Resolving Timeline Issues

Posts Tagged ‘pregnancy

I thought I should get this posted before I, oh I don’t know, go into labour.

anytime, kid, anytime.

One of the dilemmas I’ve been having is diapers. I’ve been reading quite a bit about cloth diapering here and here. And I like the idea of cloth diapering. I really like it. Its good for the environment. Its better for your baby. The diapers are cute beyond belief. But I am lazy and it just seemed so much easier to throw out a disposable diaper, than to spray down diapers, wash them put in any inserts and how to use the damn things. And I was overwhelmed anyways because of a various ISSUES that made me want to drink, but oh hey, pregnancy and CAN’T.

Ice cream is a good substitute, however. Until your intestines disagree with this.

Oh and the scariness of Braxton-Hicks contractions didn’t help.

But I digress. Sort of.

I went out and bought some diapers because hello, baby on the way and I had coupons.

And then I had a shower and got a diaper cake, lovingly prepared by Sunshine. Which leads me to the current stash of disposable diapers:

diapers-003

diapers-005

diapers-009

 

 

 

 

 

And I thought, that’s not too bad – should last awhile. And then I realized that newborns go through up to 10-12 diapers per DAY. And my inner green person started feeling guilty. Because all that plastic and shit (Ha! get it?!) equals billions of years of biodegrading. Or something like that to my pregnant brain.

And there’s an extra half pack of diapers in the hospital bag along with some loose samples I received from various companies.

And so cloth diapering reared its head again. But again I am lazy and cheap. And when you’ve got more than one kid who will be using diapers, I’m positive cloth diapering is cheaper when you buy your own diapers. One kid? Not so much.

I was at the doctor’s office. There’s this counter I go past on the way to the bathroom – and there was a pamphlet for a diaper service and a sample of the diaper they supply. So I took a flyer, fondled the diaper (soft, cute, yellow) and showed the flyer to Darren, who as usual was exceedingly helpful when it came to making a decision on diapering: “So how do you feel about cloth diapering?” “You’re the one who’s going to be home. Its up to you.”

Thanks, hon.

So I crunched some numbers: disposable diapers = about $20/week. Diaper service = about $25/week. Oh and they pick up and deliver clean diapers once a week. THEY CLEAN THE DIAPERS FOR YOU.

I think it goes without saying that it appealed to my inner green lazy person.

So I ordered the diapers. They have this pre-birth delivery that consists of this:

Reusable Diapers 001

Diaper pail with charcoal filtre.

And inside is a wetbag with diapers. You line the pail with the bag, put the diapers in your changetable and done.

 

Reusable Diapers 005And they’re yellow and adorable.

Now I just need some diaper covers.

 

 

This shipment arrived the day I was writing my last post about how adequate and accessible pre- and post-natal care for expectant mothers and their babies make for healthier communities.

In the industrialized world, we’re very much aware of the environmental impact of our actions. Its just unfortunate that the costs of making better environmental choices, community choices (and if you want to get all political-sciencey, choices in the interest of the public good) are a damn sight more expensive than the disposable choices. If you’re having to pay for medical insurance, or god forbid, medical care because you have no insurance, you’re not able to make those choices.

That $5/week difference may mean the difference between:

  • cloth diapers and food on the table
  • cloth diapers and medical insurance
  • cloth diapers and medical care.

This may be a bit of a weak link, but I can tell you now that if I had to pay for medical insurance vs. cloth diapers? I’d choose the medical insurance.

Because I don’t have to worry about medical insurance, I’m in a position where I can make the choice that is better for my community – I can afford that extra fee and make it easy on myself to make that choice.

There are many direct and indirect benefits of providing accessible medical care. And this might just be one of them.

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While over at friends’ house for dinner last night (the have a 7 month old):

Me: Yeah, for swimming lessons, Darren gets to go because I will be THAT parent that I warn my candidates about.
Darren: And if she gets into hockey you can be Sarah Palin!

I admire a man who likes to live dangerously.

1. I am sick. Its either the virus my manager came in with last week and was hacking everywhere or the flu. Dr. Google says its the flu and my OB agrees. I am therefore home today.

2. I went to the OB yesterday and my heart rate was a bit high (78bpm for those that know what that means, but since mine rests a bit high anyways its not too bad – and he thinks its from being sick), and the poptart was kicking my uterus so much he had problems getting a fetal heartrate. He finally settled on 162bpm.

This one will be a shit disturber.

3. My blood pressure was 112/70. WTF? Back here it was 134/88  and now I have MORE blood circulating and its the blood pressure of a teenager?

