With all due respect to Oprah, who is semi-responsible for this one.
Last week she had a show on about obese teenagers. At one point she asked, "What are you hungry for?" When she said that, thoughts crossed my mind that many people eat to fill voids in their lives, but my weight gain was from the baby, you know.
Over the next few days that question kept popping back into my head. I'd be like "What? Why are you bothering me?" The question stuck around until I finally came up with the answer. It was my light bulb moment, as Oprah likes to say.
A few days ago my mom asked how Sascha had been. I gushed, "GREAT!! Oh, I mean, she had six or seven time-outs, but..." and I waved them off with my hand. My mom remarked that it didn't bother me anymore, and I agreed. Wow. It doesn't. Spending a day with her is exhausting, and she does still throw down half the day (see: Daryl Hannah sans eyeball), but here is the difference: now that she is older, I get something back from her. She looks at me. Interacts with me. Talks to me. Hugs me and comes to me for tickling and kisses. It hasn't always been like this, obviously; I mean, for most of it, she was an infant. But for the first few months of her life, she was physically pushing me away from her, and she spent the next 18 months or so just being difficult. I had spent 35 years hearing about how this would be a love like I'd never known, stronger than anything, blah blah THE BOND blah. I was ashamed to admit that I didn't feel that at all. She never seemed comfortable in my arms. I felt rejected by my own child for a very long time, and I was completely unprepared to deal with that. I don't think I did it with a speck of grace, as I fully documented here.
So what I was hungry for was my child's acceptance. Maybe the reason I hadn't been able to lose the weight is that I hadn't been able to fill that void until just a few months ago. (Dude, I am going to balloon when she's 12.) Just unlocking that piece has shed a lot of light on the past two years. And now? I can't get enough of her.
Unrelated: I saw "Slumdog Millionaire" today and it blew my mind. Soooo good. India fascinates me. That movie deserves every accolade it gets. It also marked another small watershed moment for me, because Nick gave me the day (we each get one on the weekends)... normally I use "my" days to run errands, because feeling resentful (toward him for having leisure time) is easier than feeling guilty (for having leisure time). But today I said screw it-- and went to the movies. And wow, it felt great. Granted, my to-do list is short and non-essential right now; the curtains didn't have to go to the tailor today. Also, I know it's less of a burden to spend the day with Sascha now that she's older and cooler. Still... I'm going to let things go more often and use my "me" time for ME. More often. Not always. But more. I feel like my old self again.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
'Tis the Season
If you live in the Northeast US, you are probably one of the many people complaining about the weather right now. The news says we've had more snow this far than we normally get all winter. I'm okay with that-- I'm actually okay with winter. I like the cold (above 20F with little/no wind, of course) and the snow is pretty.
But this year winter has a different meaning for me. I've decided that I'm going to keep up the weight-loss efforts until spring. So far I've lost about 5 lbs. in three weeks. It is the slowest thing ever. But if I can keep it up for six more weeks, that will be 15 lbs. I cannot imagine weighing that again-- it will be right around my wedding weight. So when I hear people complain about the weather, I am using it as support in the form of comiseration: yeah, this does suck. We may be talking about two different things, but so what? Whatever works. And leaving it up to winter to end this sort of takes it out of my hands. I want the wine and cookies, and just as sure as spring will come, I will have them. I just have to be patient. It is so, so hard.
I should mention that I am good at maintaining my weight. I make it sound like I'm going to start bingeing again and gain it all back, but I won't. Maintaining is no problem; I gain because of circumstances. This time it was pregnancy, duh, and the ensuing emotional horror show. As soon as I lose the weight, then we can start working on knocking me up again... sigh. But I want to feel good again, even for just a short while.
A few quick "baby book" items:
Sascha loves to run up to me and say "Mama tickle!!" which is awesome. It's even funnier when she decides to be cool and abbreviate it to "Mama tick!"
A few days ago we had to take her for a flu shot. This was the first time I held her for the shot; usually Nick does it. My stomach was in knots. To my complete shock, she didn't even flinch. She just looked at the nurse like "huh?" and didn't cry. I was floored. Later, in the tub, I took her band-aid off. To distract her from the rip, Nick called it a sticker and we gave it to her to play with. Five minutes after she'd forgotten about it and it was floating around somewhere, she started calling for it: "Stiiiiick-yyyy! Stiiiiick-yyy!" Awesome, this kid with her nicknames. Sticky.
