sueeeus

I bought four different combs to address the issue. Here they are soaking in alcohol. The first one, big blue, is by far the most effective of the lot, but the other three are much more tolerable to young children and large men who behave like young children, when having their hair combed mercilessly by the resident woman with a mission.

When dealing with such an issue, what good is comfort if it doesn’t effectively address the situation? I used the long red comb first, progressed to the short red (the short blue is actually a dog flea comb, but is virtually the same as the small red comb) and did the final pass with big blue.

But first, I shaved BB’s head with the 1/8″ attachment. Because when I tried big blue on him the first time, it was too torturous. I mean, I was practically in tears myself, when I did my own first pass. It pulled out clumps of hair. Literally. I thought it would be much kinder to give him a ‘special’ haircut, than to wrestle with him and that unforgiving comb.

He’s still beautiful (to me), even without hair. When he saw his reflection he said, “Juss like Uncle T!” Because when my dear brother joined us the other week for our short family get together, he was sporting his summer shaved do. And everyone loves Uncle T. He’s a great guy, all around.

I love the bright attitude that my little one is blessed with. He is my shining star.

And the best news is, that after combing, shaving, combing, combing, combing, I found absolutely nothing on my little guy’s head. So I pronounce him clean. He wasn’t the carrier.

And more good news, is that after yesterday’s thorough combings, I found absolutely nothing in my hair, and nothing in Gadget’s (except dandruff, in his case). So I am pronouncing our home and heads louse free. I did buy a spare set of sheets (we had only one set, because we have a new bed, and I was waiting for a sale to get a spare set) so we wouldn’t have to stay up so late waiting for them to dry after washing nightly. We were up until 2 a.m. that first night, since the whole combing process took hours, and I didn’t think to strip the sheets until after I’d finished combing.

We’ll still go through a thorough combing every few days for the next two weeks, to be completely and absolutely certain, but it was SO very heartening to find nothing at all yesterday.

The previous day was, understandably, a freak-out, not having faced such a thing before, and then to discover those nasty egg pods. I’ve since learned that nits are the empty pods left after hatching. So we found no nits, actually, and we found no lice or nymphs. What we did find were some eggs, in both my hair and Gadget’s, but we removed them, and hopefully, hopefully, we’ve eradicated the problem. Finding them in Gadget’s spurred me to shave BB, because Gadget’s hair is already very very short, and I found nothing upon visual inspection, but that comb, big blue, found about five or six of the very same pod things that I found in mine. And under my microscope (yes, I have a mini scope for inspecting saliva for crystal patterns to detect potential fertility, from days gone by, and it does come in handy once in a while, although, it IS freaky to see what things look like that close up), they sadly and undoubtedly looked exactly like the photos I found on Doctor Google. So yes. Freak-out.

It’s amazing what something like that can do to one’s mental state. Yes, it can happen to anyone. No, it doesn’t mean you live in a pigsty. But all the same, it makes one feel so unclean. An outcast. A leper. That’s the second time I’ve used that word this week.

Conversely, the elation and relief one feels when one can say the problem has passed, is simply wonderful.  And sleeping in fresh sheets two nights in a row is kind of nice too.

Still a bit befuddled as to where the lice came from.  Not daycare.  Not us.  I wonder if possibly Sissy had them already, and brought them with her.  They don’t jump, leap, or fly.  We did go to a theme park, and possibly they were transmitted by contact with the head rest.  Or could it have happened via the head rest on an airplane?  Eeegads, one would hope not!  It remains a mystery.  Poor girl has very thick, long, luscious curly locks.  I can’t imagine her being able to comb through it with something like big blue.  I wish her well.

So this morning we got a phone call from Sissy’s mother. Apparently, she has quite a case of head lice.

She said she’s been itching a lot, for about a week. Of course she didn’t mention this to us while she was here.

Never having experienced such a thing, I consulted Doctor Google. And read horrifying things about chemical treatments. And heartening things about dealing with the situation. Thankfully.

I bought a special comb and inspected BB. He seems to be okay. The comb hurts him too much and he won’t hold still long enough to do any sort of reasonable job, but I just cut his hair the other day, and it’s very short. I don’t see anything there.

Similarly, I cut Gadget’s hair very short the other day as well, and don’t see anything there.

