These last few weeks have been interesting ones here around the house. Bobby is going through another amazing and surprising explosion of learning. He has learned to very clearly and decisively say, "no." He doesn't yell it, or say it really snottily, he just says it with a straight, matter-of-fact: no. He (usually) doesn't pitch a fit about whatever it is either, and I suspect he is often meaning something more along the lines of, "I don't want to" rather than "I refuse to." If I ask him to pick up something he's dropped or retrieve something he's tucked under a couch he may say, "no," sit for a bit and then do what I asked. Or I may get him started and then he does it. That's usually how it works out. (The other times are when we're out eating, it's time to leave, he doesn't want to put on his snow suit and we're reduced to manhandling an arching, screaming, furious little boy.) At least he knows his mind, and is starting to be able to communicate it in a way more easily recognized by the adult world, right?
He has completely weaned himself now. It's a little sad, but also nice to have a little time to have my body (almost) completely to myself again for a little while before Ginny is born.
He's getting better at dressing (and undressing) himself. But I'm a bit concerned about the fashions he's imitating.
In the last few days he rediscovered a bear that he received for Christmas. He calls it "bear," though it sometimes oddly sounds like "beer." He pushes it around on his bike, reads to it, gives it hugs and kisses, and has us give it hugs and kisses. One afternoon we put the bear night-night, he shares his burp-rags with it, gave it drinks of his Saturday morning hot chocolate, showed it the bubbles daddy made while washing dishes, helps it wave, and talked to the bear's "baby." I think something was lost in the communication here, because he's now treating everyone's belly (that he can find) as though it has a baby. Pretty funny, though to see him talking into his bear's fluffy fur.
We've been having good little lunch dates on days when my sister has to leave right away for school. It's funny to ask him what he did with "NeNe" and see his rendition of the games they played. He's rebelling against the high chair, but we've been able to reach a god compromise with his Bumbo seat.
It's only a temporary fix because it's not safe. We'll be getting some sort of booster seat in the near future if he keeps wanting to sit at the table in a chair. He's been really unpredictable about it though.
And, he always wants the last of my chocolate milk. Always. Always. We need to work on that one...
But, he's earning his keep most days. Helping with chores, learning how to do new ones and being generally cute and adorable.
I mentioned I was bad during the holidays. I ate pretty much whatever I wanted to, or was at hand, or that anyone put in my hand. I knew it was a problem. I knew I was gaining too much weight and why. I also knew that I really shouldn't have been doing it. Now, I'm on the long uphill slog of turning that around. I was already trying when I went to my appointment a week ago. But, at that appointment I took the glucose screening test. Basically it's to see if you need the "real" test for gestational diabetes. I did it with Bobby, and had no problem. You drink liquid sugar and then sit around for an hour, they draw your blood, you go home with indigestion. If you're me you take advantage of the free knitting time.
On Thursday I got a call saying, I'm so sorry, you didn't pass and we're a little worried. Come in for the real deal test. That was Saturday. The actual test involves fasting. So I didn't eat anything after dinner Friday night. Luckily they are kind enough to do these in the morning, and they worked with my schedule so I didn't have to miss what for me would have been a full day of work. In the morning I got up and was at the hospital by 7:30. They took blood to get my glucose levels while fasting and then gave me a drink that was more potent than the first, and I was taking it on an empty stomach: blech.
Then I waited an hour. I walked for a bit and then worked on a pair of woe-is-me pity socks: TheseKnotty or Knice Socks It is a lovely little pattern, I think, and it was nice to have some uninterrupted time to get the cable under my fingers. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to knit them without the chart anymore. (That's good because the 12X15 chart is about the size of a postage stamp in the magazine). Then more blood was drawn, from the other arm this time.
Then another hour during which I discovered that as long as I'm not on a cable row I can knit and walk at the same time. I can't knit while climbing or descending stairs, but through an empty hallway with no surprise obstacles and I'm okay! During this third blood draw the nurse discovered that I was reacting rather poorly to the adhesive in the tape used to hold the 2X2 to my arms after each blood draw. (It made me feel like less of a whiner, because I have always hated that tape and thought that it was harsh and abrasive, but didn't want to come off as some sort of... whiner.) So, then another hour during which I decided I really didn't need to walk, but needed to maximize my child-free knitting time.
She checked on Ginny (who during that first hour or so was seriously rockin' out to all the sugar in my system) and she had a good steady heart beat. Then she drew blood one last time and said I needed to make sure to eat when I got home and that she'd have the results around 5 if I wanted to call back (as though I wouldn't be obsessing about it all afternoon). So, I went home and was feeling surprisingly okay. I had heard and read horror stories about this test and how bad you feel afterwards. I was doing alright so I started a more time intensive lunch than really was necessary. 30 minutes later, by the time I was actually eating, I was dizzy, shaky, really loopy, and couldn't stand up. I drained two glasses of chocolate milk (only sharing the last bit of the second glass with Bobby, much to his dismay) and had 1.5 chicken quesadillas (I usually only have one and that one is shared with Bobby).
After lunch is nap time and it was so good that Bob was home because Bobby didn't want to go to sleep and I was utterly useless. I felt terrible, because Bob, the supportive and loving husband that he is, had fasted with me and was, I'm certain, just as tired as I was.
An hour later I woke up feeling much better.
We went to get haircuts, where Bobby enjoyed a dum-dum (something he only gets during his haircuts) and sat in the chair all by himself for the first time. He usually hangs out on Bob's lap, but this time he sat there, smiling at his big boy self in the mirror and sucking away. Then we watched Bob get his haircut while Bobby got both of hands, chin, and some of me sticky with his cotton-candy flavored drool.
Afterwards we ran down to Tangled Skein before they closed. There I discovered a sale on needles and they had a somewhat elusive set of US 1.5 dpn! So I bought those and a replacements long pair of 2s. (I mean, it's practically criminal to not buy something at yarn store that it having any sort of sale.) As we pulled out of the parking lot I called the hospital and heard the absolutely great news that I do not have gestational diabetes. I had no idea how worried I had been until found out that I was okay.
I'm relieved. I already knew I needed to clean up my act, and was pretty bummed if three weeks of indiscretion were going to set me up for a whole slew of difficulties for myself and Ginny. But hopefully this experience will serve as strong deterrent. I've been drinking 3 liters of water a day (and running the bathroom every 15-20 minutes during some stretches), remembering my prenatal, and am trying to get on our bike for at least 30 minutes each day.
And, on the topic of Ginny, Bob and I had an interesting conversation on Sunday. It went something like this:
Bob: "How certain are you that Ginny is going to come early?" (Her due date is May 15th, Bobby was 12 days early, I'm thinking early May, but no guarantees.)
Me: "I don't know, why? And I will be blogging this conversation, just so you know."
Bob: "Well, it's just that the last week of school is graduation, meetings, and things that are hard to miss."
Me: "Oh, well, I'll send her a memo that he don't want to make things hard for daddy, so she has a certain window of non-opportunity."
Bob: "No, it's not that, I just-"
Me: "Oh, oh, so we don't want to inconvenience daddy. That's better."
Bob: "Well, it's just that intensives are easier to miss, you know?"
It was hilarious. Bobby followed his social cues and laughed with us from the back seat and we figured out that the only way she'll makes things hard for Bob is if she shows up the week after her due date. (And if that's what happens, that will probably be the least of his worries.)
Overall things are going well. Everyone seems pretty settled and happy. Who knows when something upsetting will come along, but for now we're thankfully enjoying the smooth sailing!