But this year winter has a different meaning for me. I've decided that I'm going to keep up the weight-loss efforts until spring. So far I've lost about 5 lbs. in three weeks. It is the slowest thing ever. But if I can keep it up for six more weeks, that will be 15 lbs. I cannot imagine weighing that again-- it will be right around my wedding weight. So when I hear people complain about the weather, I am using it as support in the form of comiseration: yeah, this does suck. We may be talking about two different things, but so what? Whatever works. And leaving it up to winter to end this sort of takes it out of my hands. I want the wine and cookies, and just as sure as spring will come, I will have them. I just have to be patient. It is so, so hard.
I should mention that I am good at maintaining my weight. I make it sound like I'm going to start bingeing again and gain it all back, but I won't. Maintaining is no problem; I gain because of circumstances. This time it was pregnancy, duh, and the ensuing emotional horror show. As soon as I lose the weight, then we can start working on knocking me up again... sigh. But I want to feel good again, even for just a short while.
A few quick "baby book" items:
Sascha loves to run up to me and say "Mama tickle!!" which is awesome. It's even funnier when she decides to be cool and abbreviate it to "Mama tick!"
A few days ago we had to take her for a flu shot. This was the first time I held her for the shot; usually Nick does it. My stomach was in knots. To my complete shock, she didn't even flinch. She just looked at the nurse like "huh?" and didn't cry. I was floored. Later, in the tub, I took her band-aid off. To distract her from the rip, Nick called it a sticker and we gave it to her to play with. Five minutes after she'd forgotten about it and it was floating around somewhere, she started calling for it: "Stiiiiick-yyyy! Stiiiiick-yyy!" Awesome, this kid with her nicknames. Sticky.
Monday, January 26, 2009
What time-out looks like
Nick and I have decided that when Sascha is in time-out, she bears a very close resemblance to Daryl Hannah in "Kill Bill Vol. 2" when she gets her eyeball plucked out. Here's the clip (Ma, don't watch, it's pretty gruesome). I laughed myself to tears watching it again, because damn if it isn't a tall blind version of my kid having a fit.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Overcast, with a chance of flow
It must be PMS.
My efforts to lose weight remain unchanged, yet my body has done a 180, and my "comfortable" jeans (that would be one size down from the fat pair) are suddenly snug. My skin is super-duper thin lately, and the tiniest thing sends me into a sad, paranoid funk. One of my favorite students moved, and I almost cried. A friend of mine corrected me on the spelling of her name (which I totally knew, it was just a typing brainfart) and it stung like I'd been slapped, which is ridiculous. My computer at work got some heinous virus, and although the tech guy was cool about it, I wanted to crawl under the desk. I definitely don't feel normal.
The only reason this PMS is significant is that this will be my first period since the miscarriage. Someone told me theirs made them bug out all over again, and while the actual miscarriage isn't in the forefront of my mind anymore, who knows how I'll feel in a few days?
I'm having friends (and my parents, who certainly also fall under the category of friends) over for a fancy grown-up dinner tomorrow, which should cheer me up. I will basically undo two weeks of saintly eating with wine and chocolate fondue. And I'm trying to focus really hard on things that are good, like all the things I love about Sascha right now, particularly her mispronunciations and the way she sticks her hands down my shirt (what?).
I have some crappy soup on the stove that I must attend to. Christ, I am boring right now.
My efforts to lose weight remain unchanged, yet my body has done a 180, and my "comfortable" jeans (that would be one size down from the fat pair) are suddenly snug. My skin is super-duper thin lately, and the tiniest thing sends me into a sad, paranoid funk. One of my favorite students moved, and I almost cried. A friend of mine corrected me on the spelling of her name (which I totally knew, it was just a typing brainfart) and it stung like I'd been slapped, which is ridiculous. My computer at work got some heinous virus, and although the tech guy was cool about it, I wanted to crawl under the desk. I definitely don't feel normal.
The only reason this PMS is significant is that this will be my first period since the miscarriage. Someone told me theirs made them bug out all over again, and while the actual miscarriage isn't in the forefront of my mind anymore, who knows how I'll feel in a few days?
I'm having friends (and my parents, who certainly also fall under the category of friends) over for a fancy grown-up dinner tomorrow, which should cheer me up. I will basically undo two weeks of saintly eating with wine and chocolate fondue. And I'm trying to focus really hard on things that are good, like all the things I love about Sascha right now, particularly her mispronunciations and the way she sticks her hands down my shirt (what?).