I spent an hour and a half in the shower, working through my own hair. And found nits. About six of them. Or maybe ten. I don’t know. It’s very distressing. The comb yanked out handfuls of hair, like a razor blade, and left my scalp feeling raw, so no wonder BB wouldn’t cooperate.

I’m going to go through Gadget’s next, with the comb. He had more contact with his daughter than I did, but he has so much less hair than I do. Hopefully he’s nit free.

Now I have to go through this scalp raking for a while until I am certain I’m nit free. At least I didn’t find anything hatched, which means I might have caught it in time. I hope.

Maybe I’ll just shave BB and Gadget’s heads, for good measure.

For me, I’m not ready for the Sinead O’Connor look.

And I have a lot more laundry to do.

• Shopping may be in order.  For something very expensive.  Like furniture.  Or diamonds.  (Not really)
• Or a vacation.  A nice room in a quiet place.  By myself.
• Maybe just a day in the city.  A hair appointment.  A coffee.  A walk along the water.  By myself.
• Maybe an art or craft project.
• Wine would be nice.  So very nice.  Alas.
• One thing I will begin this day is a freshening of the home.  Open all the windows, strip all the bedclothes, wash all the pillows, sheets, towels and throws.  Scrub away all traces.
• I need to get back into a good head space.  Back to my old self.  That nice person with an easy smile.  She who I can barely remember.  I hope it doesn’t take too long to find her.

I didn’t go to the airport. And I really did have meetings. Three of them. Honest! (Seriously. I really did.)

• Although I’m still hiding out in my office, and generally avoiding the company, I am feeling better in general. We’re getting ready to take a few days off and visit my sister, who lives conveniently close to a water/amusement park. That will be the big hoorah for the teenaged house-invaders. They’re very excited about it. Plus, my sister and her husband have a boat and live near an amazing lake, and the weather is supposed to be nice. So. I will fork out a truckload of cash to offset the cost of operating said boat, and the kids can have more water fun. I will be surrounded by mostly relations of my flesh and blood, so I will take strength and nourishment from that. Maybe the teens will run off on their own and do their thing. I’m hoping they behave well, and interact well with their step-cousins.
• Being on insulin has helped reduce some stress. My numbers aren’t jumping all over the place now. They go up, they come down, they don’t go bang bang zoom pow bang.
• Getting the go-ahead to use a laxative has greatly improved things as well. Ahem. Seriously, though, I feel emotionally better knowing that I’m not all compacted with festering debris for days on end. TMI. I know. I know. But I feel better.
• Having those 3D pictures of my baby is such a joy for me. It helps me visualize him. I find myself thinking of him more, and smiling more.
• BB was placed in time out in the kids room at the gym while I was doing my water aerobics. He was throwing things and reportedly hit a couple of kids. When I ask him about it, he says he likes to hit. It’s a bit challenging trying to have a reasonable and logical conversation with a three year old. I want him to understand that it’s not nice to hit. He was broken of that before the home invasion took place. Now I have to start over. He’s being exceedingly belligerent, saying, “NO. I’m NOT going (to bed, to the bathroom, to daycare, to pick up that toy, to eat my dinner, etc.) NO.” I felt awful, that he got in trouble in a public place. I had mixed emotions. Awful that somebody else disciplined my child (albeit gently) and awful that he needed to be disciplined.
• We’re going to be towing a small utility trailer loaded with two refrigerators when we take our trip this week. The weight of the load is within the trailer’s limit, and the weight of the trailer is well within the specs noted in my van’s manual. Even so, I’m feeling nervous. There will be five people in the van and a heavy load behind the van. We will be riding very low. And I’m nervous. Must. Not. Think. Of. It. Denial is best for situations like this.
• Gadget keeps blowing off his chiropractor appointments. It’s very annoying. He should at least have the decency to cancel, if he’s not planning to go. Meanwhile, he gave them the wrong insurance card, so the billing is all whacked too. None of which really matters to him, because it all rolls to me. I, however, am annoyed. Especially because he has plenty of complaints over people in his line of work not being where they say they’ll be when they say they’ll be there. He should just cancel. Period. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to go to the chiropractor. We both tend to think it’s mostly quackery. But if he has an appointment, he needs to cancel it.
• I have some sewing/crafting projects in mind, but don’t want to start into anything until I have my home back to myself. I think I’ve become somewhat of a recluse or something.
• Tomorrow is my beloved niece’s 12th birthday. When she was 6 months old she (and her family) lived with me for a time, and I got to enjoy her in the best of her babyhood. She took her first steps to me. Me! I like to think of her as my girl, especially since I will not likely ever have a daughter of my own. She’s an amazing person, and I’m very proud of her.
• The benefits of the magnesium are sadly not fully consistent. I’ve had several night visits with my friend Charlie, who is NOT a good or welcome bed partner. Why are they called Charlie/Charley horses, anyway? Bill Bryson would surely know.

