<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871</id><updated>2011-07-29T02:40:39.438-07:00</updated><category term='miscarriage'/><category term='lupron'/><category term='embryo donation'/><category term='BCP'/><category term='friends'/><title type='text'>Best When Used By</title><subtitle type='html'>Expiration date: Long, long ago</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>213</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3555534722349281216</id><published>2010-04-06T13:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-06T14:02:29.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No, Really, Don't Make Me Laugh</title><content type='html'>My incision hurts when I laugh that hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago I had my first post partum OB appointment. It was with the doctor who assisted in my C-section. I get the sense that she is one of the more senior docs - and perhaps was even a bit insulted that she "assisted" in the surgery while I selected a less senior doc as the primary surgeon. Not sure. Just a hunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the post partum visit, she inspected my incision and said I was recovering right on schedule. Then she said something that made me laugh out loud. I didn't mean to be rude...but...really....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "So have you given any thought to what type of birth control you'd like to use? I suggest the mini pill because it won't interfere with or affect breast feeding."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep. I laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Birth control? Is she kidding? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be 44 years old in two weeks. I tried relentlessly to get pregnant since getting married in the fall of 2006. I did get pregnant - twice in 2007 - and within short order miscarried each of them. All the diagnostics, all the exams, all the wands, all the lab results - indicating that my eggs are old, friable, wasted, decrepit, useless little things, if they even exist anymore at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she is worried that I might get pregnant and therefore suggests birth control?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silly doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I could muster between guffaws was, "You know this was an ART baby" and she said yes, she knew, but it &lt;em&gt;could&lt;/em&gt; happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you know what I say? I say that if God &lt;em&gt;now&lt;/em&gt; sees fit to grace me with an old fashioned pregnancy, I guess I'll just accept it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Birth control, smirth control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just for the record, it was one year ago today that my DH and I made our first trip to the Clinic to meet the RE and the doctor who would perform the transfer, to get our cycle schedule, and to see photographs of our Baby Bunny's two school-age siblings.  One year ago today I began to dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3555534722349281216?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3555534722349281216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3555534722349281216&amp;isPopup=true' title='37 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3555534722349281216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3555534722349281216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/04/no-really-dont-make-me-laugh.html' title='No, Really, Don&apos;t Make Me Laugh'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>37</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5606898970273701538</id><published>2010-03-16T13:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T13:59:23.254-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Posts at Wordpress</title><content type='html'>New posts over at my new wordpress site:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bwub.wordpress.com/"&gt;http://bwub.wordpress.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5606898970273701538?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5606898970273701538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5606898970273701538&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5606898970273701538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5606898970273701538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/posts-at-wordpress.html' title='Posts at Wordpress'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-202255558074538012</id><published>2010-03-10T14:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T14:29:03.036-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Post</title><content type='html'>New post over at my new wordpress site:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bwub.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/tgim-and-my-dh-is-my-hero/"&gt;http://bwub.wordpress.com&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, I apologize if anyone has requested the password for protected posts at my new blog site and I have not yet responded to you.  I may have overlooked a few requests in the shuffle.  Please let me know and I will get back to you as soon as I can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-202255558074538012?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/202255558074538012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=202255558074538012&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/202255558074538012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/202255558074538012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/new-post.html' title='New Post'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2022488768592595156</id><published>2010-03-08T14:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T14:30:59.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>TGIM...and...My DH is My Hero</title><content type='html'>Please check this post over at my new site:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bwub.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/tgim-and-my-dh-is-my-hero/"&gt;http://bwub.wordpress.com&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S5V6aTTAr3I/AAAAAAAAAX4/nT2z71Af-Vg/s1600-h/DSC04464.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S5V6aTTAr3I/AAAAAAAAAX4/nT2z71Af-Vg/s320/DSC04464.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446393916649680754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2022488768592595156?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2022488768592595156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2022488768592595156&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2022488768592595156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2022488768592595156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/tgimandmy-dh-is-my-hero.html' title='TGIM...and...My DH is My Hero'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S5V6aTTAr3I/AAAAAAAAAX4/nT2z71Af-Vg/s72-c/DSC04464.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6188468220377133905</id><published>2010-03-06T19:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T21:14:12.920-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Counting Down</title><content type='html'>I am double posting today....here and at my new site&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bwub.wordpress.com"&gt;www.bwub.wordpress.com&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let the transition begin!&lt;br /&gt;______________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five days and counting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, it is technically less than five days now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy crap. Is this real?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here's a peek at the past few days:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* My Mom.&lt;br /&gt;She is here. Yes, she has driven me nuts on numerous occasions already. It's all about her after all. Since I told her (a few weeks back) that I will be taking 6 months maternity leave and won't be going back to work until September (which she didn't know because she never asked), she decided that if she can't find a house to buy here this week, she'll go spend time with other people in other cities and just come back in September. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That hurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, uh, so you don't care that you won't see my baby (yes, your grandson, even if not your flesh and blood) &lt;em&gt;AT ALL &lt;/em&gt;until he is 6 months old. I have to wonder if it would be different if the baby had been a girl (her preference).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she still wanted me to drive her on Friday to go look at a new housing development. Which I did. Even though I have to recline waaay back in the seat to drive and my DH didn't want me to go. And she was rude to the sales lady. And she bitched about 100 things wrong with the development all the way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me + my mom = love/frustration/guilt/anger/annoyance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, still love first, but followed by a whole string of emotions that leave me stressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* OB appointment&lt;br /&gt;Friday morning was my last appointment before the big day. It was with the doc who will be doing my C-section. She is soooo reassuring and nice. DH came to the appointment and asked a few questions. We did an u/s and yes, baby is still head up (which I guess I knew). The whole thing is surreal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Visits&lt;br /&gt;My DH's buddy stopped by the other day.  He and his wife have an 8 year old and a 3 year old. He was politely interested in our plans and asked some questions and offered to give us their 5k jog stroller and travel crib.  Cool!  A couple of my girlfriends offered to stop by after the baby is born and bring food so we don't have to cook.  &lt;em&gt;These&lt;/em&gt; are the guests I wouldn't mind coming by in the weeks after we get home.  Family/in-laws I think would stress me out.  Friends - love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Baby Stuff&lt;br /&gt;We bought a baby swing. We put it together this morning. I hated it. I thought it was messed up, the parts didn't fit properly, it seemed unsafe and that's what we get for buying a clearance swing. My DH thought we should put a bag of flour in the seat and try it for a few days. I said flatly "I won't use it." We disassembled it, took it back and bought a different one. :) He has indulged my every whim. What a great guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Ikea today and bought a bookshelf thingy (I LOVED the one &lt;a href="http://anofferingoflove.wordpress.com/2009/10/09/a-post-for-tireegal/"&gt;An Offering of Love&lt;/a&gt; got for her nursery, but our little room is too small for that size and we had to get the mini one). Anyway, my DH offered to go by himself to get it, but I was determined to go and walk through the store. I did fine - for a while. Then I got tired and pinchy and owie and the baby and the fluid were sloshing and weighing down in my pelvis and....I was about done. It was all I could manage to get out to the car. Funny how my mind is still in "go go go" mode but the body just won't comply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My glider was delivered! I love it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Plan for the week&lt;br /&gt;My DH is worried that my water will break when he is not here (I think it was today's Ikea trip that scared him). He is planning to work at home all week so he'll be here. He is kind of in panic mode, and I'm feeling calm and sure that things will go just fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday morning we take my mom to the airport. DH was going to take her, but since my water might break while he's gone (hee hee hee), he wants me to come with him. I just laugh because his attentiveness is really quite cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wednesday is our last day home. Alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday I become a mom.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6188468220377133905?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6188468220377133905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6188468220377133905&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6188468220377133905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6188468220377133905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/counting-down.html' title='Counting Down'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2079744772868502761</id><published>2010-03-03T11:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T11:18:03.285-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving to New Blog</title><content type='html'>As I will be commencing the newest chapter of my life in just 8 days (parenthood!), I thought it appropriate that I also begin a new chapter of blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Following in the footsteps of &lt;a href="http://anofferingoflove.wordpress.com"&gt;An Offering of Love&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://cindyhoo2.wordpress.com"&gt;Cindyhoo2 at Bang Head Here - Annex&lt;/a&gt;, I have decided to move to a new Wordpress webpage. I've begun the set up, but am just learning how Wordpress functions...and it's taking me a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can find my alter-ego here:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bwub.wordpress.com"&gt;BWUB +1 at bwub.wordpress.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's sort of up and running now, and all of my current BWUB posts/comments have been imported.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wordpress allows for password protected posts, which I've decided I want to do with some of my posts...at least for a while...after the baby is born. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There may be some personal information/pictures/stories I won't feel comfortable sharing with the entire world, only with those people I've come to trust and with whom I've developed (or will develop) a mutual blogging/commenting relationship. I would just ask that you keep confidential (from the blog world) anything I post in a protected post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you'd like the password and future blog site info, email me at bestwhenusedby@gmail.com or leave a comment here with your email address, and if I am comfortable sending you the info, I'll do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course most of my posts will be public, and I'll hang out here at my blogger site for a while to make sure I don't lose anyone, but I wanted to give everyone a heads-up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love you all and hope to see you over at Wordpress!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2079744772868502761?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2079744772868502761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2079744772868502761&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2079744772868502761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2079744772868502761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/moving-to-new-blog.html' title='Moving to New Blog'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8456000684401823572</id><published>2010-03-01T18:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T19:41:04.599-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eight Pounds of Courage...and...Women ARE the Stronger Sex</title><content type='html'>First of all, thank you everyone for your support and encouragement in response to my last post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to my mom on the phone today and when she began to launch into a negative, complaining tirade, I interrupted and told her that I really want this final week and a half of my pregnancy to be as relaxing and calm as possible, and so I asked her to please not dump her stress on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think she heard me. (!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I drove downtown and had lunch with my good friend whose husband who was diagnosed 15 months ago with the same kind of brain tumor as Ted K. Ennedy had. Her husband has been through a lot, but he is still alive and they are still fighting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, my friend works at the law firm where I used to work and from where I was laid off in November 2008. Usually we meet off-site for lunch as I have no interest in running into any of the former attorneys I worked with (I thought they could have handled my lay-off a bit better, let's just say).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today I found myself in the lobby of the building. And wouldn't you know it...I ran into 2 partners, 2 associates and 2 secretaries of the firm! Well, whaddya going to do? So I smiled my brightest smile, perked up, tried to look adorably pregnant in a clingy, long black t-shirt and jeans, and gushed about how happy I am and how wonderful my life is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And they were all gracious, congratulatory and kind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chalked up my bravery to the Eight Pounds of Courage growing in my belly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I came home from lunch and there was a call that the baby's dresser/changing station had arrived and was available for pick-up! The crib won't be available till around April, but I was excited that the dresser was here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called DH at work to see if he would go pick it up (I want it now, Now, NOW!) and he hemmed and hawed and said maybe over the weekend, if it's not raining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's going to rain and I don't want to wait till the weekend. [insert whine here]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I called the woman who left the message, asked her to get me the dimensions of the box, grabbed a measuring tape, measured the interior of my little station wagon, and realized the box just might fit! I drove to the warehouse where the men loaded it in (perfect fit!) and brought it home. It's still in the back of my car, in the garage, waiting for my DH to come home and unload it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want something done NOW, you have to do it yourself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this past weekend I wrote out dozens of baby gift thank you notes, went to the post office today to mail them, checked in with my office email (yeah, I know, but I couldn't help myself), met my friend for lunch, bravely faced former co-workers, made a run to Target to stock up on TP, paper towels, laundry deterg, etc before the baby comes, and  picked up the baby's dresser. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ten days before giving birth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who says women are not the stronger sex doesn't know shite from onions (I stole that phrase from EB).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for R&amp;R.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8456000684401823572?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8456000684401823572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8456000684401823572&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8456000684401823572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8456000684401823572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/03/eight-pounds-of-courageandwomen-are.html' title='Eight Pounds of Courage...and...Women ARE the Stronger Sex'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4811145937933669427</id><published>2010-02-26T10:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T12:14:55.583-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alternating Joy and Frustration</title><content type='html'>I promised pictures...and they're in here. I had a lot to post about though, so grab the safety rail and hang on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been quite a week, full of highs and lows. Which can take a serious toll on a woman in her 9th month of pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, the highs:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- My final day of work was Wednesday. I didn't get much actual work done on Tuesday or Wednesday, as I was trying to tie up loose ends, go over things with my secretary, finish up or pass off projects, etc. Everyone was very sweet and I got a lot of hugs as I left on Wednesday. Bittersweet, since I really enjoy my colleagues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- Thursday morning I had an OB appointment with the doctor who will assist the surgeon in my C-section. All remains well with baby boy. I got to ask my surgery questions and I feel comfortable with the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- Thursday afternoon I went through the tons of gifts we received at the two showers last weekend. I sorted, hung, folded and stashed. I took several duplicate items back to the store and bought some other items we would need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- My DH and I are counting down the days. We say, "X more days to Baby BWUB!" Today I said, "Twelve more days to Baby BWUB Eve!" It's fun to know he is so close!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- The baby is really responsive to my touch these days, and I just love the little intimate moments we have together, despite the fact that I am enormously uncomfortable most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- This weekend we will buy the remaining items from our registry that we will need. Even if there is no crib or dresser yet, we will be ready!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- Here are some pics:  diaper cake, baby things, my gigantic belly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4ghPR5kfsI/AAAAAAAAAXI/auMWA0Sz_d8/s1600-h/DSC04307.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4ghPR5kfsI/AAAAAAAAAXI/auMWA0Sz_d8/s320/DSC04307.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442636696063868610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gjumpjuTI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/AN80o1pLbpQ/s1600-h/DSC04418.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gjumpjuTI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/AN80o1pLbpQ/s320/DSC04418.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442639433233054002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gmks-PlAI/AAAAAAAAAXw/jynARmrHZQI/s1600-h/DSC04428.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gmks-PlAI/AAAAAAAAAXw/jynARmrHZQI/s320/DSC04428.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442642561666618370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gkAGVpwHI/AAAAAAAAAXY/P9-EsmCzZAs/s1600-h/DSC04420.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gkAGVpwHI/AAAAAAAAAXY/P9-EsmCzZAs/s320/DSC04420.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442639733797273714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gkfZUPyUI/AAAAAAAAAXg/fCGHKMwPcHE/s1600-h/DSC04426.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4gkfZUPyUI/AAAAAAAAAXg/fCGHKMwPcHE/s320/DSC04426.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442640271467596098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4glKBuJqZI/AAAAAAAAAXo/DSRuC_woJQg/s1600-h/DSC04412.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4glKBuJqZI/AAAAAAAAAXo/DSRuC_woJQg/s320/DSC04412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442641003868170642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now for the downs/frustrations:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- My DH has been super, supportive and helpful most of the time. But we had a little tete-a-tete over some financial paperwork that pissed me off and drove me to tears...30 minutes before I was to leave for last Saturday's baby shower. Of course I am extra prone to tears right now anyway (kooky hormones), but when one person (me) invested the better part of a year pursuing, handling and following up on a matter that involves Giant Financial Corporation, it really pisses said person off when the other person (DH), who did none of the work or time investment, is now uncomfortable with the current status of the matter and wants to simply give in to Giant Financial Corporation. Fortunately, we've found common ground upon which to deal with the matter that appeases us both, but I went to my baby shower with puffy, post-crying eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- DH also promised to do the taxes this year.  Unable to wait for Mr. Procrastinator, I've done 98% of the background work - gathered, organized and added receipts, did all the Schedule A math and even penciled in a 1040.  Yet weeks later, here it all still sits.  And we'll be getting a nice refund!  Grrrr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- My mother has drained me dry and gnawed on my last raw nerve. I don't think I have posted much about this because, well, I have a baby coming and the baby has (fortunately) absorbed most of my attention. Here is the bullet list short version:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* My mom lives in another state, is about to retire and she planned (before she knew I was pregnant) to move here to be closer to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* When she learned I was pregnant and due in March, she decided to put her house on the market with the goal of selling and moving here around May.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Too cheap to use a real estate agent, she put her home on the market in a "for sale by owner" manner. She doesn't exactly know what she's doing, so she called me several times over the past month or so for advice (I used to practice real estate law). I did what I could from here, but never saw or read actual documents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* She and a buyer signed a contract, with escrow set to close the first week of April. Mom didn't closely read every line of the contract carefully enough and is now &lt;em&gt;flipped out angry &lt;/em&gt;over some HOA items she might be responsible for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Meanwhile, she has consulted with a local real estate agent here, and has done some online research herself to find a house to buy in my city. She is extremely picky (which is fine), but her expectations and reality are not lining up well. This is causing her much frustration.  Plus, the agent is not doing everything my mom wants, causing more frustration.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Mom will be here next week, from the 3rd to the 9th (yes, up until 2 days before my scheduled C-section) to be carted around by real estate agent to look at homes. Except real estate agent hasn't provided her with enough homes that meet mom's criteria (more frustration).  And I'm not sure just how much time Mom expects me to spend with her while she is here....but I can't walk fast or far these days, can't spend all day taking her to see possible homes, and wanted to spend this time nesting and relaxing before baby comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: My mom is very stressed and frustrated, and every communication I have with her consists of my getting about 5 minutes to talk, and the rest of the time (oh, like nearly 2 hours on the telephone each time) is her ranting, complaining, bitching, and spewing negativity about every little thing that isn't going her way. Honestly, it wipes me out. This isn't anything new - it's how she is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She rarely stops to ask how I am doing, and so it came as a great surprise to her when I told her last night that I am taking 6 months of maternity leave and so I won't be returning to work until approximately September. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her response: Gee, if I had known that, I wouldn't have hurried up to sell my house so fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My (silent) reaction: Gee, if you gave me a minute to talk or asked about my life, you might have known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd really like to say, "Mom, I love you, but I can't handle the constant stream of negativity, so please don't unload it on me anymore." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know, everyone needs to vent...and I'm the only person she's got. I didn't ask her to move here, and I surely didn't ask her to be desperately searching to buy a house the week before I'm due to deliver.  But here she is, trying to move to a new state, and of course she needs some help and support. I get that. With a baby coming in a mere 13 days, I sure would like to enjoy this time and not feel pressured to make sure everything in her life works out to her satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH and I will do what we can to help my mom, but I also intend to be selfish to some extent, taking care of myself and my baby, and not letting these precious last few weeks slip into the Negative Vortex that is my mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've made it through this whole post, thanks...I appreciate the shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4811145937933669427?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4811145937933669427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4811145937933669427&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4811145937933669427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4811145937933669427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/alternating-joy-and-frustration.html' title='Alternating Joy and Frustration'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S4ghPR5kfsI/AAAAAAAAAXI/auMWA0Sz_d8/s72-c/DSC04307.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6147879150298651132</id><published>2010-02-22T19:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T20:40:28.050-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend Happenings</title><content type='html'>The weekend went quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----Saturday: Baby Shower #2----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This shower was largely attended by former co-workers from the law firm where I worked. My MIL, Wacky P and the 6-year old daughter also came to this one. We had brunch and mimosas (I had 1/2 glass), which were delicious. Everyone was very generous with the gifts, and I was excited to get some of the "necessities" from my registry as opposed to the cute-but-already-have-too-many newborn outfits and blankets (although there were still several of those).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were quite a few guests, so I was able to avoid getting cornered by MIL and Wacky P most of the time, at least until the bulk of the festivities were over. Of course Wacky P couldn't hold back forever, and at some point she &lt;em&gt;had&lt;/em&gt; to get in my face. She asked if we were going to use a diaper service, because &lt;em&gt;she&lt;/em&gt; used a diaper service, and it was the &lt;em&gt;best&lt;/em&gt; way to go, and they can provide different size diapers and how fluffy and soft the diapers are and ....blah, blah, blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She knows my plan is to start with disposables until life settles down a bit and then try out the B.umGe.nius brand cloth diapers. But she had to get in my face about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and when the hostess offered the guests coffee to go with the cake, Wacky P's daughter started whining that &lt;em&gt;sheeee&lt;/em&gt; wanted coffee. At first the hostess tried to play if off with a sweetly said: "What? Noooo, kids don't drink coffee." But when Girl persisted, the hostess finally said, "Well, not at my house. Kids don't get to drink coffee here" and she turned and left Girl standing there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grinned. Girl usually isn't told "no" so bluntly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the best things about that shower was that when it was winding down, a friend of mine who has a 3 year old and a 9 month old came and asked whether I would be interested in any of her hand-me-downs....she said she wasn't sure if I'd be insulted at the offer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you kidding? I jumped enthusiastically at the chance to take her Bumbo seat and tray, breast pump, second car seat, etc. &lt;em&gt;Useful&lt;/em&gt; things! Woohoo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----Sunday Morning: Visit from MIL and Wacky P----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep. They came over to visit. This time Wacky P asked if we had chosen a pediatrician. I said yes, and named the doctor. BTW, this doc is (1) someone I worked with at the hospital years ago, and (2) the pediatrician of one of my OB's children. But kooky Wacky P had to tell me how she used this pediatrician for Girl several years ago, and proceeded to criticize the doctor's office, nurses and practice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the pattern. One: She asks your choice/opinion. Two: Whatever your choice/opinion is, she will criticize it and tell you why &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; choice/opinion is superior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ignore her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----Sunday Afternoon: Baby Shower #3----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This shower included about 10 of my close friends whom I've know for about 20 years. As in, the hostess wore sweats with her hair up in a clip because we are like family. It was very relaxed, we laughed, we teased, we got caught up on each other's lives. Along with the requisite baby clothes and blankets (more!), toys, gift cards and other items, they got me my stroller and a fabulous rocker/bouncy seat that converts to a toddler seat. Cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most memorable gift and moment was when I opened the last gift. It was from the daughter of my friend (who was my matron of honor). Her daughter will be 15 years old next week, but she is a really sweet, innocent, kind girl (I guess I say that because so many teens barely talk to their parents, much less their parents' friends). Anyway, I opened the gift and it was a framed poem, written by Teen Girl. There was a handwritten note from her on the back. The poem welcomed our little baby boy, both into the world and into the lives of my DH and I, and into the lives of our group of friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew I wouldn't be able to read it out loud, but I felt it was called for, because of the personal nature of the gift. So I handed it to my friend to my right and said, "Ann, will you please read it...I'll cry if I try to read it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ann began to read. There was a line about Mommy and Daddy...forever taking care...baby boy....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I lost it. My nose wrinkled and I knew. I started to cry. Then sob. My friends started laughing at me (which was completely expected since we are so close) and then I started laughing too. I mean, I was &lt;em&gt;both&lt;/em&gt; crying/sobbing (hard!) and laughing (just as hard) at the same time! It was the strangest sensation. And when I looked up, two or three of my friends were crying too! We laughed and cried and in fact, Ann had to hand the poem over to someone else to finish reading! Poor Teen Girl stared at me, looking a bit stunned. Later she told me, "Auntie BWUB, I never saw you like that before and it kind of scared me." I reassured her it was hormones and I was okay and that I LOVED LOVED LOVED her present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----Monday (today)----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I broke the news to my boss (and her boss) that my C-section is scheduled and that my last day of work will be Wednesday...as in two days from now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next post:  Photos.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6147879150298651132?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6147879150298651132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6147879150298651132&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6147879150298651132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6147879150298651132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/weekend-happenings.html' title='Weekend Happenings'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8887468728432654356</id><published>2010-02-19T14:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T15:26:34.660-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He Almost Had Us Fooled</title><content type='html'>I had my OB appointment this morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was led into the exam room, I noticed they had not put the u/s machine in there. I reminded the assistant that we needed to check my baby's position and would need the u/s. She brushed me off with a "Well, let's see what the doctor thinks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor comes in. The practice I go to has seven OBs. Five are women (which I love) but I had not previously met today's doctor. She measured my belly and used the doppler to check baby's heart beat. All is well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She wanted to do a pants-off exam. She took a culture (Beta strep? Maybe.) And she checked my cervix. One centimeter dilated. Honestly, the manual exam wasn't bad at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she said, "I feel his head. He must have turned."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "That's fantastic! What great news!....but....can we do an u/s just to verify? It would give me some comfort."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: "Sure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She left the room to get the machine.  I got dressed and climbed back up on the table. I rubbed my belly, cooing to baby boy that he was such a good baby for turning.  Doc came back in, flipped the switch, booted up the machine, gooed my belly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And?&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Baby BWUB must have a round, hairy butt that feels like a tiny baby head. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is still breech.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor said we should schedule the C-section.  So now my boy has a birth date. March 11th. I got to choose the surgeon, which is nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband is really excited that we have something certain to look forward to. In just 20 days. He said "We have to get our nest all ready!" Yes, honey, we do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And even though this is not what I would have chosen, if the choice had been mine, I will make the best of it. And in the end, I'm just looking forward to finally meeting my sweet little baby boy.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8887468728432654356?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8887468728432654356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8887468728432654356&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8887468728432654356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8887468728432654356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/he-almost-had-us-fooled.html' title='He Almost Had Us Fooled'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8788146469621146571</id><published>2010-02-17T18:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-17T19:32:48.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snapshot</title><content type='html'>With less than 30 days to go until my due date, here is a snapshot of my world at the moment:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Physically: Belly, tight. Back, achy. Chest pains (?) when I lie on my left side.  My belly button is really tiny, but still an innie! Maternity pants barely fit anymore.  And now, nightly Braxton-Hicks contractions, I think. They started this past weekend and are quite uncomfortable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Sleep: Not much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Mental status: Positive. Happy and excited, regardless of anything else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Work: Ready to be done and start my leave. I have a colleague who makes me laugh because every day she checks on me and tells me her most recent plan for who will drive me to the hospital, and who will sit in the back seat and hold my hand, if I go into labor while at work. I must confess I will miss her and some of the others while I'm gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Baby: Wiggling, rolling, hiccuping and growing. Yesterday I was almost convinced that he had turned to head-down position. Today, not so sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Next OB appointment: Friday morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Baby's room: Ugh. Shipment of crib is delayed at least another 8 weeks. That's 8 weeks from &lt;em&gt;now&lt;/em&gt;. Dresser/changing table should arrive in 3 weeks. Hopefully. Good thing we got the convertible crib...it may just be here by the time he goes to college!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Husband: Doting. Particularly in light of probable B-H contractions. Calls me twice a day to check on me. Happy that my mat leave will begin soon. He is even protective against my MIL and Wacky P, who wanted us to come to Wacky P's for dinner Friday night. Nights are not my best time, and the last thing he thinks I should suffer through right now is having to sit for hours at Wacky P's house, being hassled by her in-your-face, without-boundaries, loud, dirty-fingernailed children, and being subjected to incessant questioning by my MIL. Thanks, honey! Instead, MIL and Wacky P will come to our house Sunday morning for coffee (no kids!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Presents: One of my sisters, who lives in Texas, sent me a box of really sweet baby presents. Here's one of the items she sent, pastel green and softer than soft!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S3yzvksgYRI/AAAAAAAAAW4/o4dpbgzae7g/s1600-h/DSC04298.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S3yzvksgYRI/AAAAAAAAAW4/o4dpbgzae7g/s320/DSC04298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439420079842287890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8788146469621146571?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8788146469621146571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8788146469621146571&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8788146469621146571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8788146469621146571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/snapshot.html' title='Snapshot'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S3yzvksgYRI/AAAAAAAAAW4/o4dpbgzae7g/s72-c/DSC04298.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2464826597857278161</id><published>2010-02-15T17:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T17:52:14.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thirty Days to Go</title><content type='html'>Today was a better day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My rotten neighbor experience the other night paved the way to a crappy day yesterday. I just couldn't shake the funk, and I felt hyper-sensitive to every little thing. I had a little tearful episode and ended up napping much of the day away while my DH mowed the lawn, did some grocery shopping and made dinner. He even brought me home some mint chocolate chip ice cream and a pot of beautiful pink azaleas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mental breakdowns always bring out the best in my husband. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today he went to work while I got to stay home (President's Day holiday). The sun was shining. It was warm enough to be outside in a t-shirt. The newly mowed lawn was green and fresh smelling. I pulled out a patio chair and just enjoyed the feeling of the warm sun while the dogs sniffed and ran about in the yard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the afternoon I ran some quick errands, did some laundry and began gathering items (finally) to be packed into the suitcase for our trip to the hospital. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can definitely tell that the baby is growing. I am uncomfortable more often than not. I am out of breath most of the time. I move very slowly, and can feel the baby waaaaay down in my pelvis if I move too fast. I can't get comfortable sitting, reclining, lying down or standing. The neighbor was quiet last night, but I still didn't get much sleep. Yup - I'm entering the final 30 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This upcoming weekend I have two baby showers. After that we will have to review the registries and go purchase the necessities we still need. That will probably take another week.  Then we will be in the home stretch. Time to hunker down, rest, and wait.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2464826597857278161?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2464826597857278161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2464826597857278161&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2464826597857278161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2464826597857278161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/thirty-days-to-go.html' title='Thirty Days to Go'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7977016641808163472</id><published>2010-02-14T10:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T11:54:38.667-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Neighbor Rant</title><content type='html'>Usually I can blow off bothersome neighbors with a dismissive &lt;em&gt;whatever&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, crap, after last night, I'm thinking about what the heck things are going to be like around here in 2 months when I have a newborn to care for. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We live in an older, established neighborhood. Narrow streets and property lots that are much less than 1/4 acre in size. Several months ago, a group of young people moved into the house directly across the street from us. I haven't actually met them, I am not sure how many of them there are, but I can say that every stinking day there are are 4 to 6 vehicles parked between their driveway, in front of their house and in front of our house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate looking out my window every day to see vehicles parked on the street in front of my house. Pet peeve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So last night, around 2:30 a.m., slamming car doors and loud voices woke up my dogs, who immediately begin barking. I lurched into a sitting position - which is not easy given my large belly protrusion. I was trying to shush my dogs as the voices outside - probably less than 100 feet from my window, shout and carry on. More car door slamming. Then, a siren? I thought, oh, cool, cops? Arriving to give them citations for disturbing my peace?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no....those f***ing idiots have some sort of siren installed in their truck - that was parked outside my bedroom window - and a bullhorn to boot! Oh yes, a bullhorn. Loud siren whirrs were followed by girls' voices, which suddenly boomed forth on a loudspeaker. Cursing at someone. Drunk. More slamming doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, part of me wanted to march outside and ask WTF is wrong with them.  But I don't want my tires slashed, or a drunken fist in my face (or worse, in my belly).  Who knows what people are capable of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I peeked out the window, debating whether to call the police myself, as two more people got into the truck. And then they drove off.  I finally got back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours later, at 4:30 a.m., more car door slamming, more voices, then silence. My dogs barked again.  I lurched upright again.  These people come and go at all hours. They party, they have company, they carry on and they wake me up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am envisioning their noise, plus my barking dogs waking up my newborn who just fed and went back to sleep. I am envisioning getting no sleep whatsoever. Summer is coming - warm weather and people wanting to be outside more often.  Parties and drinking.  I am envisioning leaving piles of dog poop on their windshields, front door step and even throwing loads of it up onto their roof. In the summer. I am envisioning blasting some Ne il D iamond music outside thier bedroom windows at, say, 8 am, when surely they are deep in slumber.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I told my husband we may need to move the bedroom to the room at the back of the house - even though that room is way to small and is hot in the summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am fed up, sleep deprived and angry.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7977016641808163472?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7977016641808163472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7977016641808163472&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7977016641808163472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7977016641808163472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/neighbor-rant.html' title='Neighbor Rant'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5463305990887255117</id><published>2010-02-12T10:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T10:22:25.979-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the Horizon</title><content type='html'>Thanks for all the flattering comments. I swear, though, my belly feels so big, as though it will pop like a balloon at any moment!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yes, indeed, my due date and the arrival of Baby Boy BWUB are on the horizon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I mentioned, he is still breech and my DH is now &lt;em&gt;convinced&lt;/em&gt; that a C-section will be on tap for the birth. He is quietly delighted about it. Of course we both prefer a non-surgical birth, but here's what he said that made me realize he's pretty happy at the idea of a C-section:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, if we have a C-section then we'll get to skip the part where I would have to time the contractions at home, racing to the hospital, all of that breathing stuff and the slow dance [this is his term for his labor coaching responsibilities] and we'll just go in and have the baby?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, yes, dear, I guess we would skip the major labor chapter of childbirth and move right to arrival of the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to remind him that if I have a C-section, my recovery will take longer. I won't be able to drive for at least 2 weeks. I won't be able to pick up anything heavier than the baby for a while. