If you're my facebook friend, and you probably are because otherwise I have no idea how you know about this blog, you know that from time to time I enjoy making lists. It's an easy way for me to vent in a pseudo organized fashion while still having a definitive ending point. Honestly I recommend it for anyone who feels like they have something to get off their chest. It's like a timed essay, but funnier.
Things are still progressing quite well here as Dustin and I continue to get our Scrant-on. We had a nice relaxing weekend, except for the two hour breakfast debacle this morning. (I decided I wanted to take Dustin out to Denny's for breakfast, but apparently everyone else in the Scranton area had the same idea. Really long wait and then I got sick from the breakfast sausage. Not a great morning, but whatever.) I hope to have another update in a day or two on our progression, but for today I thought I'd revive the list writing that I'm so fond of.
I thought about this topic just a few minutes ago. When I was younger, one of my rotating chores was doing the dishes. I didn't necessarily have a problem with that chore, but there was something I really didn't enjoy about it...cleaning the gunk out of the drain. I have a fear of pipes, probably stemming from an incident when I was much younger that involved me getting my foot stuck in the toilet and the fire department having to be called to sledgehammer me free a la rescue 911. I always dreaded the moment of dishwashing when the water would stop going down the drain and you'd have to plunge your hand blindly towards that general area and whatever you brought up was not only squishy, but a complete surprise. Noodles were especially horrifying; I liken the sensation of touching them to touching intestines.
So we had noodles for dinner tonight and I realized as I was doing the dishes that I was able to plunge my hand into the drain and grab all sorts of muck without batting an eye. I stopped for moment, trying to remember the precise moment I got over this particular phobia. I can't put my finger on it, but it was probably somewhere between getting my third transvaginal scan and having my ninth pint of blood drawn.
As I continued to wash dishes, my mind started to wander to all of the things a mommy is expected to do and not balk at. Cleaning the gunk out of the drain is just one thing I was able to get over...and it's not even that impressive. I STILL don't stand too close to the drain in the shower and I avoid drains in pools like it's my job. So here are the top five, or at least the first five, things that I'm a little scared I won't be able to do as a mommy.
5. Attending to Serious Injuries. Let me first say that the idea of my child getting hurt really disturbs me in general, but I'm also a realist. Kids fall down, they break bones, they require stitches. I don't think I know anyone who didn't take at least one really good face plant as a kid. I know of about a dozen rather serious incidents that took place just in my own three kid family. The problem is, I'm quick to get woozy when someone is hurt. When my little brother was like, five, he climbed on top of our camper (which was parked in the backyard as we enjoyed camping in said backyard as kids) and either fell or jumped off. He landed eyeball first on a stick. When he came inside, the stick was literally IN HIS EYE. My mother, to her credit (and everyone knows that I'm not quick to give my mother credit for anything) acted quickly and efficiently, getting him to the hosptial in enough time for the doctors to patch him up without any permanent damage.
I had to hide under my bed and dry heave until they got home.
About fifteen years after that incident, my brother was involved in a situation that resulted in his lip being split in half. I got to the hospital before the plastic surgeon sewed him back up and ended up requiring medical attention myself for becoming so light headed that I had to lay on the floor.
I am hoping that the first time my kid comes to me covered in blood or with a bone sticking out of his arm, I'll be able to summon my inner superwoman and not panic. If the first horrible injury ends up with me requiring sedation, I guess Dustin will be in charge of first aid and rescue missions in our family.
4. Convincing the Kid Not to be Afraid of the Dark. I don't have a specific fear of the dark, but I can certainly work myself up into a tizzy in the middle of the night if all of the conditions are right. Even with Dustin sleeping next to me, and I know he'll kill anything that tries to get me in my sleep, even if that thing is already dead. If my kid comes to my bedside in the middle of the night talking about how she saw a monster in her closet or under her bed, I'm probably going to start screaming and telling her that we're all gonna die.
3. Instilling the Belief that School is Important and the Teacher is Right. This is gonna be tough. I'd estimate that 82 percent of my time spent in school was a complete waste. After I learned the basics, I feel like I could have taken it from there. I can't remember any homework assignment that made me feel enriched. The books I was forced to read were so out of touch with my life, I almost began resenting one of my favorite activities. I had more asshole teachers than good ones. I know this all sounds terrible. A lot of my very good friends are teachers, and I'm sure they do a splendid job. I did not have any of my friends as teachers. Aside from like, five teachers, I had old, nasty, bad breath trolls who told me I was gifted but too talkative and had bad handwriting. First of all, I made a career out of my voice and speaking in public and second of all, I can't remember the last fucking thing I wrote out by hand. I am thankful someone taught me how to read (my father) someone taught me grammar (my grandmother) and someone taught me math (my best friend's mother, who happened to be a teacher, but I never had her.) The best lessons I learned in school were how to fit in and work the system. And my college experience was a total waste of time and money. College taught me how to binge drink without dying, how to rack up credit card debt and what happens when you wash a red sock in a load of whites.
But as strongly as I feel about all of that, I don't intend to share this with my child once they go to school. I am going to have a really difficult time watching my kid come home with hours of homework that does not enhance their learning experience. I pray...PRAY...that my kid gets some really gifted teachers that think outside of the box and inspire him to be a forward thinker. I'm hoping I can smile, remind my kid that a lot of times you have to do crap you don't wanna do and remember how to multiply fractions.
*Disclaimer: The previous statements were not intended to offend any teachers out there. I completely acknowledge that learning is power and there are some spectacular educators out there. My experience was not so wonderful, however. If you're a teacher, keep on keepin on. I have tons of respect for you; you have one of the toughest jobs out there and people like me shitting on your parade.
2. Not Killing Everyone Who Hurts My Kid. Again, my parents got some things right. We were raised to express ourselves in whatever way we desired, as long as we were home. (For example, don't curse in school or in front of Grammie, but if you stub your toe in your bedroom, let the fucks fly.) My parents also always taught me that while fighting is not the way to solve ANYTHING, if someone punches you...by all means hit 'em back as hard as you can. I intend to tell my kid on a daily basis that "kids tell their mommies everything." I don't care what my kid does, who they want to have sex with, what their beliefs are...I might not always agree with her, but I will never stop loving or supporting her. That type of unconditional love is great, but when you love something that much, when someone hurts them, I think the urge to destroy the cause is overwhelming. The first time my kid comes home and says someone hurt their feelings, or put their hands on them or even spread a rumor, I'm going to need anger management. I want my child to fight their own battles (to a point) and be strong and know when to stand up for themselves, but the urge to fight all their battles is going to bring me to my knees. I have no idea how I'm going to balance not being a totally overinvolved parent with giving my kid the backbone to do what they have to do to not be a doormat their whole lives. People are assholes, and you have to deal with the asshole who steals your cookies at snacktime in order to be prepared to deal with the asshole who mocks your beliefs twenty years later, but I almost want to pull a Flowers in the Attic with my kid to protect them, minus the arsenic.
1. Answering The Why. I don't have the world worked out in my head. I don't know why bad things happen or why the sky is blue or how a computer works. I don't know what happens when you die or if there is a God or why some people are just plain evil. I don't think ANY parent has all the answers, but my main objective is to be like, the ultimate source of comfort for my child. One weird thing my mother always did happened around religious holidays. Both she and my father were raised in a religion, but for whatever reason, they did not carry on that tradition with their children. I had a baptism, but that's it. My sister and brother didn't even do that. I was very jealous of all the confirmation dresses my friends got to wear and the picking of a new middle name because mine SUCKS...but I digress. Anyway, the weird thing...maybe she got a little worried around Christmas and Easter for our mortal souls, but my mother would force us to watch movies like "The Ten Commandments" and other religious informational videos. She would explain, in great detail, what these specific beliefs were all about. Being the bright kid I was, I would almost always ask her what SHE believed. She would answer honestly that she didn't know. She would say that while SOME people believed in God, she didn't know if she did. She would also muddy the waters further by making weird comments at other times...like, for example, that when she died she was going to come back as a wind chime so that we knew she was around, which confused me even further. While I think she was right to be honest and admit she wasn't sure what she believed...it scared the SHIT out of me. I didn't like that uncertainty. I really think that her honesty...a good thing...led to a nervous breakdown that I experienced from age 19 to 22 where on a daily basis I would freak out over the idea of being dead forever. Of course, I could have just been crazy and it's simply easier to blame our shortcomings on our parents, but I don't ever want my kid to feel that fear. Is it better to raise a child with a false sense of security? Yes, my darling. God is up there watching over you and taking care of you every second. Yes, sweet baby...you will live forever in the clouds with angels and our family dog that ate the chocolate. Yes, love of my life, Santa is real and Mommy and Daddy were just practicing their wrestling moves when you came in to tell us about the monster under your bed last night.
I don't know how I'll react the first time my kid calls me out on one of the biggies. My goals as a parent are as follows: (hey, a list within a list.)
1. Unconditional Love
2. A House Filled With Equal Amounts of Laughter and Kisses
3. Unconditional Support
4. Security
5. Happiness as the Most Important Thing to Achieve
Can I achieve all of this? I don't know. Am I gonna try? Every damn day.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Week One...Done!
Exactly one week ago, almost to the minute, I was peeing into a trash bag inside of a uhaul that I had illegally driven onto the Cross Island Parkway.
Yes, Dustin and I have been Scrantonites for exactly one week now...and I can honestly say it's been one of the best weeks I've had in a very long time.
Ever since we found out we were pregnant, our world has been a whirlwind of stress and activity. The phrase "a baby changes everything" is completely applicable to our situation. Between family drama, THREE moves and other scary things...like not having jobs or insurance or a kitchen...we have both been on edge for way too long. And while we still don't have everything figured out, things have certainly gotten a lot better.
Dustin is on the last day of his first week of work. He likes it, the bosses like him and we've already settled into a routine. I've been scouting out job possibilities for myself, including a few radio related gigs, but it's too early to either count my chickens or comment on those endeavors, so I'll save that for another post.
While I feel terrible that Dustin had to jump from moving to unpacking to starting a new job in a matter of hours, this week has afforded me the opportunity to finally BREATHE. I still have moments of panic...specifically about money...but instead of that being ALL that occupies my mind, the stress of those thoughts has been broken up with a sort of normalcy that I needed and missed.
For example, one of my first priorities was to stock the fridge. It has been AGES since we have had our own kitchen...with a fridge and stove and microwave. We found a Wegman's that's only about five minutes away...having gone to school upstate, I was familiar with this particular grocery store. Just walking around, filling up a shopping cart and enjoying an easy conversation about what to make for our first dinner in our new place was so COMFORTING. I even went back the next day by myself just to enjoy the freedom of being able to buy things that need to be cold.
It had also been a while since we had the space to sit down at the kitchen table (that had been used as a place to stack boxes for the last few months) and eat a meal. I hadn't enjoyed a morning bowl of cereal since January. We hadn't made coffee since then either.
It's been nice to watch TV on our own couches, enjoy central air, watch storms from our window and fall asleep in our nice, clean, comfy bed. I took particular joy in throwing out the cardboard boxes that had been storing our stuff for motnhs. I felt like every time I saw them, I would get depressed. Like our stuff was homeless. Getting the last box out of the house was a huge relief.
There have been little interruptions...our baby cat, Lady, of COURSE decided she'd go into heat as soon as we were unpacked. (Yes, we will be getting her fixed; she is still too little to undergo the operation now.) So our first few nights here were a little ruined by her screaming. She's starting to calm down and we have her trained to be afraid of getting squirted with water, so a quick shake of a water bottle quiets her down for a bit. I'm pretty sure she's almost through it; she's been sleeping all day today from just sheer sexual exhaustion.
