Today was my first appointment with the midwives. I’d been calling my OB for a week to try to get my chart faxed over, they were closed every day at 1pm for God knows what reason. Today, I got up early and called. They weren’t open, yet. When I did get a hold of them, the conversation with the new receptionist went something like this:

“I need you to fax over my records.”
“You’ll need to sign a release.”
“I already did. It’s in my chart.”
“Oh. Well, when was that?”
“A month or so ago.”
“I wasn’t here a month or so ago so I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“The release is already signed, it should be in my chart. There shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let me see if they scanned it into the computer………Hmmm, nope…….Hold on, let me check your chart……………………..You don’t have a chart.”
“What? I was just there last week for my glucose test.”
“I can’t find your chart. You’re going to have to come in and sign that paper again.”
“Well, how would that help if there’s no chart to release in the first place?”
“Um….I’ll have to find your chart.”

Why not look for my chart before you have me come in and re-sign a piece of paper I’ve already signed that is probably currently sitting in my chart? I hung up with her, after she said she’d look for it and call me back. I called my midwives and convinced them I really had prenatal care up until that point so they would keep my appointment. They did, but had to threaten that if they didn’t get my charts by next week, I’d have to redo all my tests. Dear Lord, no! I just got a 108 on my glucose test! Are you insane?!? That’s like asking me to redo the SATs after getting a 1500.

10 minutes later, the receptionist calls. “I found your chart. I found the release, too. What’s the name of the practice and the fax number?” WOOHOO! She promised to get it faxed over before my appointment at 3, since “we close at 1pm today, anyway.”

Bull puckey! 3pm came. I asked the receptionist, the nurse, the other nurse and the doctor, they never faxed it over! I guess it’s a good thing I’m switching because I don’t believe I could have put up with that receptionist for another 2 months. I’d end up banned from every hospital, giving birth at home with Eric screeching at me to do it in the kitchen so I don’t ruin the hardwood floors. In turn, rendering our poor child fatherless, leaving both of us on welfare and Ben in therapy for years because his mother was forced to kill father during labor. And that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

I’ve been working on trying to start my own business for quite a while. Unfortunately, by the time things really start going with any business I begin, I get that biting feeling of inadequacy and stop pushing myself as hard as I should. It’s never been a real problem. I always had an extra job to fall back on and few enough bills that it didn’t matter if I was working for $7.50 or $15 an hour. It all flew out the door at the same rate.

However, with this little moocher on the way, it’s become more and more apparent that I need to have some serious income. Eric and I have both had the luxury of working freelance for the past few years, but it’s never quite brought in enough money. At this point, it’s almost sucking more money than it’s giving back.

Yesterday, both the Eric and I began the arduous job search on craigslist. I began putting together my portfolio (something I should be working on now), and he emailed places near home. I’m trying to get on the ball with my baby sling business, but I’ve now managed to spend 3x as much on fabric as I’ll probably ever make on the slings. I’m ridiculous.

It’s hard for me to imagine Eric working out of the home. It’s been so nice to have him here, the idea of him leaving actually makes me feel lonely. I know it’s necessary because it’s important for both of us to have as much time with this child as possible, and for at least one of us to be home with him continually. I’m just not entirely sure how we’re going manage to make those completely opposite ideas work in the same universe.

Your baby’s a bit more than 15 1/2 inches long now, and he weighs almost 3 pounds. A pint and a half of amniotic fluid surrounds him, but that volume will decrease as he gets bigger and fills out your uterus. His eyes open and close, he’s able to distinguish between light and dark, and he can even follow a light source back and forth. Once he’s born, he’ll keep his eyes closed for a good part of the day. When he does open them, he’ll respond to changes in light but will have a visual acuity of only 20/400 — which means he can only make out objects a few inches from his face. (”Normal” vision in adults is 20/20.)

((I’m already at 30 weeks?!?!))

Thanks to the awesome powers of Craigslist, we got ourselves a washing machine!! No more dragging the clothing back and forth to the parents’ houses, no more dirty floor mats because we don’t want to ruin their washer – now we can ruin ours. I can finally start washing the mounds of baby clothing we’ve amassed – all in sizes 0-3 months, which I’m told is essentially worthless. Well, I can start in on washing the mounds once I get Dreft because, apparently, if you wash a baby’s clothing with anything else, their skin will spontaneously combust into small, deadly fires. As fun as it may be to have a randomly combusting child, we just can’t affort to be replacing his clothing every 10 seconds because of burn holes. I’ll save that honor for when he’s 8 and falling asleep with Marlboro’s in his bed.

So, after my poor father and poor Eric moved this giant washer up from a woman with the most adorable little girl ever’s basement, they had to then move it down to ours. To thank him, we bought both he and my mom dinner from The Tamale Kitchen. Dear Lord, was it good and cheap! It was the first time we’d officially entertained anyone in our house. It was nice. We still did not use the table to eat.

After watching Alberto Gonzales lie his face off, my parents left us to begin work on the washer. Eric cleaned it and hooked the sucker up. We did our first load, and it worked…sort of. The washer itself was beautiful. Did perfectly. Whisper quiet. It was our poor dear (nearly) 70 year old house that didn’t fare so well.

 

So now we must get a trap of some sort to slow the flow from the sink to the drain, and hopefully I can start on my mass cleaning sometime this weekend. Although, I’ll probably end up, as usual, flopped on the couch, complaining about a backache and whining for Eric to get me more water.

Eric is now convinced I have a huge alien being inside me and he’s not entirely sure he wants anything to do with it. At least until he comes out and proves himself to be a non-violent human entity.

We were sitting on the couch and Ben started flailing wildly about. As usual, I grabbed Eric’s hand and put it on the part of my belly with the most action. Again, as usual, nothing the minute Eric touches me, for at least a minute or two. Then, suddenly, the child thumps – and I mean, THUMPS – Eric as hard as he can right in his hand. Eric’s response? His eyes get 10 feet high, he exclaims, “WOAH!” and proceeds to yank his hand back as fast as he can.
“That was weird.”
“You should see how it feels from the inside. I told you he hits hard.”
“…..That was weird…..”
“Uh huh….”
“It’s like an alien or something. I’m not putting my hand back there. That scared the shit out of me.”

So, add this to the list one of the million reasons Benjamin is awesome. He’s managed to not only scare the shit out of his father before even being born, but has also convinced him he is some sort of violent, brain eating alien that might just be here to take over the world.