Happy Birthday Brotherkurt

Make that happy belated birthday! brotherkurt’s birthday was a few weeks ago--April 12 to be exact, but it took some time for the party to catch up with him. This weekend’s celebration includes two days and two nights of gaming, involving some intriguing homemade board games. Tonight was mellower that Friday night which involved over thirty avid gamers and (I think) four separate games (as reported by Ewbliette).

I arrived just after the cookout, and had the opportunity to witness the last piece of venison disappear down the gullet of the neighborhood gourmand. I compensated by scarfing down numerous slabs of delicious (salty!) garlic bread followed by four perfectly ripe watermelon segments. Yum!

Under a back porch illuminated by hundreds of tiny orange lights, Rodeyo, Lizard Light and Countessa conducted an animated review of their insane childhood adventures. New Mexico rules—when your ten and firecrackers and bottle rockets are legal, there is no limit to the stuff you can blow up. I am personally amazed that I managed to survive my youth with both eyes and all my fingers and toes intact.

Later, Ewbliette and I moved indoors (smokers!) and I overheard the following snippet from a homemade game being played at the kitchen table, “So, the young blonde woman is now naked, running through the hall and you have to roll to see if she’ll swallow….” Whoa. After an hour discussing Brotherkurt’s home décor (his main bathroom has adorable handpainted fishies festooning the walls!), my brain died and I went home. Tennisfiend, who liked my fashionable new blouse, insisted on taking my photo to send to his family. Unfortunately, the flash revealed a bit much of Bestfiend, particularly my navel and JC Penney undergarments. But I liked my goofy smile, so voila!


The paparazzi effect.
Needless to say, I exchanged my blouse for an opaque cousin, so Moscow was spared the indignity of my Bali and belly.

Spelunking with Ewbliette

I paid a visit to Ewbliette tonight to drop off accoutrements for this weekend’s gaming party. She and Brotherkurt took an exciting trip to Carlsbad Caverns over the Easter break, and I found myself showered with Carlsbad goodies.

She bought me the coolest petroglyph tee shirt (co-opted by Tennisfiend!) and a miniature replica of the main cavern complete with built in eerie glow. I also walked away with a bunch of trail mix, minus the bat guano, of course.

Yay! What a great friend. We spent most of the time gabbing about her caving experience, which included cave etiquette. I suppose “Don’t poop in the cave” is a no-brainer, but I was surprised that the rangers confiscate chewing gum and only permit plain bottled water in the park. We discussed every horror story ever written about caves and on the drive home I imagined myself editing a book on subterranean horrors. Alas!

Under Construction!

Please excuse the mess! My life is under construction. I am pleased to announce that and I are expecting a baby boy this August! I will be trying to catch up with everyone on lj in the next few weeks. I also hope to post my back log of half-written entries that have been accumulating since the end of February.

XOXO
Bestfiend

ETA:Many posts were maked private prior to my announcement.

Ultrasound Results!

Click for larger image.

Here he is! His head is on the RHS and the white blob hovering above, center is his little fist. I'd post the second pic, but I can't figure out excatly where everything is!

The doctor said everything is as it should be, except I lost some weight. Fortunately that's not a problem for Malootka*. He's estimated to weigh exactly one whole pound. Yay!
*Malootka is an affectionate Russian word meaning "tiny one."

We haven't picked out an official name yet, although a few favorites are:

Timoor (Timmy)
Artyome (Tommy/Arty)
Gleb
Oleg
Liev
Ruslan (Rus)
Kuriel
Valentin
Vasilly

mom

Mother warned me to never have children. Repeatedly.

When I welcomed by son into the world in 2006, Mom was one of my birthpartners. She held my left foot,   wiped my forehead and fed the nursing staff and doctors gourmet snackfood.

No House Guests, Please

I've been a cranky hormonal mess. In November, the acne freight train,  dropped off twin parcels of cheek pimples and a load of painful chin bumps. I'm better now, though still freaked out over using anything but the softest rain water on my face for fear of baby contamination.  Too much in the news about autism and other developmental problems for me to use shampoos with sulfates or even shaving cream for my legs.

