Oh, Thursday

Ross and I leave work at the usual time. Before heading to JR’s daycare to pick him up for the evening, we make a quick stop for gas.

While I sit in the warm car, reading the Twitters, Ross fills up the tank.

(This is one of the best parts of being married to him — he always pumps the gas, no matter what.)

A few minutes later, he get back in the car, I slip my iPhone back into my bag, and I start the car.

Click-click-putter.

Then nothing.

I try again.

Again, nothing.

Ross hops back out to see if maybe the car isn’t starting because he didn’t twist the gas cap on tight enough (which is apparently a thing that happens?).

Encouraged by his calmness, I try the car again.

Annnnnd nothing.

It’s 5:30pm. It’s about 3 degrees outside. Our kid is stuck at daycare and our only car isn’t working. We’re at a gas station located in a parking lot of a grocery store during rush hour when most people are scrambling to pick up those last things they need for dinner. Or, in the case of this particular grocery store, driving around the parking lot like maniacs and kind of being a-holes in general. (It’s the Kroger on Lombardy and Broad, for you Richmonders.)

Without any other options, I put the car in neutral and Ross pushes it into a parking space.

We take a minute to collect ourselves. Then Ross calls his dad and I call JR’s daycare to let them know we are still coming and haven’t abandoned him, we just don’t know how we’re getting there yet (luckily they’re open until 7pm).

Because Ross’s parents are made of unicorns and magic and goodness, they drop everything to come help us.

Once they’re on their way (from the other side of town, during rush hour, mind you), I call the dealership that usually handles our repairs. Luckily I get Nice Guy Joe, as opposed to Dumb Lady Who Couldn’t Work The Phone When I Tried To Schedule Our Annual Inspection Yesterday And Hung Up On Me Twice Before I Gave Up.

See, Joe is great because I can say things like this to him:

“Hi, Joe. This is Valerie Catrow. My car won’t start and I need to get it over to you. I have AAA, but I’ve actually never had a car break down before and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. So what’s next?”

And because he’s Nice Guy Joe, he chuckles and then tells me what to do.

So I call AAA and arrange for a tow truck to come get the car and take it to the dealership.

(Speaking of, did you know that AAA calls you like every 5 minutes when you’re waiting for a tow truck to give you an ETA? Technology is the tops.)

Just as Ross’s parents show up (in two cars so we could have one to borrow should the repairs take a while, God bless them forever and ever amen), the AAA guy pulls into the parking lot. Ross and his dad stay to deal with the car while his mom and I hightail it over to JR’s daycare to pick him.

When we get to JR’s classroom room, he’s eating yogurt and hanging out with the evening teacher (it is so late his regular teacher has left for the day — talk about mother’s guilt). Apparently being the only kid in the class is SUPER FUN because he wants nothing to do with leaving, what with all the yogurt that must be eaten.

By the time we get home, I have a few messages from friends who have seen some exasperated comments I made on Twitter, offering rides or even CARS if we need them. Luckily we don’t, but it was still lovely to see.

So, how was your evening?

A letter

Dear dogs (you a-holes),

I know it’s raining. I’ve been lugging a 23+ pound child in and out of the rain all day. I am aware.

I am also aware of the fact that perhaps squidgy grass does not feel exactly pleasant on your dainty feet, so maybe going outside isn’t so much fun. But you see, the thing is, if you would do your “business” right when you get outside, rather than tiptoeing around with a look of disdain on your face while whimpering and then quickly bounding inside without relieving yourselves, you wouldn’t then turn to me 3 minutes later with an “Oh sh*t!” look on your face and leap for the door, only to repeat the previously outlined and annoying-as-hell routine.

Sincerely,

That Lady Who Was Screaming “GOOOOOOOOO!” At You All Evening

PS – Stop using my couch as a towel.

Nevermind, don’t come eat off my floors

I got an email today from the person we hired to clean our house saying that she’s decided not to clean houses anymore. Something about being really busy and tired, etc. Which I could sympathize with. But I *did* cry when I got the email. Big ugly tears.

