note from the trenches

Uh, yeah. It’s a week after my last post and there are STILL painters in my house.

The baby’s room is still not ready. Why is that, you may ask? Well, let me tell you! We chose a paint color that turned out to be the equivalent of being inside a gigantic bottle of Pepto-Bismol! So, we just lengthened the project and asked them to repaint it. God bless my husband… he is the main liaison for these painters and has had to be the conduit for our frequent changes and complaints. I’ve given him full approval to blame me for everything.

But guess what? I’m still pregnant. Having Braxton-Hicks contractions every five seconds, but pregnant nonetheless.

And did I mention I’m still at work? What was I thinking? Oh well. I think I can hang on through tomorrow, which is supposed to be my last day. Am model conscientious employee.

Also: am model of calm, peacefulness and Zen. (Dave: zip it)

stop the insanity!

Hi, all! How YOU doin'? I just wanted to share a few tips on how to make yourself totally crazy when you are 38 weeks pregnant. These tactics are tried and true and I promise, you can make them work for you!

1. Hire contractors to install built-in cabinets in key areas of your house.
2. Battle resulting sawdust and be annoyed by the many contractor shoeprints on your stairs.
3. Have entire inside of house painted, rendering it mostly uninhabitable because all furniture and other objects are piled in center of each room, covered in plastic.
4. Debate merits of various paint colors with your spouse. Decide on one, then change it, then change it back, then repeat the process.
5. Get involved in planning two large events for work, even though due to your advanced state of pregnancy you will OBVIOUSLY not be around to execute either one.
6. Continue ignoring the fact that you need to finish the baby’s room, pack a hospital bag and OMG give birth to a crying sleepless newborn ANY MINUTE NOW.

Et voila!

there’s a public service announcement somewhere among this drivel

I don’t know what my deal is, but despite several major happenings lately I don’t seem able to update my blog. I was going to write a series of posts to get everyone up to speed, but in the immortal words of one of my favorite movies, “No. There is too much. Let me sum up.” Presenting…

A Bulleted List of the Things that have Happened Around Here Lately:

• (The week before Christmas) A two-and-a-half hour trip to Labor and Delivery to be monitored. This directly followed an exciting episode of me chasing my runaway child out INTO A PARKING LOT, then tripping and falling in said parking lot, causing some impressive bruising on both knees, one elbow and a painful case of road rash on one hand. Once they hooked me up to the monitors, they found that I was contracting every four to eight minutes. Luckily the contractions stopped on their own and yay, I’m still pregnant.
• Christmas Eve) Another trip to the hospital… but not for me this time. Two hours after we put Evan’s new big-boy dresser together and brought it upstairs, and before we had gotten around to strapping it to the wall, he opened all the drawers at the same time and it FELL OVER ON TOP OF HIM. He was trapped, and screaming, and I can say without a doubt in my mind that it was the single most terrifying moment in my life as a parent thus far. Miraculously, he escaped completely unharmed save for a bruise on his back. We took him to the ER to be safe and luckily he was OK. Please, please, please, for the love of all small children everywhere, PLEASE secure all furniture to the wall so that you do not have to go through this or worse. Because I literally cannot breathe when I think of what could have happened.
• (Christmas time) Mellow and uninteresting, and blissfully free of medical drama. Much peppermint bark was consumed.
• (Two days post-Christmas) Trip to Sea World. Enjoyed by all. Especially small child who was rather enamored of Shamu or “that black and white whale who makes all those bubbles” as he’s known around here now.
• (This past Sunday) Despite us having largely ignored the upcoming need for potty training, I was awoken by a small voice yelling “Mommy! I have to go to the bathroom!” I took him in to the potty and sure enough, there he went! Now, I’m not so naïve to think that he just up and decided to train himself one day, but since then we have had multiple successful potty visits. Score!

The only other thing I can tell you is that I am about a month out from D-Day. Um, yeah. I am so ready, and yet so NOT ready. Two children? At one time? I’m not so sure this was a good idea. But I can’t wait to meet her…

yet more proof that being pregnant turns you into a complete and total idiot

I know, I know… I ignore you for weeks on end and then I post twice in one day. What is up with that? You’ve just got to ride the wave when it comes, people.