Oh, no! I think that I just realized what's making me irritable! Lack of 21st century chemicals. Well, after baby is born and I've nursed him for a year I'll  go rub my body in Pantene and Twinkies.

So, last night Egor told me that he wants his mother to come here and stay for a few months of my pregnancy. My first reply was, "Oh, hell no!"  I am so totally spazzed out over the slightest thing that I can't imagine having to get the house ready for a visit plus entertain his mother,  in Russian, for two months. My mom is handling me with kid gloves, Patricia shovels big buckets of sweet sugar on me, and I'm still a mess.

But, E said how much it would help me and him. He said I needed her and most of all,  it would mean so much to his mom to be a part of my pregnancy. I cried, I wept, but I eventually said, "Okay, if you really think we need it." 

He called and gave them the green light.

I could not sleep that night. I really, really really did not want his mom here. At all. Until after the baby is born. I can't even put my reason in words, it just feels like it would be too much stress. Stress for me, not so bad, but stress on my baby is unacceptable. So I cried and cried and pleaded and he called the family and told them it would be too hard for me. Everything is okay, now. But I get the impression that they don't understand why I don't want company. I just don't. I'm not that person. I am a happy book reading, TV watching, writing little hermit.

Amnio Results, For Real This Time

Results were supposed to be in this Wednesday. No results. Waited till Thursday to annoy the clinic, “Results today, for sure, Mrs. Fiend.” Ack! I worked on the computer with the phone perched six inches away from me. At 10:00 a telemarketer called. I replied viciously, venting six years of the aggravation, frustration and nastiness that I stockpile exclusively for people trying to sell me crap over the phone.

At noon another marketing company called wanting me to answer a survey. I fumed. I decided that those bastards from Ikea sold my phone number despite my written request to withhold it. I will send them such a vituperative letter. Anyway, at 12:30 Tennisfiend called, “Are the results in?” Poor sweet guy, I was cross with him. Ten minutes later, my Mom called, “How are you doing?” Poor woman, I was practically hysterical with her.

To empower myself, I bounced phone calls back and forth to Women’s Medical for the next two hours. At three thirty, a harassed receptionist called me to say that the fax arrived, and that all the results were normal. No Down’s Syndrome, Trisonomy 13 or other serious birth defects.

What a relief! I was so grateful and effusive with my thank-yous that I almost made the receptionist feel less annoyed. At last I feel like this is a “real” pregnancy. After three miscarriages, I can't begin to describe my joy over the positive test results. Now to make amends to my loved ones and order a truckload of maternity clothes. Yay!

How Not To

I’m aggravated. Sometimes I wish I could post a little list of helpful hints to guide people as they are searching for how to help me when something stressful and important hits my life.
So here’s my little bit of bile:

1. Please do not tell me how worried you are for me. Suck it up. I am already worried enough for both of us. Most of the time I can find a good mental spot where I am calm. Telling me you’re so worried for me really shoves everything in my face and increases my stress level. Instead, ask me if you can do something to help. 2. Don’t deliberately time a major flake out over your own enduring problems to coincide with my difficult time. Weeping over the phone to me about your life sucks out my energy. You don’t need to dramatize some other aspect of your life to compete with my problems. It’s disrespectful and selfish. Sheesh. I'm so bitchy, I can barely stand myself. That’s all.

Amnio Results

It's so hard to write with everything going on. I'm having trouble sharing my anxiety and fears. My worry over the baby being okay is surreal. I could spend all day obsessing over terrible incidents. There seems to be no limit to the circles of worry winding around my brain. and there is absolutely no end to the horrible things you can find on google. I pray that birth brings an end to this crushing anxiety and obsession.

Today, the amnio results were supposed to come in, but unfortunately the bit of blood that contaminated the sample will delay the results for another six days.

Five minutes after Loretta called me, I panicked, thinking that I would have to repeat the procedure. After a twenty minute Internet search, I broke down and called her. No, I won’t have to retake the test. Whew.

