Registering, and Showers, and Leg Pain - Oh MY!

So keeping a blog during a crazy weight loss process? No problem. Keeping a blog while planning a WEDDING? Nooooo problem. Keeping a blog while being 19 months, 237 days, 27 hours, and 18 minutes pregnant?

Nope.

So here is your entry of the…month.

So much has been going on lately that it would be almost impossible to update you with everything. So I will hit the big points, and ladies may I beg of you to please chime in when needed? 

We completed our baby registry a few weeks ago, thanks to ALL your input and guidance on telling us which items were must-haves verses which items are has-beens. It helped our swirling heads a LOT. We were able to create a nice little registry, and we’ve already received several awesome items! I have to say, it was pretty exciting walking (Read: Waddling) around the store and scanning things for the baby! There were so many “Awwww” moments I couldn’t possible record them all. At some point my sweet hubby gave up and went and sat down up front and I just kept waddling along. That is actually when I found several of my favorite items! For example, what child (or adult) doesn’t need this?!

(And yes, this is one of the awesome items we already received, and I believe I may have squealed upon opening it!)

So aside from registering, this momma has been going to the doctor constantly, trying to eat healthier, and basically live in survival mode. I have developed this mystery pain. Because I truly felt that being diabetic, having blind spots in my vision and numbness in my legs just wasn’t enough, ya know? Like, I could be doing more for women everywhere if I could develop just ONE more miserable side effect then I, too, could officially call myself pregnant. Well, ask and ye shall receive y’all! I now have mystery pain. Well, actually I don’t think it is a mystery anymore. I saw my OB/GYN this week, and she feels it is most likely Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (SPD), which is basically pain in my pelvic/groin area caused by relaxed and stretching ligaments that normally keep my pelvic joint aligned properly (here’s looking at you What To Expect for that most excellent definition!) My pain began about three weeks ago, on a scale of 1-10 as around a 4, being “Oh. My. That isn’t comfortable. Did I pull something? I’ll take it easy.” About a week later, it moved to more of a 7, being “No. No, no no. I clearly do NOT remember joining the Olympic Gymnastics team this weekend, and I KNOW I did not do the splits recently.” Then, about a week later it moved to a full on level 10, being “OH HELL TO THE NAW, I CAN’T WALK. DO Y’ALL SEE ME NOT WALKING?! THERE IS A DEMON IN ME GNAWING ON SOMETHING.” And finally, I am where I am today, somewhere around a level 14, being, “Sssssh. Don’t talk to me. I’m not moving today. Or tomorrow. I’m laying horizontally and holding my breath. Don’t touch me.”

So. You know. Sigh and all that. She has ordered me some physical therapy sessions to see if that helps. She said some women don’t feel this particular thing at all, some women feel it mildly, and some women are completely miserable and on bed rest because of it. Guess which I am? No prizes.

But, I would like to end on a much happier note to remind us all of the exciting times! Yesterday my husband’s office threw us our first official Baby Shower!! It was SO sweet of them to do for us, and I can’t even tell you how real it made all of this! We had such a great time seeing all of the sweet gifts for the baby (and there were a LOT OF GIFTS. Y’all went above and beyond!!). And I of course was ooo’ing and awww’ing over the decorations, the fact that it was all royal blue, seeing his little name everywhere, mini bow ties on everything - it was just all SO cute. This same group of people threw us a wedding shower last year, and I can’t get over how generous and loving they are towards us. I’m so grateful Andrew has such a great office environment that cares about us this much!

I didn’t manage to get very many pictures because I was busy taking part in everything, but here are at least a few quick snap shots of the adorable decorations:

Bow Tie straws!

Napkins wrapped around the forks! How cute?!

And the baby's name is.......