Anyway, remember how pregnancy rendered me mentally unfit to operate the fax machine at my office a couple of months ago? Well, today my dizzying intellect appears to have progressed to a new and disturbing low. I went to Subway at lunch to pick up a sandwich. In the three minutes I was in there, I did the following:

• Searched my purse frantically for my keys, panicking that I had lost them or something, all the while not realizing I was actually CLUTCHING THEM IN MY LEFT HAND the whole time.
• Forgot where I had parked. I scanned the parking lot for a full 30 seconds before I found my car. Right where I had left it.

Did I mention that these two things happened within three minutes of my arrival? Hi.

Note to self: retract Mensa application.

looks like a pump, feels like a sneaker

So the other day I was in Macy’s doing some Christmas shopping. Like a moth to the flame, I was compelled to wander by the sale shoe racks. I was drawn to a particular pair of shoes. They were black, with a bit of a platform and a chunky high heel. I tried them on: were they cute? Check. Were they comfortable? Check. I looked at the inside of the shoe and couldn’t tell what brand they were – all I could see was a small lower case “e” printed on the footbed. I flipped the shoe over and saw the verdict:

They were Easy Spirits.

I recoiled in horror, but then wondered: is 34 the age when you are supposed to start wearing shoes like this? Was this final proof of my mom status? What’s next… NATURALIZER????

In the end, I got over it. I decided they would be cute with jeans and a black sweater so I went for it. I had made peace with my decision and then was thrown into a shame spiral once again when my husband saw the shoebox on our bed and said with a confused look on his face, “Did you buy a pair of Easy Spirits? Nice!”

So now I need you to decide. As demonstrated in the two photos above, I am wearing them to work today. Are these actually cute or am a) kidding myself, or b) possibly channeling 1996?

And whatever the answer, I think I’m OK with it. It’s like I’m wearing slippers! Honestly! Go out and buy a pair today!

you can’t stop him, you can only hope to contain him

This is what’s known in the industry as a “Christmas card photo shoot gone wrong.” On Thanksgiving we took about 8 million pictures like this one and in EVERY SINGLE ONE, either Evan is running away or someone is not looking at the camera or has a weird look on their face (and let’s face it, that person is usually me).

Once there are four of us, I’m sure we will be even less capable of taking group photographs.

pants emergency

Being pregnant is no picnic, let me tell you what. There are random aches and pains, it’s difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position, you’re constantly getting kicked in the innards, you have to choke down horse-sized vitamins and you are unable to enjoy a cocktail or glass of wine on Thanksgiving. But my chief complaint can be summed up as follows:

Ill-fitting pants.

Yes, that’s right. Ill-fitting pants, or IFPs, are by far the MOST annoying thing about being pregnant. Trust me, I’ve tried all the options. The demi panel, the low-rise, below-the-belly pants, the non-maternity pants in bigger sizes, the full panel with the giant pouch to accommodate the bowling ball that I’ve apparently swallowed. At this point, everything sags. It’s simple gravity. I hike up my IFPs all. the. time. When I get up from my chair. When I walk two steps. After I’ve grunted attractively trying to pick something up off the floor. The pants-hiking is driving me completely crazy. I’ve come to embrace the concept that the full panel style, however repugnant to me fashion-wise, is probably the most comfortable option right now because it resists the pull of gravity by anchoring above the belly instead of below. But it’s ugly! And it kind of bisects my abdomen in an annoying way!

Yesterday I got so fed up with all my uncomfortable pants that I declared a state of emergency. As soon as Evan went down for his nap, I headed out to the mall to see if I could find an alternative to wearing sweats to work.

Ladies and gentlemen, I located a life-changing pair of pants. They have what’s called a roll panel – so you can roll it down or wear it over the belly. But otherwise, they appear to the naked eye to be normal, reasonably stylish tan pants with a nice long boot-cut leg. And they are seriously comfortable. What up, The Gap? I love you, man. I mean, I hate you in normal times and had sworn off your pants for life, but maybe we can make a fresh start. I'm willing to give this one more shot if you are. Please take me back? Maybe we can just be friends right now until I've earned back your trust.