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please, those of you who have had C-sections feel free to chime in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be in more pain and will need more help for several weeks after we come home. All of which means &lt;em&gt;he&lt;/em&gt; will have more post-natal responsibility to take care of things that I won't be able to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He seemed readily amenable to all of this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise, things are pretty quiet here. My next OB appointment is next Friday. I'll be 36 weeks by then. Although I'm sure baby boy is still breech, he is wiggling and poking and stretching regularly (and has hiccups 2 or 3 times each day!) so I'm content that he is okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still plan to work through the end of February (just 2 more weeks!) but I am SO looking forward to having a little time to relax, rest, and prepare for the momentous occasion.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5463305990887255117?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5463305990887255117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5463305990887255117&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5463305990887255117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5463305990887255117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/on-horizon.html' title='On the Horizon'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1407789685016624172</id><published>2010-02-06T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-06T09:27:26.679-08:00</updated><title type='text'>34 Weeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S22iKG937vI/AAAAAAAAAWg/qldaeEwNs7w/s1600-h/DSC04287.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S22iKG937vI/AAAAAAAAAWg/qldaeEwNs7w/s320/DSC04287.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435178619858579186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that's me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I had an OB appointment. Baby BWUB is still breech. The doctor said there is still time for him to turn, but it is likely that he will remain breech. If so, my two options are manual version or C-section. As I posted previously, I will opt for the C-section.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that the taste of a possible C-section is becoming more of a reality, and visions of labor and vaginal birth are dwindling like a fading dream, I'm a bit disappointed. But as I've always maintained, the most important thing to me is getting the baby here alive and healthy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I have to go the C-section route, the doctor said they like to deliver between the 39th and 40th week. I thought 3/10/10 might be a good birth date. Unless, of course, I go into labor before then, in which case, the baby will decide his own birth date!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also asked the doctor when I ought to quit working (after all, I &lt;em&gt;am&lt;/em&gt; becoming more and more uncomfortable and there is no place to lie down in the office). She said in a very matter-of-fact way that in California, pregnant women automatically qualify for disability leave as of the 36th week of pregnancy. Therefore, she said, when I have my next appointment (at 36 weeks) I can decide what I'd like to do and the doctor's office will complete and file the paper work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I'll do the extra week and finish out February.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're still waiting for delivery of the crib and dresser.  The &lt;em&gt;earliest&lt;/em&gt; we might expect them is the first of March!  Who knows. The baby may very well arrive before his furniture! Just in case, I've been washing clothes and putting them in his closet. It's not very neat since everything has to be jammed in there until we get the furniture, but even in its chaotic state, I love looking at and touching all the sweet things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S22ibv9N2xI/AAAAAAAAAWo/uM72Z5zDAow/s1600-h/DSC04288.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S22ibv9N2xI/AAAAAAAAAWo/uM72Z5zDAow/s320/DSC04288.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435178922919451410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1407789685016624172?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1407789685016624172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1407789685016624172&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1407789685016624172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1407789685016624172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/34-weeks.html' title='34 Weeks'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S22iKG937vI/AAAAAAAAAWg/qldaeEwNs7w/s72-c/DSC04287.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8220639953506213217</id><published>2010-02-03T21:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T22:01:00.088-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shower #1</title><content type='html'>Today was the baby shower put on by my current co-workers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must say, it was quite sweet. I've known these people only 6 months, yet there they were, showering me with cake and presents and "It's a Boy!" decorations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to the third or fourth gift, and as I opened the gift to find a precious little bib and soft matching blanket....yup....I lost it. In front of all my co-workers, male and female alike, with my boss to my immediate right, I started to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I laugh/cried. Then I was better. There was a chorus of "Oh, it's okay, it's just your hormones" ringing in my ears. No one batted an eyelash. I was a bit embarrassed, but the moment just got the better of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not used to being the center of attention, so it felt a little awkward to rip open gift after gift as they were set before me. And it was even more awkward when I received &lt;em&gt;three&lt;/em&gt; booster seats (how did that happen?) - especially since the third one I opened was from my boss (I think she felt a little disappointed).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I noticed that only one of the guys brought a gift (although they all showed up to eat cake), and I later chuckled with one of my girlfriends about "how guys are." When I got home, a package had been delivered by UPS. I opened it to find one of the cutest, sweetest blankets from my gift registry....from two of the guys in my office! That'll show me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, after eating a piece of leftover cake from my party, I sat here watching Baby BWUB roll around in response to the sugar.  My DH's eyes got huge when he saw the lump in my belly rise, fall and roll about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I am very lucky and blessed.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8220639953506213217?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8220639953506213217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8220639953506213217&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8220639953506213217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8220639953506213217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/shower-1.html' title='Shower #1'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4870147768934898551</id><published>2010-02-02T18:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T19:23:49.806-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Answering Questions</title><content type='html'>Oh yeah, I'll surely check with my doctor about early leave. I have several important things scheduled for next week, but if I can just finish out the month of February and be done, I would be really happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a coffee date this morning with a young pregnant woman who works in my building. We ran into each other in the elevator one day and quickly learned that our babies are due only 4 days apart. So we planned a coffee date to engage in some baby chat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was such a nice girl, and as it turns out, we have a few things in common: we are both having boys and we live pretty near to each other. I am hopeful that after our babies are born and we are both settled, we can meet for strolls in the park with the kids. We compared notes on morning sickness (she had it, I didn't), maternity leave (she's taking a year - I'm so jealous), and various other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt a little awkward, though, I have to admit, because she asked me some questions that I didn't really want to answer with the full truth, but did not want to outright lie about either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, you must realize, she is YOUNG and fertile. She and her husband basically got pregnant on their first try. She was so wide-eyed and innocent and sweet, I couldn't hold my battle scars against her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since our babies are due only 4 days apart, she asked me if I know what day I got pregnant. She excitedly told me she is pretty sure it was June 28 for her. Well, um, yeah, I kind of know &lt;em&gt;precisely&lt;/em&gt; the day, hour and minute I got pregnant. As in, July 1, 2009, 2:40 p.m. There were 2 doctors, a couple of nurses and some assistants in the room. My husband was off getting a snack at a nearby restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just said, "Oh, I guess it had to be end of June or beginning of July."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asked if we were trying to get pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's weird because I'm totally comfortable with all of the hows, whys, wheres and whos of my pregnancy. I'm thrilled with the whole embryo donation/adoption concept. I'm even excited at the thought that my DH and I have &lt;em&gt;no idea &lt;/em&gt;what this baby is going to look like. He could just as easily be brunette with brown eyes as he could be blond with blue eyes. Heck, there's even a real chance that he could be a redhead! The donor profiles and pictures of his siblings make any combination a real possibility.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, it's just not something you launch into with every person you meet or every person with whom you have pregnancy discussions. The whole history and process is complicated, both factually and medically. Not everybody wants to, or is interested in, hearing that. And certainly not everybody needs to know our personal medical history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I just play along, answering people's innocent and seemingly general questions as best I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday a female co-worker (who has a 6-year old) came into my office to check on me, see how I am feeling, and offer some advice. At some point she asked how old I am, and when I told her, she leaned over my desk and said very seriously, "Wow, you are almost 44 years old? BWUB, this pregnancy is such a blessing! I mean, to get pregnant at 43, thank God...it's a miracle...really."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You have no idea" I replied. And I assured her I absolutely do thank God for this miracle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm meeting the young woman again on Thursday for another cup of coffee and to pick up our conversation where we left off.  For the time being I'll just answer her questions as best I can.  &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4870147768934898551?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4870147768934898551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4870147768934898551&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4870147768934898551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4870147768934898551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/answering-questions.html' title='Answering Questions'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7637962443205135481</id><published>2010-02-01T19:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T19:49:52.407-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreaming of Early Leave</title><content type='html'>The baby was moving a lot today. It made working uncomfortable. I think he is still breech, and his round little head kept bumping up underneath my ribs. The maternity pants I wore were the kind with the low band - they cut into me, making my discomfort worse. My skin felt so tight it seemed that it might just split open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh! I longed to be home in my way-too-big sweat pants, lounging on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hope is that all this movement means that baby boy is warming up to do his triple-twist-front-flip, landing him squarely head down on top of my cervix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really want to be a trooper - showing my bosses that I can work up until the last minute. But secretly I'd LOVE for my doc to insist that I need to stop working sometime sooner. Like at the end of February!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, opposing counsel Mr. Meanie continues his practice of sending me demanding, accusatory, hateful and rude letters. He wrote and sent one to me by fax today, in response to a letter I sent him last Friday. My only consolation is the knowledge that while I was enjoying sunshine and shopping for baby things over the weekend, he was stewing about my letter, researching case law to throw at me, and writing me another hateful letter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am nearly giddy at the thought!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But seriously, dealing with him is another reason I'd prefer to go out on mat leave sooner rather than later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next OB appointment is this Friday. I'm going to see what my doc has to say.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7637962443205135481?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7637962443205135481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7637962443205135481&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7637962443205135481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7637962443205135481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/02/dreaming-of-early-leave.html' title='Dreaming of Early Leave'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8003270493690504789</id><published>2010-01-31T21:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T21:26:49.582-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day of Sunshine and a Day of Shopping</title><content type='html'>The sun was shining Saturday. It was the first sunshine we've had in what feels like weeks. It's been nonstop rain or fog until Saturday. And I apologize to those who are buried in snow and/or ice and have no sympathy for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH and I spent about 4 hours in the yard on Saturday, cleaning up leaves and tree litter from the most recent storms, raking, sweeping, clearing away storm yuk...it was heaven. He even got on a ladder and cleared out the gutters. I LOVE the way the yard looks now. Of course my DH did most of the work, and he usually &lt;em&gt;hates&lt;/em&gt; yard work. But he was insistent that I not overdo it, that I rest frequently and that I leave any and all lifting (a rake?) to him. I did prune the roses and sweep a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mostly I was just glad to feel warm sunshine on my face. Ahhhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, Sunday, we took a list and went shopping. My DH, as is his tendency to become anxious about things, &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; wants us to get our hospital bag packed...&lt;em&gt;just&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;in case&lt;/em&gt;. Plus, he wants to be sure we have the things we'll need at home, &lt;em&gt;just in case&lt;/em&gt; the baby comes early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought myself a pair of pajamas and a nightgown, both with tops that unbutton for ease of breast feeding. I also bought 2 nursing bras, but had to guess at what the right size might be. We got a cute pair of baby shoes that happened to be on sale. And finally, we bought a play yard that doubles as a bassinet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we walked through the BRU parking lot, heading into the store, I told my DH that part of me felt scared buying these things. Who did we think we were, buying baby things? I mean, the baby is not here yet. There's a chance....maybe he never will be here. Maybe he'll never come home. I mumbled something about keeping all the receipts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH tried to smooth over what I'd just said by saying that everyone goes through this kind of anxiety. But I told him assuredly - no - it's not the same for everyone. There are people in the world who get pregnant without difficulty, who immediately run out to buy a crib and clothes and blankets, and all while they are announcing the news to everyone they know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have no fear. They have no anxiety. The thought simply doesn't enter their minds that &lt;em&gt;something could go wrong&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What lucky people they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And chances are, they never have to give their pregnancy a second thought because all goes well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's not me. That's not us. Until this baby is safely in my arms, all in one piece, breathing and squawking and wiggling and looking me in the eye, I won't - I can't - be sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We set up the play yard in the baby's room. I put a teddy bear and a blanket in it. Three little toys dangle from the toy bar that arches over top. It's strange to walk by that room and see the play yard, waiting for a baby to occupy it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strange, but also beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S2ZlJXOYgqI/AAAAAAAAAWY/wrWIBvVYvLY/s1600-h/DSC04256.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S2ZlJXOYgqI/AAAAAAAAAWY/wrWIBvVYvLY/s320/DSC04256.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433141211996652194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8003270493690504789?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8003270493690504789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8003270493690504789&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8003270493690504789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8003270493690504789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/day-of-sunshine-and-day-of-shopping.html' title='A Day of Sunshine and a Day of Shopping'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S2ZlJXOYgqI/AAAAAAAAAWY/wrWIBvVYvLY/s72-c/DSC04256.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2709602729523957975</id><published>2010-01-28T20:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T20:54:52.055-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Goings On</title><content type='html'>The case of the Grumpies I had earlier this week have gone away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew. I feel better, although it's been a rough week, and I have a few things on my mind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a peek:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- One of our dogs contracted kennel cough at the doggie daycare. Poor little boo. Her symptoms (dry, hacking cough and foamy, gooey junk from her mouth) appeared Tuesday. She actually seems better already, but she has to be home at least 10 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Our other dog, out of the blue, decided that peeing in the baby's room would be a good idea. Huh? Anxiety? Jealousy? How can she know when there's nothing in there but a rocking chair?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- My DH emailed me at work today saying the sewer clean-out cap in the yard popped off and there is some "lint" around it. I told him it isn't lint but TP (sorry, gross, I know). Plumber comes tomorrow morning. Hopefully it won't need anything more than a cleanout. My DH is worried that all the rain has caused the soil to become saturated and heavy - and the old orangeburg pipes collapsed. That could be expensive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- The horrible opposing counsel (Mr. Meanie) in the complex litigation case I'm working on is pushing my buttons. The only good thing is that, apparently, I'm pushing his, too. He sent me several "nastygrams" recently - demeaning, demanding, arrogant letters. It's been awful. Now, pursuant to a judge's order, I have to have a telephone conference 2 weeks from now with Mr. Meanie, which is likely to last the better part of a day, if not more. Ug. I'm already anticipating his loud, rude, bullying, interrupting, arrogant demeanor. It won't be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I spoke this week with the OB doc who sent me to the hospital last week for monitoring. I basically demanded to have U/S's at my appointments from now on to check the position of the baby. She was a bit hesitant at first, saying they normally wouldn't bother to check until 37 weeks, and if the baby was still breach then they would consider the external, manual version (is that the right term?). But I was insistent, and she finally relented. I'll be getting quick u/s's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But here's the kicker: I also expressed concern about the baby possibly turning into the cord. As in, getting the cord wrapped around his neck - whether as a result of turning on his own or as a result of manual version. She said that they do not check the cord position and that approximately 30% of babies are born with the cord around their necks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What?! Is this true?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said they are only concerned about the cord if the baby is breech because the cord could slip through ahead of the baby's bottom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup. Not liking this a bit. Well, I will say this (at the risk of being flogged by nazi natural birth women): if the baby is breech and doesn't turn on his own, there is no way I will put him at any risk whatsoever by having doctors manually mash my belly, shoving the baby, cord and placenta around, in an effort to turn him just so that I can push him out my vagina. Hell no. I'll order up a C-section (yeah, yeah, I know that C-sections are not without risks of their own) and deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2709602729523957975?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2709602729523957975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2709602729523957975&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2709602729523957975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2709602729523957975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/goings-on.html' title='The Goings On'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2396645618207239374</id><published>2010-01-25T20:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T21:11:03.210-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Whine Fest</title><content type='html'>I'm cranky. Cranky and crabby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's up with that? Do pregnancy hormones kick in differently at this point? I was pretty even keeled most of the past 32 weeks. At least I &lt;em&gt;think&lt;/em&gt; I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the weekend I got emotional over silly little things. I knew they were silly as I stood in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, sobbing. I just felt like I needed to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I felt really crabby Sunday evening when, after having 2 beers with lunch, my DH decided to keep drinking for the rest of the afternoon/evening. He wasn't bombed - he paced himself - but I could tell he had a nice buzz going for the rest of the day, and his stupid buzzed comments/questions/behavior made me feel angry. I left the room in silence and went to find something to do alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was cranky all day today. I got every red light on the way to the office, I gave myself a nice paper cut, and I felt irritable when a meeting lasted, for what I felt was, way too long. My patience felt short with my co-workers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Physically, I am becoming a bit more uncomfortable. Of course this is to be expected. I'm getting less sleep, I'm becoming more short of breath, and I can feel and hear my heart beat (from the increased blood volume, I presume), which is a bit unnerving sometimes. And, it goes without saying, that my back aches and my belly feels stretched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking for the silver lining, baby boy is moving with great vigor today. I feel good about him, even if he is breech. I've been open to the possibility of a C-section all along, and although it's not what I want, the thought doesn't upset me. Safety...all I want is his safety and well being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the bottom line is this: nothing is horrible, things are normal, but I feel like I want to lie down and take a nap and not have anyone bug me about anything...for, oh, the next 7 weeks or so.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this the result of hormones?  I don't like feeling this way, and rationally, I know that I have &lt;em&gt;nothing&lt;/em&gt; to feel crabby about.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2396645618207239374?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2396645618207239374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2396645618207239374&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2396645618207239374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2396645618207239374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/whine-fest.html' title='Whine Fest'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8277785867421053549</id><published>2010-01-24T11:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T11:25:16.937-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Talk to the Hand</title><content type='html'>After our bit of excitement at the hospital on Thursday, I was looking forward to our 3D/4D ultrasound scheduled for Friday. We drifted into the office of this place with great anticipation and excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The waiting room was rather busy. We signed in, paid the fee and waited our turn. Finally my DH and I were led back to the dimly lit room. I was ushered onto a bed, got set up and the tech came in. I turned to look at the monitor as he gelled my belly and began the u/s.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Baby Boy BWUB was having none of it. Hand in front of his face, fingers splayed, he hid from us like a celebrity from the paparazzi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech flipped the 3D switch so we could see, and all that was visible of the baby's face was the hairline, the forehead and a big hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk to the hand, mama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech had me turn on my side (no change) and then had us go walk around for 10 minutes, I ate some crackers, I even climbed some stairs, all in an effort to get Baby BWUB to move. We returned to the office and tried again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech said that with a breech baby, very often the hands are up by the face. He asked when my next OB appointment was, and said that if the baby turns head-down, we should call them and they'll get us in right away to try again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They refunded our money and we left without pictures or DVD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, my DH really wanted me to invite his mom and Wacky P to one of my baby showers. Well, I understand and agreed to do so, particularly since I got to pick which shower to invite them to (planning for the least amount of inter-activity). I needed their email addresses as this shower was by e-vite, and asked my DH to call his mom and sister to get their email addresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called his mom, but he suggested I call Wacky P, saying that she'd really appreciate it if I called to invite her to my shower. I basically told him no way. I said, "You just don't want to have to call her either, but I'm not calling her." So he did it. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard him in the other room while he was on the phone with her - trying to answer her questions, defending some of our decisions, explaining others, and saying repeatedly, "Oh, I don't know, I'll have to ask BWUB about that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God it wasn't me. Nonstop questions and assvice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we are going out to buy some baby supplies. Just a few essentials to have on hand "just in case." I'm making a list of things to pack for the big trip to the hospital. And, with loads of help from &lt;a href="http://stillhopeful-after40.blogspot.com"&gt;StillHopeful&lt;/a&gt;, I am putting together lists of what we need and what's left to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mostly, I'm just trying to make it from day to day, while hoping and praying constantly that when the day comes, the baby arrives safely.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8277785867421053549?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8277785867421053549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8277785867421053549&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8277785867421053549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8277785867421053549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/talk-to-hand.html' title='Talk to the Hand'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7815915863266321854</id><published>2010-01-21T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T19:29:28.915-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Win an Impromptu Trip to the Hospital</title><content type='html'>I had a regularly scheduled OB appointment today. I didn't even mention it in my last post because typically these days, the OB appointments last all of 5 minutes. If I have nothing to report and the baby's heartbeat is fine, it's an in-and-out kind of visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I told the doctor that the baby has been super active the past 2 weeks, like nearly non-stop wiggles, rolls, kicks, etc, but yesterday and today I've noticed much less frequent movement. One kick and then nothing for several hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She turned to me and said, "That just earned you a trip to the hospital." I was a bit stunned. She was very kind and reassuring and said it's probably nothing, but when there is a noticeable change, they like to double check things to be sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, whatever is best for the baby is what I will do. So, okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was not concerned about my shortness of breath (normal), occasional belly-gripping sensations that occur once or twice a day and which stop me in my tracks for a few seconds (likely a contraction, but the irregularity makes them non-worrisome) or the tender spot on one side of my belly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She measured my uterus and said it was measuring a bit small for the baby's gestational age, so while I was at the hospital, I would also get an ultrasound to measure the baby. She remarked that my uterus and blood vessels are 43 years old, regardless of how old the egg donor was (bravo to this doctor, who is the only one to have looked at my chart, realizing that this was a donor embryo before I had to speak up and tell them). Anyway, "old" blood vessels and uterus may be somewhat compromised in delivering blood and nutrients to the baby - so it was worth having a look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, you don't have to hard sell me on getting an ultrasound or any testing to be sure the baby is fine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was very patient and kind and took her time with me, which I appreciated. She told me to go straight to the hospital and she would call them to let them know I was coming. Of course I called my DH so he could meet me there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't panicked, but, you know, there was that familiar twinge of worry rising in my throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the hospital they hooked me up to two belly monitors - one to measure contractions and one to measure the baby's movements and heart beat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well that little tyke! He's apparently a show off, and must have been insulted that I tattled on him for not moving so much yesterday and today. Once on the monitors, he began his gymnastics routine with a double back handspring! He went on to wiggle and kick nearly the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was hooked up and the nurse took my medical history, she pulled the curtain and left the room.  Laying there, I realized I had my camera in my purse!  Hey, what the heck, it's a record of my pregnancy journey.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1kbLuf_YEI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/QACYOIEv-yo/s1600-h/DSC04240.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1kbLuf_YEI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/QACYOIEv-yo/s320/DSC04240.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429400714046562370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was monitored for 20 or 30 minutes, and just as my DH arrived, the nurse was ready to take me off the monitors and send me for the ultrasound. DH of course came in quite worried. But so far, the news was all good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not get to see the monitor during most of the ultrasound. But what I could see on the screen was the little window where the measurement numbers popped up. So as the tech measured the head circumference, belly circumference, femur length, etc, I could at least see the translation of those measurements into gestational age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She measured everything twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she gave us a little report. She said, "Huh. Well, I don't know why they think he's measuring small, because each of his measurements - which I did twice - are actually ahead of your 32 weeks by about 2 weeks." She said that there is a 2-week margin of error, but that means that at worst, the baby is right on target.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The amniotic fluid measurement was 13.8 (they want to see 10 or higher) and she estimated his weight at 5 pounds, 8 ounces (with a 13 ounce margin of error)! Wow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that surprised me (and that I did not like so much) is that the baby is breach. Head up, butt down. What? I could have sworn he was head down the past few weeks. I mentioned that to the nurse and she said that it's possible the baby turned in the past few days from head down to head up, and perhaps that's why I have noticed less movement. Not that you wouldn't feel movement with the baby head up, but just that it's a change for me, and perhaps the new orientation of his body causes less sensation when he moves. Hm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to be put back on the belly monitors for 10 minutes more or so, but no contractions registered and his heart beat was great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that, they let us go home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew! hank goodness everything turned out to be okay. Good baby. Good, good baby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although, if he'd like to do another somersault and return to the head-down position sometime in the next couple of weeks, that would be great.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7815915863266321854?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7815915863266321854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7815915863266321854&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7815915863266321854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7815915863266321854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/how-to-win-impromptu-trip-to-hospital.html' title='How to Win an Impromptu Trip to the Hospital'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1kbLuf_YEI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/QACYOIEv-yo/s72-c/DSC04240.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6438449914201243351</id><published>2010-01-20T19:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T20:36:50.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Once Upon a Time...</title><content type='html'>"...then, suddenly, she found herself face to face with the final 8 weeks of her pregnancy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the moment, my life feels like the last chapter of a novel where suddenly everything seems to happen very quickly: loose ends are tied up, outstanding issues are finally explained, mysteries are at last revealed, and....swoosh...you are surprised to find yourself reading the final page of the book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which would be incredibly wonderful...if I had more things done, in place, and ready to go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They're...uh...not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby is definitely doing his part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1fQj7Un1nI/AAAAAAAAAWI/o0P6DSb6JtI/s1600-h/DSC04236.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1fQj7Un1nI/AAAAAAAAAWI/o0P6DSb6JtI/s320/DSC04236.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429037191456609906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take these belly photos, download them, and I swear, they make me look half-as-big and I look in real life. At least to me! For the last week or so, it has felt like baby boy has been trying to expand his physical boundaries. Push, push, push! Stretch, stretch, stretch! Ow. And he has been exceedingly active. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The result is that I am now moving into the "uncomfortable phase" of my pregnancy. Sleep is a commodity I get little of. Back aches are common. It hurts to bend over or sit up straight for any length of time. And for goodness sakes, he's not even crushing my lungs or karate kicking my ribs! I realize that I probably have it a lot better than many. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night after work I attended a breastfeeding class. I learned some things that were quite useful and/or interesting. For example, the foods you eat will flavor the milk. As a result, breastfed babies tend to be less picky eaters as toddlers because they have already experienced varying flavors. Formula-fed babes are used to a single flavor, so may be more picky when they switch to solids. Makes sense, eh?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now my DH wants to take more classes. A safety class and a CPR class. Honestly, I'm tired of classes. I particularly don't like night classes after work. I'm tired and uncomfortable and just want to be home, relaxing. I told him I will teach him infant CPR, and he seemed satisfied with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else? Oh, we finally got around to ordering the crib and dresser/changing station only to find that delivery will take a minimum of 6 weeks. Yep. It's my own fault for not taking care of this sooner. But I feel like these pieces are the starting point for the room. Until they are in place I can't really set up much else in there. So....the room is now on hold. Waaah (that was me, whining).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I have not yet drafted my maternity leave plan (did any of you mommies write one?), nor have I told my boss that I'd like to take 6 months of leave. Um, I think I'd better get to this soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, we haven't visited daycare facilities either. I know, I know. Waiting lists. There's a day care about a block from my office, so I need to get on the stick and call them. Hopefully my mom will have moved here and will be settled in and ready to take over day care for a while by the time I am ready to go back to work, so it will buy me some time to get a commercial daycare plan in place.  Maybe (fingers crossed) we won't need day care until 2011.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, we don't have a car seat yet. Wacky P wanted to buy us one. Well, okay, thank you very much, but I'd like have it no later than 4 weeks from now. I mean...you've got to have the car seat!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, we don't have a co-sleeper or bassinet. I think we could pick one up over the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My three baby showers are scheduled for February 3rd, 20th and 21st. I have this fear that everyone is going to buy clothes (as though the 20-pound box of clothes my mom sent isn't already too much) and my registry lists will be untouched. Which is fine - I mean, nobody &lt;em&gt;owes&lt;/em&gt; me a gift in the first place and I am grateful for each person's thoughtfulness....but I'm anxious to go buy everything so that I am sure we have the basics - just in case people would rather spend $20 on clothes than on, say, butt balm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...I've got a lot on my mind these days. No wonder I can't sleep! All this swirling in my thoughts before I even get to work. Work?! You mean I'm expected to produce work too?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, one fun thing is that this Friday we've schedule a 3D/4D ultrasound. Of course I want to see my little sweet pea - it will have been 2 months since we had a peek in there! - but I also want to see what position he is in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, friends, it's a busy time, and there are precious few pages remaining in the pregnancy story of my life. I am so incredibly excited though, to pick up and begin the next story: parenthood!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6438449914201243351?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6438449914201243351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6438449914201243351&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6438449914201243351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6438449914201243351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/once-upon-time.html' title='Once Upon a Time...'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S1fQj7Un1nI/AAAAAAAAAWI/o0P6DSb6JtI/s72-c/DSC04236.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1287242945806136829</id><published>2010-01-17T12:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T12:51:55.021-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Climb On Board, Honey</title><content type='html'>Thank you all for the registry advice and suggestions! Based on your thoughts and recommendations, I finally feel like I have a bit of a handle on the issue and have begun the click-and-register process. I must admit, the thought of having those items in our house, and imagining using them, is pretty exciting stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday my DH and I attended an all-day prenatal class. It addressed the pregnancy, labor, and delivery process and touched briefly on breast feeding, anesthesia and post partum. Overall it was a really good class with a great group of expectant parents and an engaging instructor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Know what's kind of funny though? hee hee hee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several weeks ago when I told my DH that I registered for these classes, he made the off-handed comment that he'd go with me if I wanted, but suggested that he didn't think he'd really be involved in anything (or have to learn anything) until after the baby arrived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday's class gave him quite a reality jolt. Goodbye 1950, hello 2010.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The class included a ton of information about the partner's role during labor, delivery and post partum. I honestly think my DH was in shock. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohhhhhhh.....the partner can be timing contractions during early labor, can assist mom in focusing, remaining comfortable, providing massage, offering cool (or warm) compresses, and giving lots and lots of verbal support and encouragement. The partner can give guidance in breathing, and of course, help mom in her birthing position (grab that leg, honey).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? Not just stand by and watch? (hee hee hee....I had lots of silent, to-myself giggles yesterday).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We came home and my DH wanted to get his hands on that reading material and go through it again. There's a lot he has to know, after all (hee hee hee). And he is serious about this.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But really, he was very attentive during the class, I saw him nodding a lot to himself as he took in the information, and I know he wants to do everything he can to help me get through this and to help bring our baby safely into the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything except pull the baby from my womb, that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the videos we saw showed the father helping "catch" the baby as it was born, and as the baby was finally free of the mom's body, the father, with a slippery baby in his hands quickly said to the doctor or nurse something like, "Oh, here, get him, I don't want to drop him." My DH was horrified at the thought (remember that initially his hands trembled like a patient with Parkinson's when he had to give me the Delestrogen shots). I assured him he did NOT have to pull the baby from my body.  He is so relieved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the bottom line is that the light has finally dawned on him that he has a huge role in all of this. And he wants to be prepared and do his best. Which makes me very happy.  He even said something like he realized he will have to help me through most of labor until it's actually time to push. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh - one funny thing. He asked me whether I might want to have his sister, Wacky P, there for the birth - to help give comfort and support. I looked at him and said, "Hell no, I can't handle her when I'm half tanked, you think I want her there when I'm giving birth?" He just mumbled an "Oh" and let it go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, right, let's all envision this: How about having my mother (giving advice but usually thinking of herself first), Wacky P (with her know-it-all superiority complex) and my MIL (asking me a million questions an hour) in the room while I give birth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha! Heck no. I'd rather give birth by myself in a cornfield. (Yay for 2010 when a woman gets to make choices about what's best for herself during birth!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, there is still a lot to do, a lot to prepare for and a lot to think about.  But at least I've finally got my DH on board the baby train!  Wooo Wooo!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1287242945806136829?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1287242945806136829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1287242945806136829&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1287242945806136829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1287242945806136829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/climb-on-board-honey.html' title='Climb On Board, Honey'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1764545043236021621</id><published>2010-01-15T10:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T11:31:32.348-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to Register and Shop...But for What?</title><content type='html'>Thank you all, for the shoulder to whine on and the pats on the back.  My outlook is better today and I'm just moving on and doing what needs to be done.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the online registry process has begun.  I am overwhelmed.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The simplistic me says, hey, all you really, truly need is a baby, a breast, a few diapers, some clothing and a safe place for him to sleep...everything after that is fluff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when you go through page after page of stuff, two questions keep coming up:  &lt;br /&gt;(1) what DO we really need? and &lt;br /&gt;(2) of those items, which are best/safest?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any suggestions/recommendations would be most appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will share the one fact my research revealed that I found to be crucial.  Do NOT use common crib bumpers.  A baby old enough to turn over (but not old enough to realize he/she ought to turn back) can land face-first into those soft, plush, fabric-covered bumpers and suffocate.  You can buy breathable, mesh bumpers that will keep tiny limbs from falling between crib slats but that will allow your baby to breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have added to my registry some of my favorite story books, baby music, some infant toys, receiving blankets and bedding. But I am stymied about bottles (glass, plastic, sterilizers, breast milk freezer bags, bottle warmers and so many brands!).  When I was a pediatric nurse, this was never an issue.  We used the one type of plastic bottle the hospital provided, and there might have been 2 nipple choices.  Everything was disposable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after the bottle question, my questions, confusion and indecision mushroomed. Is an infant tub a necessity?  A baby sling/carrier?  There seem to be 8,000 strollers out there with all kinds of bells and whistles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.  Help?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1764545043236021621?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1764545043236021621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1764545043236021621&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1764545043236021621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1764545043236021621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/time-to-register-and-shopbut-for-what.html' title='Time to Register and Shop...But for What?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7738759686514413743</id><published>2010-01-13T20:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-13T21:54:17.590-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Holding My Breath</title><content type='html'>Re: my previous post: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, that's grass in the back yard. Not very pretty in winter - brown spots, soggy, etc. We've had bleak weather lately to boot. But having grown up in upstate NY, I just say, "At least you don't have to shovel bleak."