It's so hard to write with everything going on. I'm having trouble sharing my anxiety and fears. My worry over the baby being okay is surreal. I could spend all day obsessing over terrible incidents. There seems to be no limit to the circles of worry winding around my brain. And there is absolutely no end to the horrible things you can find on google. I pray that birth brings an end to this crushing anxiety and obsession.

It would be so much better if I could talk to someone. Egor shuts down and I feel that my mom has been freaking out non-stop since I got pregnant, adding to my stress. Thank god for Patricia, but I don't want to become her Charlotte, invading her tranquility with my non-stop preoccupations.

Amniocentesis

An unfortunate consequence of putting off child bearing until your thirties is the increased risk for having a child with a genetic disorder.

Accordingly, Tennisfiend and I decided to have a procedure called amniocentesis performed to identify any serious problems with our new baby. Now those of you who are familiar with the procedure know that it involves a very long needle. Those of you who are familiar with me know that I don’t like needles (please read "Why I Don’t Like Needles" for the horrifying details). Anyway, a needle is inserted into the abdomen to withdraw a sample of amniotic fluid, which is then tested for abnormalities.

I prepared for the procedure by reading avidly about it for two weeks straight. I then pretended that the test was never going to occur up until the moment that they whipped out the giant needle, which I vowed not to even glance at. As a result, I went into the procedure room cushioned by a Zen-like calm. When Loretta, the ultrasound tech handed me the legal paperwork, I read it dispassionately (having familiarized myself with the risks extensively two weeks ago), signing and initialing in the appropriate places.

Then Dr. Agitator entered the room. Dr. Agitator, the clinic’s amnio expert, resembles a smug, blond Stephen King. He swept into the exam room twenty minutes late, positioned himself tic-tac distance from my face and with intense, almost threatening eye contact, dramatically recounted every single risk associated with the procedure. Every sentence seemed like an accusation. I felt like a crime victim being cross-examined by a particularly hostile and morally outraged defense attorney.

My Zen-like calm disintegrated. It would have been replaced by mortal terror for my unborn child if I hadn’t been very determined and half pissed-off by the doctor’s theatrics. Prior to the test, I instructed Tennisfiend to distract me during the procedure, which was supposed to last under five minutes. Six minutes into the procedure, as Tennisfiend was nervously struggling to keep up conversation, when Dr. Agitator quietly exclaimed, “Huhn! That’s really weird!”

I then felt a punching where the needle was being inserted, followed by continued jerks of pressure and the certain rupturing of various tissues and organs. I was afraid to look up and find Dr. Agitator with one shoe on my hoo-hah and both elbows bellybutton deep in my abdomen. Tennisfiend went white and our banter died, just in time to hear Dr. Agitator faintly say, “Damn, look there’s blood!” My insides went cold. You know that feeling when you see your first crush kissing someone else when they are supposed to be your steady? A clenching in the bowels that indicates that something very, very wrong has happened? It was like that, but icier.

Containing my terror, I looked back at Tennisfiend and asked him (in Russian) to talk about our dog. He sputtered out a laugh and looked away. Then the hand that was clenching mine began to tremble. We stared at each mutely for a handful of excruciatingly long minutes until my quavering voice broke the silence with some inane remark that I had made three times before. At that moment, Dr. Agitator announced that the procedure was finished.

As the ultrasound tech swabbed my belly, I made eye contact with Dr. Agitator and gave him a weak smile. “Were you scared?” he asked. “I felt a few scary moments,” I confessed. “Well, I wasn’t scared at all,” he replied proudly, as if I should congratulate him for being so brave during my procedure. I laughed and quietly congratulated myself on not fainting, screaming, puking or crapping my pants during the ordeal. When Dr. Agitator left the exam room, I quizzed Loretta about the Doctor’s comments. As it turned out, my skin is extraordinarily thick and tough, so he had difficulty inserting the needle. This complication resulted in a wisp of my blood finding its way into the sample. Loretta soothed our frazzled nerves with an ultrasound of the baby, revealing to us that we are expecting a boy. Yay!