It’s the contrast one feels when one awakes to find that the travails of the last day are a thing of the past.  A lightness in being.  Bliss.

Glorious sunny days are a rarity in the Pacific Northwest.  The abundance of lush greenery comes at the price of many a gray and drizzly day.  Yesterday was just such a glorious sunny day, a terrible shame to waste, but I was overcome with fatigue and lethargy.  It was all I could do to drag my body from room to room.  I had a nagging headache and some nausea, reminiscent of a migraine, but on the milder side, as my migraines go.  We managed to go to the store for some groceries, but that about did me in, and I collapsed on the couch and fell into a groggy nap state for an hour or more.  The day wore on and I finally broke down in tears, Googled the use of hydrocodone during pregnancy, and decided I could allow myself to take one.  Gadget never understands why I torture myself all day long before I finally break down and take something at the end of the day when I can stand it no longer.  I always try to see if I can wait it out, if it will resolve on its own.  Occasionally, I give in, and sweet relief comes in less than half an hour.  Bliss.  No wonder people get addicted to narcotics.  Luckily, the thought of addiction terrifies me, so I’m almost overly cautious.  And all through this, little mister man wouldn’t take a nap.  I was a bit concerned how this would affect the evening, envisioning a three year old meltdown or more on the horizon, the last thing I needed in my fragile state.

As luck would have it, he zonked out like a light, around 8:30 p.m. (coincident with the hydrocodone kicking in) and wonder of wonders, slept until 8 a.m.!!!!  I’m wondering if this means we ought to give up the nap altogether, so he can have a reasonable bed time.  A child in bed by 8:30.  Now that’s a dream come true.  He had a three-hour nap the day before, and he and his dad stayed up watching Ghostbusters until midnight that night.  Simply atrocious parenting.   (Gadget gets full blame for that one – I went to bed at 9:30, as usual.  I can’t keep my pregnant self up very late these days.)

Today is not such a delicious sunny day as yesterday, but it’s reasonably clear.  Dogwoods and magnolia are in bloom (I’m coveting these for my garden) and I feel like a new person.   It’s a shame to have lost half my weekend, but the simple feeling of revival makes up for it.

My head is swimming. Or spinning. Or both. I feel sort of on the verge of dizzy all day every day. Maybe I’m just tired. It’s so hard to tell.

I thought I’d consider looking into dietary adjustments, to see if that might help. But now my head is spinning even more. It would be nice to be an average person with average weight, average blood sugar, average blood pressure, average energy levels, average everything.

I’ve read that poor blood sugar control can harm the developing baby, so it’s vitally important to keep the blood sugar stable and in control. To do this, it’s important to limit the amount of carbohydrates ingested at any given time. But if the balance slips the other way, and I don’t get enough carbohydrates, it looks like the results can be equally as damning to the developing child. Or more so. Now I’ve read horror stories of stunted brain development , lower IQ, and mental retardation with the presence of too many ketones, a potential byproduct of a very low carbohydrate diet.

I only started reading because I felt somewhat alarmed at how quickly my belly has ballooned, and as well, the corresponding increase in the numbers on the scale. I don’t want to obsess. And I’m so good at obsessing.

I feel like throwing my hands up in the air, and just not worrying about what I eat and how much I gain. There is a plethora of healthy foods that I like to eat, so I should be okay.  And just relax, alright already, for crying out loud.

But gosh, I feel awful and guilty if and when I gain. Especially after hearing and reading that women who start out significantly overweight shouldn’t be gaining much during pregnancy. And here it is, Cinco de Mayo, and I’m thinking of making rice and beans to accompany the tacos tonight.

I find corporate buzzspeak so wearisome.  What does it actually mean?  Drives me nuts.  So, enough of that.