Oh, and last, but NOT least. Yes, yes, yes – we have picked a baby name. There isn’t much hiding it now because we’ve told all of our family members, and it was spelled out in the decorations yesterday annnnd it’s going on the official baby shower invitations for the family/friends baby shower. So, after MUCH thinking, and coming up with a narrowed down list of 60 names (hush.), we had actually somewhat settled on a different name because we couldn’t quite click on anything else. It felt okay, but it still didn’t feel…right. We privately started referring to the baby by that name, and it just wasn’t settling in with me. We didn’t share it with anyone, and thought we’d live with it and see what happened.

It was really important to me to incorporate family names into his name if at all possible. Even cooler, we thought, what if we could use my mom’s name somehow? She has six grandsons (and mine will make seven!), so the odds of her getting a namesake are getting slimmer and slimmer. Well, long story short: We were walking across a parking lot the very next day after making our non-committal decision on the other name, when we walked past a van in the parking lot that had a name on it spelled with my mom’s spelling. We both stopped, looked at each other and were like, “Why didn’t we think of that? It’s perfect!” After that, the middle name came immediately, because we wanted to incorporate my dad’s name, too, so we just simply used his middle name. And thus, Kayden Michael Gehring became a real boy! My mom’s middle name is Kaye, my dad’s is Michael, and we knew this was the right name for us. How did we know? Because we cried when we wrote it down. We just had that moment of clarity and knew this was our son.

 We called my parents immediately, they were in a parking lot doing some Christmas shopping, and I told them to keep the car in park. We told them the quick story and the name, and they started to cry. My mom actually started to bawl. She was SO excited! We haven’t looked back since. So yesterday, when I walked in to the shower and saw his little name spelled out on bibs, I teared up again. It was our baby Kayden Michael. He is coming!! 14 weeks to go!!! 

 

Apparently I'm...pregnant.

That’s right. PREGNANT! At least that is what my ENT told me today as his “solution” for my problem.

First of all, I get there and I am taken back by a nurse who seemed a bit odd. Usually, I LOVE nurses. They are the one guaranteed part of my doctor’s visit where I know I will be treated like an actual human being. Nurses rock my world, because they actually seem to have empathy for me, and care and take time. This lady was lacking a few, um, qualities that I usually desire. Perhaps she was having an off day. First of all, we walked PAST the scale in the hallway, and when we got to my room she says, “Any idea how much you weigh? Anything close will do.”

Erm, umm…do I LIE? Do I say, “Well, I have gained TWO HUNDRED POUNDS since I’ve been pregnant, yikes!” and let her pat me on the back in sympathy? Do I completely lie the other way, and pick a weight from somewhere in the vicinity of me being 16 years old, when I could see my toes on the first try when looking straight down? Sadly, I chose to tell the truth, and gave her my best guess based on my weigh in from last week, with the weak disclaimer that I am 5 ½ months pregnant. She seemed satisfied with my nonchalant answer, so much so that she next asked me my best guess on my height.

Next she pulls out the blood pressure cuff, and though I half expected her to ask me to take a stab at guessing that, too, she actually put it on me. When she was done, she looked horrified, and stepped back and asked me if I have a history of high blood pressure. Immediately, my little pregnant heart began to beat faster, as I tried to remember if I took my dose of medicine this morning, and OMG I’M GOING INTO LABOR AREN’T I?!

I briefly explained I have somewhat high blood pressure during pregnancy, am on medicine, and asked what my number was. She says, “Well, it was 119/80. You should probably talk to your OB/GYN about that tomorrow. That’s uncomfortably high. Enough so that I’m really concerned.”

I’m sorry, correct me if I’m wrong – isn’t the general “ideal” number for blood pressure 120/80? I mean, perhaps that is something I made up in my head? And perhaps it isn’t a “perfect” blood pressure, but it isn’t enough to warrant a frightening look and the words “uncomfortably high” and a recommendation for a follow-up with my OB/GYN is it? Heck, I consider it a GREAT day when my BP is anywhere in that vicinity.

Anyway, after she left me, I had to sit in the office for the next hour waiting on the actual ENT to come in, because you know. Doctors. I watched an episode and a half of Gilmore Girls before the door finally opened.

