Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Oh, The Irony

So remember how last week I threw kind of a tantrum about not getting scheduled for an ultrasound? No? Well, don't read the previous post. But if you do remember, I have an update for you.

I am fortunate to have married into a family with connections--medical connections. And when they heard about the Great Ultrasound Fiasco of '08, they got riled up. And started making things happen. Now, I'm not saying we're like some kind of rural health care mafia or anything, but--badabing--the next thing you know, I'm getting an ultrasound at an undisclosed location (I just said that to make it more dramatic)this morning and the new OB clinic is calling to schedule one for next week.

So I got my way. The Big Ultrasound. The Am I Keeping All This Pink Stuff or Buying New Blue Stuff? Appointment.

Unfortunately, I did not get an answer to that question. Seems Baby #3 is a bit modest and wasn't too keen on the invasion of his/her privacy. Baby even flipped all the way around during the ultrasound, keeping his/her legs tightly closed the entire time.

The good news is that all the important things looked great and baby is healthy and growing. Just very uncooperative.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

The Problem with Being Pregnant

I'm normally a pretty nice person. At least, I think I am. Although after seeing a picture of myself in a local magazine, I have some serious doubts about the perception I have of myself and reality (side note: how long has my hair been that dingy color and why didn't anyone tell me? also, do I have a lazy eye?). I have my moments but generally, I'm nice enough.

I'm not always the most rational person, especially in situations that aren't going the way I'd like them to go. But luckily, the "nice" factor keeps the irrationality in check.

Unless I am pregnant. And unless the situation at hand is in reference to my pregnancy.

Several months ago, the geniuses that run the hospital where I delivered Arden concluded that all women are morons who don't know how to choose their own health care providers, because clearly, if we knew what we were doing we'd choose a female doctor. This conclusion prompted the severing of ties with all the male doctors in the women's clinic affiliated with the hospital (incidentally, the practice was started many years ago by the very doctors they let go).

I have nothing against female doctors, obviously. The OB who delivered Claire was a woman and I absolutely loved her. She is, without a doubt, the most dedicated, patient, kindest doctor I've ever known. If anyone has ever met their calling, it is Dr. Hays. But the fact is, I didn't choose her simply because she was a woman. I chose her because she was dedicated and patient and kind (also incredibly smart and had very cute hair).

When we moved here, I was very newly pregnant with Arden. I had to chose a new OB and I found one that I liked very much--who just happened to be male.

When word of the hospital's forward-thinking new policy on women's health choices spread, I knew what my choice would be. When the day came, I would follow my OB to his new practice, even if it meant driving an extra 20 minutes out of my way.

That day has come and I found myself calling the new clinic this week to schedule an appointment. The Appointment. The Ultrasound appointment. The Am I Keeping All This Pink Stuff or Buying New Blue Stuff appointment.

I was mildly (extremely) disappointed when the receptionist informed me that the first available appointment was a month away. If this were my first pregnancy, I'd be panicking at the thought of going six weeks between appointments, but this time around I'm just irritated at having to wait an extra two weeks before finding out the gender of this baby. After making a few grumbling comments about how I was glad I called the clinic instead of waiting around for them to call me like they were SUPPOSED TO TWO WEEKS AGO, I decided to let it go. On to more important details.

Me : So this will be my ultrasound, right?
Her, surprised: No, we've never seen you before. I can't schedule an ultrasound for you without ever seeing you.
Me: But I'll be twenty weeks! It's The Appointment.
Her: Well, we've never seen you before. And we don't even know Dr. P. We can't do an ultrasound until we have a diagnosis.
Me, confused: Diagnosis of WHAT?
Her, pausing slightly as if I should already know this answer: Pregnancy.
Me, laughing hysterically and looking at my soccer ball belly: You want me to take a pregnancy test?!
Her: Well, we need to see you before we schedule anything else.

I won't recap the whole thing here, but let's just say the conversation went downhill from there. Add to that the fact that I called again today to rehash the whole situation and I'm sure I have a big "CRAZY PREGNANT LADY" (or worse) stamp on my chart now. I definitely didn't come across as nice. Or rational.

But at least I can blame it on my hormones. Wonder what HER excuse is?

Monday, July 14, 2008

Whatever Happened to Plain Ol' Barbie?

I just got back from Target, where the girls picked out a birthday present for one of their friends. I was pleased with how quickly Claire picked the toy, as she usually spends twenty minutes showing me everything she'd like to have before finally remembering that she's there to buy something for someone else. She showed me the Barbie and pet dogs that she picked and I agreed that it was a great choice.

Once we got in the car, Claire announced, "These dogs pee."

What?? I snatched the box away from her, and sure enough, it said right there on the packaging "Puppy is thirsty...Then makes a puddle!"

The dogs pee. I don't know what disturbs me more: that there are actually toys that pee, or that I just bought one.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Destin 2008

Alternate title: "That Time We Went to Destin and Everyone Got the Stomach Virus (or Possibly Salmonella)"

Another Destin vacation with the Bowmans has come and gone and I've found myself already counting down the months until next year's trip. Although, seriously? We'll have six kids between us by then and that's a little scary. Maybe we should just ditch the kids and go back to Iberostar. Kidding! I kid. Sort of.

It was a great week, even with the stomach situation that quickly took down the condo on Thursday/Friday and carried over onto the ride home on Saturday (good times). We hit all our favorite restaurants and added a new one to the rotation as well (note: Pompano Joe's, you are officially on probation). We hung out at Destin Commons, rode rides and go-carts at The Track, fed the alligators at Fudpucker's and got in plenty of beach and pool time.

Here are some other highlights of the week:

Claire didn't love the beach at first, but finally warmed up to it once the waves died down a little. She fancied herself to be quite the surf girl.

Arden didn't really love the ocean, preferring to have snacks under the shade of the umbrella instead.

Eating at Fisherman's Wharf--a new fave on our list.

Bowman and Bramlett kids

Fun at the Track

Claire was so excited to get a hair wrap just like one of her friend's at school got over spring break. We took her to a local souvenir shop on the our last night in Destin and obliged her. Too bad we didn't know it was going to cost $30. She loved it though and couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror.

I know it's a completely touristy thing to do, but we can't resist dressing the kids in all white and letting them run around on the beach while we snap a million photos in the hopes of getting that one perfect shot.