Today I woke up feeling happy.  Not that I don’t usually wake up happy, because I tend to be a morning person, but today I awoke in better spirits than usual.  Which is quite nice.  And to add to an already pleasant morning, BamBam (I’m thinking that I will begin referring to them as Pebbles and BamBam, assuming the peanut really is a girl!) actually woke up on his own.  Which meant that we didn’t have the normal get dressed and ready and out the door struggle. 

I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that, for the first time in I can’t remember when, I didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to attend to a child or my own bladder that can no longer be ignored.  Or, perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I actually exercised yesterday.  Yes, stop the presses.  We joined a gym, and I’m loving the aqua aerobics.  Especially because the pool is full of real people with real shapes and sizes, and not super models and beach bunnies.  I feel so much more comfortable in this gym environment than I’ve ever felt in the past.  I think it’s part of why I’ve hated gyms for so many years.  The gyms I belonged to in years past tended to be filled with vain and superficial people for which the external appearance was paramount to anything.  Not my scene.  And I even looked good back then! 

Now, I don’t usually do this, but I feel compelled to share a link to an amazing talk given by an amazing woman.  My sister has written a book (and I hope she publishes it soon, because I just know it’s incredible, and want to buy a bazillion copies to send to all my friends –okay, several copies, because I don’t actually have a bazillion friends) and found this link, which she says describes some of the characters in her book.  It’s really great, because it’s science that corroborates her art.  It thrills me!  I listened to it at work — multi-tasking, of course — and ended up needing tissue to dab away tears.  It was that good.

Now, to take some of that insight and do something with it.  Translation:  I really, really, really need to tap into my right hemisphere more.  The question is, how?

Today’s ultrasound went very well. There is a rotating team, it seems, and I had a completely different technician and doctor today, and I liked both much, much better than the last team. The technician narrated as she worked. It was great to have the ongoing explanation. My little peanut is a wiggle-worm, though, and just wouldn’t stay put long enough to get any level of detail that they really needed. The technician also wasn’t able to clearly tell the gender, but from the briefest of glances that she was able to see, she said she gives it a 70% chance of being… …a… …GIRL!!!! But not to get all worked up about it, because only time will tell.

The doctor came in later and rescanned, trying to get more clear data on the heart. She spent a lot of time looking at the heart, and I was beginning to get a bit anxious, but she explained that the baby is just moving too much, and she can’t get clear enough details to say one way or another, if all is well or not. Apart from that, all the things that could be read were very good. Kidneys, check. Heart rate, check. Stomach, check. Intestines, check. The doctor said that they should be able to tell much more at my 20 week scan, in which they can do a more thorough anatomy check, and she recommended I come back at week 21 or 22 for a detailed echo with the pediatric cardiology specialist. She also said that she and her colleague were in disagreement as to the usefulness of the blood work screen with the Down Syndrome marker, because they have no data for the sake of comparison, with women of ‘advanced maternal age’ who have diabetes. The diabetes can throw off other hormonal measurements, so she doesn’t think they can rely much on any accuracy wrt that marker. Which is fine by me. I know this baby is fine, anyway. I just know it. So I’m continuing to try to uphold my peaceful frame of mind.

The baby likes to flail its arms. Such an active little thing! And such a beautiful profile! The picture doesn’t do it justice. But what can you do, when your little peanut just won’t hold still. I’m smitten. Completely. Totally. Absolutely. Smitten.

Ahhhhhhhh.

I’m wondering about whether I should taper off the Zoloft, or keep on it. I’ve read a gazillion different internet articles, medical based and personal blog based, about Zoloft and pregnancy. My doctor said it’s okay to stay on it, and in fact I might find that later on I may even need to increase the dose. I don’t want to increase! It’s been a tough decision to even go on it, so increasing is, to me, a step in the wrong direction. However, I read a post that Dooce made about going off Zoloft and how it was the worst thing she could have ever done to herself. I’ve also read that the baby can have withdrawal symptoms the first few days after birth, since they no longer will be getting the Zoloft in their system. And if that is true, then obviously the baby is getting the Zoloft now too, and that kind of bothers me, thinking that I’m already messing with the seratonin reception and/or production in an assumably perfect human being. And I also read that continuing the Zoloft could be the ‘lesser of two evils’ since the effect on the mother after stopping it could be much more disastrous than the withdrawal experienced by the child. Nice. Now, I don’t consider myself a super hard case, in that I’ve lived until now (for the last decade, at least) with a basic level of anxiety and depression and just assumed that that was how I was, that that was ‘me’. It wasn’t in any way unbearable, but I do actually like the more stable way I feel now. I’m a much nicer person to my husband (of course he’s always the one to get the full brunt of my moods!) Anyhow, because I’m not, or wasn’t, a complete basket case (well, that’s debatable…) without the Zoloft, I wonder if I ought to try to gradually taper off. Of course I will talk to my doctors about it before I try anything.

