It's been a busy couple of weeks, full of small tragedies and a few notable triumphs.
The tragedies, to get them out of the way:
1. SOMEONE DECAPITATED MY DAISIES. They were a gift from your father. Since we first started dating, he's never given me cut flowers. I tease him about it sometimes, but the man is smart and knows I prefer chocolate anyway. But I do love flowers, so for Valentine's Day, your dad took me to Home Depot and we picked up some flowers to put in my pots, since my basil plant froze one cold night and the cilantro died when we left town for a few days. I forgot to move it outside. Woops. I picked out Gerber daisies, snapdragons, and alyssum as filler. These pots looked good. Really good. I set them out next to my chamomile and dill plants by our front door. I picked snapdragons that weren't quite ready to bloom; now they are opening beautifully. I've been dying to take a few pictures, but I can't find my battery charger. Sigh. And then, yesterday morning, your pops noticed that the daisies were gone. My cheery yellow and orange flowers. Gone! Snapped off at the base. I hope, sincerely, that a very small child loved those daisies so much, she had to pick them for her mother. We don't live near a lot of children, though, so I am skeptical. Let us all pray I never find the culprit.
It really burns my biscuits that I didn't get even one picture. Hopefully the little buds I can see at the base of the plant will shoot up quickly. And my charger will magically surface from whence it is hiding. Or, more likely, from a dorm room in Vermont.
2. I broke my cookie jar. It was resting on top of the fridge. The fridge looked off-kilter to me, so I tried to straighten it out. And the glass jar came tumbling down and shattered into a zillion shards. It was a wedding gift from my cousin. Tear. As it fell, it smashed up a lemon cake I had made. The cake was preserved, don't worry, but it looks like, well, like it got smooshed by a suicidal cookie jar.
3. My doctor didn't renew my ondansetron prescription. It dawned on me during our visit last week that he really didn't know my history at all. I'm not sure he even knew I was on the stuff. His assistants had worked all that out for me. He said, "Vomiting is a part of pregnancy. There's nothing we can do to stop that." To which I though, "Hello... Ondansetron..." For six days, I went medicine free. And threw up just about everything I ate the whole time. I tried to tough it out, but I could feel my body shutting down. I called the office, and after a fiasco involving incorrect prescriptions, I finally got a very small order of ondansetron.
"He's cutting me off!" I shrieked to your father. How quickly I have become dependent on drugs. But in all seriousness, I'm so grateful for this medicine. It helps me eat, sleep, work, treat your dad civilly, etc.
I've had a lot of time to think about how I want this first pregnancy to go. I feel like most of what I know about what's happening to my body I've distilled from websites and message boards. Which leaves me feeling a little insecure. My last visit with the OB was rushed. He seemed impatient to answer my questions. I felt uninvolved in any sort of planning or decision making.
Which leads me to our triumphs:
1. I switched to a midwives group nearby. I was a little nervous that a midwife would try to get me to give birth in a tub without medication. Which is fine, if you go for that sort of thing, but I don't. Amy, the midwife we met with yesterday, smiled and said, "Oh, I have three lovely children, thanks to three lovely epidurals." Phew. The group is situated within a large OB/GYN practice, so if I have any complications, I have immediate access to specialists. It's the perfect place for us. We go back on March 21 for the anatomy scan. It'll be nice to start calling you "she" or "he," instead of "it."
2. In unrelated, but equally triumphant, news, your father wrote a paper that was accepted to a conference at Ohio State! It was a great validation for him.
This post is getting quite long. But I think you'll agree, it was worth it.