The long and short of it is that I may very well be sleeping in these bad boys tonight. And even if I don’t, my co-workers will be mighty sick of these in two months.

And that is what I am belatedly thankful for this holiday season.

at 32 months

His smile is infectious and his enthusiasm unbridled. He is independent and wants to do everything all by himself: climb in the car, peel bananas, turn on lights, close doors. His words take my breath away on a daily basis:

“You’re my best friend, Mommy,” he said the other day, completely unprompted.

He answers “Of course!” when I ask him for a small favor.

And the other day at the pool, we got into the hot tub for a few minutes and he announced “It’s an octagon!” I counted up the sides and sure enough, it was.

It blew my mind. I know every mother must say this, but I am constantly amazed by his intelligence.

He speaks in full sentences, knows every letter of the alphabet, has memorized page after page of the books we read him at night. His dad takes him to Starbucks early Saturday mornings, and when he hears them call “Grande Americano,” he says, “Daddy, your coffee’s ready!”

Everything he observes is a cause for celebration. Seeing a crab at the beach, or a bird flying overhead, or an airplane taking off – he can't contain his excitement. He literally insists on stopping to smell the flowers on our way out to the preschool parking lot. “Should we smell the flowers, Mommy?” he asks. I know the right answer.

I’ve said it before, but I really never used to be much of a kid person. I’m converted. I’m a “my kid” person. But now, I’d probably really like your kids too, now that my eyes have been opened.

I wanted to write this because I felt like my last few posts were whiny and filled with complaints about tantrums and typical toddler disagreeable behavior. I felt like I really needed to set the record straight and talk about the positives.

When I think about all the changes that the last 32 months have brought, I almost panic. I think oh no, it’s been close to three years. A few more of those chunks of time and he’ll be learning to drive and graduating from high school, not just eating with an adult-sized fork. That’s when I know he’s got it right.

Stopping to smell the sweet white flowers outside preschool is always the right thing to do.

real-life conversations with a two-year old

Below is an almost verbatim transcript of a few of the exchanges Evan and I enjoyed on the way to preschool today.

*******************
Him: “What time is it, Mommy?”

Me: “It’s 7:51.”

Him: “It’s NOT 7:51!”

*******************
Me: “Look, it’s really foggy outside today.”

Him: “No, it’s NOT really foggy outside.”

*******************
Him: “Can I hold my lunchbox?”

Me: “Sure. Just don’t unzip it please.”

(I instantly hear unzipping noises)

Me: “Please don’t open your lunch right now.”

Him: “I’m NOT opening my lunch!”

*******************

If I didn’t laugh about this? I WOULD CRY.

greetings from the land of smoke and fire

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know all of Southern California is aflame. Everyone in my family has been affected somehow – from preparing to evacuate their homes to needing to evacuate their homes to having school/work/everything cancelled all week long. Everyone is fine at this point, but it’s crazy. And the air! The thick, orange-gray smoky air… breathing it is a chore. Every morning I walk outside to my car and it’s covered with a layer of white ash.

A couple of days ago, I came to the realization that the costume we had picked out for Evan over a month ago – a firefighter – now seemed in poor taste. So yesterday I went over to Party City and bought a substitute. I didn’t want people thinking we were somehow making light of the situation. Now he’s going to be James, Thomas’ the Tank Engine’s vain red friend. What could be more harmless? It’s kind of a silly costume, but he seems into it.

In other news, my placenta and I don’t seem to be getting along very well. Now how’s THAT for a segue? Come to think of it, my placenta and I have never been BFFs. Last time, I had a retained placenta that took an act of God, a lot of tugging and a sharp instrument to remove. This time, I have a marginal placenta previa that we are hoping will resolve itself within the next four weeks (according to my doctor, it should). But in the meantime, my evil placenta is um, causing some symptoms that I, um, find unpleasant, resulting in me consulting multiple nurses and doctors both on the phone and in person several times since last Friday. I’m sure everything will be fine, but maybe just send some positive placental vibrations my way, would you?