I’ve just about convinced myself that I will gradually taper off, but I’m torn, so torn, over it all. What to do, what to do.

And then I go and read some of the comments on the Dooce post, and wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t consider tapering off after all.  All those comments about how ludicrous it would be not to treat diabetes or cancer if one were diagnosed with those things, so why is there such stigma to treating depression and anxiety.  I accept (for the most part) my diabetes and take my Metformin faithfully, as well as watch what I eat (for the most part) and measure my blood sugar regularly, so why would I waffle as to whether I should continue with the Zoloft?  I guess it’s a question as to whether depression and anxiety are truly a ‘disease’, or whether one can just decide or will oneself out of either or both conditions.  I like to think that I can will myself into happiness and emotional stability.  Isn’t it all a frame of mind anyway?  But if I can, then why haven’t I?  And, I see little point to trying ‘natural alternatives’.  Just because an herbal or natural supplement is natural, doesn’t mean it’s not chemical, so what difference does it make whether I self treat with natural remedies or use a controlled prescription?  Both are affecting the brain via chemical interactions.   And Zoloft is a heck of a lot cheaper than SAM-e or 5-HTP ($12 for 90 days)!

Oh, I think too much!  Way.Too.Much.  And I still don’t know what to do.

…said Inigo Montoya…

So today I had a checkup with my family practice doctor because she wouldn’t extend my prescriptions without seeing me in person, and I need to fill them in order to have enough on hand for my upcoming trip.

First there is the weigh in. Good Lord.

Next is the foot inspection in which I am poked in the extremities and asked whether I can feel it. Yes, I can, thank you very much.

And then the discussion about blood sugar control and exercise, blah blah blah. I know the story. I know the rules. I know I need to exercise more. I know I need to weigh less. Don’t eat breads. Avoid anything made with wheat. No deli meats. No soft cheeses. Watch the fish. Is it friend or foe? (These latter are the pregnancy precautions.)  Watch the fruits.  Too much sugar you know.  Try to avoid the fats. It seems I am to live on vegetables and chicken breasts. Which is fine, but tiresome if it’s every. single. day. Join a gym. Join Weight Watchers. She says she finds these are the most effective things. Home exercise just isn’t enough, she says. Join a gym. Ummmm, I work full time, and have a family. I get up at 6 a.m., get home around 6 p.m., it’s usually about 7:30 by the time we’ve finished dinner, then there is a kitchen to at least make an attempt to tidy, if nothing more than throwing things in the sink, there are baths to take and bed preparations. If I were to even attempt to enforce bed time, then the enforcement thereof takes a minimum of half an hour and usually more like one to one and a half hours. (Which is why I usually cave and just let him go to bed when I go to bed.) So. Precisely when will I be going to the gym?

When I do do my Dance Dance Revolution, I’m completely dripping with sweat when I’m done, and breathing sufficiently hard to know that there is cardio exercise taking place. So my doctor is a teeny weeny tiny little thing who advocates good health (which is good, she’s a doctor, she should) and whose favorite hobby is running. I wonder if she actually eats. I always feel like such a walrus next to her. I think I’d rather have a big fat crotchety old man doctor who will just bark at me that I need to lose weight. No, scratch that. That would be humiliating too. I think there’s no way to slice it without humiliation.

Add to that the first trimester exhaustion in which I can barely drag myself home at the end of the day, let alone get up and exercise.

I walked the aisles of Costco for half an hour*, waiting for my prescriptions to be filled. Does that count as exercise?

*And filled my cart with peanut butter, almond butter, romaine, celery, broccoli, cold ground flax seed, low carb no flour sprouted grain bread, artichoke hearts, pepperoncini, reduced fat bacon bits, rice, and freeze dried fruit. Almost all reasonably good foodstuffs.