I guess when you get pregnant, you need to sort of "nest." I've never been too domestic, but lately I find that cooking and cleaning has a sort of calming influence over me. This apartment might be small but I already feel it filled with love and everywhere I look I see us holding our little baby. (Speaking of little baby, I had a dream last night that I had the kid but it was like, three inches big and I kept on losing him. Terrifying.)
One interesting thing so far has been the weather. It's EXTREMELY hot and stormy. We were under a severe tornado watch yesterday. My father and stepmom and half brother were actually en route to their place in the poconos last night (about 45 min from Scranton) and I texted them to warn them of the storm. Apparently it was one of the worst my father had ever driven through. More storms are in the forecast for tonight...it's pretty nuts. Luckily I enjoy a good storm...plus maybe it will cool off a little. Being pregnant in the heat is not going to be a good time for someone who sweats brushing their teeth in the summer when they are at their thinnest.
Dustin has been telling me for months that things are going to work out and that I have to trust him on that. I'm starting to be able to. His mom sent us some gift certificates to local restaurants so tonight we're going to check one out. I'm looking forward to having him home for a long weekend; I miss him when he's not around.
I know that in life there are setbacks and upsets, but for the first time, having been through (and still going through) what we're dealing with now, I feel much better equipped to handle those situations. I guess this was the universe's way of preparing me for motherhood, which, from what I understand, is probably the most challenging thing ever. I feel much better about facing it now.
Yes, Dustin and I have been Scrantonites for exactly one week now...and I can honestly say it's been one of the best weeks I've had in a very long time.
Ever since we found out we were pregnant, our world has been a whirlwind of stress and activity. The phrase "a baby changes everything" is completely applicable to our situation. Between family drama, THREE moves and other scary things...like not having jobs or insurance or a kitchen...we have both been on edge for way too long. And while we still don't have everything figured out, things have certainly gotten a lot better.
Dustin is on the last day of his first week of work. He likes it, the bosses like him and we've already settled into a routine. I've been scouting out job possibilities for myself, including a few radio related gigs, but it's too early to either count my chickens or comment on those endeavors, so I'll save that for another post.
While I feel terrible that Dustin had to jump from moving to unpacking to starting a new job in a matter of hours, this week has afforded me the opportunity to finally BREATHE. I still have moments of panic...specifically about money...but instead of that being ALL that occupies my mind, the stress of those thoughts has been broken up with a sort of normalcy that I needed and missed.
For example, one of my first priorities was to stock the fridge. It has been AGES since we have had our own kitchen...with a fridge and stove and microwave. We found a Wegman's that's only about five minutes away...having gone to school upstate, I was familiar with this particular grocery store. Just walking around, filling up a shopping cart and enjoying an easy conversation about what to make for our first dinner in our new place was so COMFORTING. I even went back the next day by myself just to enjoy the freedom of being able to buy things that need to be cold.
It had also been a while since we had the space to sit down at the kitchen table (that had been used as a place to stack boxes for the last few months) and eat a meal. I hadn't enjoyed a morning bowl of cereal since January. We hadn't made coffee since then either.
It's been nice to watch TV on our own couches, enjoy central air, watch storms from our window and fall asleep in our nice, clean, comfy bed. I took particular joy in throwing out the cardboard boxes that had been storing our stuff for motnhs. I felt like every time I saw them, I would get depressed. Like our stuff was homeless. Getting the last box out of the house was a huge relief.
There have been little interruptions...our baby cat, Lady, of COURSE decided she'd go into heat as soon as we were unpacked. (Yes, we will be getting her fixed; she is still too little to undergo the operation now.) So our first few nights here were a little ruined by her screaming. She's starting to calm down and we have her trained to be afraid of getting squirted with water, so a quick shake of a water bottle quiets her down for a bit. I'm pretty sure she's almost through it; she's been sleeping all day today from just sheer sexual exhaustion.
I guess when you get pregnant, you need to sort of "nest." I've never been too domestic, but lately I find that cooking and cleaning has a sort of calming influence over me. This apartment might be small but I already feel it filled with love and everywhere I look I see us holding our little baby. (Speaking of little baby, I had a dream last night that I had the kid but it was like, three inches big and I kept on losing him. Terrifying.)
One interesting thing so far has been the weather. It's EXTREMELY hot and stormy. We were under a severe tornado watch yesterday. My father and stepmom and half brother were actually en route to their place in the poconos last night (about 45 min from Scranton) and I texted them to warn them of the storm. Apparently it was one of the worst my father had ever driven through. More storms are in the forecast for tonight...it's pretty nuts. Luckily I enjoy a good storm...plus maybe it will cool off a little. Being pregnant in the heat is not going to be a good time for someone who sweats brushing their teeth in the summer when they are at their thinnest.
Dustin has been telling me for months that things are going to work out and that I have to trust him on that. I'm starting to be able to. His mom sent us some gift certificates to local restaurants so tonight we're going to check one out. I'm looking forward to having him home for a long weekend; I miss him when he's not around.
I know that in life there are setbacks and upsets, but for the first time, having been through (and still going through) what we're dealing with now, I feel much better equipped to handle those situations. I guess this was the universe's way of preparing me for motherhood, which, from what I understand, is probably the most challenging thing ever. I feel much better about facing it now.
Monday, May 23, 2011
WE HAVE ARRIVED!
I would like to start off this blog by saying that I don't care what happens from here on out, I'm never moving again. Dustin and I better really be in love with this apartment, because this is where I intend to die.
Well, we're finally here! It took a few days to get the internet set up and for me to return to a somewhat normally functioning state of mind, so I apologize for the radio silence. Let's start back on Long Island, shall we?
Either Dustin and I were completely brain fried from packing for weeks on end or we're just stupid, but we failed to remember that traveling to PA on a Friday afternoon is a deathwish. Not only that, but we failed to check and see if there were any baseball games that evening, so we missed the memo about the the subway series. Getting that uhaul packed up and then getting those idiot cats loaded into the jeep was so stressful, we didn't think about any of these important factors, we just left. At 2pm.
As I mentioned earlier, we decided that I would drive the uhaul and Dustin would drive the jeep. I couldn't drive with the cats; their crying makes me feel like I'm gonna pass out. It rips my heart out. I've driven stupid Uhauls a bajillion times and was fairly confident I could handle it. So we took off, all packed up, prepared mentally for a three hour trip.
We decided that we would try our best to caravan, but we wouldn't make ourselves crazy if we happened to get seperated. I find that often when you caravan, it's very stressful to try to keep together. We both knew where we were going and had fully charged cell phones, so we just went for it. Everything was going swimmingly until we reached about exit 42 on the LIE. Then it was a dead stop.
It was just as the traffic started that I started to feel that familiar sensation of a bladder approaching maximum capacity. If you've ever been pregnant, you know that you start to lose control over certain bodily functions. If you have to pee, you have to pee NOW. Except that I was in traffic. In a Uhaul. On the LIE. I waited a few minutes before alerting Dustin of the pee situation. He suggested we pull over, but if you're familiar with that area, there's nowhere to pull over. We decided to try to make it off the island and then stop.
BIG MISTAKE.
By the time I reached the exit for the Cross Island Parkway, I was crying in pain. I was pretty sure I was going to wet my pants. As we pulled onto the parkway, I prayed the traffic was moving. It wasn't.
I made an executive decision. I had to pull over. I had a box of trash bags in the "immediate needs" box I had packed for our arrival in the new apartment. Fuck it, I would pee into one of those. I told Dustin we were pulling over. I found the one spot big enough for two cars on the side of the Cross Island and ignored all of the angry New Yorkers yelling at me for being on the Parkway. I blacked out one of the windows with a garbage bag and began the process of trying to pee in a garbage bag.
Without getting into all of the details, I will say that it's pretty much impossible to pee in a garbage bag inside of a uhaul at 17 weeks pregnant....and I will also say that there is a very strong possibility that I peed all over the uhaul. I didn't even care. At least half of it got in the garbage bag...I tied it up, welcomed it as my new copilot and told Dustin we were going.
No sooner had I pulled out onto the still trafficky parkway did people start beeping at me. I immediately thought "flat tire." I was already starting to have a panic attack from the pee incident, so I called up Dustin in a frenzy.
"People are beeping and pointing at me!!" I screeched.
"I know," Dustin replied. I could hear the hesitation in his voice before he told me this next bit. "Okay, so a few people told me while we were parked that we're not supposed to have the uhaul on the parkway."
"What!?" I yelled. "What am I supposed to do??"
"I don't know," Dustin confessed. "I guess we just go for it and hope we don't get caught.
"Great!" I said sarcastically and hung up in frustration.
Luckily, the traffic had picked up. I prayed silently that all the cops in NYC were busy with more important business while ignoring all of the pissed off New Yorkers honking and flipping out in my direction.
Somehow, by some small break in the universe, we made it to the Throgs Neck Bridge without authortiative incident.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over, right?
NOPE!
I always turn on 1010 WINS when I hit the Throgs Neck. It's something my dad always did and now it's like force of habit for me. I caught it right on the "ones" and heard the traffic. Subway Series game traffic. One hour to the GW Bridge.
It should only take 15 minutes.
The next TWO hours between the Throgs Neck and GW Bridge were spent with me worrying about the cats and not drinking anything in fear I'd have to pee again.
Five hours after we left our apartment on LI, we finally reached route 80...it should have only taken us about an hour and 15 minutes to get to that point. We still had about 2 and a half hours to Scranton.
I will spare you the gorey details, but the bottom line is that we finally arrived at our apartment at about nine thirty, a full seven and a half hours after we left. Dustin's mom and sister met us at the place to unpack.
Yes, after all that, we still had to unload everything.
We would have just waited until the morning, but we only had Dustin's sister for that one night...and she's really strong...and I'm useless.
A little after midnight, everything was in the apartment. The only thing "put away" was our bed, which we collapsed into shortly thereafter.
The next day, Saturday, all we wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately, we had to get up early to return the stupid uhaul. So we did that, both of us in terrible achy pain. We came home and started to slowly put the place together. Slowly being the operative word. Dustin was in a rush to get everything done, but eventually I convinced him to take it slow. He was gonna burn out. We went grocery shopping at the nearby Wegmans and tried to relax a little.
I forgot to mention that Saturday morning there was a huge armed forces parade right down our street.
Parking is a MAJOR PAIN IN THE ASS. We are gonna have to rent a spot because during the week, we're boned. On the weekend, you can park wherever. On Weekdays, After six and before 8am, you can pretty much park anywhere too. But Monday thru Friday, 8am to 6pm, you're either feeding the really overpriced meters (25 cents for fifteen minutes...two hour time limit) or parking in a garage. Today I had to figure out where to put the jeep. We moved it to a metered spot in the morning when Dustin was on his way to work, just to buy a little time. At about 10, I went to the store again (in search of beer for Dustin and dinner to make tonight ...the beer buying laws are ridick in PA...I'll get into that in another post) and when I got back I figured I'd park in the garage at the end of our street. NOPE. Garage full.
I get lost in a paper bag, but against my better judgement I decided to go iin search of another garage. I found one that seemed close and parked. When I got out of the garage, I was all spun around. I spent the next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get back home. After losing half my body weight in sweat, I found home. I decided to sit and write as I caught my breath.