My placenta and I will update you soon. Stay safe, and don’t breathe that smoky air.

I think I can, I think I can

What is the deal with this week? It is quite possibly the longest work week EVER. Maybe because I have been dragging myself through it in a feverish haze of coughing and hacking, spreading love, joy peace and bacteria to everyone in my office. (They love me, really they do.)

Being sick is no fun, but being sick when you are pregnant is even less fun because all the good drugs are off-limits. The books say things like “get plenty of rest” and “gargle with hot salt water,” and let me tell you: not going to happen. What I really need is a double dose of Nyquil and the ability to sleep past 6:30 a.m. without hearing a little piping voice that says “Mommy, please come get me!” in escalating whiny volume until I have no choice but to stumble out of my bed and comply.

There I go complaining again. It’s a wonder you people put up with me. Well, here’s something: I’m happy that today is Friday, that despite my ongoing plague that I seem to be having a good hair day, and that I think I just saw a Krispy Kreme box walk by my office. Oh, and I am also grateful for your understanding responses to my last post. It's good to hear that perhaps I am not a raving lunatic mother after all. Well, not most of the time anyway.

Gotta go find those doughnuts! Have a great weekend.

patience

I’m sorry to keep harping on the tantrum thing. Of late it’s become somewhat of a pattern: he wants to keep doing what he’s doing; he insists on doing everything “all by myself”; I tell him it’s time to do X and he decides he’d rather do Y.

Before these tantrums started in earnest (say, three or four months ago), I had nearly broken my arm patting myself on the back for having the patience of a saint with my toddler. Me, a notoriously impatient person! I could handle this mothering-a-two-year-old thing with aplomb, without losing my cool. As all the books and experts tell you to do, I would give him a choice of two things, he would choose one and we moved on. To my surprise, this technique worked for a long time.

But the game has changed. On Tuesday, he will officially be two and a half years old. He’s smart. He’s fiercely independent. And he knows how to push my buttons mercilessly. He’s got my number, all right, and the patience I thought I had seems to have evaporated overnight. The other day I lost my temper with him and yelled and swatted at him in the car. Shaking and near tears, I apologized, hoping that the tantrum I'd just thrown in response to his hadn’t scared him or lost his trust.

A good friend of mine says it’s good sometimes for them to see that we have limits too. I don’t know. I’m not sure what it is about having a child, but everything you thought you wouldn’t tolerate, everything you thought your child would never do, comes back to you in spades. It’s a lesson in control for both of us. Sometimes I can’t control the situation, or his behavior, and it scares me. Sometimes he can’t control the situation and he lashes out, angry and frustrated, wanting to do something by himself or on his timetable, and I can’t let him.

There’s where I can see common ground. It’s just being human. We like to know what’s happening to us, to be aware and in control and if that is taken away from us it’s frightening. When I step back, I recognize and understand how he feels. And it always passes.

This morning we were again at an impasse. It was time to leave for preschool and he wanted to play in the house with his trains. I could see him start to get upset and knew what was coming. Sure enough, two minutes passed and we were in full tantrum mode. This time I did keep my cool, but still had to force him into his car seat. Once we were on the road this time, I only had to endure a couple of minutes of yelling until he stopped and asked me quietly “Mommy, did you lose your temper?”

I said “No, honey, but you lost yours.” He sniffled and said haltingly “I’m sorry Mommy.” Then he asked “do you love me?”

That was the sound of my heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. The fact that my baby could formulate a question like that blew my mind. He is full of questions these days: what is that? Why did you say that? Please can I have this? Many times, he already knows the answer before he asks. I told him, over and over again, that I loved him, praying that this was one of those times.

a few reasons why this week is not shaping up to be as awesome as I’d hoped:

Pink eye (Evan’s)
Sore throat (mine)
Sneezing (both)
More tantrums on the way to school (both)
Middle-of-the-night wake-ups (Evan’s, and therefore also mine)
Saggy maternity jeans (um, guess who?)