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for the suggestions about skin tags. And I've decided to forgo the wall mural. I liked that "moon outside the open windows" thing, but I realized it's too big for the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More recent news:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at my blog ticker and it seems I barely have 2 months to go! Or, as &lt;a href="http://elderlyovary.blogspot.com"&gt;Lorraine, at Elderly Ovary&lt;/a&gt; pointed out (after a very scary episode and trip to the hospital), sometimes things happen before you intend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, life is getting busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I signed up for some prenatal classes and last weekend my DH and I took the maternity ward tour. It didn't amount to much more than walking from L&amp;D to the post partum ward and listening to the super-cheerful guide tell us how the beds worked, where to park and where to enter the hospital when we arrive in labor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent a ton of time painting. The baby's room walls, the closet, the chair rail, the touch-ups. I have breathed enough paint fumes to last me a long while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I researched cribs (thanks, &lt;a href="http://anofferingoflove.wordpress.com"&gt;An Offering of Love&lt;/a&gt;!) and we went shopping to look at a few. I then researched the particular cribs we liked for recalls, safety issues and reviews. We are actually ready to make a purchase!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My co-workers announced that my office baby shower will be February 3rd. I need to go online Friday and get registered for baby things! I need to do a little research and make a list first, since I really have no idea what the important items are (other than the obvious big items - car seat, swing, bouncer, etc).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the name of a daycare facility located a few blocks from my office. I have yet to call them, but it's on the list of things to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I signed up for a breastfeeding class that I will go to next week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spoke with the folks at doggy daycare to let them know my due date and made sure they'll take the dogs when I get admitted to the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you see a pattern here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, the pattern would be that I am doing everything and my husband has not lifted a finger to help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, he went with me to the materinty tour and baby furniture store. And he sat next to me while I went online to get a furniture price quote. He emptied the dishwasher the other day and he rolled the garbage can to the curb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I feel like this baby is, and has been, my project, start to finish. And I have to admit, it's a little disappointing. I haven't asked him to do much, but one doesn't always want to have to ask. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One wants their partner to notice them swooning from toxic paint fumes and rush in to offer to finish the final two square feet of wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One wants to ask their partner if he wouldn't mind spending 5 minutes spray lacquering 4 little pieces of wood trim and get a "Sure, honey" response, instead of "Well, I'm going to be pretty busy today." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One would like if their partner noticed the fact that they spent 5 hours online after work researching baby safety issues, and ask if there are any other issues that he could help research.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One would really like if their partner noticed the gray film attaching itself to the bathtub and offer to scrub it with bleach so that his pregnant wife doesn't have to choose between breathing more fumes and showering amid gray film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One would faint from shock if their partner actually purchased a baby item on his own. Any item. A single diaper even.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One would be grateful if their partner would, just once, have dinner ready when she got home from work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know? One just would hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I'm a little frustrated tonight. There's a lot to get done and I can see who will have to do it all, plus work full time (and, BTW, the big litigation case did &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; settle. It's back on.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you know I LOVE the idea of shopping and nesting and preparing for my baby boy's arrival. I even loved the painting although it eventually ceased to be fun and ultimately became tedious. And I know there are women out there who would give their pinky fingers to be in my position. I am eternally grateful for this pregnancy and wouldn't change it for anything in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just would like to see a smidgen of interest and involvement from my spouse. In the &lt;em&gt;work&lt;/em&gt; that it takes to get things ready. I'd like to feel like I was truly half of a partnership preparing to bring a baby into the world. Not a single mom with a roommate in the back of the house, doing whatever it is he does, which inevitably amounts to addressing his own needs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like, just once, for him to ask me if there is anything he can do to help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just once. You know?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7738759686514413743?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7738759686514413743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7738759686514413743&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7738759686514413743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7738759686514413743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/not-holding-my-breath.html' title='Not Holding My Breath'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5703158405754903187</id><published>2010-01-08T14:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T23:31:34.464-08:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Weeks [with update at bottom about wall art]</title><content type='html'>Welcome newest followers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now 30 weeks pregnant. The time seems to be going by in the wink of an eye. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I had an OB appointment. My OB group has 7 docs. Today's visit was with the doctor who first referred my DH and me to an IF clinic 3 years ago (the dreaded OMC, of all places!). It was the first time I'd seen this doc since then. I had a wonderful visit with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby boy is measuring right on target. My weight gain is currently at 22 pounds. The doc was happy with that. I've been having some low cramping that feels like good ole AF-is-about-to-arrive cramps, but no bleeding. The doctor said this is fairly normal when the baby has turned head down. So she wasn't worried a bit. I often feel like baby boy is huddling low in my pelvis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also showed her the "nipple that grew a nipple" which she said is just a skin tag and can be removed after I have the baby (I actually suggested that I might tie a thread around the tag to cut off the blood supply and she said that would be fine - but I should wait till after the baby is born because it'll bleed like crazy during pregnancy).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met with someone from my office's HR department yesterday to talk about maternity leave. Turns out, I'll be able to receive 50% of my pay for 6 weeks post partum (or 8 weeks in case of C-section). Hey, it's something. My DH and I would like for me to be able to take 6 months off, and I think we'll be able to manage it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still working on the baby's room. I'm leaning toward staying with the current color scheme. I found a really sweet wall decal. I have not decided on it 100% (good grief - nearly $90!) but I think it is adorable. The first picture is the decal itself and the second is part of the advertisement showing how it would look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0euVk8bguI/AAAAAAAAAVg/6FgP-xIzDYs/s1600-h/wall+decal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0euVk8bguI/AAAAAAAAAVg/6FgP-xIzDYs/s320/wall+decal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424495961908675298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0eupOAcjUI/AAAAAAAAAVw/KR0i00-wDQY/s1600-h/window+decal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0eupOAcjUI/AAAAAAAAAVw/KR0i00-wDQY/s320/window+decal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424496299348888898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Physically, I feel good for the most part. I often wake up in the morning with a sore back, but it generally feels much better once I am up and about. Although two morning ago I woke up thinking baby boy was trying to kick out my left kidney.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a little short of breath with minimal exertion. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am having to use my left hand (non-dominant) to shave my left leg because I cannot reach the left side of my left leg with my right hand (I have a shaving obsession and cannot go more than 1 day without shaving my legs). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My belly button has become quite tiny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are signed up for prenatal classes (at last!) that will take place over the next few weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it's a really beautiful time in my pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0ezArgDGwI/AAAAAAAAAWA/ay7ovSxvBGk/s1600-h/DSC04206.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0ezArgDGwI/AAAAAAAAAWA/ay7ovSxvBGk/s320/DSC04206.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424501100449569538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------UPDATE------------&lt;br /&gt;I was so excited about the wall decal I didn't read the description very well.  It is not a decal at all. It appears to be more like a wallpaper mural - that has to be pasted to the wall.  Hm.  I wish it was a decal.  The company/website is called "Decorating Heaven" and the page for this particular mural is here http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.decor.net.au/images/rooms/baby-01-07.jpg&amp;imgrefurl=http://www.decor.net.au/c/b-and-n/b-n-murals.htm&amp;usg=__khcVYe8yC3Ud7HOm0EnMsSPNW_s=&amp;h=455&amp;w=455&amp;sz=31&amp;hl=en&amp;start=35&amp;sig2=qnKjOU8WVMMPXOZlTrWXfg&amp;tbnid=I0dMjOJx7q5iFM:&amp;tbnh=128&amp;tbnw=128&amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dnursery%2Bmurals%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D20%26hl%3Den%26rls%3Dig%26sa%3DN%26start%3D20&amp;ei=lHVFS7fBG5zIMqbJsIcD&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5703158405754903187?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5703158405754903187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5703158405754903187&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5703158405754903187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5703158405754903187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/30-weeks.html' title='30 Weeks [with update at bottom about wall art]'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0euVk8bguI/AAAAAAAAAVg/6FgP-xIzDYs/s72-c/wall+decal.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1258686088519567997</id><published>2010-01-06T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T20:09:43.663-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Door Number 1, Door Number 2 or Door Number 3?</title><content type='html'>I have this memory of my Dad taking my two sisters and I to a toy store once. I would guess that I was between 8 and 10 years old. He surprised us by turning into the toy store parking lot, and said each of us could choose a toy (I'm sure he imposed a dollar limit, but I recall it being fairly generous).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister M went and found the doll she wanted in no time. Holding the box in her hands she peered at the doll's smiling face through the clear cellophane. My younger sister, T, chose one of those toy sets that included plastic high heels, a bracelet, a necklace and maybe even a ring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me? I wandered from aisle to aisle, shelf to shelf. Maybe this? Maybe that? Maybe a game? Maybe a doll? Maybe a stuffed animal? Maybe a card game? I couldn't decide!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were a thousand choices, and I realized that once I committed to one of them, the remaining options would no longer be available to me. How could I give up on all those possibilities?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, as long as I did not choose, I could have anything. But once I made a selection, that would be it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was stuck in this crazy dilemma. I mean, I was a kid being offered the chance to choose a toy! C'mon! This is what childhood dreams are made of. And yet, as I looked at and considered item after item, possibility after possibility, I began to loathe the idea of sacrificing everything else by choosing one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sisters were becoming impatient. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"C'mon BWUB, just &lt;em&gt;pick&lt;/em&gt; something!" M whined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How about this nice stuffed doggie?" little T suggested, pointing to a very cute stuffed animal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My eyes grew wider. I was being pressured to choose. They urged me more and more (although my sweet Dad, the most patient man on earth, just waited, following me from aisle to aisle as I tried to decide).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimately, I made the only decision I could. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned to my Dad and said quietly, "I don't think I want to choose anything."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing?" he asked, a bit incredulous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. I don't see anything I want." I replied. Now that wasn't entirely true. I &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; see things I wanted, I just couldn't bring myself to choose one above the others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He paid for my sisters' items and we left the store. I remember thinking about it all the way home - the fact that I couldn't bring myself to decide. I swear this is a true story, and I was honestly relieved that I didn't have to choose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;// And so......... //&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure I like the colors I painted the baby's room. Blue and yellow. I'm not sure they are the colors I want to choose. I'm having a hard time deciding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, even after I taped and painted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I was googling nursery murals, and now I'm thinking, hm, a mural might be kind of cool. I mean, check these out:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0VbZpH47mI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/1AVEphbG4Vw/s1600-h/mural1.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0VbZpH47mI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/1AVEphbG4Vw/s320/mural1.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423841822331432546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0Vbkx9LC1I/AAAAAAAAAVY/WmutQRzNevQ/s1600-h/mural2.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0Vbkx9LC1I/AAAAAAAAAVY/WmutQRzNevQ/s320/mural2.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423842013680962386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I can't do anything too fancy or intricate, but even if I did something a little simpler, most of them have backgrounds that are pale - like oatmeal color. Which means I'd have to re-paint, or find some way to incorporate a one-wall mural into the colors I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe I should just finish what I have, put things on the walls, get the furniture into place and say "What a nice room I made."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, choices, choices. How to decide?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1258686088519567997?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1258686088519567997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1258686088519567997&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1258686088519567997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1258686088519567997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/door-number-1-door-number-2-or-door.html' title='Door Number 1, Door Number 2 or Door Number 3?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/S0VbZpH47mI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/1AVEphbG4Vw/s72-c/mural1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8780947298211644390</id><published>2010-01-03T18:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-03T19:00:06.723-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blue?</title><content type='html'>Nearly two years ago when my cousin had a baby girl (her second child), my mother groaned and complained to me that she (my mom) did not like the baby's name. I remember thinking (and I even posted about it), who cares what the name is....she has a &lt;em&gt;baby&lt;/em&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that's how I felt. But now, you see, I do care. I care about my baby's name, and about other things. I look at it like this: I am getting ONE chance in this life to have a baby (I hope and God willing). I want his name to be something I like. I want him to wear baby clothes that I like. I want to pick the color of his room. You know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine you've just gotten engaged, and it's time to plan your wedding. You begin to think about all the fun things....trying on wedding gowns, picking the colors for your wedding, choosing the food for your reception, tasting cakes and picking the design, flavors and frosting for your cake, will you have a live band or DJ? Where will the wedding be? The reception? What sort of fun favors will you give your guests? Yeah, these things are costly...but they're fun. It's your one wedding, and even if you don't have a big budget, you can't wait to start the planning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now imagine your mother, ever-so-well-intentioned, says to you, "Don't bother trying on wedding gowns, because - HERE - I'm giving you this gown." And when you start dreaming of your colors, and you mention to her that you are thinking of "blue," she nearly bites her tongue off saying, "Blue?! What shade of blue?!" Because, you must realize, that your color choice will have to meet with her approval, and she is suddenly gripped with fear that you are thinking of some gaudy, too-bright, horrible shade of blue that she will be compelled to tell you makes your skin tone look like death. And when you tell her that you've chosen XYZ as the location for the reception, she can't seem to stop suggesting that you consider ABC, then DEF, or perhaps GHI.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to my life with my mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her I was going to look at paint colors for the baby's room. "Oh, what color are you thinking of?" she asked, ever-so-casually (but I knew what was coming). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Blue" I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Blue?!" (you'd have thought I'd said neon pink). "What shade of blue?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, something really horrible and dark and gruesome" I said flatly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I"m just asking" she replied, hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, yeah, maybe she was just asking. And maybe (more likely) she wanted to be sure she approved and that I wasn't about to make an irreversible mistake in painting the baby's room Midnight Cobalt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sheesh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've chosen a first name (to be revealed upon his birth). I mean, we've chosen. My DH and I refer to him by his first name now. My mom? She's still tossing names out there for us to consider. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you know Joshua is one of the top ten names? I like Joshua. How about Jake? I always liked the name Jake. I also like Taylor. What about Andrew?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, she knows the name. Apparently she does not entirely approve of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember my analogy of the wedding gown given to the bride, with instructions not to bother trying on gowns? Yeah. My mom actually told me not to buy baby clothes. She told me to save our money to buy diapers and bottles. She sent me a &lt;em&gt;20 pound &lt;/em&gt;box full of newborn clothes. Do you have any idea how many outfits it takes to make 20 pounds?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will be my one newborn baby. Might it occur to my mom that I - the baby's mother - might want to buy my baby a few outfits? That it's &lt;em&gt;fun&lt;/em&gt; to shop for baby clothes in the way it is fun for a bride to go try on wedding gowns? Apparently not. Let me tell you, there are more baby clothes in the box my mom sent than could possibly fit in a closet and dresser combined. More than the baby could possibly wear before he outgrows them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried when the box arrived. My DH, bless his heart, told me that we could store the box out in the garage and I can go buy whatever baby clothes I want.  I haven't opened the box again since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not that I'm ungrateful. And my DH pointed out that it's good that my mom &lt;em&gt;wants&lt;/em&gt; to be involved (despite the fact that the baby is not the precious granddaughter she wanted). But he also told me not to let her hijack this experience from me. Hijack. That's just the word he used. I know she's trying to be helpful, but it was beginning to feel like I was being hijacked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today, I painted the baby's room. I wanted a soft, pale, blue/gray/violet color. Not yet dry, it looks a little &lt;em&gt;too&lt;/em&gt; violet and not enough blue. And if I don't like it, my DH said "Paint's cheap" and I'll go buy another gallon that is more blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although my quads are already aching, my back is sore and my hand is cramped from rolling/painting, I enjoyed every minute working on his room today. After all, this is my one chance.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8780947298211644390?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8780947298211644390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8780947298211644390&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8780947298211644390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8780947298211644390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/blue.html' title='Blue?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1948630261814033378</id><published>2010-01-01T13:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T13:17:53.031-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year</title><content type='html'>Happy New Year!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I write this post, my DH and I are watching the Tw/ilight Z/ one Marathon. We've done it twice a year since we met. It runs for a couple of days during the July 4 holiday and again at the New Year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a bit nostalgic for us this time because the &lt;em&gt;last&lt;/em&gt; time we watched the marathon, in July, we were in the hotel room where I was on strict bed rest immediately after my FET. Waiting and wondering if the transfer would work. Watching the episodes we again watch now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The difference is that now, 6 months later, I have a baby boy wiggling in my belly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend I am making homemade scones. We'll go look at paint colors today for the baby's room. Maybe even look at some furniture. If I find paint I like, my DH might start painting. Otherwise, it will be a low-key start to 2010 for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that this new year brings joyous change to your life. I hope that in December 2010, you will reflect back and smile with a full heart, remembering the wondrous blessings you experienced and the dreams fulfilled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful first day of the year.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1948630261814033378?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1948630261814033378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1948630261814033378&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1948630261814033378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1948630261814033378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2010/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4727527377767579123</id><published>2009-12-29T19:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T19:47:33.809-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Treading New Ground</title><content type='html'>News alert: I've never been this pregnant before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, let me clarify. With each passing day, I venture into previously unexplored turf. It's all new to me. The changes, the sensations, the challenges. New surprises every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, sure, I check out baby2see.com each week to see what's happening with the baby. I was able to find out when his eyes opened and when he developed fingernails and things like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there are things no one tells you.  Things you figure out as you go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one tells you that the constraints of your belly skin will feel stretched to their absolute limits some days. I think, oh my, baby boy must be growing a lot today. My belly feels like it is going to burst!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To pick something up off the floor, I have to maneuver like a giraffe: feet wide apart and lean over so that the belly goes between the leg space. Yup. Odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week at work I was in the hallway waiting for some co-workers to come from the restroom so we could go have lunch. I set my carry bag on the ground and squatted to rearrange some things in the bag. I...well...I couldn't get back up. There was nothing nearby for me to grip to help myself up, and I was kind of stuck. Fortunately the women came out of the restroom, saw my predicament and helped me up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The baby doesn't only kick outward. He moves in all directions. So sometimes he wiggles or jumps and I have the strangest (and - ahem - sometimes even erotic) sensations deep within my body. My, my!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when I lie on my side in bed at night, I swear I'm lying right on his little head.  It feels hard and I worry I'm squishing him.  Can you squish the baby by lying on your side?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my nipples has grown a nipple. I'm not sure if this is pregnancy related, or the result of my advancing age (you know we tend to grow more moles and such as we age). At the 6 o'clock position (basically, underneath) my left nipple, a little skin tag has suddenly appeared. What the....?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of boobs, there are moments of shooting, pinching pain in one boob or the other. Developing milk ducts? Not sure. At home I sit with my hand up my shirt, massaging the poor burning spot. In public, I can only wince.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I am beginning to waddle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I can't get comfortable at night to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My internal organs are no longer where I used to recognize them. I think my stomach is now squarely between my boobs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just yesterday, my DH said that sometimes I breathe loudly, like an overweight trucker. That's nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm. Who knew? Each day is a new venture into the peculiar. Of course you know I don't really mind any of this a bit. Small price to pay for a sweet baby boy. It's just that I wake up each day wondering, and not really knowing, what to expect.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4727527377767579123?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4727527377767579123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4727527377767579123&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4727527377767579123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4727527377767579123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/treading-new-ground.html' title='Treading New Ground'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2889736655472478670</id><published>2009-12-27T09:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T10:04:35.611-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lo and Behold</title><content type='html'>'Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the house, a creature was stirring...hey, it's my spouse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Contrary to my expectations, my DH got underway early yesterday. He went through boxes in the garage, filling trash bags and setting things aside to go to Good Will. He reorganized and consolidated what was left. He moved unneeded furniture from the back bedroom to the garage until we can get rid of it. He moved most of his home office "stuff" from the room that will be the baby's into the back bedroom and got it all set up. He piled documents to be shred. He moved books and bookcases and....well...it was a sight to behold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Newton's First Law of Motion states: An object at rest will stay at rest, and an object in motion will stay in motion at constant velocity, unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not about to be the unbalanced force slowing down my DH in motion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did what I could to help - which wasn't much. He didn't want me lifting so much as two books at a time. I cleared bathroom cupboards of sundries never used (they too will be donated) and sorted some kitchen items.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His former home office will be the baby's room. It's nearly empty this morning, and already my DH is back in there, clearing out the rest. I'm utterly impressed. He says we should be able to paint the baby's room next weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only twinge of disappointment I felt was seeing the back bedroom - which used to be my "woman cave" - largely taken over by my DH and all his office stuff.  His books, CD racks, computers, printer, desk and other work-related gear.  Sigh.  I haven't a corner of the house to myself anymore.  He reminded me that I'm gaining a baby room, though.  Perhaps baby boy won't mind sharing his space with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday's work made me realize we have too much stuff. Stuff we don't use. Stuff we don't need. Stuff that is sometimes difficult to get rid of, nonetheless. But we are making headway, little by little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And soon, I'll get to do the really fun part - filling the baby's room with furniture and toys and all the things we'll need to make our home his.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2889736655472478670?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2889736655472478670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2889736655472478670&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2889736655472478670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2889736655472478670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/lo-and-behold.html' title='Lo and Behold'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3466154842449341962</id><published>2009-12-24T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-24T17:18:46.637-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling the Love</title><content type='html'>To all my beloved blog sisters: Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Hanukkah and Happy Every Other Holiday! I wish you joy, peace, and a bright year ahead, full of wishes fulfilled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at your comments to my previous post. It turns out I didn't need to defend myself at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came to my blog and there you all were. Again. Supporting me, defending me, agreeing with me, or at least supporting my right to my own opinion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just love you guys and I wish - especially now that it's Christmas - that I could give an IRL hug to each of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From the bottom of my belly to the top of my heart - I wish you all happy holidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SzQSj6Qa-uI/AAAAAAAAAVE/jDGUuCwDeXs/s1600-h/DSC04147.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SzQSj6Qa-uI/AAAAAAAAAVE/jDGUuCwDeXs/s320/DSC04147.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418976659776404194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3466154842449341962?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3466154842449341962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3466154842449341962&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3466154842449341962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3466154842449341962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/feeling-love.html' title='Feeling the Love'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SzQSj6Qa-uI/AAAAAAAAAVE/jDGUuCwDeXs/s72-c/DSC04147.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1044810460648291357</id><published>2009-12-22T21:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T22:11:54.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Change of Heart</title><content type='html'>Well, I was going to write a post defending myself against the couple of attacking comments to my last post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But to those who know and understand me, no defense or explanation is necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To those who don't, nothing I say will matter anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, two things are more important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One, is that &lt;a href="http://ivf40pathtoparents.blogspot.com"&gt; EB at IVF 40+ Path to Parenthood&lt;/a&gt; just found out she's pregnant. My heart is so full of happiness for her that I refuse to make room for bitterness. Congratulations, EB! I can't wait to follow your pregnancy over the next nine months!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two, is that &lt;a href="http://amdpfiddlestix.blogspot.com"&gt; Alex P.&lt;/a&gt; who understood and defended me, wrote a really beautiful post about giving. Read it. I guarantee it will warm your heart and give you new (or renewed) perspective about the meaning of the season. Thanks, Alex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in light of Alex's post about giving, let me say that all of you give me so much. You warm my heart with your kindness, your blogs, your tenderness for each other and your ability to reach out and say just the right thing. There is so much give and take in this community, in just the right proportion, it is a true testament to the goodness of the human spirit.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1044810460648291357?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1044810460648291357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1044810460648291357&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1044810460648291357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1044810460648291357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/change-of-heart.html' title='Change of Heart'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6985480059149884969</id><published>2009-12-21T19:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-21T19:59:23.568-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Am I Doing?</title><content type='html'>We received news today that the big case I've been working on might settle. Negotiations are in the works. Last I heard, the parties were "close." For what that's worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The possibility of settlement brings mixed emotions. On one hand, I think if the case went to trial, we would kick the other side's lying, evil butts, which would give me great personal satisfaction. On the other hand, being able to stop the insanity, stop having to respond to their ridiculous motions, start working reasonable hours and put those jerks behind us - is a really welcome thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boss already invited everyone out for drinks tomorrow night. I think it's a bit premature, but, whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the mean time, Alex P asked me some questions in her comment the other day. She asked what I am doing to get ready for delivery, whether I am taking Lamaze classes and what my plans are for having the baby, meaning whether I plan to get an epidural or go natural.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I guess the big question is: What am I doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm embarrassed to admit that I have not yet enrolled in any childbirth classes, although I plan to. I have not done much research about my childbirth options. I know, I know...how could I &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; have done these things? I have not yet talked to HR at work about my maternity leave, nor have I discussed it in any detail with my bosses. I'm not even sure what I want to ask for. And no, we have not yet interviewed any daycare providers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a mess. The past few months have somehow evaporated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do know a few things though:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) My first choice would be to give birth naturally, without an epidural. But since I have no idea what that pain is going to be like, I am absolutely open to shouting the word "Anesthesia!" and getting an epidural when it's offered. I'm no martyr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2) I'm also open to the possibility that I may need a C-section. Breach position, stalled labor, other emergency - whatever - I'm no hero. My first and foremost concern will be the health and safety of my baby. This birth is &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; about &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; experience - it's about getting the baby here safely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) I need to take some classes. I know how to care for the baby once it's here, but labor and delivery are not my expertise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(4) I do not want a midwife or doula. Just not my thing. When I'm in pain, I need quiet and I need to focus. Somebody touching me, stroking me or talking to me is likely to get cursed at and punched in the nose. All I want in the room are a doctor and a nurse telling me what to do periodically, and my DH, standing quietly nearby. I don't focus well when there are a lot of distractions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(5) I'd love to be able to take 6 full months of maternity leave.  I'm not sure what my bosses will think of that.  I'm not sure my DH and I can afford that.  But in a perfect world, it would be great.  Alternatively, maybe I can take 4 months and then work from home part time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(6)  As for daycare, my Mom is supposedly going to move here and take care of the baby once I go back to work. But, we need to be prepared in case that doesn't work out. And my preference is a commercial daycare organization rather than a private home. I just feel like a commercial business will have strict rules and more people around so that the chances of someone shaking my baby (my worst nightmare) are less than in a private home. Just my own preference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(7) My DH's plan is to get the baby's room emptied (it's currently a home office), cleaned and painted during the holiday break so that it will be ready for baby furniture and decorating. We'll see. My DH is a fabulous procrastinator. And I'm not moving furniture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh boy. There is a lot to do. So, it will be helpful if the legal case settles so that I'll have time to turn my attention to some of these things. Otherwise, one day my water will break and then I'll really wonder: What am I doing?!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6985480059149884969?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6985480059149884969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6985480059149884969&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6985480059149884969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6985480059149884969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-am-i-doing.html' title='What Am I Doing?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2969046718707829853</id><published>2009-12-19T13:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-19T13:24:47.494-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trapped in Booth Hell</title><content type='html'>Well, I thought I was off scot-free. Not so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Usually it's Christmas at Wacky P's. But this year, MIL and FIL both have other plans, so we're off the hook and - for the first time ever - my DH and I get to spend Christmas home alone together! This is wonderful news to the both of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, but not so fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MIL was going to be in town this week and wanted to see us. She &lt;em&gt;has&lt;/em&gt; something for us. Well, okay, MIL by herself isn't so bad. And the plan was just to go out for dinner. So it would be a time limited event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Thursday, DH emailed me at work (which, by the way, was a day in hell unto itself) and said there had been a change in plans. New plan was to have lunch Friday (yesterday) with MIL and Wacky P.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really? Do we have to? Will Wacky P's kids be there? Does Wacky P get to choose the restaurant (as usual)? Poor DH. He doesn't know the answers. He just knows I'm putting up resistance. As usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, okay, [sigh] it's just lunch. At least we got to pick the restaurant (I insisted).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, as it turned out, no kids - just MIL and Wacky P and DH and me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there I am. Trapped in a booth. Looking out the window, gazing at all the people walking by. Those not trapped in a booth with MIL and Wacky P.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is an assortment of the questions/comments MIL and Wacky P posed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- What are you going to do for daycare?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- The county provides a list of approved daycare providers, people's whose homes are licensed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You know, one question you should absolutely ask any daycare provider is whether you can drop by at any time unannounced.  If they say no, you don't want that place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You're not going to have a C-Section are you? (this was MIL's question, to which Wacky P immediately replied: "No, of course she won't, she's healthy and strong and there's no reason she can't push that baby out.")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Do you have a doula or midwife?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I have a wonderful book about natural childbirth...it's called "Blah Blah Blah" and it really helped me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Will your mom be there for the birth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Is your mom coming to help you with the baby when it's born?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Do you have a breast pump?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You know, there's a lot to taking care of a newborn, but you'll eventually figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Will Mr. BWUB get to take some time off when the baby's born?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- How much maternity leave do you get?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- What are you going to do about Daisy (my bark-happy dog) and the baby ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Do you knit? Can I knit you blanket? What color do you want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- (From Wacky P): Oh, we used Such-And-Such daycare with both of our kids. Do you know Such-and-Such daycare? Well, they serve organic vegetarian meals and they do this and that and blah, blah, blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Did you know that in some cultures they use a birthing sling? They squat over it....[okay, at this point I mentally checked out. Holy crap, were they really going to discuss the mechanics of childbirth in a restaurant?].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in hell. Not all of the questions were that terrible, but it was like a firing squad of questions coming at me. And it was in public. I'm sure the old man in the booth behind us was delighting in all this talk about natural childbirth and breast pumps and birthing slings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And - duh - I was a pediatric nurse for crying out loud. I worked peds, intensive care and even the NICU. I managed 3 preemies for 12 hours at a time. Yeah, I know that my own child will be different, and I won't get to leave after 12 hours, but good gravy (I'm trying to cut back on the profanity so I don't sound like a trucker to our baby), I think I know how to hold, feed, change and burp a baby. Hell, I can just about twirl a newborn over my head like a baton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the childbirth experience itself, no one can know what that is like until they've gone through it.  Wacky P can't say that I won't need a C-section.  Duh.  What if the baby is breach?  What if he won't engage?  What if labor stalls for too long?  I just didn't want to get into all this with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimately, too, not much of this is their business. At least in my mind it's not their business. My DH sat there eating and saying &lt;em&gt;almost nothing &lt;/em&gt;the entire meal. He thinks they're just interested and trying to "bond" with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only saving grace was that we were there and done in less than an hour. MIL gave us a Christmas gift and that was that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good grief. NOW you see why Christmas alone sounds so good.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2969046718707829853?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2969046718707829853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2969046718707829853&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2969046718707829853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2969046718707829853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/trapped-in-booth-hell.html' title='Trapped in Booth Hell'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7441465134258271343</id><published>2009-12-15T20:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T21:15:23.178-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy x 2</title><content type='html'>First of all, I am thrilled and so excited for &lt;a href="http:// ivf40pathtoparents.blogspot.com"&gt; EB at IVF 40+ Path to Parenthood&lt;/a&gt; who had an amazing transfer experience today, and was able to freeze eleven embies to boot! EB has been through as much as anyone, and I hope with all my might that her dreams are about to come true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, I've had a turn of good fortune too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those of you who have followed me for a while may remember the dreaded OMC. The Outside Monitoring Clinic. Since my clinic is located so far away from where I live, the OMC (a local IF clinic) performed my b/w and u/s's. They charged me non-contracted rates (read: expensive) for their services, plus a $125 per visit "monitoring fee." They refused to submit anything to my insurance and balked when I submitted the claims myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their position was that since I wasn't "their" patient, they had the right to charge me full price for everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimately, after hundreds of phone calls, and fantastic people at my insurance company who went the extra mile on my behalf, the insurance company agreed with ME. All of my b/w and u/s's should have been covered, and all I should have paid was a $25 co-pay per visit. I was not entitled to get back the monitoring fees (amounting to another $1,000), but hey, I wasn't about to be greedy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I collected my insurance coverage letters, and wrote a nice, professional, stern, lawyerly letter to the OMC, attaching the coverage letters, showing them the math, and telling them, in no uncertain terms, that I expected them to immediately send me a check in the amount of $1,790.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED NINETY DOLLARS!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The check arrived in the mail two days ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy crap. I won.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Syhr5kAVzTI/AAAAAAAAAU8/Z1IXicPRP68/s1600-h/DSC04139.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Syhr5kAVzTI/AAAAAAAAAU8/Z1IXicPRP68/s320/DSC04139.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415697188574842162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7441465134258271343?