Dustin is having a good day so far. I am hoping the radio station will have a Production position open for me because as soon as I'm done putting the rest of the apartment together, I'm going to be bored and lonely. I haven't been by myself in quite sometime and I am missing Dustin a lot, as silly as that sounds. I'm comforted to know that he's only a block away, and even more comforted to know I don't have to get the jeep until he's around giving me better walking directions. As far as I know, the jeep is back in Jersey.
My goal for the rest of today is to get the apartment all together and make some dinner so Dustin can relax when he gets home. Tomorrow I'm going to rent a parking space at the motel that we live behind. (They could have rented one to me today, I went over there and got the deats, but they would have charged me an extra 20 for the end of this month since they only do first of the month to first of the month space leases. Before my epic garage adventure today, that seemed steep. Now, I'd pay double.)
So, here we are. Scrantonites. Let the new life begin.
Well, we're finally here! It took a few days to get the internet set up and for me to return to a somewhat normally functioning state of mind, so I apologize for the radio silence. Let's start back on Long Island, shall we?
Either Dustin and I were completely brain fried from packing for weeks on end or we're just stupid, but we failed to remember that traveling to PA on a Friday afternoon is a deathwish. Not only that, but we failed to check and see if there were any baseball games that evening, so we missed the memo about the the subway series. Getting that uhaul packed up and then getting those idiot cats loaded into the jeep was so stressful, we didn't think about any of these important factors, we just left. At 2pm.
As I mentioned earlier, we decided that I would drive the uhaul and Dustin would drive the jeep. I couldn't drive with the cats; their crying makes me feel like I'm gonna pass out. It rips my heart out. I've driven stupid Uhauls a bajillion times and was fairly confident I could handle it. So we took off, all packed up, prepared mentally for a three hour trip.
We decided that we would try our best to caravan, but we wouldn't make ourselves crazy if we happened to get seperated. I find that often when you caravan, it's very stressful to try to keep together. We both knew where we were going and had fully charged cell phones, so we just went for it. Everything was going swimmingly until we reached about exit 42 on the LIE. Then it was a dead stop.
It was just as the traffic started that I started to feel that familiar sensation of a bladder approaching maximum capacity. If you've ever been pregnant, you know that you start to lose control over certain bodily functions. If you have to pee, you have to pee NOW. Except that I was in traffic. In a Uhaul. On the LIE. I waited a few minutes before alerting Dustin of the pee situation. He suggested we pull over, but if you're familiar with that area, there's nowhere to pull over. We decided to try to make it off the island and then stop.
BIG MISTAKE.
By the time I reached the exit for the Cross Island Parkway, I was crying in pain. I was pretty sure I was going to wet my pants. As we pulled onto the parkway, I prayed the traffic was moving. It wasn't.
I made an executive decision. I had to pull over. I had a box of trash bags in the "immediate needs" box I had packed for our arrival in the new apartment. Fuck it, I would pee into one of those. I told Dustin we were pulling over. I found the one spot big enough for two cars on the side of the Cross Island and ignored all of the angry New Yorkers yelling at me for being on the Parkway. I blacked out one of the windows with a garbage bag and began the process of trying to pee in a garbage bag.
Without getting into all of the details, I will say that it's pretty much impossible to pee in a garbage bag inside of a uhaul at 17 weeks pregnant....and I will also say that there is a very strong possibility that I peed all over the uhaul. I didn't even care. At least half of it got in the garbage bag...I tied it up, welcomed it as my new copilot and told Dustin we were going.
No sooner had I pulled out onto the still trafficky parkway did people start beeping at me. I immediately thought "flat tire." I was already starting to have a panic attack from the pee incident, so I called up Dustin in a frenzy.
"People are beeping and pointing at me!!" I screeched.
"I know," Dustin replied. I could hear the hesitation in his voice before he told me this next bit. "Okay, so a few people told me while we were parked that we're not supposed to have the uhaul on the parkway."
"What!?" I yelled. "What am I supposed to do??"
"I don't know," Dustin confessed. "I guess we just go for it and hope we don't get caught.
"Great!" I said sarcastically and hung up in frustration.
Luckily, the traffic had picked up. I prayed silently that all the cops in NYC were busy with more important business while ignoring all of the pissed off New Yorkers honking and flipping out in my direction.
Somehow, by some small break in the universe, we made it to the Throgs Neck Bridge without authortiative incident.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over, right?
NOPE!
I always turn on 1010 WINS when I hit the Throgs Neck. It's something my dad always did and now it's like force of habit for me. I caught it right on the "ones" and heard the traffic. Subway Series game traffic. One hour to the GW Bridge.
It should only take 15 minutes.
The next TWO hours between the Throgs Neck and GW Bridge were spent with me worrying about the cats and not drinking anything in fear I'd have to pee again.
Five hours after we left our apartment on LI, we finally reached route 80...it should have only taken us about an hour and 15 minutes to get to that point. We still had about 2 and a half hours to Scranton.
I will spare you the gorey details, but the bottom line is that we finally arrived at our apartment at about nine thirty, a full seven and a half hours after we left. Dustin's mom and sister met us at the place to unpack.
Yes, after all that, we still had to unload everything.
We would have just waited until the morning, but we only had Dustin's sister for that one night...and she's really strong...and I'm useless.
A little after midnight, everything was in the apartment. The only thing "put away" was our bed, which we collapsed into shortly thereafter.
The next day, Saturday, all we wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately, we had to get up early to return the stupid uhaul. So we did that, both of us in terrible achy pain. We came home and started to slowly put the place together. Slowly being the operative word. Dustin was in a rush to get everything done, but eventually I convinced him to take it slow. He was gonna burn out. We went grocery shopping at the nearby Wegmans and tried to relax a little.
I forgot to mention that Saturday morning there was a huge armed forces parade right down our street.
Parking is a MAJOR PAIN IN THE ASS. We are gonna have to rent a spot because during the week, we're boned. On the weekend, you can park wherever. On Weekdays, After six and before 8am, you can pretty much park anywhere too. But Monday thru Friday, 8am to 6pm, you're either feeding the really overpriced meters (25 cents for fifteen minutes...two hour time limit) or parking in a garage. Today I had to figure out where to put the jeep. We moved it to a metered spot in the morning when Dustin was on his way to work, just to buy a little time. At about 10, I went to the store again (in search of beer for Dustin and dinner to make tonight ...the beer buying laws are ridick in PA...I'll get into that in another post) and when I got back I figured I'd park in the garage at the end of our street. NOPE. Garage full.
I get lost in a paper bag, but against my better judgement I decided to go iin search of another garage. I found one that seemed close and parked. When I got out of the garage, I was all spun around. I spent the next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get back home. After losing half my body weight in sweat, I found home. I decided to sit and write as I caught my breath.
Dustin is having a good day so far. I am hoping the radio station will have a Production position open for me because as soon as I'm done putting the rest of the apartment together, I'm going to be bored and lonely. I haven't been by myself in quite sometime and I am missing Dustin a lot, as silly as that sounds. I'm comforted to know that he's only a block away, and even more comforted to know I don't have to get the jeep until he's around giving me better walking directions. As far as I know, the jeep is back in Jersey.
My goal for the rest of today is to get the apartment all together and make some dinner so Dustin can relax when he gets home. Tomorrow I'm going to rent a parking space at the motel that we live behind. (They could have rented one to me today, I went over there and got the deats, but they would have charged me an extra 20 for the end of this month since they only do first of the month to first of the month space leases. Before my epic garage adventure today, that seemed steep. Now, I'd pay double.)
So, here we are. Scrantonites. Let the new life begin.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
In the City....the City of Scranton
For starters, I am exhausted right now. Driving to and from Scranton in one day in the pouring rain will take a toll on anyone, but I think especially on a 17 week pregnant woman. My butt is so sore from sitting in the car, I'm pretty sure the baby can feel it.
I mentioned in an earlier post that this whole Leaving Long Island thing was only born a few weeks ago. It had been something Dustin and I always talked about and wished for, but we didn't really start looking outside of a ten mile radius on the island until things got so bad that desperation drove us to actually start considering it to be a possibility. Well now, it's an actuality.
This process has been a series of mile markers...big and not so big hurdles, if you will. Finding a decent paying job in a much smaller job market. Getting said job. Passing employment eligibility tests. Clearing up issues tying us to the island. (legal and otherwise.) Raising funds....and so on and so forth. We still have a few issues to figure out (health insurance, for example) but since we have a temporary COBRA situation, we only had one glaring thing left to address...finding a place to live.
I can't remember if I mentioned this before because I'm pretty much out of my mind with fatigue, but a few days (weeks? I don't know, it's a blur)ago we found an apartment a block from Dustin's new work place. We contacted the landlord right away, but we've learned that apartments (especially good ones) go VERY quickly in Scranton. It's a college town for sure. Professional apartments are really tough to find....meaning we didn't wanna live in a place that housed undergrads. We need quiet. So when we found this one and spoke to the landlord and realized he only rents to medical students (who tend to be older, working crazy hours at the nearby hospital and not into partying into the wee hours) we were very interested. We had originally had our hearts set on a cabin outside of Scranton, but it was just too risky and expensive. Gas prices in PA are comparable to LI. Any cabin we would get would be at least a half hour away (the areas JUST outside of Scranton are not so nice or safe.) So Dustin would have been commuting an hour a day, spending about 200 bucks in gas in the Jeep, which basically gets 2 miles a gallon. In a cabin, we'd be paying for EVERYTHING...water, oil, electric, sewage, trash removal and whatever extras we wanted (cable phone, etc.) The apartment includes everything except electric and cable, which will probably run us 100 bucks for both a month, which we factored in. Plus, with me being pregnant, we didn't like the idea of being a half hour apart...just in case. I also was a little scared to be in the wilderness by myself...I'm not gonna lie. I love the outdoors, but I'm not quite sure what I'd do if I saw a bear on my front steps. I'd probably either hide in the bathroom until Dustin got home or try to pet it. It would depend on the hormone situation that day.
We wanted to keep our options and minds open to all possibilities, however. So this morning, we left LI at about 11:30, briefly stopped at the mall to buy Dustin some nicer shoes (all of our clothing and shoes got trashed in the past couple of months somehow. Probably from all the moving) and headed to Scranton. Dustin had some paperwork he had to pick up from the new job and we were excited to see the apartment right away, so we headed there. We made great timing. Actually both on the way there and home it only took us three hours. Hardly any traffic.
We got to the Scranton area at about 3 and called the landlord, Charles. He was out and about but told us he'd be at the place by 330. As it turns out, the building in which the apartment is located has more offices inside than apartments. Charles is a realtor and his offices are on the ground floor. Behind his offices are two apartments. The second floor houses some lawyers offices and two apartments, one of which (2A) was the one we were looking at. Above us is another apartment and presumably more offices, but we didn't go up there.
As I mentioned previously, everyone we've encountered in PA has been extremely nice. Charles was no exception. A New Jersey native and self proclaimed "high end" realtor, he was well spoken and efficient. He took us up to the unit where it was revealed that it was the only one left and had just become available on the market. We were a little worried about having someone above us, but the way the building is structured, the floors are incredibly thick. There is a lot of excess room between apartments. I made sure to ask a million times how the noise was. Dustin and I resigned ourselves to having to deal with a bit of noise; we'd be living in a city after all. Charles claims he'd never had a problem with noise complaints and went on to describe all of the other tenants to us. All single working professionals. Considering some of the places I've lived on LI, this was definitely a much better demographic.
