Have a baby

I’m supposed to lose a cup today. And find myself eyeballing the cup, wondering if it’s really the size of my other cups…or small enough to justify having a third cup to make up the difference.

Headache now or headache later…that is the question.

Ooh – compromise. I’ll just make my next cup white tea. I do have a paper to edit today…

Namely, trying to cut back on the tea and Benadryl. The tea…isn’t happening today. (Exhausted, for some reason. Even after 10 hours of sleep.)

I’m ahead of schedule on the Benadryl, though. I now only take two first thing in the morning. I realized that I was waking up stuffy even when I was taking it at night, because the stuff wears off after 4 hours. I also stopped taking it at lunch and dinner. So now I just need to work my way down to one pill each morning, then none. Shouldn’t be too hard.

I just got giddy at the thought of changing a dirty diaper. Decided to tell you all, so you can laugh at/with me later on. :)

From what I’m told, my second birthday involved a handful of family members, a cook-out, and a garden-variety sheet cake with two candles on it. At our house. Maybe 3-4 people, plus my parents and me. I was two…so long as I got cake and presents, I was happy.

Just read this account of one blogger’s parties (yes, two parties) for her 2-year-old. Even the “cheap, family-only” party involved more effort than anyone’s ever put into one of my birthdays, let alone my second birthday.

Very cute, all of it – especially the Poky Little Puppy cake. (The Poky Little Puppy was my absolute favorite story as a child…I still quite like it.) But let me just say now: I am not going to be that kind of mother. I’m not staying up till 2:30 a.m. decorating a cake for a toddler. They don’t care, and neither do I. And I’ve got way too much other stuff going on to try to be UberMom.

Hopefully I won’t go to mommy hell for saying this. I will, however, probably not be welcome in mommy clubs. But I doubt I’d fit in there anyway.

Just reread the part in my pre-pregnancy book about green tea. I knew I was supposed to cut it out, but couldn’t remember why. Apparently it messes with your folic acid intake.

I can’t handle black tea anymore. Looks like I’ll be adding “decaffeinate” to my list. Expect a sleepy, grumpy, sneezy Sab come January. (Maybe some other dwarves, too, for good measure.)

Oh, also realized why the doctor most likely did not say anything about my weight: he probably figures I’ll gain weight when I quit smoking. And who knows…maybe I will. Looks like eating’s the only vice I’ll have left!

Well, that was easy. It was even a clothes-on type of appointment. (I really like those.)

Turns out I don’t need to do much. He didn’t recommend a prenatal vitamin – I just need to take one with 500 mcg of folic acid (which I do already). After discussing it with him, I’ve decided to go off the pill at the same time I quit smoking; by the time my body’s recovered from the pill and returned to normal (my version of it, anyway), I’ll be ready to start babymaking.

The allergy situation is going to be tough. He says if I can figure out when I’m ovulating, I can take the meds for the first two weeks of each month – just stop once I ovulate, until the end of the month. If not…no prescription meds at all, and no Benadryl until the second trimester. So you might be seeing more activity on this goal for a while.

He said nothing about my weight. In fact, he seemed quite optimistic about my overall health – he even made the comment that I shouldn’t worry about my age, because I’m in better shape than a lot of 22-year-olds. (I’m in better shape than myself at 22.)

So. Two months. Wow.

I was going to put it off a while, but since I did finally schedule an appointment with my doctor, I figured I might as well go ahead and do it – find out whether I need to include “ask about sperm donation” in my list of questions for the doc. So last night, I brought up the baby thing. And R convinced me that he really is ready to be a father.

I pointed out to him that babies are a huge commitment. He gave me a “duh” look. Bigger than marriage, I said. There’s no divorce – if we have a kid, you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.

_{I’m beginning to realize I’ve got a complex about that – like it’s a fate worse than death.}

“I think I can handle it,” he said. Smiling at me the way he does when I’m being ridiculous.

So you know what? I’m gonna do it. There are no guarantees. Things could fall apart, sure. He does stuff that drives me crazy, and I do stuff that drives him crazy. We might not last. And even if we do, things could go wrong. He could die. I could die. Our baby could die. We might not be able to have a baby at all.

Or…things could go right. I’ve had supposedly perfect relationships before, and they fell apart. Searching for the perfect guy, waiting for the perfect time…I could spend the rest of my life waiting. And I’ve already spent too much time waiting. I’m tired of waiting.

Besides, nobody’s ever looked at me the way he does. Nobody’s ever made me feel the way he does.

And maybe – just maybe – I am being a little ridiculous. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I was thinking that I didn’t really start freaking out about having a kid until my mid-twenties. Yesterday, I was rereading Dave’s letters (I kept them all), and found one where he was telling me to calm down – that I had years to have a kid.

I was 17 at the time. (And if you think I’m neurotic now, you shoulda seen me then.) So I guess I’ve been pretty baby crazy for a while now. It’s just gotten worse in recent years.

While looking for Dave’s letters, I also found the baby robe I bought back when I was married. It was so cute…I just couldn’t resist. And, well, I thought I was going to have someone to put in it within a fairly short period of time.

I thought I’d given it away; I looked for it a while back, and couldn’t find it. Instead, I just tucked it away in my memory box. I’m glad I kept it. :) (I’ll post a pic later; I don’t want to wake R up.)

This should be the easiest part of the goal, but it’s not.

I’ve told everyone who’s asked that I’m using a sperm donor. I never knew there were that many variations of that look.

But then, nobody I’ve talked to has been divorced.

I just watched About Last Night. (Yeah, okay, way behind on my 80s movies here.) And I’ve been there. The highs, the lows…and in real life, there’s no sunset ending. It’s good, it starts to go bad, it explodes.

I don’t think I can do that again. And I’ll be damned if I’m sharing custody of a kid I’ve waited this long to have.

R’s best friend wants me to talk to him about it. Right. R doesn’t do talks. And even if he did, I’m not sure I’m ready to have this one. What would I say? “Thanks for the sperm offer, but you’re not ready to settle down yet – and even if you were, I don’t know that I am or ever will be – so I’ll just go pick some up from the store”?

This isn’t a conversation two people who are casually dating, no matter for how long, should be having.

No, it’s best if I do this on my own.

Was just calculating sample daily menus to ensure that I’m

a) eating 5-6 small meals a day (rather than my current 2-3 small meals a day) and

b) getting the right amounts of the different food groups

when I stumbled upon MyPyramid for Moms.

Now that’s going to come in handy.