One more thing...

So, In my haste to get out the last post about my appointment with Dr. MissesTheMark, I forgot one detail. 

This new OB group asks that you REUSE the specimen cup that is used to check for protein in urine.

Yes, you have read that correctly. At my last appointment, I was handed a new sterile cup and told to come in with a sample for the next check-up. I knew there was no way in hell I was driving around town with sample sloshing around. It just wasn't going to happen. So, I checked into the appointment and asked to use the restroom there. I thought it was win-win.

UNTIL, the tech met up with me later. She informed me that there was no trace of protein and then handed me back the SAME cup. She had simply emptied it out and told me to reuse it. I actually laughed out loud and made some crack about how much we spend on health care and I need to reuse a specimen cup. 

Let's think about this. I'm a mom to a three year old. Do you know what's in my purse? Snacks, sippy cups, the occasional pacifier (don't judge), chap stick and a whole host of things that I would NOT want coming in contact with a URINE COLLECTION CUP.

I kept my mouth shut, took the damn cup back and as soon as she was out of sight, I threw it away. I will play dumb at every appointment and say I forgot it.

Gross, right?

Am I a germaphobe? Is this normal? Am I not 'green' enough?

When the left hand has no idea what the right hand is doing.

And neither one of those hands belongs to you, the patient. 

It sucks.

Let me explain.

I had my 28 week appointment yesterday and it started off less than stellar. My group has three offices and I went to a satellite office for the appointment. The one that was written down on my appointment card. I, for the life of me, could not figure out why the receptionist was staring at me like I had dog in a carrier and asking to see the vet. She then told me that I was in the wrong office and all of the OB's were in the other two offices that day.  OK, clearly there had been a mistake... but I could have done without the attitude that it was my fault because I'm pregnant and can't remember things. In any event, I asked if I could reschedule at the correct office and was told to just head over now. 

Thirty minutes later and coasting into the parking lot on fumes in my gas tank, I was sitting in the correct office waiting to see one of the group doctors. This doctor will be known as Dr. MissesTheMark from now on.  He is the doctor that was fantastically calm when I was in the ER after the ectopic rupture and was about to get a blood transfusion. He then confused me, when, 24 hours later, told me that I was fine to go back to work on Monday (48 hours post transfusion, 72 hours post emergency surgery).  But, I always remembered that he was to the point and someone I'd want around if things were to head south again. Remember, I'm not looking for best friends, just competent doctors.  OK, back to the appointment. Right now, Tiny T is set to arrive on 12/31 and for a myriad of reasons, I'd prefer 12/28. This is 1 day shy of the recommendation of scheduling repeat c-sections at 39 weeks. Dr. MissesTheMark, is the one on call that week. SO - my hope of some rule bending rests squarely with him.

The appointment started off surprisingly well. He said that I was looking great, the heart beat was fantastic and things looked good. He did not measure my stomach, which I thought odd.. but ignored. Then he asked about movement and for accuracy, I'm just going to quote the next few minutes of conversation. I'll admit, I will be sharing Tiny T's gender in a less than climatic way... but I just can't leave that part out.

Dr. MissesTheMark "So, strong kicks. Do you know if this is a boy or a girl."

Me, "Yes, we are having another little boy"

Dr. MTM, "Oh, really. Another boy. That's OK, your third will be a girl."

Me (almost fell off the table with a fiery red face), "Well, unless there is going to be sweeping reform to health insurance that guarantees IVF coverage for all. This will be our last child."

Dr. MTM, "Oh, don't say that. So many women think that they are done and then find themselves pregnant years later."

Me (furious and about to cry at the same moment), "Um, I'm not sure if you've had a chance to look at my chart. But, my remaining tube is to be removed at the time of delivery. So, I'm pretty sure we won't be having any unplanned, miracle babies."

Dr. MTM, "Oh, so you are having a tubal ligation."

Me, "No, removal of the tube. It is already scared over from the previous ectopic."

Dr. MTM, "Well, why would you do that."

OK, I'll spare you the rest of this interchange. I tried to summarize why the other doctor in the practice had suggested this and then just gave up. Our conversation finished with him saying that we had plenty of time to make decisions and nothing needed to be firmed up at that appointment.

I.almost.died. For many reasons. I've been pretty vocal about the idea that I am still adjusting to the idea that I would like more children and feel sad that this is the situation I find myself in. In the last few months, I have worked really hard to make my peace with this and had gotten to a really good place. I am grateful to even be having a second child. REGARDLESS of gender. I am excited to have my two boys and love that Toddler T will have a brother. I have been fielding 'sympathic' congratulations over the past 2 months regarding the idea that I'm having two boys. It stings, because most people have no idea what we went through to get to this point and again, people can be dumb. BUT, this was from my doctor and he had seen me at a time when I was very.very low.

Bedside manner aside, it was so frustrating to have one doctor suggest the removal of the tube (for my well being) and another doctor look at me like I had begun to speak in Yiddish.  

I go back in three weeks to see the doctor I like best. She'll be Dr. Sunshine. She is the one recommending the removal of the tube and I have no problems telling her my thoughts on Dr. MissesTheMark.

In other news. Hello Third Trimester... Thank you for causing an extreme amount of muscle pain in my lower left abdomen. Welcome Braxton Hicks Contractions, thanks for coming to the party and Feet, how nice of you to begin swelling. I am not joking, all of these things started to happen over night. I am out of breath and am truly realizing that I need to slow down (some). 