I have some crappy soup on the stove that I must attend to. Christ, I am boring right now.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A gorgeous new day
There is a movement going on today to Throw Your Shoe at Bush. I encourage you all to join me by posting a picture of your shoe on your blog, then posting a link in the comments here. I had a picture of my favorite shoe, a red pointy high-heeled mule, but I lost it... that's okay, this model that's on my mantel is heavier and harder.
.
With that shoe, I'm throwing a prayer as hard as I can for Obama's safety for the next four years, and then (let's face it) the four years following that.
PS: Someone noticed today that I'm losing weight. Squeee! The starving is paying off. (I am not literally starving. I'm just eating tons of fruits, veggies and BEANS, and not eating cookies. Which I hate. But whatever, I'll let myself fall off the wagon in another month or two.) I just hit a snag today, however, because my cheap iPod knock-off no longer accepts the songs I want to put on it. This is a big problem. I won't be able to afford the cheapest iPod for another two weeks, and that's only if we keep eating beans. Blasted winter bills!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Winter Doldrums
I'm kind of on autopilot lately.
1. I've started trying to lose weight again. It is such a tedious endeavor. I hate this cycle and I'm bitter that I wasn't just born skinny. On the first day or so of a weight-loss project, I always go through a bit of denial when my regular eating habits kick in. My stomach will think "time to dig into the candy I keep in my desk!" Then my mind will turn into the dour schoolmarm, reminding me that I can't. My stomach responds with "Wait-- you're not really doing this, are you? Come onnnn." And so it goes, back & forth, all day long. My stomach tries to convince me that I'm okay, that I really could live with this body, it's fine! (My stomach is apparently like a cool drug-pusher from an '80s TV movie of the week.)
But the truth is, I am uncomfortable. And my boobs are so big I'm almost embarrassed to leave the house. I caught my reflection last week when I was in a t-shirt and I literally did a double take. Oh, the humanity. They would be fine if I was a Hooters girl (although I doubt they'd want my big post-baby belly underneath), not so much for a high school teacher. So, I've gotta starve. And I miss running. I can't run when there's so much snow on the ground, because nobody plows their sidewalks and the streets are narrowed by snow and I'm not going to risk my life trying to run four inches from traffic. I have to figure out some kind of exercise. Bugh.
2. Nick is miserable at work. He hates his job. This puts me in an awkward position because I love my job, and we have the same job. At the same school. So I can't really talk to him about work, or else I'm sort of rubbing it in. I feel bad that I haven't been more sympathetic to him.
3. Sascha is going through another bad-sleep phase. I go to put her down and she screams bloody murder. The other night we went through almost two hours of this. Also, she wakes up crying in the middle of the night. And she never wants me, she wants Nick. But if it is me, I can't put her back down, or else she screams. Dude, I don't know. I'm just so tired.
4. My exhaustion and over-it-ness lately has had me reconsidering a second child. Part of it is that my siblings were just here visiting with their families, and there were seven kids running around (the oldest is four), and we are thisclose to having them all be old enough to be self-sufficient. Do I really want to throw myself back to square one? And as Sascha gets older, and the longer I go without being pregnant, the harder I think it's going to be. I am enjoying my life more now, even though I still fantasize about being able to go to Target without a time limit.
But I guess part of it is also the miscarriage. I guess it's left me feeling a little gun-shy. I'm nervous that it will happen again and I'm not sure I'm up for that. Actually, I'm more afraid of other women's stories happening to me: the D&Cs. The 17-week miscarriages. The still births. The woman whose baby died at 28 weeks and she had to be induced and give birth to it. I don't think I have a strong enough constitution for that level of hell. I don't even have a strong enough constitution to not eat cookies. (Lisa, now that I know you're reading this, help me out-- who is the author that wrote "cookies, I wish I could quit you"? Because I would love to steal that line but you would know better.)
1. I've started trying to lose weight again. It is such a tedious endeavor. I hate this cycle and I'm bitter that I wasn't just born skinny. On the first day or so of a weight-loss project, I always go through a bit of denial when my regular eating habits kick in. My stomach will think "time to dig into the candy I keep in my desk!" Then my mind will turn into the dour schoolmarm, reminding me that I can't. My stomach responds with "Wait-- you're not really doing this, are you? Come onnnn." And so it goes, back & forth, all day long. My stomach tries to convince me that I'm okay, that I really could live with this body, it's fine! (My stomach is apparently like a cool drug-pusher from an '80s TV movie of the week.)