I think as Charles opened the door to the apartment, Dustin and I felt at home. It was smaller than we expected (the wide angle camera lens on the pictures we saw was quite crafty) but excess space wasn't something on our list of importance. Dustin and I have now lived in three different places together and we're the type of couple that prefers to be on top of each other (hey now!) What I mean is we tend to always be in the same location. We watch tv at the same time, go to bed at the same time, eat together...to be honest, now that I think about it, I can't remember the last time we were home together and not right next to each other. Even here in the spacious basement apartment, we don't use half. There's literally two more couches and a tv 10 feet from where we sit that we haven't used.
The Scranton apartment is a one bedroom. We were toying with the idea of a two bedroom because of the baby, but then as we talked, we realized we don't want the baby in a separate room from us for at least the first six months. I don't know if that's weird or if that will change with all the crying...but we feel very strongly that we want all three of us in the same room for a while. The bedroom is big enough for all our our furniture and the crib and changing table and some chairs for nursing, so I'm good with that. There is a living room/kitchen combo and a gorgeous stainless steel kitchen. The bathroom is big and brand new. We loved the shower/tub. Best of all, there is a washer and dryer in the unit. I've never had that before. I think I might be most excited over that. Throw some big closets, hardwood floors and central air into the mix and there you have it. Home sweet home. We loved it.
I forgot to mention that while we were waiting for Charles to show up at the apartment we decided to walk from the apartment to Dustin's job. It took us less than a minute. If Dustin ran it, he could make it in about 20 seconds.
After we checked out the place the time was 340. We wanted it. We also needed to get the first month rent and security to Charles and of course my checkbook was packed away in some unknown location. So we had decided earlier that if we wanted the place we'd just go to our bank (we did some research and found out that there was one a few blocks away) and get a bank check. We then discovered that the bank was about to close at 4pm. So we said...Charles...we love it, we'll take it, but we gotta run my pregnant ass over to the bank if you want your money. We had played around with the idea of staying at The Compound for the night and then getting the money to Charles tomorrow morning, but we have SOOOOO much to do tomorrow we just couldn't afford to miss half the day traveling. So we ran over to the bank, got the cashier's check just in the nick of time, ran back over to Charles and went over the lease. Charles also required a criminal background check and you'll all be glad to know that these future parents have no black marks on their record. We filled out the paperwork, signed the lease and were given keys. Charles walked us back upstairs, showed us the elevator (nice feature) and explained the locks. We all shook hands and Charles left us standing in our new home.
It was a scene from a movie each of us with keys in our hands and a big hug and kiss in an empty apartment. We spent a few minutes turning on and off water, flicking the lights, imagining where furniture would go and marveling at the beautiful fridge and stove and microwave. We imagined what we'd make for our first dinner in our home on Saturday night and how a Christmas tree would look in the living room. We pictured laying in our bed with a little baby between us. We delegated closets and opened and closed every door. We hugged and kissed again and breathed a sigh of relief and excitement and anxiousness. We exchanged "I love yous" and agreed that as long as we had each other, everything was gonna be fine.
We wished we had more time to absorb our new space, but Dustin still had paperwork waiting and we wanted to get going back to NY to spend our last two nights. We walked back up to his office, where I had found a sweet parking space. (oh..parking is a bitch. It looks like we're gonna have to buy a spot but get this...Dustin found out that we can buy a spot at the mall for 100 bucks a month. Sounds like a lot, but you get a 100 dollar gift card to the mall every month. It's like a Christmas gift savings program, right? I'm pushing for that option.) So Dustin went in and took care of his paperwork and I went to the Starbucks in the mall for some hot chocolate and free wifi.
When Dustin was all done, we decided to head back, even though we just wanted to go to The Compound and sleep. The icing on the cake for the day was that I took Dustin to the Cracker Barrel that's on the way back to New York. He had never been; I had one in my college town and it's my favorite. I had chicken and dumplings and he had a steak and the extra dumplings I ordered because they are the best.
We made it back in three hours and are now trying to unwind in order to get a good night sleep. Tomorrow we have to go get Dustin a copy of his birth certificate, (his was lost a long time ago) and run a bunch of other errands. We're gonna rent a truck tomorrow night as Dustin's brother is available to help us load it only then. We'll head up on Friday afternoon, meeting Dustin's mom and sister at the apartment in Scranton. I'm a little nervous about the drive because I'll be driving the truck and Dustin will be driving the Jeep...with the cats. I can't drive with the cats because it distresses me. They don't like the car and they cry and that makes me cry. Last time we only moved 20 minutes away and it was uber traumatic. This time we decided to make cat mansion in the Jeep. We're gonna lay the seats down, pad it with blankets, put their litter box back there and their food and hope that giving them a little room to roam and the ability to lick and sit next to each other will keep them calm. I am doubtful this is going to help, but I can't listen to them cry. It's scary to me to drive the truck all the way through the city, but I can do it. I've done the drive every time...both there and back today...and as long as we don't leave at a very busy time we'll be ok.
I'll post tomorrow night after we pack up but might not be able to post again until after the move is complete. We still have to hook up internet and cable, and I don't know about up there but down here that always takes forever.
Another hurdle jumped. So far, we keep landing on our feet. Thank you, universe. Thank you so much.
I mentioned in an earlier post that this whole Leaving Long Island thing was only born a few weeks ago. It had been something Dustin and I always talked about and wished for, but we didn't really start looking outside of a ten mile radius on the island until things got so bad that desperation drove us to actually start considering it to be a possibility. Well now, it's an actuality.
This process has been a series of mile markers...big and not so big hurdles, if you will. Finding a decent paying job in a much smaller job market. Getting said job. Passing employment eligibility tests. Clearing up issues tying us to the island. (legal and otherwise.) Raising funds....and so on and so forth. We still have a few issues to figure out (health insurance, for example) but since we have a temporary COBRA situation, we only had one glaring thing left to address...finding a place to live.
I can't remember if I mentioned this before because I'm pretty much out of my mind with fatigue, but a few days (weeks? I don't know, it's a blur)ago we found an apartment a block from Dustin's new work place. We contacted the landlord right away, but we've learned that apartments (especially good ones) go VERY quickly in Scranton. It's a college town for sure. Professional apartments are really tough to find....meaning we didn't wanna live in a place that housed undergrads. We need quiet. So when we found this one and spoke to the landlord and realized he only rents to medical students (who tend to be older, working crazy hours at the nearby hospital and not into partying into the wee hours) we were very interested. We had originally had our hearts set on a cabin outside of Scranton, but it was just too risky and expensive. Gas prices in PA are comparable to LI. Any cabin we would get would be at least a half hour away (the areas JUST outside of Scranton are not so nice or safe.) So Dustin would have been commuting an hour a day, spending about 200 bucks in gas in the Jeep, which basically gets 2 miles a gallon. In a cabin, we'd be paying for EVERYTHING...water, oil, electric, sewage, trash removal and whatever extras we wanted (cable phone, etc.) The apartment includes everything except electric and cable, which will probably run us 100 bucks for both a month, which we factored in. Plus, with me being pregnant, we didn't like the idea of being a half hour apart...just in case. I also was a little scared to be in the wilderness by myself...I'm not gonna lie. I love the outdoors, but I'm not quite sure what I'd do if I saw a bear on my front steps. I'd probably either hide in the bathroom until Dustin got home or try to pet it. It would depend on the hormone situation that day.
We wanted to keep our options and minds open to all possibilities, however. So this morning, we left LI at about 11:30, briefly stopped at the mall to buy Dustin some nicer shoes (all of our clothing and shoes got trashed in the past couple of months somehow. Probably from all the moving) and headed to Scranton. Dustin had some paperwork he had to pick up from the new job and we were excited to see the apartment right away, so we headed there. We made great timing. Actually both on the way there and home it only took us three hours. Hardly any traffic.
We got to the Scranton area at about 3 and called the landlord, Charles. He was out and about but told us he'd be at the place by 330. As it turns out, the building in which the apartment is located has more offices inside than apartments. Charles is a realtor and his offices are on the ground floor. Behind his offices are two apartments. The second floor houses some lawyers offices and two apartments, one of which (2A) was the one we were looking at. Above us is another apartment and presumably more offices, but we didn't go up there.
As I mentioned previously, everyone we've encountered in PA has been extremely nice. Charles was no exception. A New Jersey native and self proclaimed "high end" realtor, he was well spoken and efficient. He took us up to the unit where it was revealed that it was the only one left and had just become available on the market. We were a little worried about having someone above us, but the way the building is structured, the floors are incredibly thick. There is a lot of excess room between apartments. I made sure to ask a million times how the noise was. Dustin and I resigned ourselves to having to deal with a bit of noise; we'd be living in a city after all. Charles claims he'd never had a problem with noise complaints and went on to describe all of the other tenants to us. All single working professionals. Considering some of the places I've lived on LI, this was definitely a much better demographic.
I think as Charles opened the door to the apartment, Dustin and I felt at home. It was smaller than we expected (the wide angle camera lens on the pictures we saw was quite crafty) but excess space wasn't something on our list of importance. Dustin and I have now lived in three different places together and we're the type of couple that prefers to be on top of each other (hey now!) What I mean is we tend to always be in the same location. We watch tv at the same time, go to bed at the same time, eat together...to be honest, now that I think about it, I can't remember the last time we were home together and not right next to each other. Even here in the spacious basement apartment, we don't use half. There's literally two more couches and a tv 10 feet from where we sit that we haven't used.
The Scranton apartment is a one bedroom. We were toying with the idea of a two bedroom because of the baby, but then as we talked, we realized we don't want the baby in a separate room from us for at least the first six months. I don't know if that's weird or if that will change with all the crying...but we feel very strongly that we want all three of us in the same room for a while. The bedroom is big enough for all our our furniture and the crib and changing table and some chairs for nursing, so I'm good with that. There is a living room/kitchen combo and a gorgeous stainless steel kitchen. The bathroom is big and brand new. We loved the shower/tub. Best of all, there is a washer and dryer in the unit. I've never had that before. I think I might be most excited over that. Throw some big closets, hardwood floors and central air into the mix and there you have it. Home sweet home. We loved it.
I forgot to mention that while we were waiting for Charles to show up at the apartment we decided to walk from the apartment to Dustin's job. It took us less than a minute. If Dustin ran it, he could make it in about 20 seconds.
After we checked out the place the time was 340. We wanted it. We also needed to get the first month rent and security to Charles and of course my checkbook was packed away in some unknown location. So we had decided earlier that if we wanted the place we'd just go to our bank (we did some research and found out that there was one a few blocks away) and get a bank check. We then discovered that the bank was about to close at 4pm. So we said...Charles...we love it, we'll take it, but we gotta run my pregnant ass over to the bank if you want your money. We had played around with the idea of staying at The Compound for the night and then getting the money to Charles tomorrow morning, but we have SOOOOO much to do tomorrow we just couldn't afford to miss half the day traveling. So we ran over to the bank, got the cashier's check just in the nick of time, ran back over to Charles and went over the lease. Charles also required a criminal background check and you'll all be glad to know that these future parents have no black marks on their record. We filled out the paperwork, signed the lease and were given keys. Charles walked us back upstairs, showed us the elevator (nice feature) and explained the locks. We all shook hands and Charles left us standing in our new home.