He had my MRI scans, and informed me that yes, I do have a rather large cyst on my sinuses. And oh, by the way, you have Sinus Disease (to which my response was,  “Is that even a real thing?”). And apparently ALL of my sinus cavities are swollen shut. Not one. Not two. ALL. (apparently there are eight?!)

He then basically tells me I’m pregnant. For about ten minutes. He said I need surgery, but not now because I’m pregnant. And I need steroids, but not now because I’m pregnant. And I need a much stronger decongestant, but not now, because….

He tried to put the long black tube with the lighted camera on the end up my nose to look for more polyps. However, after it was about 2 inches in I began to cry like a small child because it hurt SO bad. So he said he didn’t want to torture me any further, and that was pretty much it.

Okay, so it lasted for a good solid 30-40 minutes and he was really nice, and really thorough, but ultimately he simply couldn’t help me. He said when someone has chronic sinusitis that gets so bad he would classify it as Sinus Disease, that honestly there is very little that can be done. He did say he is mildly optimistic that my symptoms happened to perfectly coincide with becoming pregnant, so there is some hope that once the baby arrives I may regain my sense of smell and taste. I’m supposed to follow-up next June and go from there to see if anything has returned, and if not, to discuss further treatment options post-pregnancy. There seems to be about a 50/50 shot of this being temporary/pregnancy related verses this being a permanent thing that happened now by coincidence.

*single tear*

I’m not going to go into a long, long, loooooooooooong rant about how depressed I feel right now. I don’t think that will make anything better. But I am. I am just flat-out sad, depressed, frustrated, and want to cry. But I also know I need to be strong and carry this little baby boy and give him a healthy, happy environment to grow in, so sitting around crying and giving up eating food all together isn’t going to help anyone. However, I also do feel that I am allowed to at least say it: I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m living in a tasteless, smell-free void. You seriously, truly cannot possibly understand the mental toll this is taking on me. It has been almost 6 months now.  I can’t even breathe well for even two minutes out of the day, I can’t taste Thanksgiving dinner this week, I have to have my hubby smell foods to see if they've soured, to tell me if my clothes need washed yet, heck if the house was burning down and I was asleep I wouldn't smell the smoke. I can’t even smell my baby boy when he arrives, that fresh baby smell. Eating has lost all meaning, and I hate being around everyone talking about how amazing their meal is. My dog pooped in the house the other day, and I didn't even know it until my hubby got home and smelled it and found it. Total. Bubble.

This too shall pass…..I guess.

It's a BOY!

There are some moments in life that you can never quite prepare for, no matter how hard you try. You know what I mean? You can go over it in your head a thousand times, think you know exactly how you’ll act and feel, and run through every scenario. But you still are in NO way prepared for when it really happens. I felt this way when I got engaged. Again on the day of my wedding. Again on the day we found out we were expecting. And now, again, on the day we found out we are having a BOY! 

I have never, and will never be, one of those women that can wait for it to be a surprise. I don’t mean this only in regards to baby gender. I mean this in life. I am a bouncy five year old squealy girl when I think there is ANY chance something exciting is coming my way. I am ready to dive in head first and be ALL the things, feel ALL the feels! So make no mistake, I have been biting my nails on the edge of my seat wanting to know if I’m having a boy or a girl from the day I peed on a stick y’all. I applaud those women out there who have the strength and sense to let it be a true surprise. Good for y’all. Have a cookie. I ain’t got time.

We found out months ago that my anatomy ultrasound was scheduled for November 10, 2015. I get an unusual amount of ultrasounds due to my risks, but most of them are the more grainy types done on the portable machines. I’ve only had 3-4 regular ultrasounds on the fancy machines in the main office. So I haven’t even had a sneak peek, or a hint. I have had my dreams though, and anyone who knows me knows that I rely on dreams to tell me everything. I had numerous dreams it was a girl! But…I also had several dreams it was a boy. Fickle little pregnancy brain! Andrew kept having dreams that it was a baby, but there was no indication at all what the gender was. However, in all of his dreams, the little newborn could talk just like a grown adult and wouldn’t shut up. Naturally, he attributed this trait to me so he concluded it was a girl as well.