SHUT UP. I had my reasons.

1. I have approximately 75 million people coming to my house on Sunday to celebrate JR’s baptism and to just enjoy the last bit of summer. While I love every last one of them, I’m starting to freak out a bit. And since I was getting my house professionally cleaned on Friday, I hadn’t bothered to do a damn thing to keep things not-disgusting for days.

2. Work is insane and nonstop right now. The only breaks I get are when JR is awake, and one can’t call “chasing after a newly crawling infant who seems hell-bent on ending his life via face planting into corners” much of a break. Once he’s napping or asleep I’m frantically trying to catch up. There is a light at the end of the tunnel (i.e. VACATION IN TWO WEEKS!!!), but DUDE, this is a long-ass tunnel.

So I cried, ok?

But, luckily, I have a wonderful husband who has Spidey-sense for when I’m about the blow my top. As soon as I told him the cleaning person canceled PERMANENTLY (before she even started – she was gonna mop, guys) he was on the phone to his mother figuring out a plan B.

And now my saint of a mother-in-law will spend Thursday here taking care of the baby (rather than at her house, like she normally does on days I work) and getting our house together while he sleeps. And I hear she’ll be back on Friday, doing it again so I can get some effing work done.

I realize these are not real “problems.” I mean, I might want to punch someone who was all, “Wah wah my cleaning lady canceled woe is me.” But, guys, there is woe over here. Woe that is the result of me projecting my frustrations with other things on to this situation, but woe nonetheless.

On notice

Watch out. I’m crabby. Here are things that aren’t helping…

1. JCrew and their not-fair practice of charging extra on swmsuits for those more endowed up top.

2. Jon Gosselin. Just in general.

3. The fact that Ross can go outside in shorts and not get a single mosquito bight. I go out IN JEANS, and my legs are completely covered.

4. Urologists.

5. Dog hair.

Yes, bathtub. Why don’t you do exactly that?

I walked downstairs last night to get a quick snack and what do I find in my kitchen?

Basically the entire contents of the bathtub I just drained after taking a nice post-two-weddings-OMG-my legs-and-feet-hurt soak.

On the floor, dripping down the cabinets, on the counter, even filling the butter dish.

Yes. This is exactly what a nine months pregnant woman wants to be dealing with right now: the possibility of major plumbing work.

Damn. It.

I might sell this child for a dose of NyQuil

I’ve been sick for a week. Ross had this cold for all of two days, but I’ve spent the last 168 hours coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose, and dying.

I finally decided to give in and go to my regular doctor to see if there was anything he could do for me (this was of course after calling my OB to get a list of medications/antibiotics that are safe during pregnancy – my OB kindly reminded me that my regular doctor 1) would be able to tell I’m pregnant and 2) did, in fact, graduate from medical school, too.)

After waiting for an hour to get into the examination room, I finally saw the doctor. He confirmed that I have a sinus infection AND bronchitis (for some reason I must get both at the same time, always) and I really should have come in last week when I started to feel bad. He and I have this same conversation about three times a year.

He ended up giving me an antibiotic but not any kind of decongestant. The antibiotic will kick the infections, but the decongestants aren’t necessary and are more likely to have stuff in them that we’d rather not expose the baby to. Basically, I’ll feel better in a couple days but will experience no immediate relief.

So, this pretty much means I’ll have another night of waking up to cough pitifully, blow my nose, and sweat. Awesome.

Clearly the mother now

Ross and I are both home sick. He has a sore throat. I have a sore throat, fever, and a cough – not to mention the 6+ pound fetus doing aerobics in my belly.

But who’s the one that’s been the the store, paid bills, and is currently NOT napping because someone should be conscious while the exterminator is here dealing with our spider cricket “problem” (as the other is curled up in bed with the dogs watching TV)?

THAT WOULD BE ME.

Anger, fury, wrath, etc.