But the truth is, I am uncomfortable. And my boobs are so big I'm almost embarrassed to leave the house. I caught my reflection last week when I was in a t-shirt and I literally did a double take. Oh, the humanity. They would be fine if I was a Hooters girl (although I doubt they'd want my big post-baby belly underneath), not so much for a high school teacher. So, I've gotta starve. And I miss running. I can't run when there's so much snow on the ground, because nobody plows their sidewalks and the streets are narrowed by snow and I'm not going to risk my life trying to run four inches from traffic. I have to figure out some kind of exercise. Bugh.
2. Nick is miserable at work. He hates his job. This puts me in an awkward position because I love my job, and we have the same job. At the same school. So I can't really talk to him about work, or else I'm sort of rubbing it in. I feel bad that I haven't been more sympathetic to him.
3. Sascha is going through another bad-sleep phase. I go to put her down and she screams bloody murder. The other night we went through almost two hours of this. Also, she wakes up crying in the middle of the night. And she never wants me, she wants Nick. But if it is me, I can't put her back down, or else she screams. Dude, I don't know. I'm just so tired.
4. My exhaustion and over-it-ness lately has had me reconsidering a second child. Part of it is that my siblings were just here visiting with their families, and there were seven kids running around (the oldest is four), and we are thisclose to having them all be old enough to be self-sufficient. Do I really want to throw myself back to square one? And as Sascha gets older, and the longer I go without being pregnant, the harder I think it's going to be. I am enjoying my life more now, even though I still fantasize about being able to go to Target without a time limit.
But I guess part of it is also the miscarriage. I guess it's left me feeling a little gun-shy. I'm nervous that it will happen again and I'm not sure I'm up for that. Actually, I'm more afraid of other women's stories happening to me: the D&Cs. The 17-week miscarriages. The still births. The woman whose baby died at 28 weeks and she had to be induced and give birth to it. I don't think I have a strong enough constitution for that level of hell. I don't even have a strong enough constitution to not eat cookies. (Lisa, now that I know you're reading this, help me out-- who is the author that wrote "cookies, I wish I could quit you"? Because I would love to steal that line but you would know better.)
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Back at work
I've been back for three days now, and I've gotta say... it is a strange experiment in sociology.
I have three close female co-workers who I told when I was pregnant, and then I e-mailed them over the vacation to tell them what happened. I wasn't dramatic or self-pitying, but I wasn't cold about it either; I just wanted to e-mail ahead of time to spare any weird moments of having to tell them at school. Again, it sucks to be the bearer of bad news.
None of them e-mailed back, which was fine. One of them-- the pregnant one-- confronted me right away when we came back, and she was wonderful. The other two didn't say anything. I had to borrow some supplies from one of them, and only after I asked how her break was did she bring up my e-mail. She was very nice, but it was not a comfortable moment; the fact that she was squatting down at a cabinet only made it more awkward, like I was literally cornering her for a reaction. The third girl has made no mention of it at all. It's just kind of weird.
Due to scheduling, I have lunch with them (and three others) every three days. Today was the first lunch I've had with them since vacation. It was fine, but I was telling some random story about Sascha's first word at one point, and for a split second I realized that (A) the room was unusually quiet, and (B) everyone was staring at me with this kind/pitiful expression. Buuugggh!! I know the others at lunch know everything that happened, because the girls talk and I'm totally fine with that (I really like the other people). But now I feel like they are avoiding me, and that sucks. The pregnant one has gone out of her way to be extra-nice to me. I can see right through it, but goddamn I am appreciating every single gesture I can get. It beats the hell out of avoidance. I feel like I did something to make them mad.
Nice to be back in a routine though.
I have three close female co-workers who I told when I was pregnant, and then I e-mailed them over the vacation to tell them what happened. I wasn't dramatic or self-pitying, but I wasn't cold about it either; I just wanted to e-mail ahead of time to spare any weird moments of having to tell them at school. Again, it sucks to be the bearer of bad news.
None of them e-mailed back, which was fine. One of them-- the pregnant one-- confronted me right away when we came back, and she was wonderful. The other two didn't say anything. I had to borrow some supplies from one of them, and only after I asked how her break was did she bring up my e-mail. She was very nice, but it was not a comfortable moment; the fact that she was squatting down at a cabinet only made it more awkward, like I was literally cornering her for a reaction. The third girl has made no mention of it at all. It's just kind of weird.
