Mar. 29th, 2011

lemon_says: (lemonbaby)
But this is what I have going on right now, so my apologies. I met the high-risk OB today, who is cool. She's sending my Disk o' Disaster over to the perinatologist and a couple of orthopedists to see what they think, but she's down with not automatically assuming a c-section. I know some of you probably think I'm mad to try to avoid that, but I've already been sawed in half, thanks, and don't have any burning desire to go there again. If it's possible to go without, I'd prefer to, and she's cool with that. That said, I'm not going to play hero here, and I am going to listen to the orthopedists and see what they say.

I just got home to scarf down a sandwich and then I need to go retrieve Big Ez from his best buddy's house, where he is reportedly behaving himself and making play-dough. Eating is still a bit fraught. I would like to live on juicy fruits and crudités, but I have to eat other stuff too, apparently. I have finally managed to gain a couple of pounds after being so freaking sick for weeks, thanks to zofran, acupuncture, sea bands, sour candy, and ever other nausea treatment known to man (except ginger tea, which makes me gag and defeats the purpose of drinking it). Fruit makes me happy. I stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home from the hospital and bought a giant container of sliced mangoes and ate them on the way home. I have to carry and nibble granola or Cliff bars all the time. I am tired of Cliff bars, man.

When I was pregnant with Anya, I couldn't stand the smell (or sight) of sausage or cured meat. With Ez it was fish (I normally LOVE fish), and now, sadly, it is hummus of all things. I love hummus. I eat hummus all the time. But no, I can't bear to look at it or think about it. It gives me the shudders.

Gahhh, I hate being queasy. The funny thing was two of the nurses there said they were fine for their first two and sick as dogs for the third, too. What's up with that?
lemon_says: (Shocking)
Ez and I were using a rabbit cookie cutter to cut a row of bunnies out of play-dough. We're going to dry them and he can paint them for Easter decorations. So, I'm making sure the edges are neat and handing them to him, and I realize he's lining them up and saying, "This one has a happy face. This next one has an okay-happy face, but not AS happy, then this one has a straight line face because it hurts more, and then this one has a sad face because it hurts a little more..."

He's making the pain scale with play-dough Easter bunnies.

Note to self: stop taking him with me to the pain doc, even if he does always get a Tootsie Pop and enjoy taking apart and assembling the vertebra model.

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