It was a scene from a movie each of us with keys in our hands and a big hug and kiss in an empty apartment. We spent a few minutes turning on and off water, flicking the lights, imagining where furniture would go and marveling at the beautiful fridge and stove and microwave. We imagined what we'd make for our first dinner in our home on Saturday night and how a Christmas tree would look in the living room. We pictured laying in our bed with a little baby between us. We delegated closets and opened and closed every door. We hugged and kissed again and breathed a sigh of relief and excitement and anxiousness. We exchanged "I love yous" and agreed that as long as we had each other, everything was gonna be fine.
We wished we had more time to absorb our new space, but Dustin still had paperwork waiting and we wanted to get going back to NY to spend our last two nights. We walked back up to his office, where I had found a sweet parking space. (oh..parking is a bitch. It looks like we're gonna have to buy a spot but get this...Dustin found out that we can buy a spot at the mall for 100 bucks a month. Sounds like a lot, but you get a 100 dollar gift card to the mall every month. It's like a Christmas gift savings program, right? I'm pushing for that option.) So Dustin went in and took care of his paperwork and I went to the Starbucks in the mall for some hot chocolate and free wifi.
When Dustin was all done, we decided to head back, even though we just wanted to go to The Compound and sleep. The icing on the cake for the day was that I took Dustin to the Cracker Barrel that's on the way back to New York. He had never been; I had one in my college town and it's my favorite. I had chicken and dumplings and he had a steak and the extra dumplings I ordered because they are the best.
We made it back in three hours and are now trying to unwind in order to get a good night sleep. Tomorrow we have to go get Dustin a copy of his birth certificate, (his was lost a long time ago) and run a bunch of other errands. We're gonna rent a truck tomorrow night as Dustin's brother is available to help us load it only then. We'll head up on Friday afternoon, meeting Dustin's mom and sister at the apartment in Scranton. I'm a little nervous about the drive because I'll be driving the truck and Dustin will be driving the Jeep...with the cats. I can't drive with the cats because it distresses me. They don't like the car and they cry and that makes me cry. Last time we only moved 20 minutes away and it was uber traumatic. This time we decided to make cat mansion in the Jeep. We're gonna lay the seats down, pad it with blankets, put their litter box back there and their food and hope that giving them a little room to roam and the ability to lick and sit next to each other will keep them calm. I am doubtful this is going to help, but I can't listen to them cry. It's scary to me to drive the truck all the way through the city, but I can do it. I've done the drive every time...both there and back today...and as long as we don't leave at a very busy time we'll be ok.
I'll post tomorrow night after we pack up but might not be able to post again until after the move is complete. We still have to hook up internet and cable, and I don't know about up there but down here that always takes forever.
Another hurdle jumped. So far, we keep landing on our feet. Thank you, universe. Thank you so much.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Operation Leave Long Island: Phase One, Initiate
In keeping with my "quick, get everything medical done right away before your providers realize you've just COBRA'd yourself and make you pay out of pocket before coverage is effective again" theme, I went and got the second part of the "odds something is wrong with your kid" test done today. Usually getting blood taken is a traumatic event for me...I just don't like it...it grosses me out...but today was a breeze despite the large amount of blood they had to take. I'm guessing it was easy because they had me in the Princess Room, which is a room at my lab that has all of the Disney Princesses on the walls. I was able to pretend I was Mulan for a few minutes and thusly distract myself.
COBRA did already catch up with me in another way today. Of course, my prenatals were up for refill. I suppose Target Pharmacy is exceptionally diligent at checking patient eligibility and realized quickly that I was not technically covered. Even though COBRA is retroactive, you have a sort of waiting period where you pay out of pocket for services until you make your first COBRA payment. Then you're covered. LAME. I can't make that huge payment right this very second because of the move and needing to keep some money in the bank for an apartment down payment and moving expenses and what have you, so I'm either gonna have to pay the 75 bucks for a month supply of vitamins or buy the over the counters. I can't decide what I'm gonna do. I have one pill left so I'll sleep on it. I literally could; it's the size of a pillow.
In bigger news, tomorrow, Dustin and I are heading up to Scranton to check out the apartment we have our hearts set on. The tentative plan is that we'll only be up for the day in the hopes that we find a place. Then we'll come back on Thursday, rent a truck, pack it up Thursday night with the help of Dustin's ridiculously strong brother Dylan, finish packing up Friday morning and head up to Scranton where Dustin's mom and sister are gonna help us unpack. We happened to find a place just a block from one of Dustin's new offices in Scranton. It looks like at least some of the time he'll be in Wilkes-Barre, which is the town about 20 minutes south of Scranton, but Scranton is much cleaner, safer area. For less than the cost of the studio apartment we just moved out of, we can get a "luxury suite." Huge one bedroom, wood floors, washer, dryer, central air, brand new building in the most "upscale" part of Scranton. We kind of have all of our eggs in that basket at the moment...strangely enough, other places I've contacted for apartments haven't gotten back to me. When we were casually looking, I heard back from people right away. Now that we actually have to get our asses up there because Dustin starts on Monday? Radio silence. I'm hoping this is an omen that the "luxury suite" is meant to be.
Dustin's new job also called him today to offer us a hotel room in the city for a week if for some reason our apartment search bombs. How nice of them! We are hoping we don't need it (we just wanna move and get on with our lives...plus we got the family help this weekend) but the gesture is so nice. EVERYONE I've met in PA so far has been MUCH nicer than any random stranger I've spoken to here. Today a woman behind me on line at CVS actually CLICKED HER TONGUE IN AGGRAVATION because I was taking too long picking out candy at the register. (It's HER fault I bought all three that I couldn't choose between because I was rushed. I also blame her for the fact that I ate all three about 20 minutes after I got home. I'm like the grandpa in the nursing home in Look Who's Talking.) Conversely, when I was in Scranton last, I asked for directions from the Starbucks barista who actually pulled out her blackberry and looked up exact directions for me and then complimented my hair, which I KNOW looked like shit that day.
I had lunch with some former coworkers today...sort of a goodbye lunch. They're great women. I'm gonna miss them.
After lunch and hanging with the Vampires (blood suckers at the lab) Dustin and I busted butt to get the rest of our crap either packed up or thrown away. We made the executive decision to trash as much stuff as we possibly could before this move. We did such a good job, we only have like six boxes of stuff. It feels sparse. But we realize that a lot of our furniture...including our old bed, couches, coffee tables and end tables....were just gross. We couldn't imagine having a baby around furniture that I bought before college. I get a little nauseous thinking about how much bong water, cigarette smoke, take out food, beer and other nasty elements were in the fibers of that crap. So, everything we could get rid of, we did. Dustin's Aunt Laura had some nice furniture she was looking to get rid of, so we're taking that. There's a HUGE outdoor flea market up by The Compound that I'm really looking forward to checking out for cool furniture once we have some income. And all the other stuff we'll build up slowly.
I've never had anything really NICE as far as materialistic things are concerned. Certainly not things that I've ever bought for myself. A few months ago, I bought a couch. A really small couch that is made out of like, burlap, but I have a feeling I'm never going to be able to get rid of it. It was expensive (to my budget) and whenever I look at it, I'm like...proud. When we were leaving the cottage, Dustin asked me what furniture I was really attached to. I didn't even pause before I said "just the couch." I didn't even want the bed in which our child was conceived because it definitely only cost me 89 bucks at some blow out bonanza in 1998. So the burlap couch is coming with us, along with a kitchen table and two mismatched chairs I actually found at random salvation armies. We have an old tv stand that probably has about 2 months of life left and a stout dresser from Dustin's house...and that's IT. Pregnancy hormones make me tear up when I look at the very small amount of possessions I've managed to accumulate in 31 years of life. I don't consider myself to be over materialistic...but I should probably have more than THIS. Everything you own should probably not fit into a corner of your baby daddy's dad's basement.
There are times where I feel like there are reflections of your life no matter where you look. Inwardly, at your environment, at your friends, your family, your home...everywhere you turn there is something that reinforces who you are and where you're heading. I suppose we can choose to look at these things and have them define us, but I don't think I want to give anyone but myself that much power. And even that is extremely dangerous because it's true that I am my own worst critic. On a recent particularly bad day, I woke up and focused on my toes, which had gone weeks without a pedicure. My PJ bottoms had streaks of actual dirt on them because I couldn't even afford to go to a laundromat. My favorite comforter was resting across my body in such a way that I could see two burn marks from my trashy smoking in bed days. Feathers were coming out of my pillow. I sat up and caught my reflection. My hair was shaggy due to not having a proper haircut in months. My eyebrows had grown back in to their natural 1980's Brooke Shields state. My skin was very pale thanks to constant worry and my eyes were puffy from crying myself to sleep the night before.
I got out of the bed that wasn't mine (we have been sleeping in one of the guest rooms at Dustin's dad's) and padded across the basement I called home, averting my gaze to the half opened boxes I had been living out of. I went into the bathroom and shut the door, sat on the floor and cried. That heaving, sobbing, gagging cry that makes it impossible to breathe out of your nose for several hours afterwards. The footfalls above my head of the people who actually own this house made things worse, reminding me that I had nothing. I felt like nothing. I cried for my child, who had no choice but to be brought into this situation. I cried for my teeth, which hurt thanks to pregnancy, but would go without seeing a dentist I couldn't afford. I cried for my cats who have been uprooted traumatically several times (especially poor Wednesday who has never been anywhere for more than a few months.) I cried for the hole I saw myself in and the inability to immediately solve a problem. I cried so much that I fell asleep on the soft bathmat I did not buy for a few hours.
Dustin let me have this moment, perhaps realizing I was too far gone in despair to help or perhaps too terrified to see the beast that had taken over his once sane and normal baby mamma. He called to me a few times, making sure I hadn't drowned myself in the toilet, but kept his distance. When I awoke, shivering from laying half on a bathmat and half on cold tile, I still felt like crying. But something in me...maybe it was hawkeye, maybe it was that caveman survival instinct, was telling me that I couldn't keep on like this. That it wasn't helping anything. That no matter how much I cried or worried or slept on the bathroom floor, it wasn't going to fix the situation. I padded back out again and saw Dustin sitting on the couch, his strong brow knitted together in worry. I apologized and blamed pregnancy hormones. He embraced me and said, "It's going to be ok. I promise."
He couldn't promise something like that. He was/is just as worried as I am. But for that one second I allowed myself to believe that everything was going to be ok. Hope is important. Without hope, all you have is a pregnant woman in dirty pj's crying on the bathroom floor.
Here's hoping tomorrow is the beginning of new, wonderful things.
COBRA did already catch up with me in another way today. Of course, my prenatals were up for refill. I suppose Target Pharmacy is exceptionally diligent at checking patient eligibility and realized quickly that I was not technically covered. Even though COBRA is retroactive, you have a sort of waiting period where you pay out of pocket for services until you make your first COBRA payment. Then you're covered. LAME. I can't make that huge payment right this very second because of the move and needing to keep some money in the bank for an apartment down payment and moving expenses and what have you, so I'm either gonna have to pay the 75 bucks for a month supply of vitamins or buy the over the counters. I can't decide what I'm gonna do. I have one pill left so I'll sleep on it. I literally could; it's the size of a pillow.