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7441465134258271343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7441465134258271343&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7441465134258271343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7441465134258271343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/happy-x-2.html' title='Happy x 2'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Syhr5kAVzTI/AAAAAAAAAU8/Z1IXicPRP68/s72-c/DSC04139.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7577385989060261622</id><published>2009-12-13T07:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T08:02:20.743-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Regaining Perspective</title><content type='html'>Even before I went to bed last night I was feeling guilty about my last post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whining. The crabbing. The complaining about my DH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got up at 7 a.m. this morning to quickly take it down before anyone saw it. But wait - there were comments already. Supportive, understanding, validating comments! I should have known that you guys would take my big waaah-fest with a grain of salt and back me up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still feel badly though. The male co-worker of mine of whose wife gave me a gift bag full of baby goodies? He and I chatted last week about work strategy - before digressing onto the topic of babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told me how, when his wife was pregnant with their first child, he was happy and excited and all, but he didn't really &lt;em&gt;get it &lt;/em&gt;until the moment the baby was born and he heard his son's first cries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said that for women, we begin to change our feelings, our mindset, our priorities and everything else during the pregnancy. After all, we are the ones who carry the baby, who feel the baby move, who realize with every cell of our being that we are no longer alone. And I think for IF'ers, our feelings about having a child kicked in long ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, he said, it was different for him, and for most men, he suspects. Except for the fact that they see their wives' bellies growing and intellectually know there is a baby, they just are not as affected as we are. But then, he said, at the moment he heard the cry, it all changed (no, he was not over the doctor's shoulder, witnessing the baby crown. I guess he couldn't handle that. When I first witnessed a crowning, I found that experience alone to be miraculous). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon hearing his newborn son's first cry, he said it was like a tiny, dormant seed in the back of his brain was suddenly triggered, releasing a chemical throughout his body that &lt;em&gt;changed&lt;/em&gt; him. Changed how he thought and how he felt and what he realized. He cried. &lt;em&gt;He cried!&lt;/em&gt; He is not an emotional guy. He said the moment was life changing for him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, this gives me, and hopefully others, some hope that when the time comes, our DHs too will experience a similar change. I have to realize that my need to control everything about this pregnancy - including the way my DH feels and acts - is unnecessary. I need to stop complaining and just come to grips with the fact that until the baby is born, my DH is not in the same place as me. And I need to be okay with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do, however, appreciate the supportive comments, and even getting a chuckle out of some of the suggestions, like swiping the gift card and enjoying a spa day for myself! As usual, you guys have once again come through for me.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7577385989060261622?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7577385989060261622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7577385989060261622&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7577385989060261622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7577385989060261622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/regaining-perspective.html' title='Regaining Perspective'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4201820612635240274</id><published>2009-12-12T17:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-12T18:18:32.827-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Have GOT to be Kidding Me</title><content type='html'>First, the good news. Bring on the mini candy canes. I aced my glucose tolerance test.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how anyone who'd ever taken the test before moaned and groaned to me about how awful the whole procedure was. Hm. Not so. Can I just say that the very sweet, sugary lemon-lime chilled beverage was tasty? Yeah. It was. I gulped it down and went to my OB appointment. The sugar had my kid on a high, and he was kicking and dancing up a storm!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our built in microwave oven stopped working. It's built in, so you can't even find the electrical cord. Crap. Remember the beat up old microwave my DH had stored out in the garage? The one I'd bugged him to get rid of? He gleefully dusted it off, brought it inside, and plopped it on the counter. Ugh. In his world, if something breaks, you just stop using it. If it drips, you put a pan under it. If it chips, you use it till it breaks completely. I mean - OH. NO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH's company had their holiday party. He came home with a basket they'd given him in honor of his 5 years of service. It had a $100 visa gift card in it. A hundred bucks! Visions of baby things danced in my mind. Him? He was licking his lips wondering how many CDs that'll buy him. Not that he doesn't already own 8,275 CDs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "You could spend it on baby things, you know. We're going to need a lot of things." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: You're kidding, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: No, I'm not kidding. You wouldn't get something for your kid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: I am getting him something. I'm giving him a house to live in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: [Shooting extremely dirty look and voice dripping with sarcasm] "Mm. Big of you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't speak to me for the rest of the night. He went to bed without saying good night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, excuse me, but one who rudely refuses to make the smallest sacrifice for the sake of their kid can be mad all he wants. I sacrificed to the freaking moon and back for this baby. All the physical crap I endured. It was my money that financed the whole thing. And now HE has the nerve to be selfish over a crummy $100 gift card?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have GOT to be kidding me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last but not least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what is awaiting me at work on Monday. It arrived Thursday. I asked my secretary to put her hand on it for perspective. Yeah. The abusive opposing counsel on the other side of this case filed two new motions. This stack of papers? That's all of two motions. Our opposition papers are due when? December 24. Really. It's going to take that long just to read all of that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SyRNQGBhn7I/AAAAAAAAAU0/CKmCs2NxqZ4/s1600-h/pile+of+paper.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SyRNQGBhn7I/AAAAAAAAAU0/CKmCs2NxqZ4/s320/pile+of+paper.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414537590896435122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Need I say it? You've got to be kidding me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, none of it amounts to the end of the world.  I realize that.  Just enough frustration to remind me that life ain't perfect.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4201820612635240274?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4201820612635240274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4201820612635240274&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4201820612635240274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4201820612635240274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me.html' title='You Have GOT to be Kidding Me'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SyRNQGBhn7I/AAAAAAAAAU0/CKmCs2NxqZ4/s72-c/pile+of+paper.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1965625010462285507</id><published>2009-12-10T18:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T18:57:42.980-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Belly Pictures and Other News</title><content type='html'>I started writing this post last Sunday. Then work kicked into high gear and I had to put the post on hold. Sorry it's such a long post, but here's the lowdown:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it seems that baby boy is growing. I have the belly to prove it! Amazing how the growth is now picking up speed. Even my secretary commented that I look noticeably bigger. It's true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Sxv2WclmWyI/AAAAAAAAAUk/EBfX7FNkAAE/s1600-h/DSC04117.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Sxv2WclmWyI/AAAAAAAAAUk/EBfX7FNkAAE/s320/DSC04117.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412190242707233570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Sxv2fnypveI/AAAAAAAAAUs/fD_qoOZGPLc/s1600-h/DSC04118.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Sxv2fnypveI/AAAAAAAAAUs/fD_qoOZGPLc/s320/DSC04118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412190400333594082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thighs and behind are bigger too, but, oh well. There will be time enough to work on that another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NEW INFO: I had my glucose tolerance test today. God, I hope I don't have gestational diabetes. I have been eating mini candy canes like crazy and can't imagine giving them up now. I also had a doctor's appointment and I gained SIX POUNDS since last month. I thought that was huge. The doctor looked at the overall picture and said I'm right on track as far as total weight gain. 26 weeks - 19 pounds up. She figures at this rate I'll end up having gained right about 30 pounds by my due date, which is the recommended. But I must say, it &lt;em&gt;feels&lt;/em&gt; weird to weigh more than I ever have in my life. (of course, if I could stop with the candy canes already...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the "Wow, I wasn't expecting that" category, last week one morning one of my male colleagues came into my office - and gave me a gift bag! He and his wife have 2 little ones, so I had picked his brain a few weeks ago about day care. He talked with his wife about my pregnancy, and she bought and sent me baby gifts! This is a woman I've never even met. How sweet was that?! And I must say, she has wonderful taste. Adorable outfits and toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was stunned and couldn't say thank you enough. Of course my co-worker admitted he had no idea what was actually in the gift bag as I proceeded to open it. And he also admitted not really "getting" why women coo and fawn over baby clothes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am really touched. I showed the gifts to my secretary, saying they were the first gifts anyone had gotten me. She grinned and said, "Mmm, no they're not...they're just the first ones you've &lt;em&gt;received&lt;/em&gt;." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What great people I work with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It almost makes the 12 hours I worked on Saturday seem worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm working this weekend too, but hey, March (and my due date) is right around the corner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, I jokingly (well...not really) told my boss I'd likely be up to my eyeballs in this case until the day my water breaks. Then I will be gone on mat leave. The problem with that is that my other work - the work I was actually hired to do before being sucked into this huge litigation case - won't get looked at until next summer at the earliest. To my utter delight, she said they interviewed and hope to hire another attorney, who should start work in January, to take over the lead on this big litigation case! That way I can pull out of it (by and large) and finish up my other work and cruise into my maternity leave without the stress of working day and night on this grueling case. I was thrilled. It can't happen soon enough. Pretty soon I need to start thinking about pediatricians and birthing classes and shopping for baby things and...doing the FUN things that I have waited years to do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just this morning my DH said, "So you're just about 6 months then, right?" And I said, "No, in 2 weeks I'll be 7 months." And it was like a brick hit him in the head. "We'd better start getting things ready then!" he said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ya think?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1965625010462285507?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1965625010462285507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1965625010462285507&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1965625010462285507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1965625010462285507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/belly-pictures-and-other-news.html' title='Belly Pictures and Other News'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Sxv2WclmWyI/AAAAAAAAAUk/EBfX7FNkAAE/s72-c/DSC04117.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3995620956027718547</id><published>2009-12-07T19:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T19:40:34.053-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need a Nice, 45-hour Day</title><content type='html'>I have things to blog about but no time at the moment.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear co-worker, with whom I have been sharing the burden of this huge case at work has gone on vacation for a week.  I urged her to go.  She needed to go.  Her very elderly father and her mom live in a country on the opposite side of the globe.  She needs to see them.  She needs a break from this case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So off she went.  I'm handling the full reins in her absence, and you know, I'll manage.  One way or another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One way is by working at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another is by working the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, dear friends, pardon my absence.  I am absolutely peeking in on your blogs, I just don't have time to comment right now.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luck, love and hugs to all.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3995620956027718547?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3995620956027718547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3995620956027718547&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3995620956027718547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3995620956027718547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-need-nice-45-hour-day.html' title='I Need a Nice, 45-hour Day'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5405069804582744496</id><published>2009-12-04T09:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T10:19:45.848-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Along the Road, On the Way to the Moon</title><content type='html'>It was not very long ago that I refused to allow myself to think about concrete baby matters, you know, just in case the pregnancy didn't work out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't think about names.&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't look at baby clothes.&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't worry about where the baby would live (i.e., his room).&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't think about how to afford maternity leave.&lt;br /&gt;I certainly wouldn't do anything as dangerous as look at baby furniture or room decor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, at 25 weeks, I've begun to consider these last, formerly dangerous, items.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I know, I'm probably running late with these things. And I have no real idea of what I want. I began noodling around Amazon and elsewhere just to get ideas. And to look at crib recalls (holy crap, now &lt;em&gt;there's&lt;/em&gt; something to worry about!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for room decor, generally, I like simple and soothing. I still don't know about color pattern(s) or furniture or anything else. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I have to show you this gorgeous fairy tale girl's room idea. It was an ad for expensive bedding. I can only imagine what these gold sheets must cost! My disclaimer is that I loved fairy tales as a child, but perpetuating the "prince charming and happy ending" fallacy is not what I would want to do if I had a daughter. Nevertheless, the image is beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SxlLL4pBOEI/AAAAAAAAAUc/_CJuzZ7XKzU/s1600-h/luxury-baby-bedding2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 272px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SxlLL4pBOEI/AAAAAAAAAUc/_CJuzZ7XKzU/s320/luxury-baby-bedding2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411439094817437762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No princess themes for my baby boy though!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stumbled across one single item I loved. And it's just a silly toss pillow. It comes from a child's story book - which I had never heard of. But when I read the phrase, it hit me like a ton of bricks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Guess how much I love you? To the moon and back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SxlGv2aGL2I/AAAAAAAAAUU/WgXfsyNu_B4/s1600-h/to+the+moon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SxlGv2aGL2I/AAAAAAAAAUU/WgXfsyNu_B4/s320/to+the+moon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411434215135129442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of us in this community, we who have suffered from one form of infertility or another, understand and have lived, suffered, mourned, hoped, lost, and sacrificed &lt;em&gt;to the moon and back&lt;/em&gt;, all in the hopes of becoming pregnant and having a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The road is that arduous. It is long. It is exhausting. It can be defeating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, feeling my baby move inside of me, seeing my pregnant belly, and hearing my baby's heart beat each day (I still have the doppler), I finally realize that I might actually get to have and keep this baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My IF struggles, the two years' worth of BFNs, my two miscarriages, the meds, the shots, being wanded and probed, the fights with the Outside Monitoring Clinic, the money spent.....I have not forgotten those things. I will never forget those things. They &lt;em&gt;are&lt;/em&gt; the road that paved the way to this pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But those events suddenly go pale and out of focus, the way the audience and room go dark when you are on stage, looking outward, bright lights in your eyes. Like a weary traveler, stopping momentarily to rest and catch my breath, I turn to see the long road stretched behind me. The miles I have traveled and the hurdles I have cleared. Of course there are still miles of road that I must travel. There are no stage lights, though. Rather, I am looking up at the bright, full moon that lies ahead. At last, it draws nearer. Its magnificent light, shining in my eyes. I feel the impact of my journey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am suddenly struck by the words, and how deeply they resonate within my heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I love this baby to the moon and back.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5405069804582744496?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5405069804582744496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5405069804582744496&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5405069804582744496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5405069804582744496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/along-road-on-way-to-moon.html' title='Along the Road, On the Way to the Moon'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SxlLL4pBOEI/AAAAAAAAAUc/_CJuzZ7XKzU/s72-c/luxury-baby-bedding2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-570871044163018107</id><published>2009-12-02T20:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T21:14:33.366-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Have I Become?</title><content type='html'>I am approaching my 25th week of pregnancy. Sometimes I still can't believe I'm actually pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My body has changed in so many ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bump is medium sized now, and although I can still squat down and stand back up, bending over is difficult. I don't fold in half in the middle anymore. AH! &lt;em&gt;That's &lt;/em&gt;why pregnant women do that familiar and recognizable back-arching elbow-lift from a chair maneuver. It's not the extra weight that's so much the problem as the fact that you simply cannot lean forward to get enough leverage to stand up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My innie belly button is opening up! I can just about see down into it (or I &lt;em&gt;could&lt;/em&gt; if I could lean forward a little further). It used to be more pinched shut. Interesting (yes, folks, you caught me contemplating my navel!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boobs are...well...incredible. Wow. I was a "barely B" pre-pregnancy. Of course I don't have a tiny waist or tiny hips to make me look fantastic, but still, it's strange but fascinating to see myself with such full breasts and real, live cleavage!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully, I don't see any stretch marks anywhere - yet. I suppose those most likely show up during the final month when baby makes a final growth spurt. I've been diligent in slathering myself daily with moisturizing lotion, so hopefully I'll keep the worst of it at bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My nails and hair are growing like wildfire! Didn't I just get my hair colored? I already see quarter-inch roots growing out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hiccup randomly. Just one. One, single hiccup. I don't anticipate it or realize it's going to happen until - HIC - it's out of my mouth. Kooky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am out of breath so easily. With the slightest amount of exertion, my belly cramps a tiny bit and I have to lean back and catch my breath. It happened when I walked roughly 5 or 6 blocks at a moderately brisk pace to meet friends for lunch last week. And to think that a co-worker and I used to take a mini exercise break at work and run the 16 &lt;em&gt;flights &lt;/em&gt;of stairs in our building - up and down &lt;em&gt;three times &lt;/em&gt;without stopping!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No dark line running downward from my belly button and no "mask of pregnancy." I guess these are the benefits of being a redhead (for some reason we are not prone to these changes).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleep. I simply cannot get comfortable. I used to be a happy belly sleeper. Now I have pillows on both sides of me. Support here, support there. The problem is that I wake up after a few hours with a stiff hip, or a kink in my spine, or (this sounds weird) the baby feels like he's "slipped" way over into my dependent hip and so my belly feels off-balance....it's always something. I am &lt;em&gt;always&lt;/em&gt; awake at 3 am. For at least an hour. Sometimes I'm also awake at 1:00 and at 5:00. The bright side is I'll be right in the swing of things to get up and feed the baby every few hours. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, and thankfully, I still feel great, have lots of energy (until I'm winded, anyway) and am delightfully shocked every time I look at myself in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-570871044163018107?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/570871044163018107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=570871044163018107&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/570871044163018107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/570871044163018107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/12/who-have-i-become.html' title='Who Have I Become?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7189522498525664010</id><published>2009-11-30T20:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T20:45:54.478-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This -n - That</title><content type='html'>Still buried at work. I'm beginning to think it's going to be this way until I go out on maternity leave...in March! The case I'm working on is causing multiple people in my office to have daily meltdowns. Having to manage other people's stress is draining, particularly when you're already trying to manage your own. All I can do is grin and keep paddling!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, what else is going on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, we did go to Wacky P's for Thanksgiving. I have to admit, that by large she didn't bug me much. Except for the fact that she refused (yes, &lt;em&gt;refused&lt;/em&gt;) to put the mashed yams I brought on the table because, after all, she already made mashed yams, and by golly, we didn't need two. (Of course mine were very different from hers, specifically in that mine didn't require one to pull hard seed casings from their mouth while chewing - seeds?!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did get into a bit of a verbal dispute with the Great Pontificator (also known as my FIL) during dinner. He accused me of being the reason that public transportation, green living and sustainability will remain a mere fantasy and will never come to fruition. Why? Oh, it's because I like driving my car to work. And because I'd rather pay $165 per month to park in the garage at work than pay $100 per month for a bus pass.  He &lt;em&gt;accused&lt;/em&gt; me. And he accused those like me of not wanting to give up conveniences. Well, my hackles were up and I launched back. Yeah. Nice, eh? That'll make for a pleasant Thanksgiving gathering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, after the main meal, but before dessert, and while the adults were still sitting at the table, Wacky P's 6 year old daughter went and got her pet rat, brought it to the dinner table, and was &lt;em&gt;one chair away from me &lt;/em&gt; with the rat in her hands when Wacky P told her to get that thing away from the table. Good grief (I was about to crap my pants).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, may I remind you, I had to cope with all of this sober.  I usually manage these gatherings by getting half bombed during the first hour. Egads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby boy thinks the best time to play, do jumping jacks and run through my uterus is around 3 am. And you know what? I don't mind. I love waking up and realizing he's awake too.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7189522498525664010?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7189522498525664010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7189522498525664010&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7189522498525664010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7189522498525664010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-n-that.html' title='This -n - That'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1869715436143569959</id><published>2009-11-27T16:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T16:15:12.087-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Knock-Knock</title><content type='html'>Warning: This is a Happy Pregnancy Post.  If you can't bear to read happy pregnancy stuff at the moment, you might want to skip this one.  I wouldn't want anyone barfing on their computer because of my sappy post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Sunday my DH and I were engaged in our usual morning routine - sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper and enjoying our coffee. (Yes, I drink 1 cup of delicious coffee per day).  I kept feeling baby boy kick and poke and tap and carry on in there doing some world class gymnastics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leaned back into the couch, pulled my shirt up a bit, and we both gazed at my belly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There!  We saw it!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time ever we could really see my belly pop and bubble and bounce and poke out here and there! Over and over.  It lasted several minutes.  I was grinning like an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the most amazing thing to actually see it.  My DH said, "It's like he's trying to get out" and that's just what it looked like. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling of it though, is incredibly strange.  Each time, it's startling and takes me by surprise.  It's as though you're standing with your eyes closed and some person begins poking you with their finger, randomly, here and there. You can't anticipate when it will happen, where it will happen, or how strong the poke will be.  So each time it happens, you jump a little from the surprise of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon enough, baby boy went back to sleep.  But how I enjoyed watching him knock around in there! I definitely feel his movements more and more frequently.  What wonderful reassurance!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1869715436143569959?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1869715436143569959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1869715436143569959&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1869715436143569959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1869715436143569959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/knock-knock.html' title='Knock-Knock'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6787886395415907269</id><published>2009-11-26T13:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T14:01:10.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Happy Thanksgiving!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work has been taking over my every waking moment lately.&lt;br /&gt;I have a colleague who is having a meltdown&lt;br /&gt;Bosses who are not on the same page.&lt;br /&gt;Opposing counsel who are...well...not very agreeable.&lt;br /&gt;And long, long days of writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nevertheless, today I am thankful for so, so many things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus, I've missed you all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You, my blog sisters, have been in my thoughts and today I give thanks for your presence in my life.  You have all had such a positive impact on my IF journey and now on my pregnancy.  My world would be very different, and lesser, without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May you have a joyful holiday.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6787886395415907269?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6787886395415907269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6787886395415907269&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6787886395415907269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6787886395415907269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7411796660940127596</id><published>2009-11-22T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T17:00:18.617-08:00</updated><title type='text'>At Last - Award Time</title><content type='html'>I was honored with award nominations by two blog sisters. I apologize for taking so long to "play" the awards game. I owe thanks to &lt;a href="http://everyoneelsebutme.blogspot.com"&gt;Fran at Everyone Else But Me&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://cleanslatebb.blogspot.com"&gt;BB at Clean Slate&lt;/a&gt; for these awards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fran, you are a joy, a pure heart, a gentle soul who is amazingly capable of reaching out to touch others, even when your own circumstances are less than glowing at the time. You are one amazing human being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BB, I feel so lucky to share this pregnancy bond with you. You are sweet and kind and have traveled such a difficult road to finally arrive at this joyous point in time. I think the world of you.  You have the amazing gift of a loving family and I feel honored to be your friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we go. As did Fran, I'm awarding BOTH awards to the list of bloggers at the bottom of this post. Yeah, it's sort of cheating, but look how long it's taken me to turn them around! So, my awards always come with the caveat that you have as much time (forever?) as you need to respond.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, the Kreativ Blogger Award.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwDE4l7NAFI/AAAAAAAAATU/5wGGyx3EthE/s1600/kreative-blogger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwDE4l7NAFI/AAAAAAAAATU/5wGGyx3EthE/s320/kreative-blogger.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404536029376741458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the rules that accompany this esteemed honor:&lt;br /&gt;1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award - check&lt;br /&gt;2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog. - check&lt;br /&gt;3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award. - check&lt;br /&gt;4. Name 7 things about yourself that people may not know.&lt;br /&gt;5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.&lt;br /&gt;6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.&lt;br /&gt;7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they’ve been nominated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the 7 things about me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) Although I have lived in California for 22 years, I grew up in upstate New York. I remember what -20 wind chill feels like. I remember shoveling my driveway, piling the snow up so high there got to be nowhere to throw it anymore. I loved sledding as a kid, the amazing autumn leaves and the humid summers. I miss fireflies on warm summer nights. I don't miss the snow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2) I was engaged once before. He was 15 years my senior, and although he was (and still is) a good guy, the age difference finally caught up with us. We both tried to say it didn't matter, but at 24 and 39 years old, we were simply at different stages in our lives. We lived together for 4 years before amicably parting ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) Mr. BWUB is the spitting image of Ta/ylor H-icks, the 2006 Amer/ican I/dol winner. Well, at least other people think he's the spitting image. Of course since he's my husband, I only see a resemblance. We got married in 2006, and our caterer had two 20-ish year old daughters who assisted her. Those girls got bright-eyed and ga-ga over my DH every time we stopped by to see the caterer. If they only knew my DH can't carry a tune or dance a whit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(4) One of my sisters is morbidly obese. She began packing on the pounds at age 19 and it only got worse from there. She is a tender heart, a sensitive soul and a kind person. But her self-esteem, insecurity and other emotional issues have her in their grip. She is in denial about her health and weight. I worry she will die young. It breaks my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(5) I never learned to sew or use a sewing machine. It's a skill I wish I had. I never took Home Ec in high school because I just couldn't be bothered. I took a Business class instead. now I wish I could do more than sew a button back into place. My mom tried to show me once how to load the bobbin in a machine, but I fumbled and fumbled until I lost patience. I really admire people who are skilled at sewing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(6) I am a natural redhead. I hated it as a kid, particularly since my siblings and parents are all brunette. My older sister called me names like "fire head" sometimes. It made me irate. Plus, all the natural curl was nothing short of catastrophe during the late 70's when "&lt;em&gt;the&lt;/em&gt;" look was the Far/rah Fawce/tt flip hair style. Do you think my coarse curls would cooperate with THAT kind of style in the humidity of New York? Shoot. So here's a photo of me as a toddler...maybe I was 2 or so. Yeah, you can't tell the color in the black and white photo, but note the burly hair!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwhhfnDd9zI/AAAAAAAAAT8/pFZ2nFJ7yk0/s1600/BabyTammy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwhhfnDd9zI/AAAAAAAAAT8/pFZ2nFJ7yk0/s320/BabyTammy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406678548345648946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(7) I got totally hooked on the HBO series T/rue B.lood. It's incredibly unpredictable and appeals to my darker side. I don't know when the next season is set to begin, but I can't wait!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, the Spreader of Love Award.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwDFfMI6xAI/AAAAAAAAATc/bCvypfysZJY/s1600/blog_awards.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwDFfMI6xAI/AAAAAAAAATc/bCvypfysZJY/s320/blog_awards.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404536692469842946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the rules:&lt;br /&gt;1-Thank the person who nominated you for this award and write a little bit about why you love them.&lt;br /&gt;2-Copy the logo and place it on your blog.&lt;br /&gt;3-Link to the person who nominated you for this award.&lt;br /&gt;4-Nominate no more than 17 people who you love or you think could use some love.&lt;br /&gt;5. Write one word (you can only use a word once) about what you love about their blog.&lt;br /&gt;6. Post links to the 17 blogs you nominate.&lt;br /&gt;8-Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they’ve been nominated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I don't know why or how the originator of this award came up with the required 17 nominees. But I'm taking some creative license here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the rules say I have to use only one word to describe what I love about your blogs! Hm, let's see what "one word" looks like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://ivf40pathtoparents.blogspot.com"&gt; EB at ivf 40 path to parents&lt;/a&gt; - CoolestEnglishWomanEverAndGoodFriendWhoCourageouslyRefusesToBeDefeated&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://onemorelittleone.blogspot.com"&gt;Looking 4 #3&lt;/a&gt; - TrulyUnderstandingFriendandSister&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://cindysblog-bangheadhere.blogspot.com"&gt;Cindy at Bang head here&lt;/a&gt; - ComfortinglyConsiderateAndAlwaysSupportive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://stillhopeful-after40.blogspot.com"&gt;conceiving life after 40&lt;/a&gt; - CreativelyElegantAndOrganizedBeyondBelief!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://invitro-veritas.blogspot.com"&gt;K at Invitro Veritas&lt;/a&gt; - FascinatingAdventuristNowPregnantWithTriplets!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://canyouimagine123.blogspot.com"&gt;Dawn&lt;/a&gt; - DownToEarthCheerfulAndLightHearted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://musicmakermomma.livejournal.com"&gt;musicmakermomma&lt;/a&gt; - SincereFunnyAndSuperstarAllRolledIntoOne&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://optimisticallyhopeful.wordpress.com"&gt;One Small Wish&lt;/a&gt; - TenderSoulWhoIsIncrediblyHonestAboutHerselfAndTheWorld&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://rileysvillage.blogspot.com"&gt;Riley&lt;/a&gt; AmazingGardenerWhoGivesEverythingShe'sGotAndThenSome&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://anofferingoflove.wordpress.com"&gt;An Offering of Love&lt;/a&gt; - NewMommyToSweetBabyGirl!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://happy-go-lucky-tireegal68.blogspot.com"&gt;Tireegal68&lt;/a&gt; - HonestSupportiveGalWhoNeverGivesUp!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to all.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7411796660940127596?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7411796660940127596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7411796660940127596&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7411796660940127596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7411796660940127596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/at-last-award-time.html' title='At Last - Award Time'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwDE4l7NAFI/AAAAAAAAATU/5wGGyx3EthE/s72-c/kreative-blogger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1658581377297207789</id><published>2009-11-20T14:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T15:33:43.837-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Music to my Ears</title><content type='html'>I went for my second opinion u/s today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They wanted me there a full half hour before my appointment time to "check in." I think they squeezed me in during the lunch hour. No one else was in the waiting room. No staff person said hello or even acknowledged me for 20+ minutes, although several girls walked back and forth behind the counter, chatting about nonsense with each other. At 2 minutes before my appointment time, they addressed me and handed me 6 or 7 pages of paperwork to fill out. One minute before my appointment time, someone came to call me back to the exam room. I basically tossed the paperwork back at the desk girls and told them I'll finish it after my appointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Staff rating: D-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech was somewhat better. She maneuvered very quickly. She didn't give me a blow-by-blow account of what she was looking at or measuring. And it was hard to tell this time exactly what I was looking at on the screen because baby is now head down, right on top of my cervix! (Whoa, little boy, wait a bit longer to get into exit position, eh). I asked for a picture of his heart. She seemed confused. I said, "when you go for your very first u/s, the magical moment is seeing the heart beat. It's the critical event. So the heart is very important, but nobody ever gives you a picture of it." She smiled and understood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tech rating: B&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just before the tech finished up, the door to the room opened after a brief knock. The perinatologist himself came in! Wow. I felt honored. He turned out to be the kindest, sweetest, most down to earth guy. He asked me some questions, he looked at the new measurements, he explained everything and answered my questions patiently. He was attentive yet calm and had a sense of humor. He said by the calendar, I am 23w1d today (I don't know how my pg ticker calculates, but it seems to be a little fast). He said all of baby's measurements are just fine and in fact ahead of age, measuring about 24 weeks. Femur: fine. Humerus: fine. Everything: fine. He said he was not sure why the prior doctor's narrative report said the femur was "short for age" because the actual measurement in the report was dead on for age. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best thing he said was, "You got a normal kid." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could have hugged him. The words were music to my ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor rating: A++&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They handed us a few fuzzy photos and said they don't need to see us again. Fine with me! (Considering my new good mood, I did finish up the paperwork before leaving).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwcjraupwyI/AAAAAAAAATk/ogRWXpe6u6U/s1600/DSC04106.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwcjraupwyI/AAAAAAAAATk/ogRWXpe6u6U/s320/DSC04106.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406329106497913634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you God for a healthy baby. And thank you blog sisters for always being there to offer support and kind and caring words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in celebration of a perfect baby boy, here are some photos showing my new hair cut and color and the outside of baby boy's house (i.e., my belly!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Swcj9RUqRbI/AAAAAAAAATs/J-wW6ekz1Kw/s1600/DSC04091.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Swcj9RUqRbI/AAAAAAAAATs/J-wW6ekz1Kw/s320/DSC04091.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406329413210621362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwckRlCzs3I/AAAAAAAAAT0/oMd-lokGE0Q/s1600/DSC04094.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwckRlCzs3I/AAAAAAAAAT0/oMd-lokGE0Q/s320/DSC04094.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406329762101834610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1658581377297207789?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1658581377297207789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1658581377297207789&amp;isPopup=true' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1658581377297207789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1658581377297207789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/music-to-my-ears.html' title='Music to my Ears'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SwcjraupwyI/AAAAAAAAATk/ogRWXpe6u6U/s72-c/DSC04106.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2724126740393604080</id><published>2009-11-19T19:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T20:24:09.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Going On</title><content type='html'>I wish I had more time to post these days. So many things happening, so many thoughts. Here's the short version.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) Tomorrow (Friday) I will have a "second opinion" u/s to follow up on the short femur measurement taken on October 30. Mind you, this new specialist's office did not want to schedule me until December 9th. Three more weeks?! I had to argue, make phone calls and bug my own OB to get squeezed in tomorrow. I'm happy to be squeezed. Crap, at this point, hand me the wand and I'll do the job myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2) I finally got my H1N1 vaccine. Happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) Work has been - overwhelming. Along with two other attorneys, I have been up to my eyeballs in a litigation case. Which would be all well and good, except that opposing counsel on the case are a bunch of lowdown, lying, snake-in-the-grass jerks. They are the kind of lawyers who give lawyers a bad name. It is a battle just to deal with them for what should be simple things, like communicating. They out-and-out lie, &lt;em&gt;repeatedly&lt;/em&gt;, about everything from what date a given notice was served to improperly citing authority in filed documents. I &lt;em&gt;loathe &lt;/em&gt;these kind of attorneys and they are making our lives hell for no other reason than because they can. The good news is that the law is on our side, we have won every motion thus far, and I think in the end we will win the case. But it will be like jogging in water to get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(4) I have been able to feel the baby move more and more. It's a wonderful little wiggly feeling that always takes me by surprise. Interestingly, I don't feel him much while I'm at work. It's like he knows to be still and let me do my job. I feel him most early in the morning when I first awaken and late at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(5) I finally got my hair cut and colored. Everyone at work was surprised (they've never seen me with full color!) and my secretary said it makes me look much younger. Yay! I'll post photos soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love and hugs to &lt;a href="http://lateforaveryimportantpregnancy.blogspot.com"&gt;Maddy&lt;/a&gt; today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2724126740393604080?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2724126740393604080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2724126740393604080&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2724126740393604080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2724126740393604080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/whats-going-on.html' title='What&apos;s Going On'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2710117015963039506</id><published>2009-11-15T20:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T20:46:35.038-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Better, Feeling Productive</title><content type='html'>Thank you, everyone, so much for your thoughts, support and information about short femur measurements and "soft indicators." You guys are great at talking a person off the ledge. Not that I was at the jumping point, but -- sheesh -- I was definitely caught off guard with news I didn't expect and angry as hell at those who knew but elected not to tell me. Your comments were soothing, reassuring and exactly what I needed to hear.  Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also helpful is that I spent a good deal of the weekend doing more cleaning! My DH was out of town visiting his mom (along with Wacky P and her clan - thank you very much but I think I'll stay home), so I had the house to myself. I opened cupboards and went crazy. Bags and bags of trash went out. Documents shredded. Linens reorganized. Rarely used items consolidated and put out of the way. I hung a shelf. I emptied a desk that we plan to get rid of. I washed and wiped my heart out. In between it all I stopped to make a nice pot of home made soup.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I am beginning to feel the nesting bug bite at my heels. And it feels so good.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2710117015963039506?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2710117015963039506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2710117015963039506&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2710117015963039506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2710117015963039506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/feeling-better-feeling-productive.html' title='Feeling Better, Feeling Productive'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-473803169245407901</id><published>2009-11-13T11:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T12:19:44.549-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Good and the Worrisome</title><content type='html'>I have blog awards to get to, and I have been remiss in responding to my kind and generous blog sisters who have bestowed such awards upon me. I meant to catch up on them today, but something has come up....