her grandparents gave her this little, pink bunny-headed blanket toy for Easter when she was about six months old and she has not let it out of her sight since then. This toy is her comfort object and she insists on having it with her if she is going somewhere unfamiliar or to accompany her to her nap and bedtime each night.
At first, she just liked to cuddle with it. When she was a little older, she rubbed its ears against her shut eyes or under her nose. For a few months after we removed the souce, she subsituted by sucking on the bunny's ears until she fell asleep. Nowadays, she simply rubs the bunny's ears between her fingers just as she is getting sleepy.
B was so infatuated with the toy, refusing all others, that I asked my mother-in-law where she got it. When B started chewing on the ears, I went to WalMart and picked up another pink bunny. If I hadn't had a back-up, I would never have been able to get the first one out of her grubby mitts and into the laundry hamper!
My sister sagely suggested that I have an extra one that I leave in the car--just in case, we forgot to pack Bunny while we were out and about. So, another trip to WalMart for the $8 bunny.
When B began daycare, I bought a few more. The original two were getting pretty ratty. The ears were worn, the colours had faded from pink to a drab grey and the nose threads had come loose. Anyways, one was left permanently at daycare, another at my sister's place, another at Grandmaman's. And, I bought one to keep in excellent, unusued condition so that B could have it when she grows up, as a sort of souvenir of her babyhood. Much like they do in real life, the original bunnies bred like there was no tomorrow. And, by the following Easter, our bunny family had morphed into a warren of nine rabbits. (Sadly, the fresh bunny was also pressed into service one evening after a particularly disconcerting household search, in which all three of us came up bunnyless.)
The Hubby and I have been pretty meticulous at keepomg the bunnies away from one another. Back-ups have always been hidden in a cupboard, dirty bunnies stowed beneath a pile of stinky socks. Over the years, we have only ever lost two bunnies--one at the check-out at the local grocery store, another while the grandparents took her out kitchen-tile shopping--both were recovered and restored to their rightful place in the cupboard. But, alas, about six months ago, B discovered a second bunny while helping me "do the laundry" (which B understands to mean taking my freshly folded clothes and tossing them back into her froggy hamper, then jumping inside and closing the lid, demanding that I 'find' her.). She now insists on having "my two bunnies" at all times. One sleeps on either side of her, both guarding her dreams.
Occasionally, depending on her mood, the bunnies get banished to the end of the bed for a 'timeout.' Sometimes B reads to them. (Every story begins the same way: "One day....") Sometimes she will push them around the house in her stroller. They have also been known to get 'bobos' and require medical treatment--everything from vaccinations to bandages. The bunnies often require kisses and hugs at bedtime. And, they always need to be tucked in with a blanket, just like B.
Last night, the bunnies weren't working. Or so, B said. Just before her bedtime story, she threw both bunnies down on the ground and looked at her father and I with a petulant pout. "Bunnies not working!" She said, crossing her arms. We laughed. What else could we do?
I asked her to explain to me why they weren't working. She just repeated her statement, feeling it unnecessary to detail the inner workings of Bunny's bedtime power. I rubbed the bunnies' ears to my nose in an attempt to convince her they were both as soft and gentle as the day they were brought home. Both seemed to be in good working order. Daddy even tried the nose thing, but B was adamant. They weren't working. She only acquiesced when Daddy said that if she wasn't going to sleep with the bunnies, he would because the bunnies were certainly helping him fall asleep!
Upset with one bunny in particular (and he was the older of the pair, so perhaps whatever magical property he contained has since been used up?!), she banished him to the other pillow.
This morning, she awoke, cheerful and smiling, with both bunnies clutched tightly to her chest. While I was doing her hair, I asked her about her bunnies and whether or not they had both been fixed during the night. Holding both of them in her arms, she pointed to the newer, pinker one:
"This one is working--" she said, and then shook the older, rattier one.
"--this one is not." She gave me a pointed look. She hadn't forgotten.
I guess I need to make another trip to WalMart.
At first, she just liked to cuddle with it. When she was a little older, she rubbed its ears against her shut eyes or under her nose. For a few months after we removed the souce, she subsituted by sucking on the bunny's ears until she fell asleep. Nowadays, she simply rubs the bunny's ears between her fingers just as she is getting sleepy.
B was so infatuated with the toy, refusing all others, that I asked my mother-in-law where she got it. When B started chewing on the ears, I went to WalMart and picked up another pink bunny. If I hadn't had a back-up, I would never have been able to get the first one out of her grubby mitts and into the laundry hamper!
My sister sagely suggested that I have an extra one that I leave in the car--just in case, we forgot to pack Bunny while we were out and about. So, another trip to WalMart for the $8 bunny.
When B began daycare, I bought a few more. The original two were getting pretty ratty. The ears were worn, the colours had faded from pink to a drab grey and the nose threads had come loose. Anyways, one was left permanently at daycare, another at my sister's place, another at Grandmaman's. And, I bought one to keep in excellent, unusued condition so that B could have it when she grows up, as a sort of souvenir of her babyhood. Much like they do in real life, the original bunnies bred like there was no tomorrow. And, by the following Easter, our bunny family had morphed into a warren of nine rabbits. (Sadly, the fresh bunny was also pressed into service one evening after a particularly disconcerting household search, in which all three of us came up bunnyless.)
The Hubby and I have been pretty meticulous at keepomg the bunnies away from one another. Back-ups have always been hidden in a cupboard, dirty bunnies stowed beneath a pile of stinky socks. Over the years, we have only ever lost two bunnies--one at the check-out at the local grocery store, another while the grandparents took her out kitchen-tile shopping--both were recovered and restored to their rightful place in the cupboard. But, alas, about six months ago, B discovered a second bunny while helping me "do the laundry" (which B understands to mean taking my freshly folded clothes and tossing them back into her froggy hamper, then jumping inside and closing the lid, demanding that I 'find' her.). She now insists on having "my two bunnies" at all times. One sleeps on either side of her, both guarding her dreams.
Occasionally, depending on her mood, the bunnies get banished to the end of the bed for a 'timeout.' Sometimes B reads to them. (Every story begins the same way: "One day....") Sometimes she will push them around the house in her stroller. They have also been known to get 'bobos' and require medical treatment--everything from vaccinations to bandages. The bunnies often require kisses and hugs at bedtime. And, they always need to be tucked in with a blanket, just like B.
Last night, the bunnies weren't working. Or so, B said. Just before her bedtime story, she threw both bunnies down on the ground and looked at her father and I with a petulant pout. "Bunnies not working!" She said, crossing her arms. We laughed. What else could we do?
I asked her to explain to me why they weren't working. She just repeated her statement, feeling it unnecessary to detail the inner workings of Bunny's bedtime power. I rubbed the bunnies' ears to my nose in an attempt to convince her they were both as soft and gentle as the day they were brought home. Both seemed to be in good working order. Daddy even tried the nose thing, but B was adamant. They weren't working. She only acquiesced when Daddy said that if she wasn't going to sleep with the bunnies, he would because the bunnies were certainly helping him fall asleep!
Upset with one bunny in particular (and he was the older of the pair, so perhaps whatever magical property he contained has since been used up?!), she banished him to the other pillow.
This morning, she awoke, cheerful and smiling, with both bunnies clutched tightly to her chest. While I was doing her hair, I asked her about her bunnies and whether or not they had both been fixed during the night. Holding both of them in her arms, she pointed to the newer, pinker one:
"This one is working--" she said, and then shook the older, rattier one.
"--this one is not." She gave me a pointed look. She hadn't forgotten.
I guess I need to make another trip to WalMart.
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