In bigger news, tomorrow, Dustin and I are heading up to Scranton to check out the apartment we have our hearts set on. The tentative plan is that we'll only be up for the day in the hopes that we find a place. Then we'll come back on Thursday, rent a truck, pack it up Thursday night with the help of Dustin's ridiculously strong brother Dylan, finish packing up Friday morning and head up to Scranton where Dustin's mom and sister are gonna help us unpack. We happened to find a place just a block from one of Dustin's new offices in Scranton. It looks like at least some of the time he'll be in Wilkes-Barre, which is the town about 20 minutes south of Scranton, but Scranton is much cleaner, safer area. For less than the cost of the studio apartment we just moved out of, we can get a "luxury suite." Huge one bedroom, wood floors, washer, dryer, central air, brand new building in the most "upscale" part of Scranton. We kind of have all of our eggs in that basket at the moment...strangely enough, other places I've contacted for apartments haven't gotten back to me. When we were casually looking, I heard back from people right away. Now that we actually have to get our asses up there because Dustin starts on Monday? Radio silence. I'm hoping this is an omen that the "luxury suite" is meant to be.
Dustin's new job also called him today to offer us a hotel room in the city for a week if for some reason our apartment search bombs. How nice of them! We are hoping we don't need it (we just wanna move and get on with our lives...plus we got the family help this weekend) but the gesture is so nice. EVERYONE I've met in PA so far has been MUCH nicer than any random stranger I've spoken to here. Today a woman behind me on line at CVS actually CLICKED HER TONGUE IN AGGRAVATION because I was taking too long picking out candy at the register. (It's HER fault I bought all three that I couldn't choose between because I was rushed. I also blame her for the fact that I ate all three about 20 minutes after I got home. I'm like the grandpa in the nursing home in Look Who's Talking.) Conversely, when I was in Scranton last, I asked for directions from the Starbucks barista who actually pulled out her blackberry and looked up exact directions for me and then complimented my hair, which I KNOW looked like shit that day.
I had lunch with some former coworkers today...sort of a goodbye lunch. They're great women. I'm gonna miss them.
After lunch and hanging with the Vampires (blood suckers at the lab) Dustin and I busted butt to get the rest of our crap either packed up or thrown away. We made the executive decision to trash as much stuff as we possibly could before this move. We did such a good job, we only have like six boxes of stuff. It feels sparse. But we realize that a lot of our furniture...including our old bed, couches, coffee tables and end tables....were just gross. We couldn't imagine having a baby around furniture that I bought before college. I get a little nauseous thinking about how much bong water, cigarette smoke, take out food, beer and other nasty elements were in the fibers of that crap. So, everything we could get rid of, we did. Dustin's Aunt Laura had some nice furniture she was looking to get rid of, so we're taking that. There's a HUGE outdoor flea market up by The Compound that I'm really looking forward to checking out for cool furniture once we have some income. And all the other stuff we'll build up slowly.
I've never had anything really NICE as far as materialistic things are concerned. Certainly not things that I've ever bought for myself. A few months ago, I bought a couch. A really small couch that is made out of like, burlap, but I have a feeling I'm never going to be able to get rid of it. It was expensive (to my budget) and whenever I look at it, I'm like...proud. When we were leaving the cottage, Dustin asked me what furniture I was really attached to. I didn't even pause before I said "just the couch." I didn't even want the bed in which our child was conceived because it definitely only cost me 89 bucks at some blow out bonanza in 1998. So the burlap couch is coming with us, along with a kitchen table and two mismatched chairs I actually found at random salvation armies. We have an old tv stand that probably has about 2 months of life left and a stout dresser from Dustin's house...and that's IT. Pregnancy hormones make me tear up when I look at the very small amount of possessions I've managed to accumulate in 31 years of life. I don't consider myself to be over materialistic...but I should probably have more than THIS. Everything you own should probably not fit into a corner of your baby daddy's dad's basement.
There are times where I feel like there are reflections of your life no matter where you look. Inwardly, at your environment, at your friends, your family, your home...everywhere you turn there is something that reinforces who you are and where you're heading. I suppose we can choose to look at these things and have them define us, but I don't think I want to give anyone but myself that much power. And even that is extremely dangerous because it's true that I am my own worst critic. On a recent particularly bad day, I woke up and focused on my toes, which had gone weeks without a pedicure. My PJ bottoms had streaks of actual dirt on them because I couldn't even afford to go to a laundromat. My favorite comforter was resting across my body in such a way that I could see two burn marks from my trashy smoking in bed days. Feathers were coming out of my pillow. I sat up and caught my reflection. My hair was shaggy due to not having a proper haircut in months. My eyebrows had grown back in to their natural 1980's Brooke Shields state. My skin was very pale thanks to constant worry and my eyes were puffy from crying myself to sleep the night before.
I got out of the bed that wasn't mine (we have been sleeping in one of the guest rooms at Dustin's dad's) and padded across the basement I called home, averting my gaze to the half opened boxes I had been living out of. I went into the bathroom and shut the door, sat on the floor and cried. That heaving, sobbing, gagging cry that makes it impossible to breathe out of your nose for several hours afterwards. The footfalls above my head of the people who actually own this house made things worse, reminding me that I had nothing. I felt like nothing. I cried for my child, who had no choice but to be brought into this situation. I cried for my teeth, which hurt thanks to pregnancy, but would go without seeing a dentist I couldn't afford. I cried for my cats who have been uprooted traumatically several times (especially poor Wednesday who has never been anywhere for more than a few months.) I cried for the hole I saw myself in and the inability to immediately solve a problem. I cried so much that I fell asleep on the soft bathmat I did not buy for a few hours.
Dustin let me have this moment, perhaps realizing I was too far gone in despair to help or perhaps too terrified to see the beast that had taken over his once sane and normal baby mamma. He called to me a few times, making sure I hadn't drowned myself in the toilet, but kept his distance. When I awoke, shivering from laying half on a bathmat and half on cold tile, I still felt like crying. But something in me...maybe it was hawkeye, maybe it was that caveman survival instinct, was telling me that I couldn't keep on like this. That it wasn't helping anything. That no matter how much I cried or worried or slept on the bathroom floor, it wasn't going to fix the situation. I padded back out again and saw Dustin sitting on the couch, his strong brow knitted together in worry. I apologized and blamed pregnancy hormones. He embraced me and said, "It's going to be ok. I promise."
He couldn't promise something like that. He was/is just as worried as I am. But for that one second I allowed myself to believe that everything was going to be ok. Hope is important. Without hope, all you have is a pregnant woman in dirty pj's crying on the bathroom floor.
Here's hoping tomorrow is the beginning of new, wonderful things.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Shining Light in the Middle of the Darkest Night
The very first thing I did this morning was elect COBRA coverage. I had been putting it off because I literally got sick every time I thought about that little letter I got in the mail not too long ago telling me how much basic health coverage was gonna cost me through this "convenient" and "helpful" program.
714 a month. Yes, you read that correctly. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN FUCKING DOLLARS A MONTH.
We have exhausted our other options. I'm getting nowhere fast with Medicaid. In order to get on Dustin's health insurance, which will kick in about a month after he starts, we have to prove domestic partnership. Apparently, "he's my baby daddy" isn't sufficient proof. While we've been living together for more than a year and are one hundred percent committed to each other forever ever, proving this on paper is almost impossible. We never put utilities in both of our names. Or leases. Or cars. Or anything. We've been living with family...so no landlord to speak of. Our addresses on our licenses are not the same, mainly because we're lazy and hate the dmv. In order to get domestic partnership, you have to prove...through more than one valid document as specified by the health insurance company, that you've lived together for six months. And...well crap. We can't do that.
Marriage is something we've spoken about...but it's not an option at this juncture for a variety of reasons. Plus, I am gun shy on getting married because of insurance. Talk about taking the romance out of the situation.
So, long story short, COBRA it is until something else can be figured out. Hopefully there is a job waiting for me in Scranton, but for now I need to be covered. So with a few clicks, I resigned myself to an exorbitant fee for what is decidedly the crappiest health insurance I have ever had in my life.
The reason I had to do this on this particular date was because I had a doctor's appointment today. It was the 16 week appointment. For those of you who are male or have never been pregnant, you go about every four weeks in the beginning as long as everything is progressing normally. Despite some scares we had early on...which weren't really scares as much as us just finding out too early to know that this was a viable, healthy pregnancy...I've been having a pretty easy go of this. Still, every single time I drive to a doctor's appointment, I have a mini panic attack. I convince myself that this will be the appointment where everything falls apart. The doctor will tell me that I actually AM having an alien and for the safety of the world, we will have to terminate. Or more realistically, one of the bajillions of tests I've taken will come back with horrific results.
I always make a mental list of all of the terrible things I did in the four weeks since my last "everything is ok" appointment. I didn't drink enough water. I was too stressed out. I yelled at the cat for 45 minutes because it was playing with the blinds when I was trying to sleep. I didn't get enough sleep that one week. I took benadryl when I broke out in hives. I also took tylenol for a headache. The virgin bloody mary mix I've been drinking was probably accidentally spiked. I pushed too hard during a particularly tough BM. I forgot my prenatal pill that one day. I ate too much ice cream and not enough veggies.
In all honestly, this is just a fraction of the terrible things I think. I won't even get into the more horrible deformities and illnesses I convince myself my kid has. I think writing them down will make me break out in shingles.
So by the time the nurse leads me into the room, I'm a nervous wreck. I make silly small talk in a weird, high pitched voice. I shake as I hand her my pee (yeah you have to pee in a cup at home and bring it in.) I breathe too heavily and feel like I'm gonna pass out. I get too warm and have to take off whatever coat/sweatshirt I have on, revealing all my tattoos and then freak out internally because I think they're gonna report me to the government as an unfit mother. Today I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I bled.
The way my practice works is there are seven doctors. It's a large practice and you see all of them on a rotating basis. It's good and bad. It's good because it means that at least one of the doctors you've seen will be available to deliver your baby instead of someone you've never met. It's bad because in the beginning you are a new patient every single time you go in.
Today was a non-sonogram appointment, which is a bummer. Seeing your kid on the big screen is pretty thrilling. I imagine that's why so many parents push their kids to be famous. But whatever, they need to make sure shit is going well. Plus there were some things I was looking forward to (and terrified of)...getting test results back, measuring the uterus and hearing that incredible heartbeat again.
My anxiety starts with the sugar in the pee test that the nurse does right away. I tested a little high in the blood sugar department a few weeks back so they've been watching me like a hawk.
Sugar pee test passed.
Next is the scale. I've been steadily losing weight during this pregnancy and the last time I was there the doctor was VERY specific in saying that he needed to see at least a little bit of a weight gain at this appointment otherwise he'd become concerned.
One pound gained.
Blood pressure is my third hurdle. I have had dangerously low blood pressure in the past.
120/80.
Nurse smiles and tells me everything looks great and that the doctor will be right in. I click on my kindle because "be right in" often means "will be in within the hour." To my surprise, he does come right in. My trashy romance novel will have to wait.
This doctor is the youngest I've seen. I like younger doctors. I don't trust older ones. I feel like a lot has changed since they learned medicine. So young doc sits down next to me and asks me the obligatory "how are you feeling" questions. Great, grand, wonderful, no problems. (It's nice to say that and be telling the truth. Before pregnancy I would lie to doctors all the time. No that doesn't hurt, no I don't smoke more than a pack a day, no, I'm just a social drinker.) Young doc pulls out my scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" test results and takes the time to explain them to me. My results are as good as you can get. He smiles and says "You're having the pregnancy of a 20 year old." I replied that 20 years olds shouldn't be having babies, and he laughs but explains that, unfortunately, your body is at it's baby prime in your very early 20's. I guess that's because in olden days you were a senior citizen by the time you were my age.