We were supposed to have our 50 billionth follow-up appointment with the specialist tomorrow morning at 8:30am. An appointment we’ve had scheduled for two months. An appointment that 1) involves putting to rest the likelihood of a potential “issue” and 2) means seeing this wiggly child on screen (TOES!!!!!)

You may remember that I’ve switched jobs. Switching jobs usually involves switching insurance. When you go to a specialist, there’s all kinds of “authorizations” that have to happen before you can be seen, otherwise you might get charged a ridiculous amount of money. Yes, insurance is a very confusing animal, made even more confusing when you go from being a dependent to an employee with her own health plan within a month. But still, you’d think staying on top of paperwork and getting everything in super early would alleviate any confusion and delays.

NOT SO MUCH.

At my regular OB appointment last week, I checked with the office manager at my OB’s office to see if we had gotten the appointment reauthorized under my new insurance. She said she would check on it and call me right away. Which she did, because she’s awesome and does her job very well. And do you know what she said when she called me?

“I looked up your social security number in the system and they are showing you have no active coverage. I knew that since you’re 35 weeks pregnant, you’d probably want to know that.”

And after thanking her for being wonderful and realizing that information like that is, oh I don’t know, IMPORTANT, to someone who could realistically go into labor AT ANY SECOND, and proceeded to explode.

And we all know how pregnant ladies explode. We cry.

After spending yesterday trying to get the whole not having insurance thing sorted out, my day ended with a phone call saying that my insurance was now active and I should be fine.

AGAIN NOT SO MUCH.

My OB’s wonderful office manager called me this morning to say that I’m still not showing up as active and that authorization requires 24 hours. 24 hours after she called would put us at 10am, a time very much after our 8:30 appointment.

Again with the exploding, mostly because I know how hard it is to get appointments with specialist, and also because DAMMIT.

So, then the sweet, sweet office manager advised me to call the specialist and explain the situation. Hopefully we would be able to get another appointment late this week or early next week – she would hate for us to show up at the appointment and not be covered.

Taking her advice, I called the specialist and explained what was going on. I sensed some hesitation in her voice. And then my voice got wobbly. As soon as she heard that she said, “Ok, honey, we’ll figure this out.”

I managed to get another appointment for 1:00pm on Monday, a good 5 days after our original appointment but hopefully far enough away that this stuff would be well sorted out by then.

Finally our insurance person gets back in touch with me. She says it takes 48 hours for me to appear in the system. Something she probably should have mentioned yesterday during maybe 1 of the 18 times I mentioned that I had a specialist appointment on Wednesday morning. And then she said, “You could always just go to the appointment, pay, and then file a claim to get reimbursed.”

Yes. Yes, because THAT WOULD BE SO EASY. While I’m at it, I will also solve world hunger and figure out exactly why anyone cares about what Kim Kardashian is doing. Equal levels of difficulty but realistically with a higher probability for success.

Like the last time, but longer and worse

We all remember this, right?

Well, I got a call today from a nurse at my OB’s office saying that my numbers from the first test looked a little “off,” and I need to go *back* and take the three hour version of the test.

When she said “off” I assumed she meant “high” and that it’s possible I have gestational diabetes. But upon further digging I found out that my numbers were too low when they took my blood before the downing of the drink of sugar and death.

So, tomorrow I will go back to LabCorp, get blood drawn again, endure the drink again, sit for THREE HOURS, and have blood taken once again. Because my numbers were three bloody points below what they should be.

This better mean that I’ll be required to eat *more* vanilla ice cream mixed with peanut butter.

*UPDATE*

So I did my part and took part in the requisite fasting before the test. This morning I call LabCorp to make sure the order for the test had been faxed over. They say it hasn’t. At this point it’s 8am, and I’m starving, so I eat, figuring today is a wash. I call my doctor’s office when it opens at 8:30 to remind them to fax the order. They say they have. I call LabCorp again. They say they do have it, they were just looking under K instead of C. Because apparently me saying “Valerie Catrow, C-A-T-R-O-W” isn’t specific enough.” So, I will try again tomorrow.