Mr. T and I are still miles apart on names, although Mr. T and my mom seem to agree on several.  I've started picking up baby gear as I'm out and about. Mr. T also painted the baby's room and assembled all of the nursery furniture last weekend. I bought some new pacifiers and Toddler T wanted to put them in the crib so that his baby brother would be able to find them. It was really sweet. 

I'm getting really excited that Mr. Tiny T is going to be here soon and I really can't wait to see Toddler T as a big brother.

Alligator wrestling, control and an eye opening email.

Four years ago, when I was a married girl, working full time who had lots of free time in my life, I often thought of all the ways I would handle conflict and tantrums with my yet unborn children. I assumed that because I had a Masters Degree in Social Work and had spent years working with children and families, I'd be able to 'handle' or 'redirect' a tantrum without becoming a crazy lady. I would never raise my voice. I would offer options to foster self independence. I would crouch down to remain at eye level and I would never ever make a 'threat' that I couldn't enforce.

Monday morning, reality crashed all over those obnoxious, child-free notions. It hit me in the form of a too-small, orange and white striped polo shirt.

Mr. T was out of town for a work function and it was Toddler T and I to face the Monday morning. We'd had a pretty busy weekend that involved a trip to Baltimore (for Mr. T and I) a sleepover at Mana and Grandaddy's (for Toddler T) and three days without a nap.  Toddler T woke up in a great mood and announced that he was "getting ready for the day" at 7am. He set about getting pants, underwear, socks and his shirt (the aforementioned orange and white, almost a half shirt, summer polo.) I thought I could outsmart him and didn't say a word. I was going to let history be my guide. Ninety-nine percent of all shirts that he wears during breakfast end up with syrup, yogurt, orange juice, cream cheese, whatever all over the front of his shirt. This is why we usually eat breakfast in our jammies. So, my thought was go ahead... eat breakfast in the seasonally and fashionable inappropriate shirt. Something will spill on it, I'll get you a new shirt and off to nursery school we go. 

I could not have been any more wrong if I planned it. 

Yes, syrup was down the front of the shirt. But, the idea of replacing this shirt sent my child into a dark, tantrum filled place. I offered him two replacement shirts. Turns out that on Monday morning, Toddler T HATED 'soft' shirts as they were for babies. He did not like football shirts, either. He was so beside himself that he didn't know which one to pick because he ONLY liked orange and white striped shirts. He would not put on his Clemson shirt that was orange because it had a white tiger paw on it and NOT stripes. I attempted to wrangle him into his Eagles shirt and reminded him that it was just like Daddy's.  But no, not having one.single.bit.of.it. 

It got ugly. Reasoning wasn't working. My tone was getting a little louder. I was losing patience. He was hitting the point of no return. I walked out of his room and asked him to please pick any other shirt and come out. I informed him that he would need to call his teacher and tell her that he wasn't coming to Nursery School because he wouldn't pick out a shirt (empty threats anyone?). I may have pointed my finger. I may have said that the situation was ridiculous. He may have begun to scream and cry that much louder.

I then realized the situation was going to get uglier before it got better. 

Time to wrestle the alligator.

Clemson shirt on. Toddler T in tears. I noticed the my heart was racing. I carried him to the car. Buckled him and off we went. I know many of you will read this and have your thoughts about what could have been done better. Or that a parent's job is to always keep their cool. Or a million other things. Four years ago, I had my own laundry list of how I would be perfect. But.. life isn't. 

Two miles into our drive to school, I noticed that he was no longer crying and the lump in my throat was subsiding. I then took the opportunity to move forward. I told him that we got off to a bad start, but we were going to have a better day. I reminded him that I loved him very much, but was very disappointed in how he behaved. I then apologized for raising my voice and reminded him that we both need to remember that yelling isn't the way to go.

I carried him into school (20 minutes late) and explained to his teacher that we had a rough start to the morning but we were going to move past it and have a great day. She crouched down to Toddler T's level and said that she was sure he was going to have a great day.

I then left to run my errands, found myself in tears and called Mr. T.

This was all about control. I know that three year olds thrive on control and so does this mom. So many things were running through my mind.  Like:

• Just let him wear the damn shirt. 
• No, we don't wear t-shirts when its 47 degrees out. 
• No, we don't wear dirty shirts out. 
• I am the mother, I need to be listened too. 
• Have him go to school without any shirt on.
• We are not going to school and he can cry it out in his room.
• and finally, Wow.. three days without a nap can do some awful things to this poor child.

Feeling so overwhelmed from this 25 minute tantrum, I decided it was time to implement a new routine here. I will select two shirts and two pants every night. Toddler T will get to pick from the selection and we will put the outfit on the other twin bed in his room. This is the second night doing it and I'm hopeful that we will have a better morning tomorrow. I will also admit it... I'm not sure I can do the whole "Yes, my child is wearing green pants, a too small t-shirt and snow boots. But its so great that he dressed himself and is expressing creativity."  I'm not saying that's right or wrong. I'm just saying I can't do it, totally.

Let's just hope that our outfit selection process becomes a win-win situation for us all. Let's just hope that we don't have three straight days without a nap along with a traveling Mr. T anytime soon. And please let's just hope that I didn't have any other outlandish parenting ideologies prior to actually becoming a parent.

As caught my breath from Monday morning's antics, I opened up an email that reminded me that I am currently in my 3rd Trimester.  Time for a whole new checklist.

• Baby's room needs to be painted
• Crib needs to be assembled
• Changing table needs to be assembled
• Nursery bedding needs to be purchased. (After a particularly rough patch last year, I examined Toddler T's set and declared that it was not clean enough - it was dingy, and I probably would not have use for a nursery bedding set again and promptly carted it off to Goodwill.)
• WE NEED A NAME

Third trimester... wow.