Also, anyone who is familiar with my family knows my parents have all daughters, four of us in total. And? They have SIX grandsons. All of their daughters had BOYS! The youngest of which is almost 13 years old, so it has been a looooong time. And surely the baby of the family was going to have a girl and break the streak.

And let’s talk names. I’ve been picking out baby names since I was 2 years old. Okay, 20. But still. I had a huge list of girl’s names, and I was fairly certain I was safe, so I didn’t focus much on the boy names, coming up with only a few, mostly to make my lists look a little closer to even.

And finally, the night before the big day, we decided to test out some old wive’s tales. We took my wedding ring and tied it to a string and held it over my belly. Three times, twice with him holding it and once with me holding it, it went in a huge circle, indicating a girl.

SO. Heading in to this ultra sound yesterday, both Andrew and I had no question at all in our minds that we were having a girl. We just knew that was the result, so we were totally ready.

I’m lying on the table, and the ultrasound tech is shoving the wand in my belly at full force (which can we all agree to stop saying ultrasounds are painless? I mean, I don’t want to DIE during one, but I certainly don’t LOVE having a stick shoved in my belly and up my bladder for 30 minutes straight, so let’s be real, yo, so future prego momma’s know what. Is. UP.)

So I’m lying on the table being prodded like an alien, and she is flying through all the steps. The baby was being quite cooperative and she was able to check on all four chambers of the heart (A+), all of its little limbs and bones (A+), its little spine (A+, side bar: definitely a small dinosaur in my belly, glad we got that ALL clear!), and the next thing we knew she was ready for gender. She asked our final guess, we both said “GIRL!”, and she moved the wand/beating stick and said, “NOW what do you think it is?”

We both looked blindly at the screen. Again, can we ALL agree that reading an ultrasound screen is the equivalent to attempting to read the periodic table of elements whilst at the bottom of the ocean? Wearing sunglasses. I mean, it’s all well and good that the nurses and doctors understand them, but unless I literally see hand waving at me, I have NO idea what I am looking at. Hell, ten minutes ago I thought I was having a dinosaur.  (Or as my sweet momma would later exclaim when we showed her the ultrasound photo: “Where is its little ding-a-ling?!?”)

So we both looked at her, and a little more weakly said, “Err…girl?? Baby…?” She laughed, and pointed to what she informed us was a leg. Then she pointed to what she informed us was a second leg. THEN she pointed to this little stick coming out between the two legs, and slowly on the screen she typed, “B….O….Y”.

In my pregnant haze, I didn’t even take it in. I just sat there trying to drum up another guess such as “Dog!” or “Tiny human!” or “It has legs for $300 Alex!”. Meanwhile, I look over, and I see Andrew, who two seconds before had matched my face of uselessness, and had been smiling dumbly trying not to look like we didn’t have the sense to understand the pictures. But now, I look at him and his entire face has crumbled into a tiny, smushy little ball. He is bawling, his eyes full of tears, but lit up in a way I have never seen. It was then that I got it.

I looked back at the tech and said, “It’s a BOY?! A BOY?! We’re having a BOY?!” and she laughed and confirmed. Andrew was holding my hand, and he was squeezing it with the strength of a thousand men. I then began to cry. A BOY!? Yes, momma. You’re having a baby boy.

SEVEN grandsons?!

Yep. A boy.

We both cried from that point until the end of the ultrasound, which wasn’t too far away. She then left us alone for a moment. She was missing a couple pictures of the brain because he kept covering his head with his hands, and she wanted to check with the doctor to make sure that what she was enough until my follow-up ultrasound in 4 weeks.

When we were finally alone, I truly looked at my husband. He was the proudest, tallest, strongest, happiest, everything-est I have EVER seen him be. He was bawling, crying so hard he couldn’t see, but smiling so big he would challenge even a chipmunk with those cheeks. He is having a son. I am having a son. I am….a BOY?!?!!? We kept repeating it over and over until it began to sink in.