Due to scheduling, I have lunch with them (and three others) every three days. Today was the first lunch I've had with them since vacation. It was fine, but I was telling some random story about Sascha's first word at one point, and for a split second I realized that (A) the room was unusually quiet, and (B) everyone was staring at me with this kind/pitiful expression. Buuugggh!! I know the others at lunch know everything that happened, because the girls talk and I'm totally fine with that (I really like the other people). But now I feel like they are avoiding me, and that sucks. The pregnant one has gone out of her way to be extra-nice to me. I can see right through it, but goddamn I am appreciating every single gesture I can get. It beats the hell out of avoidance. I feel like I did something to make them mad.
Nice to be back in a routine though.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Happy New Year
I feel like I should check in, even though I'm staring at the blank page not knowing what to write.
First of all, everyone has been really nice. I've gotten a handful of unintentionally insensitive comments ("but you were never actually pregnant, right?"), which I have to let go because I know I'm being oversensitive. I'm amazed how many women this has happened to. I think I'm just used to the reproductive powerhouses (and problem-free mothers-- yes, I am talking about breastfeeding again) in my family. But other women are coming out of the woodwork to tell me their stories. More than one person used the phrase, "when I had mine..." as opposed to "when I had one..." Which kind of sounds like "when it was my turn..." And that was really helpful. Speaking of breastfeeding, I realized recently that this isn't nearly as hard as that was. Miscarriage sucks, and it's hard, and sad. But that? Destroyed me. What. I know I'm crazy and the only person in history who ever took it that hard. I'm not going to apologize, because I've tried really hard to control my insanity over that. No luck.
This has certainly been educational. It never occurred to me that a miscarriage is actually a long process. Before, the word always conjured up an image of a woman crying in a hospital gown, having passed a softball of gore (for lack of a better description)-- a singular event. But in my case, it's been five days of first-day period (finally tapering off now). Every two hours or so, I get to deal with it all over again, with cramps in between. There's lots of showering. I'm so glad I'm out of school this week.
Last week, when it first happened and I still felt level, I was warned by my doctor and my dad that I might get The Crazies later on. I dutifully nodded and thanked them and went on my way, all business. Then out of the blue, I turned into a postpartum adolescent with PMS, and my head spun around a few times. It's like being possessed. Crying for no reason, four or five times a day, sometimes so hard I have to pull the car over. And why? *shrugs* I dunno. Yesterday it was because I had left Nick with Sascha for two hours while I went to the doctor, and I felt guilty for being gone so long. And because I'd forgotten a few things at the store. I cried like the world was ending.
Nick has been a saint. Saying all the right things, doing all the right things, letting me put my hot, ugly, mucus-stringy face into his sweatshirt to sob like a child. Taking me into Boston for a day so we could walk and talk for hours. Basically being a single parent to Sascha. I'll never be as good a spouse to him as he is to me.
Switching gears for a moment: I have to bitch about my doctor experience yesterday. First of all, did you know that all maternity-related visits are free, but if you lose the baby, you pay a co-pay? "Pregnant? How lovely, go right in... oh, you lost it? That'll be $15." It's the very definition of insult to injury. Then, the doctor was running behind, so I waited an hour to see him. The nurse was wonderful, but when the doctor finally came in, I felt very rushed. He apologized but didn't explain why he was late, which would have helped. I mean, it was a full hour. I could tell he was trying to be sensitive and sympathetic (after all, my dad is his boss) but he couldn't disguise his urgency-- cutting off my sentences, that kind of thing. I was pissed. I know that many doctors are brilliant, but sometimes they lack social skills in return for book-smarts. Of course, I'm so insane right now that I don't know if it's just me. Maybe he's the greatest guy ever, but because I got a bad vibe while in a crazy state? I caught him on a bad day? I was still pissed about the co-pay? I was worried about digging my car out from the blizzard while I waited an hour for a five-minute appointment? Maybe I'm being too hard on him, but if I were a man in this situation, would I still be reflecting inward?
The upside is that I decided that I definitely don't want him as my regular doctor next time I get pregnant. I want A WOMAN. This guy can do the surgery, that's fine, but for the monthly prenatal visits? I want a woman. It's called prenatal care for a reason.
Anyway, happy new year. Last night we did the same thing we always do: Twilight Zone marathon on Sci-Fi, and in bed by 10 (okay, 9:30-- shut up). Every year I resolve to get in shape and be nicer. The getting in shape will be interesting. I've been in a bingeing contest with myself for the past week, and I don't think crying burns that many calories. The be nicer part? Oy. I try every year, but...