And this morning? I drank a cup of non-decaffeinated coffee and I don’t feel guilty about it at all. In your face, What to Expect When You’re Expecting! I just wish I had some cookies to go with it, like Swistle. That would have made the whole thing even better. Now where can I get some cookies?

redemption

Well, after the Raging Tantrum from Hell’s Depths on Wednesday morning, things picked up. It’s always darkest before the dawn, if I could borrow a hideously clichéd expression. Hi, I am literarily uncreative today. But anyway, on Wednesday evening I went to pick Evan up from preschool. He ran toward me and gave me a big hug, chattered my ear off all the way home, and then, best of all… when my husband was holding him later that evening, he pointed at me and said “That’s my friend Mommy.” Then, pointing back at his dad, “That’s my friend Daddy.” And then once more, smiling at both of us, “There’s my friends Mommy and Daddy!”

Which just goes to prove my ongoing theory: just as you’re about ready to sell him to the gypsies, your child will do something so charming, so irresistible that you realize you were not, in fact, crazy when you decided to have him in the first place.

I guess I can stop drafting that notice for Craigslist now.

defeated

This morning I had what was possibly the worst single 15-minute span in my mothering career. All was well at the house until I needed to get Evan in the car to take him to preschool. I cleaned him up from breakfast, put on his shoes and brushed his hair. He wanted to play with his trains, so I let him for a few minutes while I finished getting ready. Then, I told him we needed to go get in the car. He said no. I gave him some options; did he want to walk out to the car by himself or did he want me to carry him? Again, no, he wanted to play with his trains. When it became clear that there was no way he was going willingly, I picked him up and brought him out to the car.

He stiffened his entire body and wailed in protest while I had to physically muscle him into his car seat. He kicked and cried but there was nothing I could do but just buckle him in. Of course, this is when several neighbors happened to be walking by my driveway on their way home from taking their kids to school. I gave them the sheepish “kids will be kids!” smile and they looked sympathetic.

After I finally got him in, the real problems began. He cried and screamed and raged. He kicked the back of my seat repeatedly. I knew there was nothing I could say to make it stop – it was a tantrum, pure and simple, and he needed a little alone time to let it run its course. I was as much his captive as he was mine. As I drove to the school, the traffic was awful and I had to stop at what seemed like every red light. Meanwhile, my seat is vibrating from the kicking and my ears are ringing from the screaming. I turned up the radio, and it drowned out nothing.

He was yelling that he wanted to go back home, that he wanted to play with trains, that he didn’t want me to get him in the car.

Hot tears were rising in my eyes and a lump in my throat. The screaming was getting to me. I was getting angry with him for making me miserable, at myself for not knowing how better to handle it, at the cars around me for driving too slowly.

Ten minutes into the drive, he started calming down. “Mommy, hold me,” he said. I told him as soon as we got there I’d hold him.

When we finally arrived, he actually had a smile on his face and showed no evidence of the tantrum. I, on the other hand, was red-eyed and tense from clenching my jaw and neck while I drove.

We got out of the car and I held him for a minute. I told him he needed to apologize for having a tantrum and behaving that way in the car. “I’m sorry, Mommy,“ he said, and then told me he wanted to carry his lunchbox. I handed it to him and he happily walked into school…until it was time to put the lunchbox away in his cubby. I told him we needed to put it down so he could go out to the playground. He refused and I could see the relapse coming. I finally had to take it out of his hand and walk him outside. He cried and cried and cried some more. At that point, I was late for work and had no choice but to hand over my screaming child to the teachers and walk away.

I walked out of there with tears in my eyes again, feeling like a horrible mother. I’m bigger than he is, but many times, not more powerful.

I can name that baby in two notes!