We were in the doctor’s office for a couple more hours after that, so we had some time to let it sink in a little. Every few minutes one of us would say, “A BOY?!” and then we’d retreat back into awed silence.  

Every though on earth began to fly through my head.

We’re having a boy. Will it pee on me?! Ask daddy what that thing is baby boy. It’s going to think farts are funny. Don’t ride the dog!!! Oh lord, we’re never going to keep enough food in the house when he’s 15. He’s going to play with BUGS!!!

I’m giving him a son. I’m getting a son. He’s going to be so handsome. He’s going to look like his daddy. Oh my god I am SO in love with him already, completely head over heels, and he isn’t even here yet. He’ll play sports. Or play guitar. Or be in a band. Or THE band! Oh, he’ll be so smart. Momma loves her little boy. Dirty and stinky is funny sometimes. Oh the hugs…the hugs of a little boy wrapping his arms around his momma. He’ll look SO handsome in his tux for prom! He’s going to sit on the couch in his underwear with Daddy and consider Cheetos to be a “good dinner”.

But mostly, overwhelmingly more than ANYthing, I sat there and held Andrew’s hand and thought, “He’s a piece of us.” He’s his daddy, his mommy, and he is himself. I am so very in love, that I could never put into words how this has changed me forever.

I did have a moment where I “mourned” the loss of the “girl”. I gave up the frilly clothes and hair bows and Disney princesses and all the things I had thought I wanted. But it was only for a moment. Because I am already so in love and SO READY to meet my little guy that I can’t imagine loving anyone any more than this.

And who knows, if I manage to survive this pregnancy with flying colors (or at least one color, laying on the ground, and a few ounces of dignity…) then perhaps a little brother or sister will be in the cards in the next year or two. But if not, I’m okay with that, too. I’m just simply fine.

My little, perfect family makes me happier than anything I have ever felt in my entire life. Pee on me if you want little fella. Momma will get a wash cloth. I love you!

So close I can...taste it??

You know, I have had many colds in my life.  I have been an allergy sufferer since I was old enough to say the word allergy. I am the queen of sinus headaches. None of these things are new to me. And on rare occasions, I have a cold/allergy attack/sinus infection that is so harsh that I lose my taste for a day or two. And those two days are the longest, most miserable days, with time spent willing myself into breathing, tasting, or smelling anything. Then, magically, I take my medicine; drink plenty of fluids, rest until I can’t rest anymore, and my taste returns. The world is right-side up once again.

So. WHY ISN’T THAT HAPPENING NOW?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But seriously. It has been almost FOUR MONTHS since I have smelled or tasted. And at first, it was annoying. Then I actually went through a small phase of anger. And now? Depression has set in. Y’all, I’m serious when I say I am actually really, really sad about this. I am a southern girl. A big, hearty, sassy southern girl who was raised in a family where Sunday isn’t Sunday without roast beef, and chicken isn’t chicken unless it’s fried. Raised to know that when I go to a restaurant and order a sweet tea and the waitress says, “Is Unsweet okay?” then I assume there is a conspiracy theory taking place and I must vacate immediately.

Being diagnosed as diabetic this past year, I certainly have already come to terms with my eating habits. I’ve learned that no, drinking a pitcher of sweet tea on Sunday to wash down momma’s apple pie is no longer a past time I can enjoy. But I CAN still eat, I can still enjoy my momma’s cooking, and I can learn to control my portions. All of this I have done, like a champ! I am the portion control queen now. I read every label of every food I eat to determine what a proper serving is. For example:

1        1. Did you know that a serving size of Doritos is 11 chips? ELEVEN!! Hahahahahaha No, seriously. They put it on the bag y’all.

2   2.     A proper serving size of pasta is 1 cup, COOKED. Not an entire plate full, covered in parmesean and mozzarella and meatballs. Nope. Just one little scoop basically.