Overheard:

Dad (on phone): So you guys will need nursery stuff – send a list of what you want.
Me: Oh. Okay.
Dad: well? Haven’t you been looking?
Me: Well the crib I want is at costco, but its pretty pricey.
Dad: What else do you need?
Me: (thinking: didn’t this man raise a child? me?) Well, we’ll need a stroller and carseat.
Dad: Oh you don’t need the carseat until later!
Me: [crickets]
Dad: Hellooooo?
Me: If we don’t have a carseat, how do we get the baby home from the hospital?
Dad: You hold it!
Me: (thinking he wouldn’t get a Britney reference) Well. Um. Now all children have to be in a carseat if they’re in the car. When they get too big for a carseat, they have to go in a booster seat until they’re 8.
Dad: Damn government, interfering with this stuff. When we brought you home from the hospital, we just put 4-inch foam in the back of the station wagon, on the bottom and so it went up against the back rest, you know? and then we just laid you down back there. So that if we had to stop suddenly and you slid forward, you wouldn’t hurt your head, because of the foam, you know?
Me: [crickets]
Mom: (in background) You can’t do that anymore.
Me: You know, I bet that’s why they changed the law. Someone saw you taking me home like that, called child protective services, and they changed the law. Its all about me.
Dad: It could shed some light on what happened to you though.

How I ever made it into adulthood astounds me.

When we moved into our townhouse, I got it in my head that I would paint the master bedroom. The walls are 12′ by 15′ by 8′ so its a fairly large space. Darren told me to go and get some primer and start with that.

So I went to Home Depot, bought three cans of primer, some brushes, dropclothes, spackle, spackle spreader thing and went to town on the master bedroom. It took two coats of primer to cover up the marks in the walls (they’d never been finished properly). And then I stopped because I didn’t really like painting.

That was in October 2006. The master bedroom walls are still primer’d.

(Yes, I am in the process of contacting painters to come in. It will be painted, as will the rest of top level and the main level)

One of the questions I get asked a lot lately is, “So, how are you feeling?”

You’ll note that this is a bit different than “how are you?”

The people that ask this are generally well-meaning and generally interested in my (and the poptart’s) well-being. And for that, I am grateful.

And I usually respond with, “Oh pretty good.” And change the subject. Because physically, yeah, I feel pretty good. I am the pregnant woman that other pregnant women love to hate. I’ve had no morning sickness and nothing worse than a couple of weeks of extreme tiredness and some sore boobs, which, while they have dissipated, aren’t completely gone.

Over the last few days, I had a revelation.

Darren and I were sitting on the sofa the other night, and I was feeling somewhat sorry for myself for no particular reason other than its been a hellish couple of weeks at work, and I am tired. And it hits me: I don’t like being pregnant.

I don’t like being tired all the time. I don’t like feeling like I never get enough sleep. I don’t like feeling like I’m going to burst into tears one second and laugh hysterically the next.

Me: I don’t really like being pregnant.
Darren: Its not like putting primer on the walls.

(Originally written September 11-12)

Overheard, last year, while catching up on episodes of Battlestar Galactica (where the female Cylon fighter is pregnant):

Me: So if a Cylon is a toaster, what’s a Cylon baby?
Darren: A Poptart!

September 10, 2008 – I’d been feeling kind of crappy and tired all week. And my boobs were sore – sore to the point that if I went downstairs or upstairs, I had to hold them. And the sleeping. And the peeing.

Anyways, at some point something clicked and I wandered up to the drugstore on my lunch break and bought a two-pack of pregnancy tests (because a one-pack was only $2 less than a two-pack). Then I made some excuse at work about “errands” and went home early.

By the time I got home, I had to pee. So I dashed upstairs peed on the stick, recapped it and put it on the floor in front of me (flat, like the instructions said). Then I finished peeing. By the time I finished up, I had two lines.

Huh! I said. Wow! I said out loud.

And then I went out, got Darren a package of Poptarts, and wrapped it in birthday paper (his birthday is on the 16th). Then I figured, “What the hell” and peed on the second stick. Within about 30 seconds it came up positive.

Then I forgot to phone Darren to tell him I went home early and didn’t realize he was waiting for me at the train station. He was a little miffed. I put the poptarts on his chair in the office.

When he got home, I basically stalked him until he opened the package.

Darren: Oh! I can haz birfday present?
Me: Yes, open it. NOW.
Darren: [shakes box] is it breakable?
Me: Open. Open. OPEN.
Darren: [turns box upside down] This is killing you more than its killing me. This is fun.
Me: You have to understand, the present is really more of a symbol.
Darren: [unwrapping. Slowly. VERY VERY SLOWLY] Um. [peering at top of box on open end] A box! No! A Kellogg’s box? Breakfast? Poptarts?
Me: Ah. No.
Darren: [scratches head and frowns] OH! You’re pregnant!
Me: [grinning and nodding]
Darren: So who did you call?
Me: Well, I thought you should be the first to know, being the father and all.
Darren: Well, when a woman is pregnant she either calls her mother or her best friend.
Me: …
Darren: So, how did this happen?*
Me: If you can’t remember, it must have been a good night.

Yeah. We’re gonna be great parents.

*Look kids, we are proof that It Only Takes Once. We are however, supposedly mature adults – or so everyone tells us – with income and good jobs. I always say, if you can’t be a good example, at least be a dire warning.


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