You made the mistake of drinking (calcium-fortified) O.J. in the morning on a semi-empty stomach. Dry Kix cereal constitutes breakfast, right?
Anyway, O.J., meet Stomach. Gulp gulp gulp. Stomach, give O.J. a dirty look. Stomach is pretty sure that O.J. hit on his girlfriend, or stole his bike, or is a dirty scoundrel (general vibe). Stomach is not happy, and will do everything in his power to kick O.J.'s ass back to where he came from.
Incubator (that's me) to Stomach: "Give him a chance! Don't judge a book by its cover! Can't you just forgive and forget? Don't you remember that girl dumped you anyway, O.J. or no O.J.?"
Stomach, to Incubator: "Shut up you good-for-nothing woman. All you feed me is Cheese-Its and Kix. I want some meat! Potatoes! Diet Coke! I hate you!"
So, you know where this is going... you're now stuck at work, with that familiar feeling in your stomach. That feeling of dread that you'll have to, once again, kneel on the bathroom floor at work, yakking in the community bathroom.
Of course... you have a meeting in fifteen minutes. That you are leading. That you cannot be late for, because your bosses will be in attendance as well. Bosses who don't yet know of your Incubator-status.
Here are some guidelines for other poor unfortunate souls in a similar predicament as mine:
Water speeds up the process. As soon as I know I'm going to yak, when it's the point of no return, but still many minutes (dozens of minutes?) away from the actual act, I head to the bathroom with a bottle of water. If I can chug even a 1/4 of the bottle, I'm bound to make it all come up within the next 1-5 minutes.
Toilet seat liners make excellent bibs. I'm talking backsplash here. NOTHING WORSE than backsplash when you are at work. Backsplash at home is just annoying and inconvenient. But backsplash at work means you walk around smelling like puke, and/or having weird stains on your shirt. Take a toilet seat liner, and make a bib out of it, tucking it into the top of your shirt.
Toilet seat liners can serve multiple purposes. For instance, you don't want to kneel on the floor that dozens of women are in and out of all day, with their nether regions exposed and possible things ending up on the floor? I need not go into more details, right? Take a few toilet seat liners and put them on the floor where you're going to kneel. If you take off your shoes, you'll be even more comfy, as the tops of your feet can lay against the ground, and you can rest your bum on your feet if you need to.
Hair ties make excellent bracelets. Make sure you always have one around your wrist, so you can tie up your hair. Having to hold your hair with a hand or two is most inconvenient.
That bottle of water? That helped get things going? Will be your savior post-yak. You can leave the bathroom somewhat dignified without having to rinse your mouth with the lukewarm water of the sink, in front of everyone.
That's it folks... my tips thus far in my yakking-at-work journey. I can only hope to experience it but a few more times... and I wish the same for you.
P.S. It may require an extra trip back to the bathroom, but don't forget to keep a toothbrush and toothpaste at work! If you don't have cubbies or lockers in the bathroom, at least keep a travel-sized set at your desk or in your purse. This is a must! Gum will do you a disservice, I promise.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
First Post - The Noble Baby
[Written May-ish, June-ish, I guess? Saved as an email draft until this blog was created.]
I haven't really taken any time to process what's going on. I kind of like that and appreciate that, though, because I've finally started to learn that when I live inside my head, that's when I start to go nuts.
Anyway, we're unofficially TTC. That is an acronym that is found on many parenting blogs and the like. I'm not even going to spell it out here, you'll have to do the leg-work yourself if you don't know what it means. :) I cringe to even spell out what that stands for, considering it's unofficial. I'm not sticking thermometers where the sun don't shine, scheduling nookie, obsessing, or any of that. More like, going with the flow, seeing what happens, letting whatever do its thing (fate? kismet? butterfly in China?). If we do it, we do it. If we don't, we don't. Not forcing anything whatsoever. (Cringe! I don't talk about sex on my blog!)
The thing is, despite however lase fa ire I am about it, every time I get a twinge in my stomach, or a mild cramp, I'm certain it's cells reproducing rapidly and trying to implant. And I can't help but think "okay, waiting time". Wait to see if I see red. Or instead, if I feel nauseous. (As if it would come that fast.) Should I have that beer with dinner, or hold off? Do I buy tests from the store if they're Buy One Get One Free? If the first test is "no", should I believe it, or try again the next day? Wait until Nick is home from work, or do it myself?
It's a huge freaking deal. Right? I mean, it's completely and utterly life-changing, in a way I can't yet comprehend. But I've heard enough people say so, so it's got to be true.
[Post picked up again on 7/10/09, five days after I learn I am pregnant.]