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First the good. I had a huge success at work. I drafted a fairly important motion. The judge issued his tentative ruling yesterday - in our favor! Everyone at work (including the bosses) was congratulating me. Not that I want or like accolades, but since I am planning to take maternity leave next year, it's good to prove my value now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now for the worrisome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On October 30 I had my 20 week anatomy ultrasound. During the u/s the tech basically said everything was fine. She left the room when it was done to consult with the doctor. Again she said all was okay, and that was that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But something has been bothering me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I had a regular OB appointment. I asked if they received a copy of the 20 week u/s report from the perinatologist's office. The nurse practitioner brought the report up on the computer screen, turned the screen toward me, and we read it together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew that the u/s tech measured my baby's femur (the thigh bone) over and over and over. And she did an additional skull measurement just before finishing up too. She didn't say anything, but the repeated measurements has been nagging at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The report said that the femur measurement was "short for age" and "is probably a normal variant, but is a soft indicator for Down's Syndrome."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And nobody was going to tell me?! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, this is precisely what pisses me off. You go for testing, but unless you specifically ask, they don't bother to give you the information, the implications, the likelihoods, the options, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse practitioner said it's probably nothing. I told her our egg donor is 5'8" tall and our sperm donor is 6" -- we expected a long and tall baby. The fact that his measurement is in fact short for age.....well.....WTF does this mean????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She took the report to one of the docs in the office. She came back with, "Although the donors are both tall, it could be a recessive gene for shortness. It doesn't necessarily mean anything."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How's that for an answer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I requested, and they approved, another u/s to re-measure. They will send me to a different perinatologist so that we get a second opinion. Hopefully they will be able to get me in sometime during the upcoming week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want an amnio. I don't even know that we will &lt;em&gt;do&lt;/em&gt; anything (or that there is anything we &lt;em&gt;can&lt;/em&gt; do) at all. I just want to know the facts. I want the information. I want to know what it means. Will our boy reach an adult height of 4 feet tall? Will one leg be shorter than the other? Was the measurement wrong? Is the measurement truly within normal limits? Has the growth now caught up? What does it mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again this is a lesson that we have to be extremely proactive in asking questions, probing things that don't quite seem right, demanding full disclosure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The baby's heart rate was fine, he is kicking, my weight gain is fine and all other signs are good. I am thankful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH feels confident that everything will be okay. I sure hope so.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-473803169245407901?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/473803169245407901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=473803169245407901&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/473803169245407901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/473803169245407901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/good-and-worrisome.html' title='The Good and the Worrisome'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3495133519377179847</id><published>2009-11-09T19:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T20:04:33.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>260</title><content type='html'>I've complained about the small size of our house. And how my DH and I each brought our stuff to the house when we bought it three and a half years ago, making the place feel quite cramped. And how we need to clear out to make room for a baby and all the stuff that comes with babies and childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to my DH's books. His massive collection of books. Books, books everywhere. Well, he did it. Over the past weekend, he spent hours going through all his books. Books in the house and in the garage. He packed up 260 books and delivered them to G/ood W/ill. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, that's &lt;em&gt;Two Hundred Sixty &lt;/em&gt;books!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the books he has left now fit into 2 bookcases. That's it. He even remarked that I probably have more books than he does now. It could be true. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was really impressed with his willingness to part with his beloved books. Of course, this does &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; mean he will part with any of his 862,026,198 CDs. That would be asking too much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we're getting there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for my part, I went through boxes and boxes of photos. I threw away several hundred photos. Why do I keep pictures of places I can't remember or identify? Why do I keep blurry photos or photos of people I can no longer identify? Why do I keep duplicates? Beats me. They're gone. I also cleaned out desk drawers and cupboards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing is for sure, the hope of an expected child will cause you to stop procrastinating and do the things you've mulled over for years, but never gotten around to.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3495133519377179847?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3495133519377179847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3495133519377179847&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3495133519377179847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3495133519377179847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/260.html' title='260'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5188534990643952212</id><published>2009-11-06T18:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T18:27:18.928-08:00</updated><title type='text'>21-week Update</title><content type='html'>Caution - all things pregnancy discussed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope &lt;a href="http://canyouimagine123.blogspot.com"&gt;Dawn&lt;/a&gt; doesn't mind my copying her format. I want to chronicle a pregnancy status update.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SvTXB7nqIeI/AAAAAAAAATM/zIadejMAPLM/s1600-h/DSC04060.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SvTXB7nqIeI/AAAAAAAAATM/zIadejMAPLM/s320/DSC04060.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401178281307939298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How far along? 21 weeks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Total weight gained? 11 pounds (this picture makes me look tinier than I really am - my butt and thighs feel out of control)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maternity clothes: Bought my second maternity shirt today. Mostly just wearing long shirts and cardigans. Maternity pants - yes - but because they are so stretchy, they tend to slide down each time I stand up after sitting. I have to keep hiking them up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleep: Trouble sleeping on my side. I was a belly-sleeper. Awake a lot during the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Moment of the Week: While awake at 3:30 am last night, I think I felt baby boy move! Weird belly bubble sensations. Interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food Craving: No. I always liked sweets!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food Aversions: No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morning Sickness: None.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Belly Button: Same deep innie it's always been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wedding rings: Still on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I Miss: Pants that don't slide down, sushi, wine.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I Love: My bump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I'm looking forward to: Finally getting my hair cut and colored this week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milestone: Half way through my pregnancy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Purchases: Today I bought myself one mat shirt, a bigger bra and one cute baby outfit that says "My Mommy Loves Me"...because I do!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5188534990643952212?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5188534990643952212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5188534990643952212&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5188534990643952212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5188534990643952212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/21-week-update.html' title='21-week Update'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SvTXB7nqIeI/AAAAAAAAATM/zIadejMAPLM/s72-c/DSC04060.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-807288827400638136</id><published>2009-11-01T10:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T20:49:40.301-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Wacky P Story</title><content type='html'>It seems that some of my blog sisters are sad, frustrated, dealing with issues, sick or just plain in need of a good story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm here to help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing like a gratuitous Wacky P story to cheer people up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the afternoon of Halloween, I was roped into going to Wacky P's house. The in-laws were there too (might as well make a full disaster of it). The occasion was Wacky P's daughter's 6th birthday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH went back over there the following morning for coffee and breakfast. I skipped that event - and was glad for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if I truly told the story in all its glorious detail, it would be really, really long. So I'm just going to hit the high points. I'm sure it will still be lengthy enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, both Wacky P and her daughter had hellacious, thick, chunky coughs. I found this out &lt;em&gt;after&lt;/em&gt; we got there. &lt;em&gt;Thanks a lot&lt;/em&gt;. On the phone beforehand Wacky P assured my DH that they were no longer sick, but she was sure the Girl had the H1N1 the prior week. When the Girl stood beside me (wanting to climb on my lap as I sat at the table) and coughed, I crossed my arms and turned away from her. Rude? Probably under most circumstances, but I'm not willing to risk a potentially lethal virus for the sake of courtesy. I even outright scolded her at one point to cover her mouth when she coughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's something strange about the Girl. She's incredibly bright and intelligent for her age, but they let her behave like a baby. If she wants attention she will whine and "wah" like a baby, loudly, interrupting the adults' conversation. It's really strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, the house was grubby, grimy, filthy and smelled like damp mildew. Yes, there were piles of dirt on the floor around the legs of the dining table. Yes, the window was smeared with greasy fingerprints that look like they'd been piling up for months. Yes, there was a massive pile of crumbs all over the tablecloth when we arrived. Ugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My FIL (the Great Pontificator) sat at the table and rambled on, seamlessly transitioning from one topic to another, needing no one else's input and happy just to hear himself talk: growing medical marijuana, substitute teaching, his recent trip to Mexico and how urban and uninteresting it was, grass-fed beef....I tuned out at some point. He gives me a headache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My MIL (the One Woman Firing Squad - of questions, that is) knows I work for the state and asked me whether California is paying it's bills. Huh? What am I, the state comptroller? She also wanted to know what my doctor says about weight gain during pregnancy. I tried to avoid most questions with short, nonresponsive answers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wacky P thought a nice name for our boy would be her grandfather's name - Loris. I said, yeah, if we want him to get his ass kicked on the playground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wacky P's kids got ready after dinner to go to a Halloween event put on by their school. The 11 year old Boy's costume was a zombie. He did a good job - white face with black hollowed eyes, ripped t-shirt, gelled and wild hair. Wacky P scolded him for looking "too scary" since the school event is a themed event geared toward the littler kids and last year's theme was fairies and gnomes. I said, "The Boy is too old to dress like a fairy." My husband glared at me. What the heck did she expect him to want to be? Freaking Cinderella?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the kids were in their rooms getting ready, Wacky P told us that for the Girl's birthday present, Wacky P and her husband gave the Girl a book on bees. Nothing else. She said so. The Girl is six. A book on bees? Have fun with your present, honey, don't break it the first day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it got really good....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following morning when my husband returned from breakfast at Wacky P's he said that while he was there, Wacky P's husband shot - &lt;em&gt;yes, shot &lt;/em&gt;- three squirrels in their yard. Mind you, these are the people who won't swat a spider in the house...but they'll shoot squirrels that invade their garden. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Girl, age 6, picked up a dead squirrel by the tail and was carrying it around. No, I am not kidding. Can you say "disease ridden rodent"? Holy crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They apparently put the dead varmints in the freezer and then on trash day, put them in a plastic bag and throw them away. Seriously. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband was telling me this and I just sat here, mouth gaping wide, in disbelief. I told him there is no way in hell Wacky P is going to babysit our kid without us present. There is no way in hell our kid is going to crawl on her floors during visits. And there may possibly be no way in hell I'm going over there for Thanksgiving dinner (yes, she is hosting).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know Wacky P takes every occasion to criticize me. She told my DH that after we have the baby we won't have time for TV anymore.  I told him maybe she ought to make time to clean her house a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is up with these people?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-807288827400638136?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/807288827400638136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=807288827400638136&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/807288827400638136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/807288827400638136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/11/another-wacky-p-story.html' title='Another Wacky P Story'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3212578030907740903</id><published>2009-10-31T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T09:41:29.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're Having a Baby [Gender]!!!</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, Friday, was the big U/S day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so excited. It's not my OB's office, but a perinatologist's office where we were sent for the anatomy scan. Both times we've been there, they were running 30 minutes late. Frustrating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last it was our turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech was proficient, nice, talking as she went along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best news - the important news - is that all is well. Everything looked just right and baby is measuring 4 days ahead at 20w2d. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She measured the skull, the brain, the long bones (arms and legs). We watched the four chambers of the heart beat in slow motion, colorized, to see the blood flow. We saw the umbilical cord, the placenta, the internal organs. My cervix looks good. The profile was adorable, and the baby really wanted to keep its little hand up by its face. I thought I could see a thumbnail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Suxc3UmdQWI/AAAAAAAAASs/dlLfz_hY2-k/s1600-h/DSC04013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Suxc3UmdQWI/AAAAAAAAASs/dlLfz_hY2-k/s320/DSC04013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398792158802952546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then baby stretched. I want to munch the cheeks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxebuDw6fI/AAAAAAAAAS8/__I_SIlu1wU/s1600-h/DSC04015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxebuDw6fI/AAAAAAAAAS8/__I_SIlu1wU/s320/DSC04015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398793883623680498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the tech went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We saw a long foot that I'm sure has been poking me in the side (is it possible?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxduGsLi4I/AAAAAAAAAS0/6Tkf5ZZzASM/s1600-h/DSC04019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxduGsLi4I/AAAAAAAAAS0/6Tkf5ZZzASM/s320/DSC04019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398793099961666434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we saw the long umbilical cord coming between the legs and attaching at the belly, I joked that I thought the baby was a boy, and he had a rather long...um...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She interrupted, "Do you want to know the sex?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," I said, and before I could blink, we knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm happy to report, our son looks beautiful!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it's a boy! I've been convinced it was a boy, almost from the beginning. And many of you thought he looked like a boy, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And...ahem...my husband and I were both impressed with how well endowed our boy looks! There's no mistake that it's a boy! (legs crossed like a pretzel).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxexZ9DQ1I/AAAAAAAAATE/syH4GHB2PZ0/s1600-h/DSC04024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SuxexZ9DQ1I/AAAAAAAAATE/syH4GHB2PZ0/s320/DSC04024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398794256183935826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He'll be tall.  The sperm donor was 6' and the egg donor was 5'8".  My DH is only 5'10" and laughed when he said our boy could be 6'4" by the time he's 13, towering over us!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She even turned the machine to 3D/4D for a moment, and we saw him with his hands over his face, making cute baby moves. We were given a long strip of photos and waited while the tech went to show the images to the doc (all was perfect).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the rest of the day I just kept grinning and saying, "It's a baby boy!" And my husband would say, "It's a baby boy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So did we want a boy or a girl? We both wanted a healthy baby. That's first and foremost.  My DH thought it would be nice to have a girl. He has a friend who has 2 girls and the guy convinced him girls are easier. I think that with a boy, I'll never have to deal with the mother-daughter issues so many of us have struggled with. But we both would have been perfectly delighted with either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, we are both overjoyed. A health baby boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can't wait to meet you, son.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3212578030907740903?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3212578030907740903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3212578030907740903&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3212578030907740903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3212578030907740903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/were-having-baby-gender.html' title='We&apos;re Having a Baby [&lt;em&gt;Gender&lt;/em&gt;]!!!'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Suxc3UmdQWI/AAAAAAAAASs/dlLfz_hY2-k/s72-c/DSC04013.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1657503061396705816</id><published>2009-10-29T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-29T18:04:43.917-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Closer Than We Think</title><content type='html'>I felt somewhat better when I got up this morning, so I went to work. By 1:00 p.m. though, I knew I wasn't going to make it. Sinus pressure, headache and stuffiness were mounting a great war against my attempts to focus, think and concentrate on work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By 2:10 I decided I'd had enough. I wanted to go home. But I had a 2:30 meeting scheduled with the lead attorney on that big case that might take me to southern California for a hearing next month. I went to go talk to him and tell him I just couldn't make it. He's also the final "boss" I wanted to tell that I am pregnant. He was recently promoted, and he is leading this case, so he ought to know before my peers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's a real teaser. He likes to joke and rib and tease a lot. In the short time I've been at this job, I feel like he and I have developed a great relationship. We work well together, I actually like his sense of humor, and I can dish it as well as take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I schlumped over to his office, stood in the doorway and said, "Dave, I can't make the meeting. Can we reschedule? I'm going home. I don't feel well." First he had to tease me that the meeting was my idea in the first place, and now I'm bailing. Yeah, I know it was. Then he teased that everyone is feeling under the weather, but if I can't stick it out.... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw my opportunity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "Well, there's another reason I'm feeling especially tired and drained by this cold virus" and I told him that I'm pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His response caught me entirely off guard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Wow. Congratulations. My wife has been m/c'ing for a month now, bleeding for all this time, but hey, glad it's worked out for &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just goes to show, you never know whose life is being, or has been, affected by IF, or in some cases, FI (fertility issues).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quickly told him that I have had 2 m/c's and I understand the loss and pain and I'm so sorry he and his wife are going through this. He relented a little at that point and opened up a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wanted to talk about fertility. About eggs and follicles and the likelihood that early first trimester loss is generally attributable to chromosomal anomalies. He wanted to talk about his wife's stressful job and how he wonders whether that might contribute to IF problems. He even talked about his own grief over the loss and how difficult it is to see his wife suffering. His phone rang twice while we talked, and he let it ring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just never know. I felt badly that I casually announced my pregnancy to him. But I couldn't have known. And in the end, I think our conversation was appreciated by both of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought about it afterward and here's the thing: we're all in a sticky position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not fair for those suffering through IF, FI, m/c's or our 300th BFN to see a pregnant belly and assume that the woman simply "fell pregnant" when her husband winked at her (unless, of course, you know this to be the case). Perhaps that woman suffered 10 years of IF herself before achieving that pregnant belly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And those who struggled with IF and were fortunate enough to achieve pregnancy can't go around prefacing statements about their pregnancy with: "Before I say anything, are you, or have you, suffered IF?" We can't assume everyone has suffered what we have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just a weird predicament. We feel sharply protective about our own feelings but even if we think before we speak, nothing guarantees that &lt;em&gt;what&lt;/em&gt; we think will be right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before we finished our conversation, Dave told me that if I felt too stressed about the big case and wanted off, he would understand.  He said he didn't want it to cause me any stress, and although he liked working with me, he wanted me to take care of myself.  I told him I was happy working on the case, but confessed I no longer had a suit that fit.  He said, "Don't worry, we'll work something out."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that Dave and his wife are soon enjoying a healthy pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1657503061396705816?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1657503061396705816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1657503061396705816&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1657503061396705816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1657503061396705816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/closer-than-we-think.html' title='Closer Than We Think'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3179897902967400395</id><published>2009-10-28T15:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T15:52:40.812-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sicker - [Updated post doctor appt]</title><content type='html'>Update at bottom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for feeling better. That lasted half a day. I went to work yesterday morning feeling okay, but I began to feel progressively worse by lunch time and by late afternoon I was a real mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The coughing, sneezing, sniffling and nose blowing are a real symphony to hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Office Dude for bringing your kids' virus to work and infecting everyone. He proudly (smiling, no less) told me yesterday that he is saying it was H1N1 and he's happy because now he and his family are immune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, we don't know what it is because no one in the office went for testing. Second, j'ever think &lt;em&gt;other&lt;/em&gt; people might not be so happy about getting H1N1? Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my doc and have an appointment this afternoon to get swabbed for H1N1. Better safe than sorry...although I'm already sorry. My DH is a mess, citing the 28% mortality rate for pregnant women. He has been hovering over me, asking how I feel and whether I feel feverish.  The stupid vaccine has not become available in our area yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite it all, I'm remaining hopeful this is just some errant virus which I'll be over in a few days. Plus, I continue to hear the baby's strong heartbeat on doppler, so that's reassuring too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told the big boss and the other supervisor yesterday about the pregnancy. Not exactly how I'd imagined doing it, but it went something like this: "As you know several people in the office have been sick. No one has gotten tested for H1N1, so I made an appointment with my doctor to get tested. We should know what's going around the office. Plus, I want to get tested anyway because....I'm 20 weeks pregnant."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They (both of them women) were congratulatory (about being pregnant, not about being sick), reassuring and supportive. So that's good. The big boss didn't even know people in the office have been sick (hello?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm off to the doctor's office in a couple of hours. Wish me luck that it's nothing more than the common cold.&lt;br /&gt;----------------&lt;br /&gt;Update:&lt;br /&gt;Doctor says it's not flu because I don't have any of the typical flu symptoms, which include fever, muscle aches and extreme fatige.  The symptoms I do have, including sneezing, dry cough and head congestion, are rarely seen with flu and indicate that I most likely just have a COLD. Yay for cold virus!  She was also pleased that my lungs are clear, throat is not inflammed and my lymph nodes are not swollen.  I told her that "Doctor Google" had me worried because I read that there have been cases of H1N1 without fever.  I don't think she ever heard the term "Doctor Google" before, but caught on after a couple of seconds and smiled.  So I didn't even get swabbed for H1N1.  A cold I can tough out.  I might need another day at home, resting though.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3179897902967400395?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3179897902967400395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3179897902967400395&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3179897902967400395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3179897902967400395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/sicker.html' title='Sicker - [Updated post doctor appt]'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6111304283120721967</id><published>2009-10-26T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T11:09:28.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking on the Bright Sides</title><content type='html'>I feel like all I've done is grumble lately. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grumble about my mom's visit. Grumble about Wacky P and the upcoming holidays with the in-laws. Grumble about my DH and cleaning out the junk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to grumble any more. I want to look on the bright sides. There are many of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, my DH didn't hold against me my cursing at him the other day about getting rid of stuff. And he easily could have pointed out that, aside from his books and CDs (and the dusty fan and microwave), he doesn't keep much stuff. I. on the other hand, have stored bubble wrap, scraps of wrapping paper, every tape cassette I ever bought and lots of other things. The difference now is that I am ready to do a massive overhaul and get rid of just about everything. Still, he's trying to be cooperative and I know we'll get it worked out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, I feel a bit better, but did not want to work at the office today. I went in this morning only long enough to gather some work to bring home and to talk to my boss. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was there, but looked drained and exhausted. Turns out, her elderly mom passed away last week. I expressed my condolences. She seemed to be at peace with it. Her mom had progressive Alzheimer's and had suffered a huge stroke not long ago. My boss and her siblings had the opportunity to be with their mom at her bedside, to say their goodbyes and to make peace. Now she and her sibs need to make arrangements and spend time with other family. She said she won't be in the office much this week either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I briefly updated her on work projects. She was pleased with what I've been working on. Then I changed the subject. After offering a quick explanation about not wanting to bother her the past several weeks while so much has been going on in her life, I just sort of blurted out, "I'm 5 months pregnant." I said that I wanted to tell her first, that I feel good and I expect to work until the baby arrives, which should be the middle of March.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was so kind. First she said, "Congratulations, that's wonderful." Then she suggested I speak with another attorney in the office who has a 3-year old and who was on maternity leave when my boss came to work for the office. She said no one else in our office has taken maternity leave while she's worked there, so she wasn't sure what all I'm entitled to, but the other attorney could be very helpful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She then said, "Don't worry, we'll accommodate you the way everyone has accommodated me when I needed the time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice, huh? That was a relief. Of course, I still need to tell &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; boss, who also works in our office, and who has been known not to always be so nice. But at least I have my boss in my corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, it's a beautiful day, I get to work at home today and as it turns out, I have nothing to grumble about.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6111304283120721967?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6111304283120721967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6111304283120721967&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6111304283120721967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6111304283120721967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/looking-on-bright-sides.html' title='Looking on the Bright Sides'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2522752021913885204</id><published>2009-10-25T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T12:21:00.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pass a Tissue, Please, Then Move That Junk</title><content type='html'>First, I am sick. At least 4 people in my office were sick last week, and now I've come down with it. The only good thing about it is that everyone in the office only seemed to suffer a sore throat for a few days and then they were over it. I hope I'm as lucky. Yesterday morning was the first sign of a dry, scratchy throat. By nightfall, it was definitely sore. Yes, I have had thoughts like, "I could catch H1N1 and die." It's kind of strange to consider your own mortality that way. I thought, will my pregnancy be far enough along that they could save the baby?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm taking my own best nursing advice and gargling frequently with Lis/terine or warm salt water, sucking on zinc and Vitamin C cough drops, drinking hot water with lemon and trying to rest.&lt;br /&gt;_____________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now the arguing has begun in our household.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, in a first step to make space in the house for a nursery and consolidate our stuff, my DH and I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning the garage. In my opinion, there is SO much out there we could get rid of, creating extra storage space for furniture currently in the house that we don't need, but may want to either store or just put somewhere until we can sell it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe there are things of each of ours that we could get rid of. He seems to think that "getting rid of" applies to my things and "finding storage" applies to his things. So I was getting frustrated. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We both own a lot of books. I have donated boxes of my books to Good W/ill and still have more that I could sort and donate or try to sell at a garage sale. He owns at least 5 times as many books as I do. There are boxes and boxes of his books in the garage. There are numerous shelves in our house loaded with his books. As I look to my right at this very moment, at the coffee table next to me, there are &lt;em&gt;seventeen books &lt;/em&gt;stacked up on it - his evening reading selection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides books, he has other old appliances and things in the garage he just wants to stack up and not get rid of. Like a crummy old dusty fan and his old microwave. I don't care if they both work, we haven't used them in 3 1/2 years and don't foresee the need for them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm wondering what he intends to do with the 273,895,164,338 CDs he has in his home office. It's unreal. I tell him nobody can listen to that much music. I expect he intends to keep them. All of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have a lot of "stuff" too. I can't seem to get rid of the gadgets, figurines, framed photos, candles, toys and various doo-dads that either people have given to me as gifts, or that I bought or obtained over the years. But I am taking a new position: if it is not of the utmost sentimental value, or we don't use it, it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yes, I intend to keep the few items I have that were my grandmother's. I have a few things that are precious to me. But it's time to stop with the guilt ("so-and-so gave to me and I can't just throw it away") and either donate, sell or toss it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few hours in the garage yesterday, and waiting to see what my DH would do about his stuff, I eventually lost my temper and barked at him through clenched teeth that I know it's tough deciding what to keep and what to get rid of, but don't be so f***ing lazy about it because it needs to be done and if this was a fun chore, we would have done it three years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I felt badly about barking at him. But I also know if I wait for him to get around to making space, clearing out, getting rid of, etc, our kid won't have a room of his own till he's 4 years old. And all of my DH's books will still be everywhere in the house and filling boxes in the garage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a lot more work to be done. Both in the garage and in the house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I predict there will be more arguments too.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2522752021913885204?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2522752021913885204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2522752021913885204&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2522752021913885204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2522752021913885204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/pass-tissue-please-then-move-that-junk.html' title='Pass a Tissue, Please, Then Move That Junk'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8047409917455813470</id><published>2009-10-21T20:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T21:27:27.748-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Time Has Come</title><content type='html'>Oh, you guys are great and I thank you for your support after my last post about Wacky P, midwives and labor, Thanksgiving traditions and the right to make choices.  I've decided you are absolutely right and I'm inviting you all to my house for Thanksgiving this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, right.  I wish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work has become incredibly busy.  Remember that I have not yet told my bosses or co-workers that I am pregnant.  A few weeks ago a senior attorney asked if I would draft a motion for this big case he's working on.  I said sure.  Several days and 15 pages later, the motion was done and I gave it to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that was the end of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of last week he came into my office, stood in the doorway and said, "If that motion goes before the court, you were planning to argue it, weren't you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me? Argue the motion?  It's your case.  The suit was filed in Orange County.  As in Santa Ana.  I'd have to fly there.  Can I fly?  I don't know.  I don't fit into my suits anymore.  None of them.  I don't have a maternity suit.  God, they're expensive.  Do I have a doctor's appointment?  When is the hearing?  Will I have gotten my H1N1 vaccine yet? Oh....my....gosh!!!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stared at him blankly as these thoughts ran through my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to go.  He wouldn't take no for an answer.  The hearing will likely be toward the middle of November.  Maybe neither party will ask for a hearing after the court issues its tentative ruling.  Oh crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I complain a few weeks ago about not being very busy at work?  Will someone please come kick me in the ass?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home and told my DH about the possibility of the hearing.  He thought it's time I tell my bosses (and others) that I'm pregnant.  I guess I don't have a choice at this point.  I am dreading it.  I just am.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I decided over the weekend that I'd do it Monday, as in a couple of days ago.  I went to work mentally prepared to go into my boss's office and tell her.  Well, what do you think?  There was an email saying she's out all week.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm off the hook for now, but it doesn't make things any easier.  &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8047409917455813470?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8047409917455813470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8047409917455813470&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8047409917455813470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8047409917455813470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/time-has-come.html' title='The Time Has Come'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7442930975879446887</id><published>2009-10-20T18:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T19:09:24.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wacky P, Suggestions and Traditions</title><content type='html'>My DH called and told my SIL, Wacky P about the pregnancy. Finally. While my mom and I were out and about one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, he got two for the price of one. My FIL was at Wacky P's. FIL had called my DH, so my DH returned the call. They talked and then my DH proceeded to tell FIL about the pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I think my DH had in mind that first he would tell his dad, and then his dad would hand the phone over to his sister (Wacky P) and my DH would tell her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead, he tells his dad something like, "By the way, dad, BWUB is 4 months pregnant." With Wacky P sitting right next to him in the room, my FIL says aloud, "Oh, really, BWUB is 4 months pregnant?" So Wacky P didn't get to hear it first hand, and I guess my DH heard her make a comment in the background to the effect of, "Why did he wait 4 months to tell us?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she finally got on the phone, my DH said she seemed a little "tweaked" about the whole thing. About us not telling them sooner. About her finding out second hand. You know, things have to happen according to &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure exactly how much he told them, but he said he told them "the basics" about the embryo adoption. He doesn't want to send any of them a comic book. He said it would only open things up to more criticism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She did congratulate him and she offered to buy us a car seat. I said to my husband, "Wow, those things are expensive, you know." He said, "Yeah, that's what she said." To which I just grinned and shook my head. Of &lt;em&gt;course&lt;/em&gt; she mentioned to him that it would be expensive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also apparently offered to babysit the baby next summer while she is not working (she is a school nurse).  Well, first of all, I hope to still be on maternity leave most of the summer.  Second, I don't know, it sort of gives me the creeps to think about her being alone with my baby.  I could imagine her putting my baby to her own breast, in some weird attempt to stimulate her breast milk.  My mind is just twisted when it comes to her.  Third, I don't want to "owe" her babysitting duties.  Her kids drive me a little nuts...unless they want to come over here and watch TV....(ha ha ha).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wacky P also told my DH that since men don't ever give birth, and most OB's are men who pull the baby out of you, she suggested I could get a midwife who will be more understanding and help me through it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah - yes - here we go. Wacky P's know-it-all suggestions begin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't quite gather whether Wacky P was recommending I have the midwife deliver the baby. I think so. And I know, really, I know, that many women love this idea and this option and look forward to having a midwife and want that experience. And they prefer to keep doctors at bay unless necessary. I have nothing against a woman choosing to do things the way she wants. If you want to use a midwife, I'll cheer you on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's not my thing. I don't want someone I hardly know talking at me, touching me, coaching me or anything else. It's just not my style. I may not know the delivering OB or nurses very well either, but for me, that's fine. It's just the way I am. I was a nurse. I'm used to hospitals and nurses and equipment and doctors. Their presence comforts me. A touchy-feely midwife would make me nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my husband that when I had my second miscarriage, after carrying for 11 weeks, it was just like labor (he was asleep, how would he know?). I had contractions 3 minutes apart. Of course the baby was just a peanut, but my body and uterus contracted and squeezed the shit out of my guts and I expelled everything in 12 hours - like giving birth. I had to focus and breathe and get through each wave of pain. I told him it was painful and exhausting and just going through that I know that I don't want anyone there touching me or talking to me when I give birth. Get the f*** away and let me do this. I have actually had the thought that I could possibly not even want my DH in the room - he's not good with blood or needles or anything like that. I don't want to have to think about or worry about taking care of him during the process! I haven't told him this, and I figure I'll just make that decision when the time comes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See....and you all thought I was gentle and sweet. ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, maybe Wacky P was just trying to be nice and make a helpful suggestion.  But my guard is permanently up when it comes to her and I am unable to see anything she says or does as innocent or well-intended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my MIL will be in town Halloween weekend. It will be Wacky P's daughter's 6th birthday. They want to have a get together. I foresee that I'll be explaining, defending, or putting a moratorium on questions about my position on everything from midwives to breastfeeding to TV programs for toddlers. Oh, so looking forward to it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My poor DH. Then it will be the holidays. He says he's tired of "brokering relationships." When I asked what he meant, he said brokering the relationship between me and his family. He said he understands why I don't care to be around them much, and he admitted that they drain him of energy too. They're not relaxing people to be around. With the pregnancy and all, he hoped this might help bring us all a little closer. He said that Wacky P's kids don't have any cousins their age and family is important to her, and she'd probably like for "us all" to be closer for the sake of the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't see it happening. I reminded him that his family has never accepted me for who I am. They won't entertain the concept that I have my own ideas of tradition or holidays or anything else. They expect me to fit into the mold of what their family "always does" but are quick to judge my ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an example, I said to my husband that if our house was big enough to host family Thanksgiving dinners, I would love it to be in the tradition I am used to. To me, Thanksgiving is magical and wonderful when the day starts with everyone watching the big parade on TV. Kids sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, excited when a giant Snoopy balloon appears. Then the men hang out together and watch the football games. You hear them occasionally cheer or shout. They drink beer. The kids play together somewhere. Giggles. The women work in the kitchen, talking and wearing aprons and taking pies out of the oven. Maybe sipping wine as they get the table ready. The women call the men to dinner and everyone gathers at the table. Talk is light. I hear the sound of my aunt's laughter and my dad saying something silly to my sister. It's just easygoing and cheerful. Afterward, the women take care of dishes and the men go back to the TV and football game. Somebody is snoozing on the couch.  I know, very chauvinistic, but these are my memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I told my DH this and he had to smile. OMG, TV with Wacky P?! Ha. NO.WAY.IN.HELL. Light and easy conversation? Not with that crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "See, she wants me to come to her house and do things her way. And that's fine. I'll do it. But she wouldn't return the favor if she came here." She'd make some snide comment or disparaging remark. So it's all well and good that they want family to be closer with each other. The problem is, they insist it be solely on their terms. So as far as I'm concerned, they don't play fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is it's been a heck of a week, and the rest of the year looks a little rocky too.  