Now that we know it’s a girl, we are struggling with names. We had all but agreed on a boy’s name that we loved (Seth) but are having a much harder time settling on a favorite girl name. We seem to be leaning toward girl names that are actually boy names (Dylan, Rowan, Elliott) but pairing them with an uber-feminine middle name (like Grace). I don’t know, I’m sure we’ll waffle many more times before settling on something we both agree on… like Gertrude! Or Mildred! Or Hettie!*

But seriously… it’s really hard to come up with names that are unique, yet not bizarrely weird. Speaking of bizarre, I was flipping through a baby name book last night and was alarmed to find the following names listed for girls:

Beige-Dawn
Dusky-Dream

Really? Beige-Dawn? Dusky-Dream? I promise you that I am not making this up. In the name of all that is holy, I could not imagine ANYONE seeing either of those two names in the book and saying “Aha! This is it! She will heretofore be known as Beige-Dawn.” In my dreams, dusky or otherwise, my daughter does not have a hyphenated first name that meshes together a time of the day with a color.

But anyway: what girl names do you like? Do tell…

*no offense to the many Gertrudes, Mildreds and Hetties who I am sure frequent this blog.

drumroll please...

On Friday, we found out that it's a GIRL!!!

Let the name negotiations begin! :)

lyrical

The problem with having a toddler who is obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine (other than the fact that the Thomas trains and accessories are criminally expensive) is that the songs from the videos are so damn catchy. I find myself constantly humming and singing them at inappropriate moments. At work! In meetings! Driving in the car! Conversing with my husband!

Last week’s offering was:

“Whatever we do, we do it well
Because we all deciiiiiiiiiiiiiiide
To do each job we’re told to do
With care, with love, with priiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide…”

(repeat ad nauseam)

This week, I’m blessed with the following little ditty stuck on an endless loop in my head:

“There’s no one quite like Emily
Friendly emerald Emily…”

That’s it! I know there are more lyrics but that’s all I can remember. It is currently cycling over, and over, and over, and over again in my head. Now, if the only food available to me was black licorice jelly beans and I was surrounded by people doing crossword puzzles in pencil, I would know I was in hell.

in which I expose my mental deficiency to the internet

So far, during each of my two pregnancies, I have had one defining moment of ridiculously embarrassing “baby brain” – where gestating a fetus makes you not only fat and hungry, it also appears to drain mental resources to an alarmingly low level.

When I was pregnant with Evan, I came into work one morning and needed to edit a document. I completely forgot where to find the Track Changes feature in Microsoft Word. I looked high and low and became irrationally irritated that I could not find Track Changes under the Edit menu. Hello, I would like to edit this document. I would also like to track my edits. Why, for the love of all things holy would it not be under the Edit menu?

After ten minutes of searching, I found it.

Under the Tools menu.

Where it had clearly lived all along, and somehow my brain – despite having edited Microsoft Word documents pretty much on a daily basis since, I don’t know, 1995 – could not retain this information.

Well, my friends, today it got worse. I have been very annoyed lately with the company who manages my flexible spending account. I had faxed them a claim form almost a month ago and still hadn’t received payment. Last week, I called to inquire as to why that was. The woman on the phone couldn’t find it in the system, so she asked me to fax it to her again directly and said she’d call me when she received it to confirm that she was putting it in for processing. Today, I realized that I had never heard from her so I called back ready to do battle. I was prepared, filled with righteous indignation and ready to get all up in her business about their poor customer service.

When I got her on the phone, she again told me that she had not received my fax. My irritation level was reaching an all-time high. Then she asked me what area code I had sent it from. I told her and she shuffled some papers around. She said “hmmm, that’s interesting because I did receive a fax from that exact same area code with five blank pages.” She asked me to fax it again. I reluctantly agreed.

Puzzled, I walked outside my office and asked my assistant, “Hey, you know that new fax machine? You’re supposed to put the papers in upside down, right?” She looked at me funny and shook her head no.

Yes, that’s right. I had faxed her five blank pages, TWICE. Because I could not remember how to operate the fax machine.

For now, my baby brain appears confined to forgetting how to operate basic office equipment. Stay tuned for next week, when I may gaze wonderingly at my stapler and wonder what it’s for.

are you dizzy with anticipation, or is it just me?

What is up with my prolonged absences? Are there still people out there reading this? If so, wow. God bless you underappreciated gluttons for punishment for continuing to check my blog. I love you, truly I do.

