there's no place like home

We're home!

Except home is kind of like being in the hospital, minus the nurses with their attention to cleanliness and regularly scheduled meal times.

And I've had time to figure this out because we've technically been home for the last 24 hours.

ali is in the hospital...again

About a month and a half ago, our little Olmstead clan took a day trip to Orem Community's Labor and Delivery ward. There's a long story with smoke inhalation and poor kick count scores that I will not bore you with, but the plus side is that we got ourselves all pre-registered for that time when (in the eternally wise words of Juno) "Thundercats are go!" We were in, we were out, it was a blissful way to spend an afternoon.

Unfortunately,the second go round has not been so smooth. I spent all of Monday night vomiting anything that came in contact with my system, so JL called my mother who said that we should call our doctor. We called Dr. Young, he said, "Labor and Delivery. Go there." I thought, well, I thought nothing. I just let JL get me dressed in comfy clothes and put me in the car. We arrived, they hydrated me, I spent the entire day attempting to sleep, Momma O showed up and actually got me to sleep, and when I woke up I thought, 'Mkay. That was fun. I should go home now.' Right at the brink of freedom....a fever. A fever and a pregnant lady is a whole different ball game.

Swine flu and pregnant ladies are whole nother ball game.

A ball game that got me isolated with nothing to do but bore cyberspace with the news that I, Ali Olmstead, was stupid enough to get swine flu three weeks before my OB got the vaccine.

all the pretty little ponies

Bumblebee and I had our 29 week check up today and officially started the fun of bi-monthly appointments. To kick the party off, we embarked on the strange physical adventure of a blood sugar test. It was just us, an orange drink similar to orange soda but four times as potent, and the clock slowly ticking down the hour until some semblance of normal food could be ingested to help combat the dizziness, headache, and nausea that one tiny container of orange drink had delivered.

Our good friends - Guy and Ali - believe that baby gives me some kind of superhuman abilities. Abilities that never choose to show themselves at appropriate times like getting out of bed in the morning, bending to pick things up, etc. and tend to favor times involving Yahtzee! or Settlers of Catan. So I suppose it was my own sense of disillusionment that led me to believe that today was The Day. Today my unborn child and I were going to coexist in (my) one body no matter what natural forces pressed down upon us.

Today was not the day. Today was a day. A day of many things. Not a day of harmony. But. Things. So I was pleasantly surprised to see an e-mail from the man that made all of these things possible, sharing a happy memory that makes a pretty picture that I thought might make one of you smile. 'Cause it sure worked its charm on me.

sleep is good. naps are better.

Recently I took up the hobby of napping as a solution to my constant exhaustion.  However, I am a horrible napper. Truly awful. I waddle around all morning long pretending to be productive - which is a polite way to say craving everything that is not my apartment and then cleaning in frustration - and by the time I finally fall asleep on my quest for a little R&R, it's after 4. As I said three seconds ago, I am a horrible napper, so I usually stay passed out until JL comes home from work or class, but only if he's in the mood to wake me up.  The other day I woke up around 6:30 and he was just calmly sitting in front of his computer working on school stuff.

My mother is a professional napper. That woman can get 'er done. In bed, napped, and back on her feet in under an hour every day. A precision napper. I marvel daily over her ability to tune out the world at her choosing. I yearn to learn how to be productively unproductive. 

Any advice?

admission

I may have rolled out of bed this morning to eat the leftover Taco Tuesday tacos in our fridge before JL got home from class. Only, the guilt kicked in and I only ate two of the six.

In other words, don't judge me. I really am a good person.

now I can go back to sleep

JL woke up this morning at 3:30 to head out the door to Tucson with his father. I am alone, with the random bugs, and my mexican.

 

Rewind.

Last night, in a true display of crazy pregnant lady, JL supplied me with authentic Anglo Mexicanese cuisine for dinner and so, for the last few hours, I have been happily nibbling away on Cafe Rio leftovers. (I ate all of my sweet and sour pork last night. In case you're curious, it was heaven.) There may also have been a display of emotional clingy me. JL was supposed to leave for Spring City last night and then get up early with his dad and vamoose. We got him packed, I may have cried just a smidge, he got out the door, he got in the car, he called his father, and he came back inside. I'd be ashamed, but I kind of love the man, so I'm not.

I am, however, ashamed by the dream I had the other night in which I was an assassin (that's right, someone who kills people for money) with a new baby trying to lose the last few pounds of baby weight. I must admit that in my dream I was more concerned with the weight loss than the moral implications of my job. And I have seen Grosse Pointe Blank, so I should know better. I mean, really, did John Cusack teach me nothing?

*sigh*

I miss my husband.  

feeling a little overwhelmed

Today it dawned on me that in four weeks we will be out of the second trimester and firmly rooted in the last three months of preparation time.  JL starts classes in a few weeks and before I know it we will be leaving the hospital with a little baby boy to make the chaos of life worthwhile. 

Now, all we need to do before November is: pick up the crib in Iowa, stain the crib, move all of the stuff JL keeps piling in the nursery out of the nursery, find a chest of drawers, get a car seat, stroller, and the list goes on and on.