He goes on to say that if I was younger, he wouldn't send me for the second part of the scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" testing because my initial results were so stellar and the second round of testing can cause unnecessary worry because they tend to yield false positives sometimes. But, because I'm over 30, he's gonna send me anyway. If I get a false positive, I will probably go off the deep end...just warning you guys now.
The next part of the exam was something I was really excited about. I'm a chubby girl. 92% of my chubbiness is around my belly. I'm PRETTY sure I can see some growth in that department, but because of said chubbiness, I'm in doubt. Dustin has said that he can tell a clear difference, and so has everyone else who has seen me...but I dunno. I feel so normal and am still in most of my regular clothes so..I'd like to see some marked progress here.
So the doc tells me to lay back, we're gonna measure the old uterus. Hooray! I exclaim. I also ask him to please show me exactly where my uterus is. He looks at me like I might have a learning disability. "I know it's not in my shoulder or my thigh," I explain. "I'm fat and I can't tell if this belly is baby or ice cream." He laughs again and begins the belly smashing. He nods and seems happy with his exploration.
"You're measuring perfectly," he says. "Right here is the top of your uterus," he explains, pressing gently just a tiny bit below my belly button. I move my hand there and as if by some shift in physics, I can now clearly feel the hard baby cocoon. He whips out a tape measure and takes some seamstress like measurements. "Yeah, you're showing. See this bump? That's a baby. You're actually measuring closer to 17 weeks," he goes on to say. He glances back at my chart and does some math in his head. "Yes," he nods. "You're about sixteen weeks and five days. We're gonna have to revise your due date a little." I clap. That means this pregnancy is even CLOSER to being over!!
Finally, the doctor pulls out his little hand held heartbeat doppler thingy. How amazing is modern medicine? A dab of lube on my belly and we're good to go. He finds my heartbeat immediately. I bite my lip and worry that we won't hear the baby's. He listens to my heart for a bit. "Nervous?" He asks. (My heart is racing.) "Yeah," I reply, trying to calm the eff down. He moves the doppler down and to the left. I hear some whooshing, but no baby heartbeat. "The baby is moving," the doctor explains. "He won't stay still; it's making it difficult to get the heart." He chases the baby around my belly for a bit and I telepathically instruct the kid to stay still for 30 seconds. Suddenly, the room is filled with the amazing, galloping sound of the life inside of me. "There it is," the doctor smiles. "Sounds perfect. Strong. Perfect."
He keeps the doppler on for a moment, letting me listen. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about COBRA. I wasn't thinking about my now days away move. I wasn't worrying about money or health or my car breaking down. I just listened to that amazing heart. The heart of my child who doesn't care that I'm broke or an anxious mess. The heart that I already love and will stop at nothing to protect. The heart that is half me, and half a man I'm so lucky to be creating life with.
All that being said, I'm gonna dry heave every time I write this COBRA check and I'm also going to make sure that the first time this kid breaks curfew or lies to my face I make him or her feel really guilty for all the crap I have to go through right now in order to give him or her the best life I can.
714 a month. Yes, you read that correctly. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN FUCKING DOLLARS A MONTH.
We have exhausted our other options. I'm getting nowhere fast with Medicaid. In order to get on Dustin's health insurance, which will kick in about a month after he starts, we have to prove domestic partnership. Apparently, "he's my baby daddy" isn't sufficient proof. While we've been living together for more than a year and are one hundred percent committed to each other forever ever, proving this on paper is almost impossible. We never put utilities in both of our names. Or leases. Or cars. Or anything. We've been living with family...so no landlord to speak of. Our addresses on our licenses are not the same, mainly because we're lazy and hate the dmv. In order to get domestic partnership, you have to prove...through more than one valid document as specified by the health insurance company, that you've lived together for six months. And...well crap. We can't do that.
Marriage is something we've spoken about...but it's not an option at this juncture for a variety of reasons. Plus, I am gun shy on getting married because of insurance. Talk about taking the romance out of the situation.
So, long story short, COBRA it is until something else can be figured out. Hopefully there is a job waiting for me in Scranton, but for now I need to be covered. So with a few clicks, I resigned myself to an exorbitant fee for what is decidedly the crappiest health insurance I have ever had in my life.
The reason I had to do this on this particular date was because I had a doctor's appointment today. It was the 16 week appointment. For those of you who are male or have never been pregnant, you go about every four weeks in the beginning as long as everything is progressing normally. Despite some scares we had early on...which weren't really scares as much as us just finding out too early to know that this was a viable, healthy pregnancy...I've been having a pretty easy go of this. Still, every single time I drive to a doctor's appointment, I have a mini panic attack. I convince myself that this will be the appointment where everything falls apart. The doctor will tell me that I actually AM having an alien and for the safety of the world, we will have to terminate. Or more realistically, one of the bajillions of tests I've taken will come back with horrific results.
I always make a mental list of all of the terrible things I did in the four weeks since my last "everything is ok" appointment. I didn't drink enough water. I was too stressed out. I yelled at the cat for 45 minutes because it was playing with the blinds when I was trying to sleep. I didn't get enough sleep that one week. I took benadryl when I broke out in hives. I also took tylenol for a headache. The virgin bloody mary mix I've been drinking was probably accidentally spiked. I pushed too hard during a particularly tough BM. I forgot my prenatal pill that one day. I ate too much ice cream and not enough veggies.
In all honestly, this is just a fraction of the terrible things I think. I won't even get into the more horrible deformities and illnesses I convince myself my kid has. I think writing them down will make me break out in shingles.
So by the time the nurse leads me into the room, I'm a nervous wreck. I make silly small talk in a weird, high pitched voice. I shake as I hand her my pee (yeah you have to pee in a cup at home and bring it in.) I breathe too heavily and feel like I'm gonna pass out. I get too warm and have to take off whatever coat/sweatshirt I have on, revealing all my tattoos and then freak out internally because I think they're gonna report me to the government as an unfit mother. Today I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I bled.
The way my practice works is there are seven doctors. It's a large practice and you see all of them on a rotating basis. It's good and bad. It's good because it means that at least one of the doctors you've seen will be available to deliver your baby instead of someone you've never met. It's bad because in the beginning you are a new patient every single time you go in.
Today was a non-sonogram appointment, which is a bummer. Seeing your kid on the big screen is pretty thrilling. I imagine that's why so many parents push their kids to be famous. But whatever, they need to make sure shit is going well. Plus there were some things I was looking forward to (and terrified of)...getting test results back, measuring the uterus and hearing that incredible heartbeat again.
My anxiety starts with the sugar in the pee test that the nurse does right away. I tested a little high in the blood sugar department a few weeks back so they've been watching me like a hawk.
Sugar pee test passed.
Next is the scale. I've been steadily losing weight during this pregnancy and the last time I was there the doctor was VERY specific in saying that he needed to see at least a little bit of a weight gain at this appointment otherwise he'd become concerned.
One pound gained.
Blood pressure is my third hurdle. I have had dangerously low blood pressure in the past.
120/80.
Nurse smiles and tells me everything looks great and that the doctor will be right in. I click on my kindle because "be right in" often means "will be in within the hour." To my surprise, he does come right in. My trashy romance novel will have to wait.
This doctor is the youngest I've seen. I like younger doctors. I don't trust older ones. I feel like a lot has changed since they learned medicine. So young doc sits down next to me and asks me the obligatory "how are you feeling" questions. Great, grand, wonderful, no problems. (It's nice to say that and be telling the truth. Before pregnancy I would lie to doctors all the time. No that doesn't hurt, no I don't smoke more than a pack a day, no, I'm just a social drinker.) Young doc pulls out my scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" test results and takes the time to explain them to me. My results are as good as you can get. He smiles and says "You're having the pregnancy of a 20 year old." I replied that 20 years olds shouldn't be having babies, and he laughs but explains that, unfortunately, your body is at it's baby prime in your very early 20's. I guess that's because in olden days you were a senior citizen by the time you were my age.
He goes on to say that if I was younger, he wouldn't send me for the second part of the scary "odds that something is wrong with your kid" testing because my initial results were so stellar and the second round of testing can cause unnecessary worry because they tend to yield false positives sometimes. But, because I'm over 30, he's gonna send me anyway. If I get a false positive, I will probably go off the deep end...just warning you guys now.
The next part of the exam was something I was really excited about. I'm a chubby girl. 92% of my chubbiness is around my belly. I'm PRETTY sure I can see some growth in that department, but because of said chubbiness, I'm in doubt. Dustin has said that he can tell a clear difference, and so has everyone else who has seen me...but I dunno. I feel so normal and am still in most of my regular clothes so..I'd like to see some marked progress here.
So the doc tells me to lay back, we're gonna measure the old uterus. Hooray! I exclaim. I also ask him to please show me exactly where my uterus is. He looks at me like I might have a learning disability. "I know it's not in my shoulder or my thigh," I explain. "I'm fat and I can't tell if this belly is baby or ice cream." He laughs again and begins the belly smashing. He nods and seems happy with his exploration.
"You're measuring perfectly," he says. "Right here is the top of your uterus," he explains, pressing gently just a tiny bit below my belly button. I move my hand there and as if by some shift in physics, I can now clearly feel the hard baby cocoon. He whips out a tape measure and takes some seamstress like measurements. "Yeah, you're showing. See this bump? That's a baby. You're actually measuring closer to 17 weeks," he goes on to say. He glances back at my chart and does some math in his head. "Yes," he nods. "You're about sixteen weeks and five days. We're gonna have to revise your due date a little." I clap. That means this pregnancy is even CLOSER to being over!!
Finally, the doctor pulls out his little hand held heartbeat doppler thingy. How amazing is modern medicine? A dab of lube on my belly and we're good to go. He finds my heartbeat immediately. I bite my lip and worry that we won't hear the baby's. He listens to my heart for a bit. "Nervous?" He asks. (My heart is racing.) "Yeah," I reply, trying to calm the eff down. He moves the doppler down and to the left. I hear some whooshing, but no baby heartbeat. "The baby is moving," the doctor explains. "He won't stay still; it's making it difficult to get the heart." He chases the baby around my belly for a bit and I telepathically instruct the kid to stay still for 30 seconds. Suddenly, the room is filled with the amazing, galloping sound of the life inside of me. "There it is," the doctor smiles. "Sounds perfect. Strong. Perfect."
He keeps the doppler on for a moment, letting me listen. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about COBRA. I wasn't thinking about my now days away move. I wasn't worrying about money or health or my car breaking down. I just listened to that amazing heart. The heart of my child who doesn't care that I'm broke or an anxious mess. The heart that I already love and will stop at nothing to protect. The heart that is half me, and half a man I'm so lucky to be creating life with.
All that being said, I'm gonna dry heave every time I write this COBRA check and I'm also going to make sure that the first time this kid breaks curfew or lies to my face I make him or her feel really guilty for all the crap I have to go through right now in order to give him or her the best life I can.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Prologue: Victim? Of Circumstance
Life changed permanently on January 18th, 2011.
When you work in radio, you develop a sick sort of family with your coworkers. I've worked in a lot of industries and I've never experienced more love, hate and emotion as I have in the radio biz. January 18th was, perhaps, the most emotional of all.
We all saw it coming. What started as a rumor was later confirmed and then given the finality of a D-day type date; our radio stations were being sold to new owners. Some would be invited to stay on with the new owners, some would not. Of those made offers, some would not accept.
