Well, thanks for asking!
It was a lovely morning. Let's start at the beginning of the day - 12am, when I was nearly asleep. It's my fault, really. See, I had wanted a good thunderstorm for a while. I love summer storms; I'm a radar checker, a Weather Network fanatic and the person who will sit in front of the window and watch all the pretty lightning bolts.
When I asked for a thunderstorm, I failed to specify a good time for said storm to occur. I should have picked 3pm. Or a window between, say, 2pm and 4pm. Instead, I left it wide open, and the Powers That Be decided that around midnight would be a great time to pelt the great outdoors with near continuous thunder and lightning. I exchanged Geekster for Intrepid, who came into our room half asleep and quite afraid. Geekster went downstairs and slept in Gutsy's bed, to preempt a frightened preschooler episode. I must say that it's heartwarming when your nine-year-old still wants to cuddle you because he can't sleep. It doesn't happen often, but it did last night.
Problem: nine-year-olds take up a lot of room. Technically not as much as pregnant women, but they move more. This is how the division of the bed was last night:
[----------Intrepid 75%---------][-Maven 25%-]
Yeah, that pretty much sums up how I slept last night. Co-sleeping loses its flavour after they can kick harder than you can. I think I passed out around 12:30am.
I awoke to the alarm at 6:15am. "6:15?! Why, you're once again a certified, bon-bon eating, story-watching, pryin' bar-using stay-at-home-Maven! What's with the early wake-up time?" Even Mavens have actual things to do outside the house, sometimes. This was one of those times. I hauled my tired behind into the minivan and drove to the local hospital for 7:15am. Why? Oh, for many great things!
Anyone's who's pregnant in a developed nation and submits herself to routine testing will know all about the one hour glucose test. It's one of those hidden pregnancy gems nobody mentions until they've waddled you into a corner in your late second or early third trimester. "Congratulations on your pregnancy! By the way, did you know you have to drink the most gawd-awful sweet, orangy crap in under five minutes, manage tokeep it down and then wait an hour with other nauseated pregnant women until you can get your blood drawn?"
I drank down that nasty uberpop/megasoda/torture liquid at 7:25am. Come on, now. It's bad enough to expect people to drink it without vomitting. It's another thing to ask them to do it as they're normally crawling out of bed. Not cool. I had my blood drawn at 8:25am (I bet you could have guessed that) and then went home.
Actually... NO. I didn't go home. I would have liked to, but unfortunately I also have another hidden pregnancy treasure to contend with: I'm RH negative. And, silly me, I made the mistake of making babies with a guy who has a positive blood type. Do you want to know what the reward is? Adorable children and the joy of having someone inject me with blood products both in my third trimester and within 72 hours of my child's birth. Horray!!
I couldn't have that done until 11: 15am. Thus, I spent nearly three hours bored to tears before I could receive my next track mark (very close to my first track mark from earlier in the morning - that vein gets around like a record). I finished reading Freakonomics, so that was a bonus. Then I spent the rest of the morning hunting for English magazines in a French-speaking hospital (Well, the people inside the hospital speak French, anyway. Walls don't talk, silly. That's just an expression). I uncovered two Readers Digest magazines from 2003 and an O mag from December 2001; needless to say, the O magazine was rather bleak, complete with tragic stories and the like. Happy Holidays!
I then spent another half hour waiting for any potential adverse reactions after my shot. Even though it's, like, the fifth one I've had in my lifetime with no problems. I watched the clock like an anxious third grader. I snuck out two minutes early. Always a rebel.
I got home at 12:20pm. I just woke up from an hour long nap (did I mention how much I love my husband? Even though he's, you know... AB+. It's not his fault. He was just born that way).
I'm going to grab myself and The Madre a coffee and come back to respond to a comment sent in by one of my devoted (Bored? Insane? You'd have to be to read this garbage) readers. She asked me a question and I've had hours and hours this morning to come up with a good response.
