anxiety dream

This is probably tmi.


You know those anxiety dreams that you're standing around your elementary school in just your white underwear?  I tend to have a million different versions of them.  Particularly when I'm anxious.  Last night I had that dream in miscarriage form:

I was visiting at a friend's house (a very laid back friend, at that) and went to her basement to find G, my 17 month old.  When I found her I found black stuff all around her mouth. I searched around for what she had eaten, then saw a bottle of rat poison in G's hand.  I went ballistic and began searching for a number for poison control or the hospital, meanwhile my friend wiped the evidence off G's face and reassured me that "now she's fine!"  After precious long minutes of finding the number, dialing wrong numbers, poison control not answering, hospital lines busy, I finally got ahold of someone on poison control.  They told me that she can take ipecac (the medicine that makes you throw up) but it will be "violent" throwing up, and it may do her more harm than good since she is so little.  .....  woke up in a sweat. ....

I then realized that I'm anxious.  Tomorrow (St. Patty's Day) I have to go to my doctor to take medicine.  I haven't technically "miscarried," there was just no sign of life at my last appointment.  I had three choices- wait it out, take medicine, or get surgery.  Waiting it out was risky and didn't seem to be happening.  The DNC (surgery) seemed invasive and reminded me of abortions, which thoroughly depressed me.  The option I was left with was taking the medicine.

Here are the parallels, just in case they are not as clear to you as they are to me:  My baby= my baby.  Rat poison= medicine to be taken tomorrow.  Friend= "everyone goes through it"/ the unknown.  No medical assistance= I take the medicine, go home and wait.  "Violent" throwing up= Doctor saying that it's worse than a period, not as bad as labor.

I'm nervous.

This ain't last year's St Patty's Day.  <-- real link to my blog from last year.  Have I scarred you all with all those sketchy links?  Sorry.

By the way, if I haven't made it around to your blog yet to personally thank you, I want to let everyone know how much I appreciated the support and kind words through this bad Bad time.  Thanks for not being awkward, thanks for just letting me write what I had to write.  a) it was a lot of emotion b) I'm a terrible story teller :)  and furthermore, thanks for showing me so much virtual love!

Foodie Unleashed

I am a true blood foodie.  This isn't a condition, this is me.  It's as innate as survival to me, not just a too comfortable marriage, a backfired eating disorder, or stress.  I love food.  Really any food, apart from mussels or cannolis.  When I was a tender age around three or four and someone asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I replied, "eat nutritious foods!"  And that is as to the core as I can get.

beef barley soup and oranges, more accurately

Now imagine a foodie unleashed via pregnancy.  Yes, imagine.  We're talking Hostess cupcakes and spaghetti with butter and cheese and squash with brown sugar and grapefruit! and ginger ale with maraschino cherries! chicken, (so gross), elbow noodles (never mention that word again), bologna! salad with bacon and bleu cheese and pickled onions (for realz), mango coleslaw (do it) (ps that is a link on my own accord.  First time in a while, I know.  It will actually lead you to a real website, not San Diego car repair or Minneapolis real estate.  heh.).  You get the picture.  But that's only in the evenings.


Did you see this past weeks Glee about drinking awareness?  And all of the students and Mr Schuester come to school wiht sunglasses on because of their hangovers?  And Mr Schue mentions that the principal's cologne is so strong?  This is what my morning are like every morning.  My body wash makes me nauseous.  The smell of coffee, nauseating.  The idea of a Reese's egg is literally vomit inducing.  The foodie in me is nonexistent, and I feel like a sassy and picky fourth grader.  But that hasn't stopped me from  outgrowing my pants.  So soon.  And it's all because of the glorious 1pm-on eating.

The best part about it is when I hit the 50 pound weight gain mark and have the baby, by then I'm burnt out on eating so much junk and all the time.  (knock on wood- chances are just because I'm saying it means this time I won't lose it)  So unlike Giselle, who claims that it is a shame that some pregnant women think of themselves as a garbage disposal, I will eat to my content in preparation for labor.  Because (this is my ultimate fallback excuse) did you know that calorically speaking, going through labor and delivery is equivalent to participating in a triathlon?  Bring it on.  I've got some carbo loading to do.