That was the category myself and the love of my life fell into. We each had our own reasons for refusing the offers presented to us. We had had six months of warning to reflect on our roles within our company, to absorb what was happening, to really let it sink in. We knew that offers, if they were to come, would come at the 11th hour....and by then our minds were already made up.
I was already starting to feel work weary before I heard the ax was falling. When the offer came before me a few days before January 18th (D-day) I sat in my office, holding the contract in my hands. I stared at the words, trying to find justification for what I was about to do....turn down a sure thing in a very unsure economy. I am not a risk taker when it comes to my security in life. For the first time, I took that risk. I signed above the tiny printed words that read: I decline this offer.
As Dustin and I drove away from work for the last time, we felt optimistic. We chirped reassuring things to each other all the way home. We are young. We are so smart. We can do whatever we want. We have freedom! We have each other! Things will work out!
Our next decision (mistake) was to move to the tiny cottage that my father built 20 something years ago on my mother's property. It was cheap, Dustin could garden, and we could get our shit together. Sure, there was a mold problem...and a leaky roof...a squirrel infestation...and my mother within earshot...but whatever. We weren't doing anything important...this was a chance to relax and figure things out.
Relaxing lasted just a little over a month.
On February 26th, I woke up and did something very strange. I took a pregnancy test. My period was not late. I was not trying to conceive. I was not experiencing morning sickness or an expanding waistline. I simply woke up, ridiculously early, fished out an old pregnancy test and took it.
In less than a second, a big fat plus sign was staring me in the face. My knees buckled. I had to sit on the edge of the tub. My hand was over my mouth. I was crying. Shaking. I couldn't breathe. After five...ten...fifteen minutes of staring at that plus sign, I stood up and walked out to the living room, where Dustin was sleeping peacefully in the fort we had made in the living room the night before. (Yes, we made a fort the night before I found out I was going to be someone's mother.)
I looked at him for several minutes before my body moved of its own accord. I'm not a violent person, but I biffed him awake. He sat up like he had been shot. Before he could ask me what was wrong, I blurted out:
"I just took a pregnancy test for no reason. It's positive."
Dustin: What? Oh no!
"Don't say Oh no!"
Dustin: I'm going to be sick.
This was the first conversation he and I had as parents.
After a long weekend and about 40 more plus signs, I bullied my way into the gyno that Monday where my fears (and hopes) were confirmed. I sat numbly as the doctor piled me with paperwork...rattled off a list of things I could no longer do...and scheduled all of the necessary maternity tests. My fingers moved to type a text to Dustin that read "Congrats Daddy." My mind was looping.
Unemployed. Health Insurance about to expire. Unemployed. Living in the cottage. No money.
Despite this dreadful loop, Dustin and I were happy. The universe had surprised us with a really big gift. We didn't know where we were going, and suddenly that was decided for us.
I happened to only be three weeks pregnant when we found out. In my mind, priority one was finding employment for both of us. ASAP.
That's when things started to fall apart.
Finding a job on Long Island that would afford us the things we wanted for our new family was impossible. We started to bleakly realize that we weren't getting scooped up, and the things we were getting offered would barely keep us afloat in the cottage.
The cottage.
Suddenly, living with the mold was unacceptable. Who knew what it was doing to our unborn? The musty smell was making me sick. There were other problems...of both the structural and familial variety. It started to become clear that we couldn't stay there anymore.
But what were our choices with nothing in the bank?
Just when things reached a breaking point, Dustin's father offered us his gorgeous basement apartment...for free. We accepted and moved in a matter of days. Now we surveyed our lives again. Boxes surrounding us...our cats showing signs of mover's distress...and still no job prospects.
And while the basement WAS and IS gorgeous....there were problems. There was no kitchen. A pregnant woman needs a fridge and a place to cook healthy (even if cooking healthy was still something I was learning.) We literally had people on top of us. We were uncomfortable and worried. We didn't have the space to nest and get ready for this baby. We couldn't bear the thought of running out of money, living in a basement, and bringing another human being into this situation.
I cried. A lot. I cursed. A lot. Dustin did his best to remain optimistic, but even he was starting to wear down. We still couldn't find work. Then, several things happened.
-I started to show, making obtaining work even more difficult.
-My health insurance expired.
-We started talking about Leaving Long Island.
Dustin's Grandpa Joe owns a series of cabins in a beautiful part of Pennsylvania. When we started dating, Dustin took me there often. We got to know each other in a gorgeous, quiet setting over fires and blankets of snow. We observed nature and I listened as Dustin reminisced about warm family memories...moments caught in time on Joe's "Compound" as I nicknamed it. In the warm months we swam in the creek and I watched him build dams with rocks as he had done when he was a boy. In the winter we cuddled for warmth and talked about what we wanted out of life. We fell in love to the sounds of the river and the crackling of the wood Dustin had chopped down. He would say, at least once each time we were on The Compound, how much he loved it there...and how happy he was when he was there.
Just a few weeks ago, Dustin applied for a job in Pennsylvania. The day after applying, he was called in for an interview. The day after the interview, he was made an offer.
That day, less than two weeks ago, we realized we were Leaving Long Island.
I am terrified. I am now sixteen weeks pregnant. I am about to move away from everything I've known for the past decade. Dustin is Leaving Long Island to live for the first time in his life.We're taking this baby away from its soon to be family. We're going to be in a new city, just the three of us. (Luckily one of us doesn't require a car seat or luggage yet.)
We leave on Friday.
It is my intent to document the next year of our lives. I hope that by this time next year, I am sitting with my healthy baby, laughing at how stressed I was a year ago.
It's going to be an interesting ride.
When you work in radio, you develop a sick sort of family with your coworkers. I've worked in a lot of industries and I've never experienced more love, hate and emotion as I have in the radio biz. January 18th was, perhaps, the most emotional of all.
We all saw it coming. What started as a rumor was later confirmed and then given the finality of a D-day type date; our radio stations were being sold to new owners. Some would be invited to stay on with the new owners, some would not. Of those made offers, some would not accept.
That was the category myself and the love of my life fell into. We each had our own reasons for refusing the offers presented to us. We had had six months of warning to reflect on our roles within our company, to absorb what was happening, to really let it sink in. We knew that offers, if they were to come, would come at the 11th hour....and by then our minds were already made up.
I was already starting to feel work weary before I heard the ax was falling. When the offer came before me a few days before January 18th (D-day) I sat in my office, holding the contract in my hands. I stared at the words, trying to find justification for what I was about to do....turn down a sure thing in a very unsure economy. I am not a risk taker when it comes to my security in life. For the first time, I took that risk. I signed above the tiny printed words that read: I decline this offer.
As Dustin and I drove away from work for the last time, we felt optimistic. We chirped reassuring things to each other all the way home. We are young. We are so smart. We can do whatever we want. We have freedom! We have each other! Things will work out!
Our next decision (mistake) was to move to the tiny cottage that my father built 20 something years ago on my mother's property. It was cheap, Dustin could garden, and we could get our shit together. Sure, there was a mold problem...and a leaky roof...a squirrel infestation...and my mother within earshot...but whatever. We weren't doing anything important...this was a chance to relax and figure things out.
Relaxing lasted just a little over a month.
On February 26th, I woke up and did something very strange. I took a pregnancy test. My period was not late. I was not trying to conceive. I was not experiencing morning sickness or an expanding waistline. I simply woke up, ridiculously early, fished out an old pregnancy test and took it.
In less than a second, a big fat plus sign was staring me in the face. My knees buckled. I had to sit on the edge of the tub. My hand was over my mouth. I was crying. Shaking. I couldn't breathe. After five...ten...fifteen minutes of staring at that plus sign, I stood up and walked out to the living room, where Dustin was sleeping peacefully in the fort we had made in the living room the night before. (Yes, we made a fort the night before I found out I was going to be someone's mother.)
I looked at him for several minutes before my body moved of its own accord. I'm not a violent person, but I biffed him awake. He sat up like he had been shot. Before he could ask me what was wrong, I blurted out:
"I just took a pregnancy test for no reason. It's positive."
Dustin: What? Oh no!
"Don't say Oh no!"
Dustin: I'm going to be sick.
This was the first conversation he and I had as parents.
After a long weekend and about 40 more plus signs, I bullied my way into the gyno that Monday where my fears (and hopes) were confirmed. I sat numbly as the doctor piled me with paperwork...rattled off a list of things I could no longer do...and scheduled all of the necessary maternity tests. My fingers moved to type a text to Dustin that read "Congrats Daddy." My mind was looping.
Unemployed. Health Insurance about to expire. Unemployed. Living in the cottage. No money.
Despite this dreadful loop, Dustin and I were happy. The universe had surprised us with a really big gift. We didn't know where we were going, and suddenly that was decided for us.
I happened to only be three weeks pregnant when we found out. In my mind, priority one was finding employment for both of us. ASAP.
That's when things started to fall apart.
Finding a job on Long Island that would afford us the things we wanted for our new family was impossible. We started to bleakly realize that we weren't getting scooped up, and the things we were getting offered would barely keep us afloat in the cottage.
The cottage.
Suddenly, living with the mold was unacceptable. Who knew what it was doing to our unborn? The musty smell was making me sick. There were other problems...of both the structural and familial variety. It started to become clear that we couldn't stay there anymore.
But what were our choices with nothing in the bank?
Just when things reached a breaking point, Dustin's father offered us his gorgeous basement apartment...for free. We accepted and moved in a matter of days. Now we surveyed our lives again. Boxes surrounding us...our cats showing signs of mover's distress...and still no job prospects.
And while the basement WAS and IS gorgeous....there were problems. There was no kitchen. A pregnant woman needs a fridge and a place to cook healthy (even if cooking healthy was still something I was learning.) We literally had people on top of us. We were uncomfortable and worried. We didn't have the space to nest and get ready for this baby. We couldn't bear the thought of running out of money, living in a basement, and bringing another human being into this situation.
I cried. A lot. I cursed. A lot. Dustin did his best to remain optimistic, but even he was starting to wear down. We still couldn't find work. Then, several things happened.
-I started to show, making obtaining work even more difficult.
-My health insurance expired.
-We started talking about Leaving Long Island.
Dustin's Grandpa Joe owns a series of cabins in a beautiful part of Pennsylvania. When we started dating, Dustin took me there often. We got to know each other in a gorgeous, quiet setting over fires and blankets of snow. We observed nature and I listened as Dustin reminisced about warm family memories...moments caught in time on Joe's "Compound" as I nicknamed it. In the warm months we swam in the creek and I watched him build dams with rocks as he had done when he was a boy. In the winter we cuddled for warmth and talked about what we wanted out of life. We fell in love to the sounds of the river and the crackling of the wood Dustin had chopped down. He would say, at least once each time we were on The Compound, how much he loved it there...and how happy he was when he was there.
Just a few weeks ago, Dustin applied for a job in Pennsylvania. The day after applying, he was called in for an interview. The day after the interview, he was made an offer.
That day, less than two weeks ago, we realized we were Leaving Long Island.
I am terrified. I am now sixteen weeks pregnant. I am about to move away from everything I've known for the past decade. Dustin is Leaving Long Island to live for the first time in his life.We're taking this baby away from its soon to be family. We're going to be in a new city, just the three of us. (Luckily one of us doesn't require a car seat or luggage yet.)
We leave on Friday.
It is my intent to document the next year of our lives. I hope that by this time next year, I am sitting with my healthy baby, laughing at how stressed I was a year ago.
It's going to be an interesting ride.
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