But now I am mama bear!  I will defend the interests of this baby and preserve our own family harmony.  So, look out, Wacky P!  &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7442930975879446887?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7442930975879446887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7442930975879446887&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7442930975879446887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7442930975879446887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/wacky-p-suggestions-and-traditions.html' title='Wacky P, Suggestions and Traditions'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5400682986141449858</id><published>2009-10-18T09:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T11:27:49.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Post about Mom</title><content type='html'>My mom went home yesterday. I took her to the airport at about 3 o'clock. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the guilt sets in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always have to sort through and manage my feelings of guilt after a visit with my mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's my mom and I love her, yet...there is not much about her that I like very much. Add that to my character flaw of impatience, and it makes for perfect guilt breeding ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is 64 years old going on a cranky 87. She is very negative, and most of what she likes to talk about is how annoyed she is with a neighbor, her homeowners' association, the clerk at the grocery store, something that a former co-worker did, how everything is a rip-off these days, etc., etc., etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has virtually no friends. Her only friends are long-ago friends who live in other states. She is not social, has no interest in joining clubs, taking classes, participating in any group or having to interact with other people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is planning to retire and move here from Arizona to be nearer to me. No one wants to grow old alone, and she is virtually estranged from my two sisters who live in Texas and Massachusetts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has become a bit forgetful, I think because most of her activities include watching celebrity gossip TV shows and HGTV. She has no interest in current events, world issues, local politics or anything that requires critical thinking skills. She has a knee problem, so she is not very physically active. She's just a tiny bit overweight, but she groans and complains about physical aches and pains as though she's got one foot in the grave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just frustrated. I find it difficult to be around her for very long. It is difficult to listen to one negative, bitter tirade after another. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The purpose of this visit was to go around and look at possible places for her to live when she moves here. So I drove us all over town the past 4 days going mostly to new construction developments. If anyone knows of a new one story home in a neighborhood near me, with granite counter tops, big kitchen, open rooms, lots of storage, two car garage, large walk-in closets, nice big bathrooms with double sinks, three bedrooms, about 1800 square feet, no homeowners' association dues, 3% interest rate and a price tag of, say $225,000....would you please let me know. Or, perhaps you'll have better odds buying the winning lottery ticket. It's not like she's asking for much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She did bring me bagfuls of infant clothes. Mostly used from my nephew (that he wore 20 years ago), but in perfect condition. We went to the stores once during her visit, and she aimed for the baby section, but would only touch, point out or comment on things that were pink, ruffled or said "Our little Princess" on them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I know my baby is a boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also went to my Friday morning OB appointment with me. As we waited in the waiting room, a young mom had her 2 month old baby girl with her. She prepared to breastfeed the baby and draped a blanket over her shoulder. She position the baby and fed her for a few minutes until the receptionist called the young mom's name. The mom said, "Oh, just a minute please" and as she removed the baby from her breast she looked at us, smiled, and commented, "Just enough to get her through the appointment." I just smiled and nodded and said she had a cute baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom leaned over to me and said, "&lt;em&gt;You're&lt;/em&gt; not going to nurse, are you?" I said, "Yes, of course I am!" She asked, "Well, how will &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; feed the baby?" The young mom, who was finally now standing and putting her baby in its stroller just grinned. I said, "Well, mom, I can put the milk in a bottle." She replied, "Oh."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they called my name, my mom wanted to come too, which was fine with me. The girl first led me to the scale. I stepped up and she slid the weights until the lever balanced. I'm up a total of 11 pounds. I stepped off and the girl was already walking ahead of me down the hall, leading us to the exam room. My mom? Well, she said aloud, "Let's see who weighs more, mother or daughter?" and she climbed up on the scale to weigh herself! I said, "Mom! Get off of there, don't play with things! Let's go" and I just about grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down the hall with me. As though everyone had the time to stand around and wait and think it was cute that my mom wanted to try out their scale! What was she thinking?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I told my husband about the scale incident, he asked if I had any real concerns about my mom's ability to care for our child. I guess my mom is planning to be our day care provider. She did great with my nephew 20 years ago, but...well...she's older now. Not that 64 is old....but SHE is old. We didn't expect her to be our full-time caregiver, and when I mentioned this to her, she said, "Well, who else are you going to get?" And she basically argued that there is nothing else she will have to do. She doesn't want to get a part-time job. She doesn't want to join anything. She doesn't want to do anything. I don't think our child would be in danger with her. I don't think she'd forget him or leave him in the car or anything like that. She just doesn't really pay attention or think outside of her own little world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So a few times over the course of the visit my patience wore thin. I snapped at her or responded with a short temper. Then I felt guilty. It's always this way. Love my mom, but feel frustrated, bored, exasperated, agitated, irritated....until I snap. The thing is, &lt;em&gt;she&lt;/em&gt; thinks she's smart, clever, wise and that she and I think just alike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she has to go home and get her house ready to sell. She'd like to spend one last winter in Arizona and she thinks she'd probably move here sometime around May of next year. One thing is that she is a meticulous housekeeper and her home, which is 7 years old, is in perfect condition. So I think it will sell pretty quickly. In a way I'll be glad to have her here. I just hope she doesn't expect that I will want to spend all my spare time and weekends with her. Yes, of course, taking the baby and going with my mom to the park or a pumpkin patch or summer kite festivals will be fun. But I also need alone time with my family, my husband and child. Which is why I would prefer my mom to take an interest in &lt;em&gt;something &lt;/em&gt;other than me and my family. To have a life of her own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband thinks maybe the baby will give her something positive to think about for a change.  Maybe it will help her be less negative and get her out more.  I hope so.  For everyone's sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess time will tell.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5400682986141449858?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5400682986141449858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5400682986141449858&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5400682986141449858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5400682986141449858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/long-post-about-mom.html' title='Long Post about Mom'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8152900411511699137</id><published>2009-10-15T20:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T20:51:16.699-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Been MIA</title><content type='html'>Frustrating, but not a true disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a a pretty heavy duty storm here Tuesday.  Rain all day, blowing sideways in gusty winds.  Lots of tree branches down, some big limbs along tree-lined streets.  Debris and leaves everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our power was out when I got home from work.  That was Tuesday at about 6 pm.  Guess what?  It just came back on today,  Thursday, at 6:19 p.m.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two nights in the dark.  &lt;em&gt;Two days &lt;/em&gt;without use of blow dryer or other electric hair implements.  Um no coffee!  Hello!  This morning we threw away everything in the freezer and some of what was in the refrigerator.  Wednesday morning I put on my makeup by flashlight.  No landline phone (and unable to recharge cell except when driving).  The candles we burned once evening fell began making me choke with smoke after a while.  And of course, I was unable to use my computer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I just say, it was not fun.  Even my DH said, "If we just had use of a coffee maker, the refrigerator and one light in the living room, it would be like camping.  We had less than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it was a bit frustrating, and not fun to throw so much food away, but I just remembered and thought about the people who went through Hurricaine Katrina a few years ago.  Okay, &lt;em&gt;those&lt;/em&gt; people had it bad.  So I can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom is in town.  It's been okay so far.  She and I cleaned up the back yard today, raking leaves and picking up branches and twigs.  We've been out to eat a lot (obviously no cooking or refrigeration at my house the past few days).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a lot of catching up to do on all your blogs.  I hope, hope, hope all is well.  I've missed you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8152900411511699137?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8152900411511699137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8152900411511699137&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8152900411511699137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8152900411511699137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/ive-been-mia.html' title='I&apos;ve Been MIA'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2900726812870323721</id><published>2009-10-12T19:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T20:30:58.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Partying, Puking, and Family Matters</title><content type='html'>I went to a party Saturday night. A former co-worker of mine threw a huge surprise party for her partner. It was a 60's theme party to celebrate her partner's 50th birthday and being 5 years breast cancer free. Definitely reasons to celebrate!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband didn't go with me. He doesn't like crowds or noise or parties that last more than, say, 45 minutes. So I cut some ivy from our yard, stripped most of the leaves, twisted the vine into a wreath, added some pretty yellow and blue fake flowers, and had myself a flower child crown. I frizzed out my hair, wore some peace earrings and a tie-dyed peace t-shirt, and headed out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The surprise went off beautifully and the party was a riot. Food, a bartender (of course I drank sparkling water), a DJ, karaoke (no, I don't sing, but enjoyed listening to others) and some old friends with whom I used to work. It was definitely loud, lots of laughter and dancing and J. Lennon glasses and headbands and fringed vests. Very cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pulled my friend the hostess aside at one point. Took her into another room and shared the news of my pregnancy. She was overjoyed and hugged me and said all the right things. She also said (at least 3 or 4 times) how my DH and I would surely have a beautiful child, what with our Dutch/Irish genes. I do think we will have a beautiful child, but I'm pretty certain the baby won't look like either of us. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad I went to the party. I got home around 11:30 p.m.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was up half the night with a puking dog. Yes, &lt;em&gt;me&lt;/em&gt;.  My husband did something while I was out that turned out not to be such a good idea.  He fed her popcorn, heavily coated with garlic powder and Parmesan cheese. And I don't know what else. It made for a long night, lots of soiled towels and one sad-faced, heaving dog. We've decided not to feed them people food anymore.  Ya think?  This was a good lesson for him as to: You don't need to give her something just because she wants it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom arrives Wednesday morning for a 4-day visit. I have an OB appointment Friday morning, but I don't think there will be an u/s. Just doppler. Which is fine with me. At our big gender determination u/s at the end of the month I want it just to be my DH and I there. Sad, eh? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH warned me last week that his mom would be calling over the weekend, wanting to talk to me. I said, "Talk to me about what?" And he said she wanted to congratulate me on the pregnancy. Well, she called, and I took the phone from him as I rolled my eyes. Actually, though, it wasn't too bad. I kept waiting for the really personal questions to come.  The whole conversation felt palpably tense and awkward, but she only asked me very basic questions like how am I feeling and did I have any morning sickness and when is the baby due. Then she asked about my job and shortly thereafter we wrapped it up and I handed the phone back to my DH. Whew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now he just has to tell Wacky P! He thought it would be nice if I called her and shared the news (Wacky P is my sil, for those who may not know), but I swiftly declined. No way. I ran down the list for my DH of all the mean things she's said and done to me, and he agreed that he would tell her. Of course he has procrastinated more than a week now! Ha! Not so easy, even for the guy who has known her 40+ years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This ought to be interesting.&lt;br /&gt;______&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh!  I wrote that whole post above and realized I didn't address all of your guesses as to gender!  Tomorrow I will respond!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2900726812870323721?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2900726812870323721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2900726812870323721&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2900726812870323721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2900726812870323721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/partying-puking-and-family-matters.html' title='Partying, Puking, and Family Matters'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6156120924552439330</id><published>2009-10-08T18:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T10:26:46.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work, Part II and Getting Nutty</title><content type='html'>To answer a few questions about my previous post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much maternity leave do I get? I have no idea how long I'll be able to take. First, my probationary period is 12 months, so I won't even have completed that when the baby comes. I also won't qualify for FMLA benefits because I'll have worked there less than a year. But I believe that the state policy says I can take up to 12 months. Of course I won't have very much sick/vacation time by then. So I think it will depend on how long my DH and I can manage financially. Because I was laid off for 9 months and had to pay out of pocket for fertility treatments, our savings was hugely depleted. So....we'll see!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When will I spill the beans at work? Well, I guess 20 weeks should be time enough. Half way through the pregnancy will give my bosses sufficient notice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for telling co-workers, I've given it some thought. I want it to be as simple and low drama as possible. Of course I'll tell the bosses first. I could take care of the announcement to everyone else in one fell swoop during a staff meeting. I'd just casually toss it out there at the end of the meeting. You know, when the boss says, "Okay, that's all I have. Anybody have anything else?" I'd say, "I just wanted you all to know that I'm about ___ weeks pregnant and the baby is due around mid March." Then handle the fallout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other matters, I'm starting to get nutty about finding out the baby's gender!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://elderlyovary.blogspot.com"&gt;Lorraine&lt;/a&gt; announced yesterday that she is having a boy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://optimisticallyhopeful.wordpress.com"&gt;One Small Wish&lt;/a&gt; found out she is having a girl!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://canyouimagine123.blogspot.com"&gt;Dawn&lt;/a&gt; learned that she too is having a girl!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course &lt;a href="http://anofferingoflove.wordpress.com"&gt;An Offering of Love's&lt;/a&gt; baby girl is due in just 3 weeks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://stillhopeful-after40.blogspot.com"&gt;Conceiving Life After 40&lt;/a&gt; is holding out (amazing!) until the birth to find out her baby's gender!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm SO ready to know! Son or daughter? Having a boy to even out the numbers above or adding to the girl list? I keep looking at my U/S pic and trying to decide if I think it looks more like a girl or a boy. Silly, huh? As though I could tell from the profile. But I want to know!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My gender-determining u/s isn't for another 3 weeks. Can I possibly wait that long? I am trying to be satisfied with the reassurance of the daily doppler. But I'm really ready to know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Humor me, okay? Here is my most recent profile u/s (I think it was from 12 weeks). Just make a stab - make a guess...boy or girl? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ss9xMlnYbUI/AAAAAAAAASg/_FlMQVtpsU0/s1600-h/DSC03824.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ss9xMlnYbUI/AAAAAAAAASg/_FlMQVtpsU0/s320/DSC03824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390651740055432514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6156120924552439330?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6156120924552439330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6156120924552439330&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6156120924552439330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6156120924552439330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/work-part-ii-and-getting-nutty.html' title='Work, Part II and Getting Nutty'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ss9xMlnYbUI/AAAAAAAAASg/_FlMQVtpsU0/s72-c/DSC03824.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-745504103439189663</id><published>2009-10-07T18:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T19:40:06.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Month Review</title><content type='html'>Interesting how workplace drama begins to unfold once you've been at a new job for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few of the characters in my office:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LazyGuy. He delegates work that he (as the lawyer) should be doing (like drafting discovery) to non-lawyer support staff. He managed to get several of his cases transferred to me...cases he's had in his possession for &lt;em&gt;four months &lt;/em&gt;but had not yet even read the case file. Oh, and he strolls in around 9:30 each morning and leaves between 3:30 and 4:30. Nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CandyMonster. This is the guy who sticks his hand into the candy jar located on the reception desk about 20 times a day. The candy jar is filled by those who generously buy candy with their own money, and include mostly secretaries (note: those who have the lowest salary in the office). I've filled the jar a couple of times too. CandyMonster? No, he's never brought in anything to contribute to the candy jar. He just takes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DeceptiveReceptionist. Our receptionist is deceptive in appearance only. He is in his 30's.  His head is shaved bald. He has tattoos on his neck and arms. He is a rather stout fellow and I was a little afraid of him at first. But it is deceptive. He is soft spoken and polite and patient and a good guy. He says "Hello, Miss Betsy" when I arrive in the morning. He jokes good naturedly with the guy who delivers the mail each day. He has a 10 year old daughter I hear him talking to softly and sweetly on the telephone. Looks can be deceiving!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NeedyGirl. Young secretary who seems to crave constant attention. She'll pop into my office to tell me how she's unhappy with her body and feeling overweight. All 5'0" and 97 pounds of her. Or how she SO would love a cup of coffee but she's given up $5 name brand coffee. Um. Ok. Sorry, babe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CoolLady. Secretary in her 50's who has a big ole crush on A-dam L amb.ert (from Amer. Idol). Pictures of him are taped all over her cubicle! She's spunky and cool and funny and I enjoy life when she's around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boss is pretty nice and easygoing. I stay busy, work hard and try not to worry too much about what's going on around me. If I keep doing that, I figure I'll rise to the surface pretty quickly in that office. It's just interesting to sit in my office and watch so many things play out in the hallway. I notice them, make a mental note (you never know when or how information will come in handy down the road) and go back to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And btw, they still don't know I'm pregnant.  And I still don't know how I'm going to tell them.  But when I do, I want them to think: "Really? Wow, she never whined or complained or needed special attention...she just worked hard and stayed focused."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least that's what I hope they'll think.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-745504103439189663?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/745504103439189663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=745504103439189663&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/745504103439189663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/745504103439189663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/two-month-review.html' title='Two Month Review'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6927543054669209020</id><published>2009-10-03T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T20:47:21.227-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happenings</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Widget&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I added a new pregnancy widget. Information at a glance!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Spilling the Beans&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We told my circle of IRL friends about the pregnancy at a house party on Sunday. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but I brought my U/S photos with us. After we had eaten and everyone was just relaxing and talking, I got the envelope and told them I had some photos to show them. I pulled out the most recent u/s pic, held it up for them all to see and just said, "Well, here's our baby at 14 weeks." There was some squealing.  Then I started handing around the photos for everyone to see. My friends were sweet and congratulatory and the women wanted to touch my belly (which was fine with me). &lt;br /&gt;The men shook my husband's hand. One of the women said, "I thought you'd gained some weight but I didn't want to say anything." Overall it went pretty well. We didn't say a thing about the embryo adoption or IF or miscarriages or any of that. It was too chaotic with too many people (including one question-asker that rivals my MIL) and I don't want to share all of the details with all of them anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also telephoned and told my younger sister about the pregnancy. When I described the process of egg donation (which is part of our story to the extent that donor eggs helped make our embryos), she zeroed in on the donor issue. She thought $10,000 - $12,000 would not be enough money to compensate someone for donating 10-20 eggs because such donation would surely hasten the donor's onset of menopause by that many months. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She reasoned that if women are born with all the eggs they will ever have, and she gives dozens away, her menopause will occur as many months sooner as number of eggs she donated. My sister was fixated on this. I don't think she's correct though, because I think we have immature eggs available long after menopause, but we lack sufficient hormone concentrations to mature those eggs. So I think it's an age/availability of hormone issue rather than an egg depletion issue. Anyone out there research this? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any rate, my sister did congratulate me and was as excited as she is able to get over anything that doesn't directly involve her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And More Names&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Unbelievably my DH and I found TWO boys' names that we both like! This is a landmark achievement, I tell you. We are certainly not settled on it, but it appears that if we have a boy, he will have a name!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Trying to Wait&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I must admit, I'm starting to get excited about learning the baby's gender. I listen to that heartbeat every day and I want to attach an identity to it. My son. My daughter. I want to know who is in there! We'll find out in 25 more days. Unless of course I get Dr. Green at my OB appointment on the 16th and can talk him into taking a peek!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6927543054669209020?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6927543054669209020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6927543054669209020&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6927543054669209020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6927543054669209020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/happenings.html' title='Happenings'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7088273097698533672</id><published>2009-10-02T18:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T19:37:59.174-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Blessing of a Journey Shared</title><content type='html'>It's October. How I love autumn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The days have just begun to cool off here. The mornings are chilly enough to cause my DH to put on a long-sleeved fleece pullover (although he'll continue to wear shorts in the house through the winter). He even went to the store to buy me a canister of instant hot chocolate that I keep in a drawer at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The season changes. Time marches on. Where has it gone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started this blog in April. It's been six months. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much has happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've met wonderful blog-sisters. How you've changed and enriched my life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've followed your cycles. Your lives. Your successes. Your losses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned an entire dictionary of IF terms and abbreviations (I still remember wondering for the longest time what "AF" was and one day it finally dawned on me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forged my own way through a cycle, only to be sorely disappointed when it was cancelled. You were there to console and help me keep going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went on to have a successful cycle. And here we are, 16 weeks later, and I'm listening to my baby's heartbeat daily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried my hand at growing my first garden. We watched as those skinny green legs first sprouted from the dirt, then grew into full fledged plants. They leafed out, they bloomed, they fruited. The remnants of those plants have now been plowed under. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I struggled with worries about a new pregnancy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I waited and watched and hoped and prayed and listened as each of you traveled your own journey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think of each of you now, and where you are in your lives. Some have had their babies. Some are about to. Some are pregnant and half way or more through their pregnancies. Some are newly pregnant. Some are waiting to start a cycle. Some are just waiting. One had 2 beautiful embies transferred TODAY (congratulations, EB!). Some may be deciding whether to keep trying at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But wherever we are, geographically, in our lives, in our cycles, in our pregnancies, in our hopes, in our wonderings, in our concerns....we continue to be together. Bound by these experiences we have chosen to share with each other. And we continue to return, on a regular basis, because each of us has found that what we &lt;em&gt;give&lt;/em&gt; and what we &lt;em&gt;receive&lt;/em&gt; in this blogworld, is something precious and wonderful and irreplaceable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kindness of a friend. Support, understanding, acceptance and encouragement without judgment. The knowledge that we are not alone, that we are cared for, that someone is thinking about us and wishing us well. That people worry about us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the real treasures of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as the leaves turn color and begin to drift earthward, I consider all of these things and send a silent prayer of gratitude and joy into the universe.  Thank you all for sharing your journey with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ssa3CZtyqzI/AAAAAAAAASY/YVvtdEI4SMc/s1600-h/trees.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ssa3CZtyqzI/AAAAAAAAASY/YVvtdEI4SMc/s320/trees.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388195256085949234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7088273097698533672?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7088273097698533672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7088273097698533672&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7088273097698533672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7088273097698533672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/10/blessing-of-journey-shared.html' title='The Blessing of a Journey Shared'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Ssa3CZtyqzI/AAAAAAAAASY/YVvtdEI4SMc/s72-c/trees.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6865199150921819491</id><published>2009-09-30T19:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T20:52:57.189-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Things Never Change</title><content type='html'>A new attorney started working in my office this past Monday. I'm no longer the newest newbie! Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's a nice young woman, younger than me. She came from a law firm where I happen to know a few people. So I asked her, "Say, do you know Jane Jones?" Yes, in fact she did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her that Jane Jones was in my law school class. Jane's husband was also in our class and that's where they met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I was just making conversation. I never really liked Jane all that much. Why? Oh, because she effortless graduated 2nd in our class. Because she's young and cute with pretty hair and a pretty face. She's got a nice tiny figure, a brilliant mind, won everything she entered and....well...life just appears to come too damn easy to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was just making conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now...you know what my new colleague told me at that moment, don't you? Yes, you do. Perfect Jane and her similarly perfect husband are expecting their first perfect child. In November.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I know I'm pregnant. I'm happy and overjoyed and have no right to begrudge anyone anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But some feelings run deep and some things don't change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure Perfect Jane and her husband decided when they wanted to start a family and were pregnant the next month. I'm sure she never had a worry or a problem with her pregnancy. I'm sure she never spotted. I'm sure both sets of grandparents are over the moon, buying them truckloads of gifts. I'm sure Jane is a glowing preggie, no bloat or mask or weight gain except in her gorgeously round belly. I'm sure Jane's labor and delivery will be a piece of cake, her brow barely breaking a sweat. I'm sure she'll be back to her pre-pregnancy weight a mere two months after giving birth. I'm just so sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I react like this? Why did I feel such a surge of animosity for her pregnancy when I've got a happy pregnancy of my own? Maybe I've felt so defeated and on the receiving end of the short stick for so long, that it's hard to change that pattern of thought. Maybe I'm just envious of people who, in my view, seem to have lady luck ride in their laps all the time. I don't really know. I just know that I caught myself having this string of thoughts and a separate part of my brain was thinking, "Wow, you've got issues, girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Facing my new colleague as she gave me the news of Jane's current status, I simply smiled and said, "Oh, how nice!" At least I'm also good at reacting quickly.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6865199150921819491?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6865199150921819491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6865199150921819491&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6865199150921819491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6865199150921819491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/some-things-never-change.html' title='Some Things Never Change'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-9154437658826369581</id><published>2009-09-30T18:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T19:14:11.164-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On a Whim</title><content type='html'>Welcome new followers! So happy to have you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day at work I was kind of bored and bravely surfing the internet. Our computers are blocked from accessing blog sites and other various websites, but it doesn't block amazon or ebay or craigslist or other shopping sites. Strange. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on a whim I found myself looking at fetal dopplers. I hadn't even been thinking about them. It seems I was trying to recall how cheaply they could be rented and whether you would be locked in to a term of months. I should be able to start feeling the baby move sometime within the next month. But until then....the days seem long. Baby, are you alive in there? So I guess I wondered whether I could get one for just a month. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doppler arrived at my door the next day! Boy, that was easy. For $25 I have use of this very nice little doppler for the next 30 days. "For less than $1 dollar a day...." A commercial seemed to run through my mind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finding the heartbeat proved a little tricky. I kept hearing my own. I moved the probe here, there, to the left, to the right. Finally, before panic set in, I found it. Ohhhh, it's way down there? Just 1/2 inch above the pubic hairline. I clocked that racehorse at 142 bpm. I check it 3 times a day: morning, after work, before bed. That means I pay 33 cents for each opportunity to hear my baby's heartbeat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't think of a better deal on earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....And now....a mom update.....&lt;br /&gt;My mom emailed me yesterday. She said that the news came as a bit of a shock at first, but now that it's had some time to sink in, she's sooooooooooo happy for me and she's sorry I had to go through sooooo much to get here. She said she loved the illustrations in my book and commented on how there will be so much fun stuff to do getting ready for the baby. So, I feel a little better about it all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world is beginning to make sense again.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-9154437658826369581?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/9154437658826369581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=9154437658826369581&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/9154437658826369581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/9154437658826369581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-whim.html' title='On a Whim'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5143352836142551737</id><published>2009-09-28T19:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T19:13:19.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>...And the Next to Know</title><content type='html'>Thank you all for your support, encouragement and comfort. It means so much to me. Being on the phone with my mom the other day was like one long, slow deflation. I just kept sinking until I wanted nothing more than to finish the conversation and get off the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I think that with time she'll come around some. But of course I know how my mom is. How she's always been. How everything is about her. The world is out to make her life miserable, by the way. It's a conspiracy (as though no one else has day-to-day issues to deal with). But still....I had hoped that this time would somehow be a little different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad called Sunday morning. He was quiet at first and then said, "C [his wife] says 'congratulations.'" I asked, "Do you say congratulations too?" He laughed his gentle, sweet, loving laugh and said, "Yes, of course, congratulations, honey."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He too said it was quite a surprise and then asked how I was feeling, if I'd had much morning sickness, and if we were busily getting a nursery ready. He was kind and sweet and accepting. When I said that I hadn't felt comfortable saying anything prior to this (because of the miscarriages) he quickly said, "No, of course, I understand." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's my dad. Kind and gentle and understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My older sister (the one with the 21 year old son) called today, so I took the opportunity to tell her the news by phone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "Oh, you know St. Patrick's Day is next March I think. Guess what's going to happen right around that time?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asked casually, "What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "I'm going to have a baby."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, she was delighted and tickled. At least she was delighted and tickled &lt;em&gt;after&lt;/em&gt; she asked me two or three times if I was serious and for real???? She asked me how I felt and she was excited and giggled when I told her about my various u/s's and how one looked like a rectangle (the first one) and one looked like a chicken drumstick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talked about our mom and how she gave my sister grief 21 years ago, too. My sister was 22 or so at the time, not married (living with the father) and when mom first learned of my sister's pregnancy, she said to my sister, "Well.....take care of it." Meaning: go get an abortion. Wisely my sister waited long enough before telling our mom, so my sister replied, "It's too late for that." My mother said, "You can't even take care of yourself. How are you going to take care of a baby?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the truth is that my nephew is a pretty messed up kid for a lot of reasons, many of which have to do with my sister. But no one could have known the future back then and what my mom said to her was hurtful. So my sister was very supportive of me and insisted I not let our mom hurt my feelings or get to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were about to get off the phone my sister said, "Heeeeyyyy, I just realized. I'm going to be an auntie!" She really is happy for me. Which I appreciate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now...one ministerial act: I changed my blog template to accommodate the ticker I put up. But I'm not too fond of the new format, so I'm switching back. I'll just have to go find a different ticker that fits in the space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to you all.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5143352836142551737?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5143352836142551737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5143352836142551737&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5143352836142551737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5143352836142551737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/debriefing.html' title='...And the Next to Know'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-217943221479445047</id><published>2009-09-26T16:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T17:00:01.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Big Letdown</title><content type='html'>I suppose if you allow yourself to have expectations, they will occasionally be dashed. Trampled. Shattered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom received her cartoon booklet. She didn't call. I called her. She was...uh...flat. That's the best way I can describe it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "Well, that sure was a surprise. So you were sneaking around and sneaking out of town without telling your mom. You were laid off from your job, but you were buying expensive airline tickets.  And wasn't that a long drive to the clinic?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No "Congratulations!" No "I'm SOOOOO Happy!" No tears of joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asked if we'd purchased anything yet. I said not really because I had been too worried that the pregnancy might not make it and I didn't want to jinx anything. She said that she has some things of my nephew's when he was a tot that she was going to sell in a garage sale and it's a good thing she found out in the nick of time. Um, okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asked when we would find out the baby's gender. I told her the gender u/s is scheduled for October 30th. That I had hoped to be able to have it done during her visit, but that the doctor's office wanted to do it closer to 20 weeks. Then I told her that I'd heard about a place here in town that will do a 2D u/s for $65 - they can determine the gender and they give you 10 pictures and a DVD. So I told her I thought we could do that while she's here visiting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said "Oh, so you'd do that just to find out the gender sooner?" I said "No, I thought you'd want to see the baby live and moving." She said flatly, "Yeah, we could do that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was deflating fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her that as long as the baby is healthy and gets here in one piece, I don't really care whether it's a boy or a girl, and although we want to find out before it's born, I'm not in a huge rush to know this minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "I still hope it's a girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, mom, of course you do because I remember how hard it was for you to be excited or happy when my sister announced (21 years ago) that she was having a boy and how disappointed you were because you just find it so hard to love a baby boy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF. No, I didn't say all of that. I just thought it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she asked if we'd chosen names yet. I told her no. That we'd tossed around a couple, but hadn't really gotten anywhere. She launched into the names she likes. You know, she REALLY wants this kid to have a name SHE likes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point she said, "So no wonder you want me to move out there by you. I guess this means you want me there by March then, right?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?! Moving here was &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; idea. Not mine. I don't care where she chooses to live. And I told her no, she doesn't need to be here by March. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could tell, by the sound and tone of her voice, that she was really &lt;em&gt;trying&lt;/em&gt; to act happy and ask me questions.  But I know her well enough to know it wasn't genuine.  She was struggling to say the things she thought I wanted to hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And most of the conversation, by the way, was about anyone and anything other than me, this pregnancy or my baby. She talked about the garage sales she went to this morning. She talked about some sheets she wanted to buy at a department store. She talked about how long it took she and her brother once to drive to Myrtle Beach. She talked about a former co-worker of hers. Blah. Blah. Blah. I just sat there, silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mean to be selfish and self-centered here. The world is not about me. I just thought that maybe this one conversation could be about the most important thing that's happening in my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, love, not this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were getting off the phone she said something like, "I'm just so surprised and I have to get used to it all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, when we finally hung up, my husband came into the room. I told him how it went. He was sweet and supportive and great. He actually wasn't surprised at my mom's reaction (knowing how she is). I naively thought she would really be excited. But he caressed my belly and said "Well &lt;em&gt;we're&lt;/em&gt; happy about our baby no matter what anyone else thinks." And we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we talked about the cartoon booklet and also about reasons my mom might have reacted the way she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One: She's disappointed and hurt that I didn't mention any of this to her before now. That's reasonable. I assumed this one as a calculated risk. But after all the negativity I got when I mentioned the whole IVF thing last year, I decided not to tell her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two: She's disappointed that is not a "blood" baby. Not my blood. Not her blood. It's just some ole baby that came from some strangers she doesn't know. And, btw, it could (gasp!) be a boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three: The cartoon book overwhelmed her. There was a lot of information in there. A lot to think about. My husband thought perhaps her response would have been different if we'd just verbally announced, "We're pregnant!" And then worried about explanations later. People can respond to "we're pregnant" quicker and with more emotion than they can to a 30 page booklet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad and his wife haven't called yet. I'm pretty certain they should have received their copy by now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm re-thinking all those other copies of the cartoon booklet we have. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now though, I can see the pitfalls of making the announcement this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we'll just say "We're pregnant!" and not worry about offering the whole explanation to everyone. Maybe we'll bring out the booklet much later, after the news has been delivered and accepted. Or in some cases not at all. Besides, as my DH said, usually when a couple announce that they are pregnant, people don't jump right in and ask, "Is it yours? Did you do IVF?" Well, maybe those who have been down that path themselves, but that doesn't include the people in our RL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I really am disappointed in my mom's response. I was sure she'd be really happy. But this is &lt;em&gt;our&lt;/em&gt; family. Mine and my husband's. And &lt;em&gt;we're&lt;/em&gt; happy. So my mom can think whatever she wants. If it's a boy she can be disappointed. She can hate the name we choose. I don't give a flying cow bell. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. When things don't turn out the way you imagined, it can be a big letdown. Which sucks. But then again, I've known for quite some time that my life is not a fairy tale.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-217943221479445047?