Remember how I told you I was traveling for business a couple of weeks ago? Well, it was the trip from hell. FROM HELL. Let me tell you the many reasons why. First, my trip to Ohio, by way of the always-convenient O’Hare airport, was extended because our flight from Chicago to Columbus was cancelled. Since I couldn’t get on another flight that night on any airline from O’Hare, my only option was to take a $65 cab to Midway airport and take a Southwest flight from there. We ended up arriving, oh, about five hours later than planned.

Then, on my second day in Ohio, I woke up terribly dizzy and had the lovely experience of running out of an important business meeting to hurl. After that I felt better. I was still dizzy, but maintaining. I figured the dizziness must be pregnancy-related and figured I’d just ask my doctor about it at my next appointment, which was scheduled for the day after I got back.

The next day I was happy to be on my way home. Still dizzy, but happy that I would soon be back in great California weather instead of in the humid thunderous Midwest. Things had to be looking up. BUT NO.

This time, I was routed through Dallas. Upon arriving at DFW, my connecting flight was, guess what, CANCELLED. Again. I got on another flight scheduled to take off three hours later, which meant that I could now complete my tour of America’s airports, read every magazine published in the month of August and eat another meal at McDonalds.

I finally got home Thursday afternoon. In case you’re counting: still dizzy.

When I woke up Friday morning, I could not even focus my eyes, so fast was the world spinning around me. I was so dizzy I couldn’t keep food down. I threw up six times in an hour and a half. I had my OB appointment that morning and somehow got dressed and drove myself there. Possibly at great risk to myself and every other driver on the road.

My doctor took one look at me and said I needed to go to the ER for IV fluids. I’m not sure if it was the sunken eyes, the broken blood vessels all over my face from the violent vomiting, or what, but she knew I was not well and needed to be rehydrated.

I spent all day at the ER hooked up to the fluids. The only way I felt even remotely ok was if I was lying completely still and not moving my head. Finally after all the tests had been run, they told me I had vertigo probably caused by an inner ear infection (and also a bladder infection, but that was just an extra bonus). They gave me antibiotics, anti-nausea medicine and a prescription for Antivert, a drug that is supposed to make you less dizzy but that I subsequently learned is the most ineffective medication ever manufactured. They said the dizziness would eventually go away but that I would probably be pretty non-functional for a few days.

That turned out to be the understatement of the year. “Non-functional” hardly comes close to describing my condition over the next few days. I lay still on my bed or on the couch, being waited on hand and foot by my husband and the parade of family members who came over to help with Evan and heat up soup for me. I had a hard time reading or watching TV even, because I couldn’t focus my eyes and the room spun around like crazy.

Finally after three days, I could sit up for longer periods of time and walk around the house some. I looked like a drunk person, but I was moving. I still was afraid to drive or take a shower (so you could imagine I was looking GOOD). I had to stay home from work all of last week as I recovered. I did not leave my house for a solid week.

Finally my doctor referred me to an ear, nose and throat specialist and I got in to see him last Friday afternoon. By then I was still dizzy, but much more functional. I believe at that point I actually attempted to apply concealer to my face before leaving the house. Trust me, it was a big step.

The ENT did all sorts of tests and told me that I have labyrinthitis in my right ear. In layman’s terms, this is an inflammation of your inner ear that is often caused by a virus. He asked me if I had recently had a cold. Check! Yep, I had a cold after Evan got croup. Then, I flew, which didn’t help. The frustrating thing about this condition is that it just takes time to resolve itself. Your brain eventually figures out how to compensate so that the vertigo goes away – but it usually takes weeks.

Today is exactly two weeks from the day I woke up dizzy in Ohio. I’m much better now, but still often walk like a drunk person and have to lean against the wall in the shower so I don’t fall down. But let me tell you, I will never again take for granted the gift of balance. The day I wake up with no dizziness will be a cause for celebration! I will get there.

In the meantime, you’ve got to hand it to me, that’s a pretty good excuse for a lack of posting. :)