We took a test on Friday morning. I predicted that I was about 3-4 days from my period, so maybe the test will tell us something. "Up to 5 days before your missed period", the packaging claims. I pee, see nothing, really. Maybe a piece of dust or something, the tiniest of tiny hint of a shadow wanting to be a shadow. But really, it's negative and we don't even think anything of it. Surprisingly, I'm not disappointed, but Nick hugs me anyway.
Took another one on Saturday morning. Wait a minute... that may be the faintest of lines. Barely anything. Like, 2% shaded line. Eh, discard.
Sunday, just enjoy the day. Don't think about babies, cells, pregnancy. I'll probably get my period early next week. (Yay, cramps at work!)
Monday, after work. I pee on the stick, place the cap back on it, and hand it to Nick. I join him by the sink, washing my hands. I don't even look at the test. "I see a line!" Nick says, almost like Seinfeld would. "No you don't" I retort back. Except, he wasn't joking. There is a line. About 30% shaded line, but a line. We re-read the instructions (how hard can it be?) and see a graphical interpretation from the manufacturer. Basically, they say "if it looks like it could be a line, it's a line." They say "if you think you see a line, it's a line." They say "you are pregnant, Lindsay, that is definitely a line".
Holy fucking shit. I'm knocked up!
The next thirty minutes are bizarre to me. I'm happy and excited, scared shitless, already feeling anxious (I have to squeeze WHAT out of WHERE?), and completely stuptefied. What do we do now? I feel like there's some sort of paperwork I'm supposed to fill out or something. Do I have to alert the government? Big Brother? Make an appointment with a doctor for the next day? I realize I'm jumping the gun, but what the hell do I do now?
I haven't really taken any time to process what's going on. I kind of like that and appreciate that, though, because I've finally started to learn that when I live inside my head, that's when I start to go nuts.
Anyway, we're unofficially TTC. That is an acronym that is found on many parenting blogs and the like. I'm not even going to spell it out here, you'll have to do the leg-work yourself if you don't know what it means. :) I cringe to even spell out what that stands for, considering it's unofficial. I'm not sticking thermometers where the sun don't shine, scheduling nookie, obsessing, or any of that. More like, going with the flow, seeing what happens, letting whatever do its thing (fate? kismet? butterfly in China?). If we do it, we do it. If we don't, we don't. Not forcing anything whatsoever. (Cringe! I don't talk about sex on my blog!)
The thing is, despite however lase fa ire I am about it, every time I get a twinge in my stomach, or a mild cramp, I'm certain it's cells reproducing rapidly and trying to implant. And I can't help but think "okay, waiting time". Wait to see if I see red. Or instead, if I feel nauseous. (As if it would come that fast.) Should I have that beer with dinner, or hold off? Do I buy tests from the store if they're Buy One Get One Free? If the first test is "no", should I believe it, or try again the next day? Wait until Nick is home from work, or do it myself?
It's a huge freaking deal. Right? I mean, it's completely and utterly life-changing, in a way I can't yet comprehend. But I've heard enough people say so, so it's got to be true.
[Post picked up again on 7/10/09, five days after I learn I am pregnant.]
We took a test on Friday morning. I predicted that I was about 3-4 days from my period, so maybe the test will tell us something. "Up to 5 days before your missed period", the packaging claims. I pee, see nothing, really. Maybe a piece of dust or something, the tiniest of tiny hint of a shadow wanting to be a shadow. But really, it's negative and we don't even think anything of it. Surprisingly, I'm not disappointed, but Nick hugs me anyway.
Took another one on Saturday morning. Wait a minute... that may be the faintest of lines. Barely anything. Like, 2% shaded line. Eh, discard.
Sunday, just enjoy the day. Don't think about babies, cells, pregnancy. I'll probably get my period early next week. (Yay, cramps at work!)
Monday, after work. I pee on the stick, place the cap back on it, and hand it to Nick. I join him by the sink, washing my hands. I don't even look at the test. "I see a line!" Nick says, almost like Seinfeld would. "No you don't" I retort back. Except, he wasn't joking. There is a line. About 30% shaded line, but a line. We re-read the instructions (how hard can it be?) and see a graphical interpretation from the manufacturer. Basically, they say "if it looks like it could be a line, it's a line." They say "if you think you see a line, it's a line." They say "you are pregnant, Lindsay, that is definitely a line".
Holy fucking shit. I'm knocked up!
The next thirty minutes are bizarre to me. I'm happy and excited, scared shitless, already feeling anxious (I have to squeeze WHAT out of WHERE?), and completely stuptefied. What do we do now? I feel like there's some sort of paperwork I'm supposed to fill out or something. Do I have to alert the government? Big Brother? Make an appointment with a doctor for the next day? I realize I'm jumping the gun, but what the hell do I do now?
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