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/217943221479445047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=217943221479445047&amp;isPopup=true' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/217943221479445047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/217943221479445047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/big-letdown.html' title='A Big Letdown'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2573852000082538056</id><published>2009-09-24T21:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T22:13:11.418-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Paranoia and Pictures</title><content type='html'>I've been paranoid. At work lately I have been paranoid that my co-workers are looking at my belly. That they're silently assessing whether they think I'm pregnant. I wear long shirts and I try to stand tall and even suck it in as best I can. I hold papers or files in front of me when I can. I'm paranoid someone will guess. My husband says I just look like a chubby state worker. I had lunch with former co-workers last week and they didn't notice. But still, I watch my current co-workers' eyes and try to determine if they're thinking about my belly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silly, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I put the comic book in the mail to my parents and they should receive it tomorrow or Saturday. I'm excited to get their phone calls. I'm so glad you all enjoyed the book so much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were invited to a potluck get together with some of my good friends on October 4. I will be 16 weeks. Four months. I plan to take a comic book and at some point have one of the older children read it aloud to everyone (sweet K is now 14 and was the flower girl at my wedding). But I know my friends and they will guess and shout it out long before K gets half way through the book. I'm going to tell them to sit down, shut up and listen (well...maybe).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I scheduled my gender-determining ultrasound for October 30th. The girl who set the appointment said they like to wait until the 20 week mark because the physical development is best by then. So I have to wait a whole month. But I keep thinking that by Halloween we'll know whether our pumpkin is a boy pumpkin or a girl pumpkin. Unfortunately it will be 2 weeks after my Mom's visit, so she won't be here for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My oh my, the cat's going to be out of the bag! I still haven't decided how (or when) to let my boss/co-workers know. &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2573852000082538056?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2573852000082538056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2573852000082538056&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2573852000082538056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2573852000082538056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/paranoia-and-pictures.html' title='Paranoia and Pictures'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3422436971760256280</id><published>2009-09-22T19:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T20:48:45.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Story - via Comic Book</title><content type='html'>I am ready to send copies of my comic book to my Mom and to my Dad and his wife.  They will get the first two copies.  I'm holding off sending copies to my siblings until I'm sure my parents have received their copies.  Otherwise, I know my older sister will immediately call our Dad and blurt out, "Daddy, Daddy, can you believe BWUB is pregnant?!" and he won't yet have any clue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disaster averted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm attaching some photos of it below.  It's pretty long, so this is just to give you an idea of how it turned out.  And obviously most of you know the story pretty well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea if you'll be able to read the text in the photos below, but if you double click on a picture, it should open a larger version if you want to try to actually read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmPoBREp3I/AAAAAAAAAP4/PV3XgvN6pKc/s1600-h/DSC03929.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmPoBREp3I/AAAAAAAAAP4/PV3XgvN6pKc/s320/DSC03929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384492747195721586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cover&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmP3FOw8iI/AAAAAAAAAQA/9l26JPFqHZk/s1600-h/DSC03930.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmP3FOw8iI/AAAAAAAAAQA/9l26JPFqHZk/s320/DSC03930.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384493005957820962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;donor parents, as I imagine them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQH99gh_I/AAAAAAAAAQI/IwGGE2GssGM/s1600-h/DSC03931.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQH99gh_I/AAAAAAAAAQI/IwGGE2GssGM/s320/DSC03931.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384493296064169970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;donor parents visit the clinic and pour over possible egg and sperm donors&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQdC92naI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/PmbUODI3Fv0/s1600-h/DSC03932.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQdC92naI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/PmbUODI3Fv0/s320/DSC03932.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384493658185047458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;image close up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQqZHVkmI/AAAAAAAAAQY/grwxB_Oys1k/s1600-h/DSC03933.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmQqZHVkmI/AAAAAAAAAQY/grwxB_Oys1k/s320/DSC03933.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384493887468704354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after choosing egg and sperm donors, the goods are mixed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRBndylnI/AAAAAAAAAQg/Lt8p1F-_-Bw/s1600-h/DSC03934.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRBndylnI/AAAAAAAAAQg/Lt8p1F-_-Bw/s320/DSC03934.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384494286457968242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wife gets her transfer and remaining embies are frozen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRSAOvxVI/AAAAAAAAAQo/UjKjaDeKMJU/s1600-h/DSC03935.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRSAOvxVI/AAAAAAAAAQo/UjKjaDeKMJU/s320/DSC03935.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384494567983662418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;they have their babies and 5 years later begin to think about the embies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRjenlalI/AAAAAAAAAQw/p4ueFcnw3kI/s1600-h/DSC03936.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRjenlalI/AAAAAAAAAQw/p4ueFcnw3kI/s320/DSC03936.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384494868198681170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRxytXSiI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/La5rcA2AyKI/s1600-h/DSC03937.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmRxytXSiI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/La5rcA2AyKI/s320/DSC03937.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384495114109798946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BWUB and Mr. BWUB enter the picture (I always draw myself with curly hair)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmSHAcll7I/AAAAAAAAARA/O8Jf7KfdFVk/s1600-h/DSC03938.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmSHAcll7I/AAAAAAAAARA/O8Jf7KfdFVk/s320/DSC03938.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384495478574782386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after getting matched with our embryos and taking the meds, its time to go to the clinic for my transfer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmSj8H6vjI/AAAAAAAAARI/gGJwBekUks8/s1600-h/DSC03939.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmSj8H6vjI/AAAAAAAAARI/gGJwBekUks8/s320/DSC03939.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384495975630552626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;our puppies stay at the pet hotel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmS4S6LEvI/AAAAAAAAARQ/68mGOtSKnJc/s1600-h/DSC03941.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmS4S6LEvI/AAAAAAAAARQ/68mGOtSKnJc/s320/DSC03941.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384496325344301810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after a 2ww, we get some good news!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTVrzZJ9I/AAAAAAAAARY/H7GLJ7u7zTg/s1600-h/DSC03942.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTVrzZJ9I/AAAAAAAAARY/H7GLJ7u7zTg/s320/DSC03942.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384496830242957266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;close up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTjdsiPgI/AAAAAAAAARg/p_Z1SNYEYCE/s1600-h/DSC03943.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTjdsiPgI/AAAAAAAAARg/p_Z1SNYEYCE/s320/DSC03943.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384497066974264834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my first u/s&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTwljqNqI/AAAAAAAAARo/T7gftQeyCnc/s1600-h/DSC03944.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmTwljqNqI/AAAAAAAAARo/T7gftQeyCnc/s320/DSC03944.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384497292422821538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;waiting, worrying, working and going for u/s's&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUBdanafI/AAAAAAAAARw/fhTVvb1QENA/s1600-h/DSC03946.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUBdanafI/AAAAAAAAARw/fhTVvb1QENA/s320/DSC03946.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384497582295181810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we're ready to tell our secret!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUTQjYSKI/AAAAAAAAAR4/uGteZHzEgck/s1600-h/DSC03949.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUTQjYSKI/AAAAAAAAAR4/uGteZHzEgck/s320/DSC03949.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384497888079923362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;more u/s pictures&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUgdezzmI/AAAAAAAAASA/_N4OMNZKCoE/s1600-h/DSC03952.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUgdezzmI/AAAAAAAAASA/_N4OMNZKCoE/s320/DSC03952.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384498114888715874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a thank you to our donor parents for giving us the gift of a lifetime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUwrgwZMI/AAAAAAAAASI/9BIdG1XAMTU/s1600-h/DSC03953.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmUwrgwZMI/AAAAAAAAASI/9BIdG1XAMTU/s320/DSC03953.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384498393532884162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the end (sort of), which needs to be modified to say 5 1/2 months&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you enjoyed it!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3422436971760256280?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3422436971760256280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3422436971760256280&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3422436971760256280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3422436971760256280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/our-story-via-comic-book.html' title='Our Story - via Comic Book'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrmPoBREp3I/AAAAAAAAAP4/PV3XgvN6pKc/s72-c/DSC03929.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-922670524175032706</id><published>2009-09-21T21:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T21:47:33.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahhhhhh....</title><content type='html'>Soooooo, I took your advice and decided to shopping to buy some maternity pants last Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still trying to pinch pennies and thought it would be best to avoid the "real" maternity stores. I was certain they'd be pretty expensive. I opted to go to Penneys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of years ago when I was pregnant with my second pregnancy (that subsequently ended in miscarriage) I was shopping at Penneys for work clothes. One of the dressing rooms is right next to the maternity section. I remember standing in line, waiting for a dressing room, and bashfully eyeing the large letters on the wall that spelled "Maternity." I thought "It won't be too much longer and I'll be shopping in that section." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it wasn't to be. And the next time I waited in line at that dressing room a few months later, I completely avoided eye contact with the large "Maternity" sign on the wall. I despised it and refused to look in its direction. It was as though the letters mocked me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was 2 years ago. Now here I was, on Saturday, aiming directly for that section. I was definitely excited. But my excitement turned to disappointment when I finally got there and realized the entire maternity section at Penneys consisted of approximately 4 small racks. All of their yoga pants, jeans, dress pants and capris is this tiny section. I tried on several pairs, but only ended up with one pair that worked. It was a disappointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I headed into the main mall and thought that there might be a maternity store in the mall. Well, I was here, I might as well go check. Besides, all stores have sales from time to time. Maybe I'd get lucky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found the Motherhood store. And indeed there was a sale. I also had a really nice young woman clerk help me. She pulled several pairs of pants and jeans for me to try and showed me to a dressing room. I pulled the curtain behind me, set down my purse and noticed that there were small pillows with velcro straps on either side. A pillow to strap around you to to simulate a larger pregnant belly. I picked it up, wrapped it around me, and pulled my shirt down over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at myself in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, I lost it. Just for a minute I had to quietly cry with my face in my hands. Thank you, God, for this pregnancy. I might actually have a real tummy full of baby a few months from now. And I don't deserve it anymore than any of my blogger friends still awaiting their turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the pants were a success! A black twill pair, a gray twill pair and nice pair of jeans. Plus a brown pair from Penneys. Ahhhhh, my little belly pooch was so happy. The twill pants were no more expensive than what they had at Penneys, and the jeans, at $40, were a little more expensive, but they're pretty nice looking jeans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wore the brown pair to work today. Thank you everyone who suggested I finally break down and do it. So much more comfortable! &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-922670524175032706?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/922670524175032706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=922670524175032706&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/922670524175032706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/922670524175032706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/ahhhhhh.html' title='Ahhhhhh....'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-2633677185053171834</id><published>2009-09-20T16:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T16:49:27.063-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Moment of Gratitude</title><content type='html'>I have so much to reflect upon and be grateful for today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) I am officially in the second trimester of my pregnancy. So far, so good.  Hang with me, little one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2) Since our argument last weekend, my DH has been going out of his way to be kind and attentive and to take care things around here. Run and empty the dishwasher, carry in the new big bottle of laundry detergent, taking the dogs out at night, asking if I need anything from the kitchen while he's up...it's been nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) I am finished with the blasted progesterone capsules up the hoo hoo every six hours. They weren't the worst thing in life, but I was pretty sick of them by the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(4) I got an extra U/S (due to my unabashed pleading) on Friday, with a great new picture of my little gem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(5) I also got my flu shot on Friday at the OB's office. The nurse who gave it to me commented that she hoped they'd be getting more preservative free doses (for the preggies) soon. I got the second-to-last dose they had.  Lucky, or what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(6) My health insurance contact called me on Friday to tell me that the issue of my having paid non-contracted rates out of pocket to the Outpatient Monitoring Clinic has been researched and the clinic has been directed by the insurance company to submit all claims for all visits I had with them because my U/S's and blood work were covered services! They further informed the clinic that once the explanation of benefits is issued (by the insurance company, telling me what I should have paid), the clinic will be expected to issue me a refund! My rough estimate (and surely my math could be wrong) is that they might owe me as much as $1,700!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course there are always problems to be handled and crap to deal with, but even so, I am so, so grateful for all that is good.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-2633677185053171834?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/2633677185053171834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=2633677185053171834&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2633677185053171834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/2633677185053171834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/moment-of-gratitude.html' title='A Moment of Gratitude'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4659149045125211840</id><published>2009-09-18T12:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T13:15:25.605-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Booted Off the Gravy Train</title><content type='html'>Silly me. I was just ridin' that gravy train. Thinking that for the rest of my pregnancy I could just order up U/S's at 2 week intervals like a side of hash browns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, BWUB, wake up...you're dreaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH went with me to my OB appointment this morning. The gal took us back, weighed me (mhm, gained 2 pounds since last month), and led us to the room. I sat on the exam table and she took my blood pressure, then gave me some paperwork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is for your 2nd trimester screening." Ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is for your 18 to 20 week U/S scan. You'll get that done by the perinatologist and I'll call the referral today."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;18-20 week U/S?&lt;/em&gt; My head whirls around and I look to the right and then to the left. &lt;em&gt;There is no U/S machine in this room!! No U/S?!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said I would just be getting a doppler heart rate today. No U/S. Next U/S is at 18-20 weeks when they can check gender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But wait! I want an U/S!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd have to ask the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet, kind, young, Dr. Green (nickname since he's so new) came in. Remember, he had me hold the internal U/S wand in my hoo hoo so he could shut off the light switch across the room? Anyway, he came in and I blurted out that I wanted an U/S because, after all, I've now stopped the Delestrogen and the Progesterone and it's all me now and I need to see the baby to know it's alive and okay andpleaseohpleaseohplease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He opened the door and said, "Ok, let's go." He shot down the hall, us in tow, to a room with U/S machines.  No questions, no anything...he just did the abdominal U/S. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thank you, Dr. Green.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby was not lying on its back in the hammock today. So we didn't get a nice profile shot. Today baby was lying on its side, looking straight at us, or with its back to us...depending on how you look at it. Facial shots are kind of spooky b/c the U/S only captures the bone, so you're looking at a skeleton with dark holes for eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead, Dr. Green took this cool spinal shot. I can see windows through the skull showing bits of brain. The whole beautiful spinal column. Tiny butt cheeks. Curved shoulders. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrPlyYbOagI/AAAAAAAAAPw/UlBZ_BokE9k/s1600-h/DSC03906.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrPlyYbOagI/AAAAAAAAAPw/UlBZ_BokE9k/s320/DSC03906.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382898633350736386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course Baby dutifully wiggled and waved and moved about for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. Baby is okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I've been booted off the gravy train. No more U/S's every 2 weeks. Fortunately the 18-20 week one will be during the time my Mom is here, so hopefully I can get an appointment one day during her visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gravy train was a nice ride while it lasted.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4659149045125211840?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4659149045125211840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4659149045125211840&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4659149045125211840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4659149045125211840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/booted-off-gravy-train.html' title='Booted Off the Gravy Train'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SrPlyYbOagI/AAAAAAAAAPw/UlBZ_BokE9k/s72-c/DSC03906.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7413753586570952236</id><published>2009-09-17T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T20:41:42.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling the Pinch</title><content type='html'>13w5d u/s is Friday morning at 10:30. I just keep hoping the baby is still alive. I sneezed hard the other day and felt this stab in my left abdomen. What the heck was that? Did I hurt the baby? I've had some weird pinches and twinges. What's going on in there?! I kid you not, the worry continues to loom, although not as pervasively as it used to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I just wanted to share a quick story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a small office at work. My desk is only about 5 feet inside the door and faces the office door. Sitting behind the desk, I too face the door, but it's a nice big desk so it hides me from about the ribs down. I've told you that sometimes (more so lately) I unbutton my pants while I sit behind my desk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was "denim day." For some unknown reason (cookies, ice cream, chocolate and other sweet things that satisfy my sweet tooth) my thighs and butt have expanded and I barely fit into my jeans anymore. I hooked a rubber band through the button hole and looped it around the button. That way I could have the zipper down a little and the pants unbuttoned. The rubber band keeps everything close to your body so if you have a long shirt on, you can't really tell the pants aren't buttoned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was sitting there and even with the stretched rubber band, my belly felt uncomfortable. So I put my thumb down there and pulled the waist band of the pants out and away from my skin. Ahhhh, it felt so good. Using my other hand, I pulled my shirt down so it was over my pants-pulling hand and - presto - everything should look normal to someone walking by my door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting there with my thumb holding my pants away from me when suddenly my boss appeared in the doorway with a young woman. "BWUB, I want you to meet So-and-So, the new attorney we hired." The woman leaned toward me and stretched out her hand for me to shake. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yikes! I had to fish my thumb out from my pants and get my shirt pulled back down straight over the unbuttoned-but-held-together-by-a-rubber-band gap, and then jump up and shake her hand. I think I got away with it. But the adrenalin was pumping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate that I don't really have enough belly for maternity clothes but I've gained enough weight in my booty and thighs that the largest size jeans I have in my closet are squeezing me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid cookies.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7413753586570952236?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7413753586570952236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7413753586570952236&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7413753586570952236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7413753586570952236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/feeling-pinch.html' title='Feeling the Pinch'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6142256542330060114</id><published>2009-09-16T18:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T19:05:13.522-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crossing Bridges</title><content type='html'>So now my husband is &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; making an effort to do what he thinks I want. It's actually kind of cute. He'll be going about his business and then all of a sudden it's as though I can see the light bulb go on...oh!...he realizes...and comes over to me, eyes all bright and shiny, using a voice other than his usual voice (now speaking more softly and sing-songy) and he'll say, "Hi Sweetie. How are you doing today? How's the baby? Are you feeling all right? Later I'll give you a nice foot rub." And then he'll hug me and kiss me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, he really did take the conversation to heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not exactly that I wanted to be crooned over, but it's a start and it's an "A" for effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise, I'm just trying to get to Friday so I can have my U/S. Make sure things are okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom is coming to visit in the middle of October for 4 days. She currently lives in Arizona and is planning to retire soon. Once she retires, she wants to start thinking about selling her house and moving here. So the reason for her trip is to look at houses/condos where she might possibly live. She doesn't know yet about the pregnancy, but she will before she gets here. I thought she'd really appreciate going with me to an U/S appointment, so I'm going to schedule one for that time. I also thought we could do a little maternity clothes shopping together. I think she'll be overjoyed to get to share in these experiences. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually looking forward to getting the phone calls from my family after I send out the comic book.  They're going to be so surprised!  I mean...my Mom, my Dad and my sisters will be really excited for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH's family on the other hand....I'm dreading having to deal with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know my DH's mom is the Great Inquisitor. She asks a million and one questions every time we visit. So I said to my DH the other day (after his mother called and asked &lt;em&gt;him &lt;/em&gt;a million questions in an hour), "You know, the whole point of this comic book is to answer all the questions. Your mother better not ask me a million questions about it. Everything I want people to know is in the book."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I waited and looked at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He just said, "It's going to open a can of worms with her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Translation: Of &lt;em&gt;course&lt;/em&gt; she's going to ask a million questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked, "Won't your family ask questions?"  Well the truth is of course they will ask a few questions, but I really think that mostly they will just exclaim their joy.  They're just not the kind of people to ask lots of personal questions or need to know every detail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh. Would it be rude to tell my husband I've decided not to send the book to any of his family? Yeah, probably. I guess I'll just tell him to refer all questions to me and then I'll have a standardized answer something like, "I'm really not comfortable discussing that." I just don't feel the need to get really personal with her. We're not cozy, loving, intimate family and I just don't feel like sharing every detail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That bridge isn't here yet, but I can see it on the horizon.  First, though, I need to cross Friday's bridge and hope for a good U/S.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6142256542330060114?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6142256542330060114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6142256542330060114&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6142256542330060114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6142256542330060114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/crossing-bridges.html' title='Crossing Bridges'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4675979218873750364</id><published>2009-09-14T18:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T19:24:49.594-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a New Week</title><content type='html'>Thank you, everyone, for your concern and support.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hashed it out and made up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the crux of it all is just that I feel like I take care of so many things, I'm invested in every facet of our family and our lives and would like to see (1) some appreciation, (2) some initiative to pitch in and do things without being asked, and (3) some attentiveness, nurturing and real interest in aspects of our life together other than his own hobbies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hash Part 1 did not go so well. He got both defensive and offensive. Things are not his fault. They're my fault. I bolted out of here and went shopping (I only spent $15 so I didn't go nuts). When I came home 2 hours later he was soft and sweet and apologetic and said he'd try harder.  He had even taken out the folder given to me at my first OB appointment (which, during hash part 1 I commented that he hadn't even bothered to look at) and he talked about all the different classes I and we could take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, things are better in the BWUB household.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On other fronts, I'm pleased to say that I finished the comic/story book. Now in full color, it looks pretty cool. We took it to a copy shop and made one full set to see how well the colors copied. Not bad. Now we're just waiting for this Friday's U/S before we spend the cash to make about 13 full color copies. I still have "Gee, I hope the baby is still alive" thoughts. Plus we want to add Friday's U/S pic to the book. I'll post some of the cartoon frames soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you have a wonderful week.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4675979218873750364?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4675979218873750364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4675979218873750364&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4675979218873750364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4675979218873750364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-new-week.html' title='It&apos;s a New Week'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5552091847770933948</id><published>2009-09-11T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T12:42:27.925-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shake it Off</title><content type='html'>Today started like a big bowl of crappola for me.  It is the anniversary of two sad events, plus I'm all wound up at my spouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you really want to read about it, it's the previous post.  But I hate feeling sorry for myself for more than a split second and I wanted to delete the post.  Fran thought I should keep it up.  Okay, maybe.  We'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's time to move on and focus on happier things.  Super happy things.  Super-dee-duper-fantastically-wonderful happy things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://cindysblog-bangheadhere.blogspot.com"&gt;Cindy&lt;/a&gt; should have had her transfer this morning!  Two sweet embryos should be settling in and making their way to implantation!  Oh, Cindy, I'm so hopeful that you will get a strong BFP in 2 weeks.  I hope all went well (didn't see a post on your blog yet) and I just want you to know I rose from my wallowing this morning to think happy thoughts for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that one day, September 11th can come to mean happier things for us all.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5552091847770933948?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5552091847770933948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5552091847770933948&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5552091847770933948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5552091847770933948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/shake-it-off.html' title='Shake it Off'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8600149937742381943</id><published>2009-09-11T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T10:47:10.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Day</title><content type='html'>Lest anyone think my life is all sunshine and lollipops, let me assure you, it's not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is not a good day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, it's 9/11, and we all know the import of that. I went to ground zero in 2002 and was overcome with emotion seeing the giant, city block-sized hole in the ground. There simply are no words concerning that horror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also the anniversary of a friend's death. She was young, beautiful, the mom of a one-year old boy and in nursing school. It all ended the morning that her ex-boyfriend, the baby's father, beat and suffocated her to death. At her service, she looked like a shattered doll that someone tried to glue back together without much success. It's hard to hide dark bruises and a swollen face with make up.  I still remember you, Jess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, I hope it's just hormones making me overreact, but I'm really REALLY upset with my spouse right now. No "dear" in his name today. He did something Tuesday night that put me into a tailspin. Actually, it's just a single highlight in a pattern of behavior. And we haven't had an opportunity to hash it all out yet. It needs to be hashed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how one little event, mildly upsetting in and of itself, can trigger thoughts and worries of a much grander scale? It takes you down a whole other path. That's what happened. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I'm sitting here thinking, "WTF? Is this guy going to buck up and be the husband and father that both I and this baby NEED him to be, or what? Or is he going to continue to live his life selfishly and putting his own needs/wants first, to the detriment of his family?" Fucq that because I refuse to play that game or enable that behavior for the next 30 years. Weak, dependent, needy woman I am not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry to be such a downer today. And I can't bear to have this post hang around forever. I'm going to delete it later. I just needed to get it out....like a good, long scream.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8600149937742381943?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8600149937742381943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8600149937742381943&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8600149937742381943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8600149937742381943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/bad-day.html' title='Bad Day'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-6318440829635410136</id><published>2009-09-07T15:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T16:11:16.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Things to Come</title><content type='html'>I have been diligently working on the story book/comic book by which we will finally reveal our pregnancy to family and close friends. It's been a fun project, so I've found that as I draw, write, erase and draw some more, the hours are flying by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The framework is finished. I have 21 half-sheet pages of text/cartoon, plus copies of our ultrasounds inserted in the appropriate places. Now all I need to do is finalize the detail in some of the drawings, colorize and wait to add the ultrasound from my upcoming September 18 appointment. Then we'll make several copies and put them in the mail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a preview of a couple of the (unfinished) cartoon frames (not in sequence):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRRAhmlHI/AAAAAAAAAPY/-89L55sg8Kk/s1600-h/DSC03836.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRRAhmlHI/AAAAAAAAAPY/-89L55sg8Kk/s320/DSC03836.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378865051348669554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRbEKZ5eI/AAAAAAAAAPg/WS2-Sd12mO8/s1600-h/DSC03837.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRbEKZ5eI/AAAAAAAAAPg/WS2-Sd12mO8/s320/DSC03837.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378865224123803106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRkcc11cI/AAAAAAAAAPo/nTZ-w1w4oto/s1600-h/DSC03838.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRkcc11cI/AAAAAAAAAPo/nTZ-w1w4oto/s320/DSC03838.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378865385262405058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you can make out the images, they're just sketched in pencil right now so they're not very dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH and I may not yet agree on a name, but one important thing we agree on is being open about use of donated embryos. We want this fact to be part of our child's knowledge, memory and sense of who he is. Without shame, without excuse, without secrets. I feel like we've been blessed with a miracle. Why should I try to pretend it is something it's not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course this doesn't mean I'm planning to tell the story to the grocery clerk or the TV repairman. But our child, our friends and our family will know the truth from the get-go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part of the reason my husband feels so strongly about full disclosure is because he did not learn until he was 10 years old that his oldest brother is actually his half brother. His mother had a first marriage (which my DH knew), from which his brother was born (which my DH did not know). His mom then married my DH's dad and had the remaining 3 kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my DH learned the truth, he was devastated. Not because his brother was not his "real" brother, but because he felt lied to, cheated, not trusted to know the truth. He has carried a shred of resentment about that his whole life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he is firm (and I agree) that our child will learn all about who he is and where he came from. First in simple, global terms. Later in more detail. But it will never be a shock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sil, Wacky P's two kids are both from sperm donors. The kids, now ages 10 and 5 (or 6) have no idea. She never wants them to know the truth. She wants them to believe that her husband (the only dad they've known) is their genetic father. But you know what happens with secrets. They eventually get out. Someone blabs. Someone slips. Someone forgets. And then what? Imagine how those kids will feel if they learn the truth at age 15 or 20?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just something to consider.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-6318440829635410136?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/6318440829635410136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=6318440829635410136&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6318440829635410136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/6318440829635410136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/of-things-to-come.html' title='Of Things to Come'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqWRRAhmlHI/AAAAAAAAAPY/-89L55sg8Kk/s72-c/DSC03836.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8408253044860345368</id><published>2009-09-02T21:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T19:26:05.192-07:00</updated><title type='text'>U/S, Info and a Plan</title><content type='html'>I loved your comments to my last post about baby names. Glad to hear it's not just me! So I'll divulge a little more. My DH seems bent on either naming the baby after his own family nationality (Dutch) or after his heroes. Thus, I'm getting "Henrick" "Kleef" "Eugenius" "Steve McQueen" and "Jim Rockford" tossed my way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, that would be a no x 5.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In more happy news, yesterday was my final Delestrogen shot! Yay. My DH said he'll miss giving them to me. Yeah, buddy, thanks. Next week I'll finish up with the progesterone and then the baby aspirin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course this all presumed the baby was still alive in there. I often still have doubts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I had an NT scan. That's the test where they measure the width or thickness of fluid in the back of the baby's neck. A measurement greater than a certain number is a possible indicator of Down's Syndrome or trisomy 18. They use the number in combination with some other blood work results to give you an "odds" determination. I know my egg donor was only 21, but I'm a fact and information glutton. Must know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH met me at the doctor's office. He hasn't seen an U/S in about a month, so I think he was excited to see the progress. I was first dumbfounded then thrilled with the tech told me to lie down on the table (don't I need to remove some clothing first?) and just unzip my pants. My first abdominal ultrasound!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, my husband didn't stand or sit next to me, holding and squeezing my hand. He was standing toward the foot of the table, gazing intently at the big screen on the opposite wall. Watching the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tech was proficient and described everything. There's the heartbeat (159!). There's a hand. There's a foot. There's the other foot. That's the stomach. There's the heart (could even see chambers and blood flow!). There's the bladder. There's the brain. That's where the umbilical cord attaches to the placenta. She made the measurements and gave us a strip of 12 pictures when we were done!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, the funniest thing was that the baby...well, it seems he is a break dancer. Or a popper or hopper or whatever they call them (I'm so out of touch). Lying flat on its back, it literally lifted upward, arched its back, and plopped back down. Twice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I cried for a minute when the baby lifted its hand to its mouth. And what long legs! It even has a nose. Can you imagine?! A nose! Okay, every little thing is a miracle to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the two best shots (in the second photo, the baby is not blowing a bubble, that's its hand!):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqB0d4nFWsI/AAAAAAAAAPI/CNAcaLP_k4o/s1600-h/DSC03824.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqB0d4nFWsI/AAAAAAAAAPI/CNAcaLP_k4o/s320/DSC03824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377426011841714882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqB0sbshjVI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/UN8Fe9hrQgI/s1600-h/DSC03827.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqB0sbshjVI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/UN8Fe9hrQgI/s320/DSC03827.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377426261777943890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Based on the current risk assessment, as compared with the risk of miscarriage from CVS testing, I think we're just going to wait and do the second trimester blood test screening and go from there. I just have a gut feeling that things are fine and I see no reason to go digging around in there right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also thought of a way to tell our news to close friends and family. I want to start on the project this weekend. My plan is to draw a little comic book. It will start with the donor parents who wanted a baby. How they went through IVF, successfully. How they wanted to help another infertile couple. How we were the lucky recipients. I'll cover the tests, the meds, the transfer, the wait. The BFP! And it will end with pictures of our u/s's. I figure this way, many of the questions will be answered and everyone will get a big picture of how it all worked. Once I get it done, I'll post some of the pictures that I draw for it.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8408253044860345368?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8408253044860345368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8408253044860345368&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8408253044860345368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8408253044860345368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/09/us-info-and-plan.html' title='U/S, Info and a Plan'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SqB0d4nFWsI/AAAAAAAAAPI/CNAcaLP_k4o/s72-c/DSC03824.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8148277000227622363</id><published>2009-08-31T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T19:44:35.559-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's in a Name?</title><content type='html'>First, thank you all for your reassurances that my picture post didn't make you hate me, that it's okay to put up some photos and that this being my blog, I ought to post what I want. With respect to that last item, it's true, but what makes blogging so fulfilling for me is the connection, interaction and back-and-forth I have with you. I could "document" my days in a private diary, but I wouldn't have gained anything I that I have as a result of my connection with you all. I treasure what we have and I would not want to hurt that connection for anything. So, thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now then, a little issue seems to be presenting itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to my nurse practitioner's first guess, the ancient Chinese gender test, and every other bit of folklore, I'm expecting a baby boy. I can visualize him, as a toddler, with his adorable hair parted on the side. I lick my fingers and smooth it down. He has an adorable little smiling face. Twinkly eyes. An untied shoelace. I love him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't know his name. And figuring it out seems to be presenting a wee problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My DH and I started tossing around names last weekend. I don't even know who started it. But there we were. I told him previously that I wanted a name that is normal. A nice, normal name that won't cause people to ask him, all his life long, "Huh? What's your name? How do you spell that?" But I don't want a top 10 name either. Although I absolutely love the name Jack, it's become too popular lately. I don't want him to be one of 6 Jack's in his little first grade class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband, on the other hand, is hell bent on picking the most bizarre, grotesque names I could possibly think up. Now I'm not going to tell you what any of them are, because everyone likes and dislikes different names, and maybe these are names you would think are adorable. But for each of us, there are names that we just automatically associate with horrible traits. The list is different for each of us, but you know what I mean. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I happen to think the name Benjamin is sweet, and Ben suits a man quite well. But maybe you grew up with a horrible nose-picking bully named Benny, and so the thought of naming your beloved child Benjamin turns your stomach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe you love the older names, like Edith and Matilda and Gertrude.  Maybe not.  Maybe you you associate them with wrinkled old women sporting white buns on their heads.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So just think for a moment about the names you yourself associate with (1) wife beater, belly hanging out, cigar smoking, beer drinking red neck; (2) the kid who will surely get beat up on the playground for his name that rhymes with something disgusting; (3) Nerdy, ears sticking out, buck tooth poindexter; (4) someone who smells like rotten eggs; (5) serial murderers; (6) unpronounceable foreign names; (7) an 80 year old man with burly tufts of hair growing out of his nostrils.....you get the idea.  These are the names my DH is suggesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally said, "Are you screwing with me? You would not seriously name a child that?!" I told him that I'm getting one chance (I hope) in this life to name a child, and I want it to be a name I at least LIKE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, he didn't care much for my choices either, for some reason I couldn't comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ironic thing is that we discovered tons of girls names we can agree on. I'm starting to think we ought to start praying for a girl. Otherwise that sweet little boy with his hair parted on the side, with the smiling face and twinkly eyes might have to go quite a while without a name.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8148277000227622363?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8148277000227622363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8148277000227622363&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8148277000227622363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8148277000227622363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/whats-in-name.html' title='What&apos;s in a Name?