3   3.  I can have ONE slice of pizza and it’s 30g carbs. That’s half my allotted carb intake for an entire meal.

Now yes, I realize that the items listed above are all carb heavy no-no’s, so I eat them few and far between. But those are the types of food I have to measure. I mean, there really is no need to measure out my grilled chicken and broccoli,  just eat the crap out of it and assume you just lost a pound (if nothing else you’ll lose a pound in tears when you cry an hour later  because you’re starving. Preach. #reallife)

So yes, I’ve changed my relationship with food. I’ve lost 40 pounds, and since I’ve been pregnant I’ve lost 7 more, and that is awesome! But now, for four long, dreary months, in addition to my nice portion controlled eating, I have completely lost all sense of taste and smell. So the few, small enjoyments I get from food are now gone. Just…gone. And I am sad.

I am still having cravings. I am fully convinced this child controls both my appetite and my food selection, and I will never believe otherwise. When I am opposed to eating something, it goes from, “That doesn’t sound good right now” to simply seeing a picture of said food and going, “HOLY MOTHER OF….*gag*”. 

My cravings work the same way. I go from, “Hmm, this sounds good for dinner babe!” to “STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING RIGHT NOW AND DRIVE TO KROGER AND BUY MY GRAHAM CRACKERS OR I WILL SUFFOCATE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP” 

So imagine what it feels like to bite into said food, and get no satisfaction. I get no, “Mmm that is SO good! Just what I wanted!” and instead am left with, “I’m sorry, I just drank a glass of water and it tasted exactly the same as this cheeseburger, so I’m going to go cry now.”

And when I say I can’t smell, I truly mean I cannot smell. I have shoved my nose into bottles of hot sauce, containers of Vick’s Vapor Rub, and jars of Cayenne pepper. Nothing. Not even a good ol’ fashioned eye watering.

The other day I spent a good long while making a nice yummy fall dinner for my hubby and I. I made Perogi casserole and Apple Spice Cake. I let it simmer in the crock pot all day, and when I got home from work all I wanted was to walk in and be hit in the face with that slap yo’momma amazing smell of Fall goodness. Nothing. If I hadn’t personally turned on the crockpot, I would have had no idea that there was even food in my house. So you can imagine my disdain when my hubby later dubbed this as the best dessert he has ever had in his life and how he wants this to be fed to him before he dies, and all I could do was sit there and sip my water and nibble on the apples that tasted like…well, water.

I’m not seeking advice from anyone, because there is none to be given. My OB/GYN and the head of Neurology at UK have both concluded to shrug their shoulders and tell me to hope for the best. I have an appointment with an ENT in three weeks, but don’t hold much hope in that appointment. ALL natural remedies have been tried, multiple times, many of them daily. When I say ALL, please believe me that I truly mean ALL. Unless there is some magical unicorn out there who delivers 47 essential oils on a stick coated in cayenne, glued together with Vicks’s, administered via neti pot, and delivered by dancing jalapeño peppers, then I have no interest in your shenanigans. 

I write this post, simply put, to be a big baby. I am just ready to stomp my foot on the ground and kick and scream and throw my taste tantrum because I am frustrated. I want to TASTE. I want to SMELL. But I know, I knoooooooooooooooooooooooooow. I am mommy. I have to take one for team ninja baby. I have to be strong. This, too, shall pass. The Lord is my Shepherd. But I WANT TO TASTE!!! It has been MONTHS. I don’t even remember how bad my dogs smell, or what my own perfume smells like, I’ve never smelled my new tropical fruit shampoo, and I’ve never tasted the new apple spice cake recipe. I don’t get to hug my hubby and smell his cologne, or even just walk outside and smell the rain. It is a lonely, devoid place, and I am sad. I am already sad because what if it doesn’t go away and I don’t even get to smell my sweet little baby covered in baby lotion and smelling like a tiny little dream?

Ways to kill a southern girl one day at a time:

1     1. Take away her taste and smell.

 2. End of list.