PS, the tuna was amazing. Our friend suggested we order one or two for the table, and I told him I was getting my own. He made some crack about me not sharing it, and I told him that if his fork wandered over to my plate he'd be pulling back a bloody stump. It was a fun night. I had a glass of 20-year port with dessert. Ahhh.
First of all, everyone has been really nice. I've gotten a handful of unintentionally insensitive comments ("but you were never actually pregnant, right?"), which I have to let go because I know I'm being oversensitive. I'm amazed how many women this has happened to. I think I'm just used to the reproductive powerhouses (and problem-free mothers-- yes, I am talking about breastfeeding again) in my family. But other women are coming out of the woodwork to tell me their stories. More than one person used the phrase, "when I had mine..." as opposed to "when I had one..." Which kind of sounds like "when it was my turn..." And that was really helpful. Speaking of breastfeeding, I realized recently that this isn't nearly as hard as that was. Miscarriage sucks, and it's hard, and sad. But that? Destroyed me. What. I know I'm crazy and the only person in history who ever took it that hard. I'm not going to apologize, because I've tried really hard to control my insanity over that. No luck.
This has certainly been educational. It never occurred to me that a miscarriage is actually a long process. Before, the word always conjured up an image of a woman crying in a hospital gown, having passed a softball of gore (for lack of a better description)-- a singular event. But in my case, it's been five days of first-day period (finally tapering off now). Every two hours or so, I get to deal with it all over again, with cramps in between. There's lots of showering. I'm so glad I'm out of school this week.
Last week, when it first happened and I still felt level, I was warned by my doctor and my dad that I might get The Crazies later on. I dutifully nodded and thanked them and went on my way, all business. Then out of the blue, I turned into a postpartum adolescent with PMS, and my head spun around a few times. It's like being possessed. Crying for no reason, four or five times a day, sometimes so hard I have to pull the car over. And why? *shrugs* I dunno. Yesterday it was because I had left Nick with Sascha for two hours while I went to the doctor, and I felt guilty for being gone so long. And because I'd forgotten a few things at the store. I cried like the world was ending.
Nick has been a saint. Saying all the right things, doing all the right things, letting me put my hot, ugly, mucus-stringy face into his sweatshirt to sob like a child. Taking me into Boston for a day so we could walk and talk for hours. Basically being a single parent to Sascha. I'll never be as good a spouse to him as he is to me.
Switching gears for a moment: I have to bitch about my doctor experience yesterday. First of all, did you know that all maternity-related visits are free, but if you lose the baby, you pay a co-pay? "Pregnant? How lovely, go right in... oh, you lost it? That'll be $15." It's the very definition of insult to injury. Then, the doctor was running behind, so I waited an hour to see him. The nurse was wonderful, but when the doctor finally came in, I felt very rushed. He apologized but didn't explain why he was late, which would have helped. I mean, it was a full hour. I could tell he was trying to be sensitive and sympathetic (after all, my dad is his boss) but he couldn't disguise his urgency-- cutting off my sentences, that kind of thing. I was pissed. I know that many doctors are brilliant, but sometimes they lack social skills in return for book-smarts. Of course, I'm so insane right now that I don't know if it's just me. Maybe he's the greatest guy ever, but because I got a bad vibe while in a crazy state? I caught him on a bad day? I was still pissed about the co-pay? I was worried about digging my car out from the blizzard while I waited an hour for a five-minute appointment? Maybe I'm being too hard on him, but if I were a man in this situation, would I still be reflecting inward?
The upside is that I decided that I definitely don't want him as my regular doctor next time I get pregnant. I want A WOMAN. This guy can do the surgery, that's fine, but for the monthly prenatal visits? I want a woman. It's called prenatal care for a reason.
Anyway, happy new year. Last night we did the same thing we always do: Twilight Zone marathon on Sci-Fi, and in bed by 10 (okay, 9:30-- shut up). Every year I resolve to get in shape and be nicer. The getting in shape will be interesting. I've been in a bingeing contest with myself for the past week, and I don't think crying burns that many calories. The be nicer part? Oy. I try every year, but...
PS, the tuna was amazing. Our friend suggested we order one or two for the table, and I told him I was getting my own. He made some crack about me not sharing it, and I told him that if his fork wandered over to my plate he'd be pulling back a bloody stump. It was a fun night. I had a glass of 20-year port with dessert. Ahhh.
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