It was a lovely morning. Let's start at the beginning of the day - 12am, when I was nearly asleep. It's my fault, really. See, I had wanted a good thunderstorm for a while. I love summer storms; I'm a radar checker, a Weather Network fanatic and the person who will sit in front of the window and watch all the pretty lightning bolts.
When I asked for a thunderstorm, I failed to specify a good time for said storm to occur. I should have picked 3pm. Or a window between, say, 2pm and 4pm. Instead, I left it wide open, and the Powers That Be decided that around midnight would be a great time to pelt the great outdoors with near continuous thunder and lightning. I exchanged Geekster for Intrepid, who came into our room half asleep and quite afraid. Geekster went downstairs and slept in Gutsy's bed, to preempt a frightened preschooler episode. I must say that it's heartwarming when your nine-year-old still wants to cuddle you because he can't sleep. It doesn't happen often, but it did last night.
Problem: nine-year-olds take up a lot of room. Technically not as much as pregnant women, but they move more. This is how the division of the bed was last night:
[----------Intrepid 75%---------][-Maven 25%-]
Yeah, that pretty much sums up how I slept last night. Co-sleeping loses its flavour after they can kick harder than you can. I think I passed out around 12:30am.
I awoke to the alarm at 6:15am. "6:15?! Why, you're once again a certified, bon-bon eating, story-watching, pryin' bar-using stay-at-home-Maven! What's with the early wake-up time?" Even Mavens have actual things to do outside the house, sometimes. This was one of those times. I hauled my tired behind into the minivan and drove to the local hospital for 7:15am. Why? Oh, for many great things!
Anyone's who's pregnant in a developed nation and submits herself to routine testing will know all about the one hour glucose test. It's one of those hidden pregnancy gems nobody mentions until they've waddled you into a corner in your late second or early third trimester. "Congratulations on your pregnancy! By the way, did you know you have to drink the most gawd-awful sweet, orangy crap in under five minutes, manage tokeep it down and then wait an hour with other nauseated pregnant women until you can get your blood drawn?"
I drank down that nasty uberpop/megasoda/torture liquid at 7:25am. Come on, now. It's bad enough to expect people to drink it without vomitting. It's another thing to ask them to do it as they're normally crawling out of bed. Not cool. I had my blood drawn at 8:25am (I bet you could have guessed that) and then went home.
Actually... NO. I didn't go home. I would have liked to, but unfortunately I also have another hidden pregnancy treasure to contend with: I'm RH negative. And, silly me, I made the mistake of making babies with a guy who has a positive blood type. Do you want to know what the reward is? Adorable children and the joy of having someone inject me with blood products both in my third trimester and within 72 hours of my child's birth. Horray!!
I couldn't have that done until 11: 15am. Thus, I spent nearly three hours bored to tears before I could receive my next track mark (very close to my first track mark from earlier in the morning - that vein gets around like a record). I finished reading Freakonomics, so that was a bonus. Then I spent the rest of the morning hunting for English magazines in a French-speaking hospital (Well, the people inside the hospital speak French, anyway. Walls don't talk, silly. That's just an expression). I uncovered two Readers Digest magazines from 2003 and an O mag from December 2001; needless to say, the O magazine was rather bleak, complete with tragic stories and the like. Happy Holidays!
I then spent another half hour waiting for any potential adverse reactions after my shot. Even though it's, like, the fifth one I've had in my lifetime with no problems. I watched the clock like an anxious third grader. I snuck out two minutes early. Always a rebel.
I got home at 12:20pm. I just woke up from an hour long nap (did I mention how much I love my husband? Even though he's, you know... AB+. It's not his fault. He was just born that way).
I'm going to grab myself and The Madre a coffee and come back to respond to a comment sent in by one of my devoted (Bored? Insane? You'd have to be to read this garbage) readers. She asked me a question and I've had hours and hours this morning to come up with a good response.