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5278274180886011845</id><published>2009-08-31T20:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T20:55:56.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gaffe?</title><content type='html'>Oh crap. I hope I didn't hurt any one's feelings or make you cringe with my last post. I swear that belly ain't baby. I wish it were. It's gas and bloat and cookies. I'm pooping less than my 10 pound dog these days. Serious. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it can be hard to see a baby belly when you're not yet pregnant. Every day I still say to my DH, "I hope the baby is still in there" and of course the unspoken word is &lt;em&gt;alive&lt;/em&gt;. I adore you all and would never want to make you feel bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just thinking that this is how I live now. It's in my face. It's with me everywhere I go. Trying to find something to wear. Figuring out which clothes I can't fit into anymore. Trying to do my hair to best hide the squirrely grays. It's in the mirror, it's there when I look down, it's my day and night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took that photo on the weekend. I would never wear such clingy clothes out of the house. During the week I wear baggy pants, baggy, untucked shirts and I bring a blazer or sweater to work (cold office). I generally look like a saggy baggy lady. Not fashionable at all.  Rather frumpy, in fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Certainly none of this is horrible. I don't mean to sound like a whiner. I could be vomiting my face in a toilet half the day. And I'm not. Of course the changes I am experiencing are expected and part of the daily progress. But I notice them as a change in &lt;em&gt;the way I see &lt;/em&gt;my evolving self. As I depart from being the person I was to becoming the person I will be during the next several months. Exciting. Scary. New. Someone I am not familiar with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for those of you just starting your cycle or planning to start it soon or in the future, I promise to be patient and kind to you when you are pregnant and you start complaining about your pants feeling tight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love you all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5278274180886011845?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5278274180886011845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5278274180886011845&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5278274180886011845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5278274180886011845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/gaffe.html' title='Gaffe?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3957656422296782101</id><published>2009-08-29T18:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T18:28:08.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Closer Scrutiny</title><content type='html'>This is the sequel to yesterday's post about gray hair and pudge.  I thought I'd actually show you some pictures. What the heck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the issue of hair dye, my OB told me after my second m/c that it is their belief that hair dye is safe during pregnancy because very little of the chemical is able to absorb into the scalp, and the dye that does absorb remains local (i.e., isn't circulated systemically throughout your body). But I know several IVF clinics tell you not to color your hair during the first trimester. My own clinic didn't say anything one way or the other, I just took it upon myself to quit coloring it.  My understanding is that the fetus is most susceptible to toxins and other harm during the first trimester when every part of its body is forming.  By the second tri, everything is pretty much in place and just needs to grow and finalize development.  I'm not advising anyone to color their hair or not, and of course I would direct you to your own doc or RE for his/her input.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hair has gotten long. The ends are so dry and full of split ends. Note that I cleverly included my temples in the photo, so you can see the wild gray hairs sproinging this way and that.  Well, you can sort of see.  Trust me, there are a lot more than you can see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpnS8_8EfLI/AAAAAAAAAOw/BQEZ0xJhb3c/s1600-h/DSC03786.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpnS8_8EfLI/AAAAAAAAAOw/BQEZ0xJhb3c/s320/DSC03786.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375559575640767666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't had a haircut or color since April. I used to color it regularly...trying to maintain the auburn color God (and my parents) gave me. Although it's impossible to actually get it to be my original color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking shoulder length, long layers and deep, rich, golden red for autumn. In the summer I like it to be a little lighter, blondish-red. And in the middle of winter, I try to go bright, Christmas red. What fun hair color is!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's the paunchy belly. At 10 weeks, with only one baby, I shouldn't be so round. Although you know me, I'm attributing much of it to constipation. But it could also be cookies, I suppose! :)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Spnd_SsXpwI/AAAAAAAAAPA/RN2pV6iiTSg/s1600-h/DSC03798.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Spnd_SsXpwI/AAAAAAAAAPA/RN2pV6iiTSg/s320/DSC03798.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375571709662832386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And how will I come out about the pregnancy to my co-workers?  I have no idea.  I can't think of a scenario that could possibly play out well.  I guess I'm hoping to hide it for as long as I can (please, cool weather, come soon so that I can wear blazers and cardigans and bulky sweaters!) until there's no denying the truth.  If anyone can think of a way that won't result in fanfare, questions or much attention, I'd love to hear it.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3957656422296782101?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3957656422296782101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3957656422296782101&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3957656422296782101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3957656422296782101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/closer-scrutiny.html' title='Closer Scrutiny'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpnS8_8EfLI/AAAAAAAAAOw/BQEZ0xJhb3c/s72-c/DSC03786.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8540326903168123243</id><published>2009-08-28T19:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T20:03:46.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weirder and Weirder</title><content type='html'>You know I've only been at my new job for 3 weeks. At yesterday's out of town meeting, 5 or 6 people from my department attended. One of them, K, was a gal who I only met once before. She is quite pregnant. In fact, with her large belly, I was amazed and impressed at how focused she was on work. She's fairly tall, but quite thin, and so her belly was pure basketball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I don't really know her that well, but after yesterday's meeting ended, I wanted to ask her some questions. I didn't want to be intrusive or nosy, so I said, "K, would you mind if I asked when you are due?" She was quite happy to chat about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her due date is October 4. Just over a month away. So I said something about being at this meeting, 2 hours from home, when she's due in just a month. She said, "Yeah, I know, I thought about that, but...." anyway, she came to the meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I opened my big mouth and told her a story (really, it's not a horror story, it's more amusing) about my friend who was 8 hours out of town a month before she was due and ended up having the baby, while out of town, on Christmas Eve!  Fortunately the baby, despite coming a month early, was perfectly fine (which I emphasized).  It just was completely unexpected and her husband and in-laws had to run out shopping on Christmas Eve to buy a car seat and baby things!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K didn't seem fazed a bit, and said her family is having a get together for an 80 year old uncle in the middle of September, at a location &lt;em&gt;3 hours &lt;/em&gt;from home. She thought maybe that would be too far. I just gulped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this morning we had a telephone conference (we are located in different buildings) to debrief yesterday's meeting. I presumed K was on the line with everyone else. About 20 minutes into the call, the lead person said, "Oh, I'm going to have to cut this short....I just got a message that K is in the hospital. She's in labor!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it's true. Her water broke at 2 am and she's going to have the baby. I said, "Thank God it didn't happen yesterday!"  And I asked the person to please send K my good wishes for a safe arrival of her baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later today I was at my desk and a woman I didn't know walked by. One of my female co-workers called out to the woman, "Wow, look at you...you've gained weight!" Well, she said it good naturedly because as it turns out (of course) the woman is pregnant. Since they were right outside my office door (the thoroughfare) I could hear everything. The woman remarked joyfully how she is now 4 months pregnant and due in January.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought, wow, I'm due in March, and I haven't yet told a soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like I keep stumbling across these women. Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each time I go to the ladies' room at work, I look at myself in the full length mirror and wonder if I look paunchy. I do. The good thing is that since I've only worked there for 3 weeks, these people don't know what I &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; look like! To them, chubby, paunchy, gray-hair templed me is normal. So nobody questions it. A good thing, I guess. I think I look a fright!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I hit the second tri, I'm going for a fantastic hair cut and color. Won't they be surprised! And once I finally work into real maternity clothes, I hope to look like a beautiful pregnant lady, and no longer the gray haired paunchy woman!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8540326903168123243?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8540326903168123243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8540326903168123243&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8540326903168123243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8540326903168123243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/weirder-and-weirder.html' title='Weirder and Weirder'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-3609710174874678289</id><published>2009-08-27T20:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T20:56:16.771-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Honey....would you mind?</title><content type='html'>First of all, today's out of town trip went just fine and I had no problems taking care of my progesterone needs. There were so many people there that no one much took notice of me leaving the room for 5 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second of all, CRAP!!!....Cindyhoo is right!!!!....what have I been thinking???!! I wrote that I really wanted a chocolate bar and she said, "What are DH's for if not to go on midnight runs to soothe the pregnant wife's cravings??" I can't believe I have not yet thought to take advantage of this very time honored tradition! I mean, shit, I've suffered countless u/s wand probings, shots in the belly, shots in the ass, a bazillion progesterone suppositories up the hoo-hoo, and iron gut constipation. The least I can do is make him go out at 9:00 pm to get me a pint of my favorite ice cream. I mean, I've got to wield the power while I have it! And now I see that I've wasted the first 10 weeks of my powers! I'll have to figure a clever way to make up for the lost time. I'm thinking foot rubs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September is next week! I love that autumn is coming. Cooler days, the smell of dry leaves, golden afternoon sunlight, crisp apples, butternut squash, chenille sweaters and hot cocoa. Well, it will still be a while until it's &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; cool here. But it's not too far off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I'm going to inquire about that foot rub.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-3609710174874678289?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/3609710174874678289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=3609710174874678289&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3609710174874678289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/3609710174874678289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/honeywould-you-mind.html' title='Honey....would you mind?'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7827002851288562175</id><published>2009-08-25T20:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T21:17:47.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Short Update</title><content type='html'>Just a quick update post (it's late and I really want to stretch out on the couch).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work has picked up nicely. I now have several cases to dive into, all interesting matters and I find the hours are ticking by. Yay! I mentioned something to my boss about not knowing what is expected of me, and she quickly assured me that I should be working with others on teams to learn the ropes. I am not expected to know the full job at this point and everyone needs time when they are new to get up to speed. Another yay for a supportive boss!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I wanted a chocolate bar. I really, really wanted one. My DH and I rummaged through the pantry because we both thought there had been a chocolate bar stashed away in there. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I think I "re-hid" it so that he wouldn't find it. Except now I can't remember where I put it! Serves me right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday I have to go with a small group of people from the office out of town to a presentation. We'll carpool 2 hours each way. The presentation will take up most of the work day. My only concern is that I have to finagle a way to take my progesterone suppositories around noon. I'm anticipating there will be distinct "breaks" during which we all get up...go to the bathroom....and stretch, before resuming. My procedure takes me a little time, unzipping my bag, opening the ziplock bags, fumbling to load the contraption... I know I'll find a way. I've just been obsessing about it. I can't wait till Friday is here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention how badly I'd like to have a chocolate bar?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7827002851288562175?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7827002851288562175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7827002851288562175&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7827002851288562175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7827002851288562175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/short-update.html' title='Short Update'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-7291334657712130072</id><published>2009-08-24T14:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T21:31:27.979-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shhhhhh</title><content type='html'>We still haven't told a soul (except one IRL friend of mine and all of you) about the pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am feeling more confident about its viability. The baby seems to be in there, growing and heart beating each time we look. To my knowledge I don't have any "carrying" problems, it was just a question of egg quality. My egg donor was a fabulous, youthful 21 at the time of retrieval. So pending disaster or something unexpected (which I know can still happen), everything should be okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet I have no urge to tell. Zero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like this is my and my DH's little secret. For now, we get to talk about it alone, think about it, make decisions, discuss plans, look at U/S images....without anyone knowing about it, bugging us about it or asking questions. Or glancing downward at my belly, checking to see if I have a bump yet. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we tell, the flood - the tsunami - of unsolicited questions and suggestions will ensue. Of course none of this applies to you guys, with whom I am happy to share every detail and listen to your every bit of advice. I'm talking about people with whom I wouldn't care to share so much as an elevator ride. Nosy friends. Mere acquaintances. Bossy sister-in-laws. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not looking forward to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you get morning sickness?&lt;br /&gt;I have a fabulous midwife I used whose number I'm happy to give you.&lt;br /&gt;Will you breast feed? You should/shouldn't.&lt;br /&gt;Are you terribly gassy?&lt;br /&gt;Are you eating healthy? Tell me what you ate today.&lt;br /&gt;How did you get pregnant?&lt;br /&gt;You should look into home birthing.&lt;br /&gt;Can I be there for the birth?&lt;br /&gt;I want to be there for the birth.&lt;br /&gt;How much weight have you gained so far?&lt;br /&gt;Didn't you just start a new job? Do they know?&lt;br /&gt;Does your doctor know how old you are?&lt;br /&gt;I've heard cod liver oil helps with stretch marks.&lt;br /&gt;Your boobs do look bigger, in fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, brother. I am not terribly patient. I'm likely to attempt a smile, say "Excuse me" and walk away. For now though, I'm enjoying our last few weeks of secrecy. In a way, I'd love to not say anything to anyone until I show and they guess. That would be cruel to our family and friends, though, who I know will be genuinely happy for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mean, selfish pregnant lady.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-7291334657712130072?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/7291334657712130072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=7291334657712130072&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7291334657712130072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/7291334657712130072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/shhhhhh.html' title='Shhhhhh'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8297627778711324043</id><published>2009-08-23T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T12:56:03.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming Full Circle</title><content type='html'>I have not posted anything about my garden in a while. But I wanted you to know that we've had a mini-harvest!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a way, I feel like the kindergartner proudly wearing his little paper mortarboard, graduating and receiving a tiny rolled up diploma that the teachers made. I mean, come on now, I've seen your blogs. You know who you are. You have enough produce to actually be able to &lt;em&gt;can and store &lt;/em&gt; proceeds from your harvest! You are my idols, that's all I can say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nevertheless, I am proud. I purchased seed packets and I grew things! Sometimes success depends on how you choose to measure it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's a photo of my colorful little mini-harvest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGYK7PBLaI/AAAAAAAAANw/R15ql0xGGWU/s1600-h/DSC03773.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGYK7PBLaI/AAAAAAAAANw/R15ql0xGGWU/s320/DSC03773.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373243143896509858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hip of my giant bell pepper is just starting to turn color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGamCRINAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/wPP9g3WBFss/s1600-h/DSC03769.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGamCRINAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/wPP9g3WBFss/s320/DSC03769.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373245808664130562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I must tell you, I never thought my cantaloupe was going to ripen. It hung there and hung there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGZaGCtlNI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Gk9nUy4zgY8/s1600-h/DSC03766.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGZaGCtlNI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Gk9nUy4zgY8/s320/DSC03766.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373244504007349458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday evening I went out to check it, and it simply broke from the stem into my hand! It's done! I held it up to the sky, and in a deep voice, I announced: "I HAVE CREATED CANTALOUPE!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGZzOmw6GI/AAAAAAAAAOA/TApKO68I1D0/s1600-h/DSC03775.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGZzOmw6GI/AAAAAAAAAOA/TApKO68I1D0/s320/DSC03775.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373244935802775650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I cut it open and we ate it for breakfast. It was gone in 5 minutes flat. My husband said it's the best cantaloupe he's ever tasted. I agreed. We finished it, wiped the juice from our lips, sighed, and then I said, "Three and a half months of daily care to grow it....five minutes to eat it!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGaPtQdCVI/AAAAAAAAAOI/KIbZY9pKw0g/s1600-h/DSC03782.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGaPtQdCVI/AAAAAAAAAOI/KIbZY9pKw0g/s320/DSC03782.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373245425067034962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, now for the ugly side of things. Well, I started my new job which took away from my garden tending time. Things kind of slipped a bit here and there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my potted tomatoes was not staked well enough and some of the branches bowed over and one actually broke. It looks a mess, but you know what? The fruit on those bowed and broken branches continues to grow! So, okay, it's not perfect but it still works!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGbZnEPQxI/AAAAAAAAAOY/4SelgHtjhlE/s1600-h/DSC03762.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGbZnEPQxI/AAAAAAAAAOY/4SelgHtjhlE/s320/DSC03762.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373246694715507474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGbl7-kNYI/AAAAAAAAAOg/98Vgkw2ABmc/s1600-h/DSC03763.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGbl7-kNYI/AAAAAAAAAOg/98Vgkw2ABmc/s320/DSC03763.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373246906487289218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one tomato plant outgrew its cage and leaned itself right over onto the house. But that plant, and the one next to it never produced a single tomato. Don't know why. Their leaves were plenty happy to grow, but no fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGb--UYjFI/AAAAAAAAAOo/dO7fwygsUPQ/s1600-h/DSC03765.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGb--UYjFI/AAAAAAAAAOo/dO7fwygsUPQ/s320/DSC03765.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373247336612400210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next year, I hope to do better. This year I began without an inkling of knowledge and just sort of felt my way along. Next year I have bigger plans! Of course, by next spring I also hope to have a precious new baby snuggled in a sling against my chest, who will go outside with me, into the yard, and be with me as my garden is planted and grows.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sort of like this year.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kind of an ironic beauty, isn't it?  Everything coming full circle like that.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8297627778711324043?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8297627778711324043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8297627778711324043&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8297627778711324043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8297627778711324043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/coming-full-circle.html' title='Coming Full Circle'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SpGYK7PBLaI/AAAAAAAAANw/R15ql0xGGWU/s72-c/DSC03773.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-1898098349591857519</id><published>2009-08-21T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T15:50:31.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heartache, Happiness and Hell Raising</title><content type='html'>I have been out of the blog loop for a couple of days and have much to catch up on. But today, my heart, thoughts and prayers are with Fran and her husband Mike at &lt;a href="http://everyoneelsebutme.blogspot.com"&gt;Everyone else but me&lt;/a&gt;. Fran is having surgery today. They found that her 6 week pregnancy (baby was seen to have a heartbeat) is ectopic. My poor, darling Fran, who is such a gentle soul, is facing her second ectopic loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why should some face devastation after devastation, while others have their wishes granted? How is this fair?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And at the moment, I'm in the second category. I feel a bit guilty. God knows better than anyone that I don't deserve gifts or miracles.  Yet one good thing after another is happening right now.  The rug could be pulled a minute or an hour from now, so I continue to hold my breath.  But I am most grateful for each blessing, large or small. And at the same time, my heart aches for my dear friends who are now bearing the great weight of sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had my first OB appointment today. Among other things I had to fill out a health history. One of the questions was "Mother's occupation." I began to write "retired" because my Mom is retired. I got to the letter "i" and realized, oh, wait, I think they mean ME! I am the mother! Ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met with a nurse practitioner who did my U/S. She was so sweet and patient and even made me a photo identifying the baby's parts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/So8ZvOpuv-I/AAAAAAAAANo/AVyhxqvh34k/s1600-h/DSC03750.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/So8ZvOpuv-I/AAAAAAAAANo/AVyhxqvh34k/s320/DSC03750.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372541179653963746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby appears to be playing peek-a-boo, and at the moment looks like it will need orthotic braces on it's crooked little legs, but hey, that's my kid!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then at one point she said, "Look, the baby is kicking its feet!" I said, "What?!" and turned to see better and she held the wand steady for quite a while so we could watch as the baby kicked and even raised it's tiny arm and waived!" Yup, I lost it. I started to cry. Just for a moment.  Baby is measuring slight ahead at 10w1d.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good, good baby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what else good is happening? Well, I engaged in battle with my old nemesis, the Outpatient Monitoring Clinic (OMC). Remember how awful they were to me? Downright mean at times. They did not consider me to be "their" patient since they were "only" performing monitoring services (U/Ss and b/w). As such, they refused to submit anything to my insurance, told me none of this was covered anyway because it was part of an IVF cycle, and required me to pay everything out of pocket at non-contracted rates. They refused to even negotiate the fee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took my paid invoices and submitted them to my insurance company. Why not? Who says nothing is covered? It can't hurt to try. The insurance wrote to me, saying that they required the doctor to sign the invoices. When I called the OMC to ask that a doctor sign the papers, I was essentially told that they would likely refuse my request because they did not consider me to be "their" patient and therefore required me to pay the higher rates. She further said that they would not communicate with my insurance company because if the insurance company determined that the services were covered, the OMC might be stuck in the position of having to pay back some of the money! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you believe the nerve??????!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I was all over that. I called the insurance company and several calls from them were made to the OMC. My understanding is that legally, they cannot refuse to submit a claim. Well, I think they felt the fire under their feet and finally caved and gave the insurance company confirmation of services provided to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The insurance company called me today and said &lt;em&gt;the services provided by the OMC are covered&lt;/em&gt;! There is more work to do to straighten this mess out, but those of you who know me, know that I won't back down from a good fight with the OMC. I may actually end up getting a nice reimbursement. If I find out they were engaging in unethical billing practices, I will &lt;em&gt;rush&lt;/em&gt; to report them to the licensing agency.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other good news? I still feel good. I've gained only 2-3 pounds and although I am dead tired at the end of the day and have had a few days of uncomfortable constipation, overall I feel really good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so, so grateful and humbled by these gifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next on the schedule will be an NT scan in a couple of weeks as part of the various first trimester screenings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I need to come visit all your blogs and catch up. Happy weekend, friends!&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-1898098349591857519?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/1898098349591857519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=1898098349591857519&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1898098349591857519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/1898098349591857519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/heartache-happiness-and-hell-raising.html' title='Heartache, Happiness and Hell Raising'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/So8ZvOpuv-I/AAAAAAAAANo/AVyhxqvh34k/s72-c/DSC03750.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8675252344043157720</id><published>2009-08-18T18:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T19:20:24.151-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not In the Groove Yet</title><content type='html'>You all had such terrific suggestions on telling my friend about the pregnancy.  You've given me a lot to think about and several possibilities.  No matter what I say to her, she will absolutely be gracious because that's how she is.  I just wouldn't want to hurt her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now then, how about that new job?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm trying to get the hang of my new job. Except that I've had almost zero direction from anyone. I was assigned a few cases, one actual case file reached my desk...but no one's said what I should do other than become familiar with the cases.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um. Okay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I read them. I did some legal and medical research on the relevant issues. I made some notes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally today I spoke up. And when I asked, I was told that at the moment they didn't expect me to do anything but become familiar with the cases. No product is expected of me just now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay. So I'm doing self-directed research. Which isn't the worst thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's not terribly engrossing, and I'm SO tired by 3 pm that my eyes itch and I want to take a 20 minute nap. I'm getting fidgety. My chair is not comfortable after sitting there hour after hour. My belly twinges and feels bloated sometimes and I wish I could lie down and rub it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I miss being home. Today I actually unbuttoned my pants while sitting at my desk to ease my belly. Not that I'm showing, and I wear my regular clothes, but it just felt good to release it from the confines of my waistband! Sometimes my belly just feels....weird...and I can't get comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also realized today that when I'm feeling bored or fidgety at work, I look for something to snack on. Dangerous! I don't want to gain a lot of unnecessary weight. I bring home made trail mix as a snack, but raisins and walnuts are highly caloric.  Maybe I should just get up and go for a walk for 5 or 10 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish I had something really engrossing to focus on so that the hours would pass more quickly. It sucks to look up at the clock and see that it's only 10 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure things will come together soon, and I don't mean to whine (I'm grateful to have a job at long last), I'm just having some "adjustment pains" I guess. Trying to find my rhythm in a new place with new people and new expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for letting me vent.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8675252344043157720?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8675252344043157720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8675252344043157720&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8675252344043157720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8675252344043157720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-in-groove-yet.html' title='Not In the Groove Yet'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-5960895061236566183</id><published>2009-08-16T18:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T19:42:46.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding a Way</title><content type='html'>You've been there. I've been there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trying unsuccessfully to have a baby for the past 3 years, I've been in the position of having to hear others around me joyfully announce their pregnancies. Co-workers. Cousins. Friends. Friends of friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know how those words feel like a punch in the stomach. I've read on blogs how such announcements have sometimes been made via email, as an "oh, by the way" comment. I remember my mother telling me last year when my cousin had given birth to her second child in April 2008. It was a girl, and my mother went on and on about how she did not like the name my cousin and her husband chose for the baby. On and on. Finally I just blurted out, "Who cares what the name is?! At least she has a baby!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I'm 9 weeks. If everything continues to be okay, we'll probably start telling family and friends in the next 5 to 7 weeks. The question is, how best to tell someone who I know will be quietly crushed by the news?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a girlfriend whom I've known since we were 18. We went to college together. She lives on the east coast and I on the west. We've kept in touch by email and visits (although it's been several years since we've seen each other). Ever since college, she has longed to find her prince charming, get married and have a family. None of it has happened. I love her like a sister, but she has always had unrealistic expectations in her quest for a husband. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She literally wants a prince charming. Like in a mushy chick flick movie. A guy who is smart, handsome (very handsome), polite, doting, caring, adores her every move, is a great dresser, has a great career, likes her hobbies and who is simply nothing less than a perfect human being. Thus, she has never married (need I tell anyone out there that men are not story book perfect?...no, I didn't think so). It kills her that she's never been able to find Mr. Right and that as a result, she will likely never have a child (she's definitely a marriage before kids kind of gal).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How am I supposed to tell her I'm pregnant? I don't want to be insensitive. I don't want her to feel that punch in the stomach. Another person she knows, getting something she'll likely never have. I'll have to tell her in an email, but how best to go about it? I thought that maybe if I explain the difficulties we've had in getting here, she'll understand that it didn't just "happen" and that I have not had the perfect life where all good things seem to befall me. And even though I don't know when I might next see her, I don't want to &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; tell her because that would seem like I was intentionally keeping it from her and could potentially be more hurtful down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd appreciate any suggesions you might have. &lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-5960895061236566183?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/5960895061236566183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=5960895061236566183&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5960895061236566183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/5960895061236566183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/finding-way.html' title='Finding a Way'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-4988592796791406259</id><published>2009-08-13T19:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T19:39:30.085-07:00</updated><title type='text'>8w4d U/S</title><content type='html'>I miss you all so much! I have been peeking in on blogs when I can, but have not had much of an opportunity to comment. I'm going to catch up tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm behind in responding to blog awards. I'm always flattered and honored, but then feel a bit overwhelmed at the subsequent obligations. I hope no one minds if I just say "thank you" and try to get to them another time.  I adore you all anyway, and I hope you know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now then. I had an U/S today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only concern this week (you won't believe it) is that I feel so good. Can everything be going okay if I feel this good? My nausea is so mild that if I don't think about it, I forget about it. I'm getting through my days without feeling too tired. My body feels good, almost no bloat. I feel so....normal. Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, feeling good was my complaint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had the same newbie doc as last week. Young, handsome, very very nice, but oh-so green. He had trouble getting the machine up and running. Then he forgot to switch off the light, so as he got started, wand in place, screen turned so I could see it, and searching around to find baby, I said, "Oh, can you turn the light off?" You know, it's just so much easier to see the screen in the dark. But I immediately realized he wouldn't be able to hold the wand and reach the light switch. He said, "Uh...yeah...sure....do you think you could reach down here and support the wand for moment?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yes, I reached down and held the wand in it's place....and I must tell you...it felt a bit naughty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we finally got under way. He showed me the heart beat first. Always the most important thing. Hello flickering light. So nice to see you! Again he had a bit of difficulty getting a really good view. Where is the crown and where is the rump?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point, he got a really great image. Oh my gosh, it looks like a baby! Well, sort of. The profile of a skull. A hand? Or is it a foot? But less drumstick and more baby, no doubt. He said, "This one's a keeper! I'll print two, one for you and one for us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's the latest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SoTKMWPd5pI/AAAAAAAAANY/bG9ONFr5N9o/s1600-h/DSC03725.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SoTKMWPd5pI/AAAAAAAAANY/bG9ONFr5N9o/s320/DSC03725.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369638969210168978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now just in case you're having trouble making it out, here's an artist's rendition (mine) of what I see when I look at the U/S (I only see 3 limbs, so I can't tell if the far limb is a hand or foot):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SoTKfeUAqMI/AAAAAAAAANg/mk_R1qIk8GI/s1600-h/DSC03726.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SoTKfeUAqMI/AAAAAAAAANg/mk_R1qIk8GI/s320/DSC03726.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369639297794222274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little white cheerio in the upper left is the remnant yolk sac. The doc said it will disappear soon as it integrates with....something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heartbeat is scuttling along at 170. Baby measured 9 weeks 0 days even though I'm technically only 8w4d.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the appointment, we had a discussion about enrolling me as a regular OB patient. They will coordinate with the Clinic until I finish my medication regimen, but I am going to be a real OB patient starting next week. I actually teared up while standing at the counter, making the appointment. The girl said, "Congratulations" and I said, "It's a big step" as I wiped a tiny tear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband is out of town on business until tomorrow, so he's excited to see the new picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took my new U/S picture, the paperwork I need to fill out for next week's appointment, and went to work. I had plenty to smile about today.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-4988592796791406259?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/4988592796791406259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=4988592796791406259&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4988592796791406259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/4988592796791406259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/8w4d-us.html' title='8w4d U/S'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/SoTKMWPd5pI/AAAAAAAAANY/bG9ONFr5N9o/s72-c/DSC03725.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-163560469695379791</id><published>2009-08-11T19:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T20:44:23.468-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Job</title><content type='html'>Day 2 at the new job. I think with a little time, I'll really enjoy working there. I'll be a lot better when I actually know every one's name (I'm always embarrassed when I don't know someone's name I was introduced to. Although meeting 25 people in 20 minutes is a bit overwhelming).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yes, I am now an attorney for the state of California. The general mission of our office is to ensure that HMOs licensed (or which are required to be licensed) in the state comply with applicable laws and regulations. For those who may not be familiar, HMOs are Health Maintenance Organizations, which are companies that offer certain health care insurance coverage for their members.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are several code sections which regulate the way HMOs must operate. Licensing requirements. Grievance procedures. Appeals processes. Accessibility. All sorts of things. So, for example, if the HMO denies coverage for a procedure, the patient can file a grievance. If the patient is not satisfied with the HMOs response, the patient can file a complaint with us. If we examine the facts and the law and determine the HMO violated the law, we can impose penalties. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I've lost anyone or put them to sleep, sorry! For me, what is exciting is that I will have the opportunity to make sure the HMOs don't wrongly deny people coverage for things they are entitled to. Keep those HMOs in line! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to my first meeting today, an "us against them" meeting. People from our department and people from the health plan. I came out of the meeting all fired up. My boss said she'll assign this one to me. It's something I can get behind and feel good about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and no, they don't know I'm pregnant. Lots of time to go before I need to say anything. And time to make sure everything stays on course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's good to be part of a team again.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-163560469695379791?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/163560469695379791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=163560469695379791&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/163560469695379791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/163560469695379791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-new-job.html' title='My New Job'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8027604950445663843</id><published>2009-08-10T20:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T20:42:15.361-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Day On the Job</title><content type='html'>Today was my first day of work. Here my take on things, in a nutshell:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My office: &lt;br /&gt;Let's just say, it used to be a store room. Interior. No window. But hey, it's an office and not a cubicle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people: &lt;br /&gt;Nice, nice and very nice. This is an important thing, wherever you work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My day:&lt;br /&gt;Paperwork and more paperwork. I am being inducted into the state, so there is a ten-foot pile of paperwork to complete. I must have typed my name, address and social security number 4,000 times today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food:&lt;br /&gt;I packed enough food for 3 days. I wasn't sure how hungry I might be, and I'm used to grazing at home whenever I wanted. So I packed all kinds of food and snacks. Then they took me out to lunch. I'll have less to pack tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Progesterone:&lt;br /&gt;Preparing and inserting progesterone suppositories in a cramped stall with 2 other women in the restroom at the same time was - nerve wracking. I hated it. I felt stressed and was afraid I'd drop them on the floor. Very, very awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new state ID:&lt;br /&gt;I look drugged out. My eyes are half closed. My bangs are too long, need to be trimmed, and were dragging in my eyes. Perfectly terrible photo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the moment, it feels like it was a long day. I'm tired. But it really went quite well overall. I am used to lying down whenever I want. I thought, how will I be able to sit/stand for 8+ hours straight? But I did. And it was okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I have to do it again tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8027604950445663843?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8027604950445663843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8027604950445663843&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8027604950445663843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8027604950445663843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/first-day-on-job.html' title='First Day On the Job'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4580382827478510871.post-8001314364842300607</id><published>2009-08-08T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T13:23:18.868-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How It Will Be</title><content type='html'>Spotting stopped.  This is good.  I am grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next U/S is Thursday.  I'll be roughly 8w4d.  If that one looks good, I think I'll be comfortable waiting 2 weeks to do another.  Of course I say this now.  We'll see what I say on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What with having to start a new job this coming week, my DH reminded that despite all the frenzy that is about to take place, I must remember that the most important thing is take care of myself and this baby.  Whatever the cost.  He means I shouldn't allow myself to be too rushed, too stressed, or too overwhelmed as I adjust to the new job and new routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's right, of course.  And he knows me too well.  That's me - getting all swept up in getting out the door on time, making it to appointments on time, getting to work on time, getting the dogs to daycare...rush, rush, rush.  Pressuring myself to learn a new job and prove myself and impress everyone.  Trying to run errands during the lunch hour and multi-tasking and doing all the things that we women tend to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to let the need to do all of that go.  No pressure.  Believe things will get done without my forcing them to happen sooner.  Prioritizing and letting the little stuff go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is going to be a real test.  But I intend to pass it with flying colors, because there is a little drumstick counting on me.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4580382827478510871-8001314364842300607?l=bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/feeds/8001314364842300607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4580382827478510871&amp;postID=8001314364842300607&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8001314364842300607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4580382827478510871/posts/default/8001314364842300607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bestwhenusedby.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-it-will-be.html' title='How It Will Be'/><author><name>Best When Used By</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17252417951291793892</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b7ooR7cC9vA/Se0j20NIk7I/AAAAAAAAADM/q51bV54auOM/S220/Pablo-Picasso-Dora-Maar-83723.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry></feed>
