Dylan Scott Plemons

Well, Baby P is here! Dylan Scott was born happy (well, screaming) and healthy yesterday, Thursday, September 23 at 9:34 pm, weighing 7lbs 9.5 oz. He was born at 36 weeks and I was terrified that they would have to take him to the NICU and that he would have problems breathing. But he came out screaming and every doc, nurse and person in the room sigh a big sigh of relief and then started laughing because he was so loud!

Last night I didn't sleep one wink. I couldn't put him down. I was just amazed that God would allow us to have this little miracle come early and healthy. I literally looked at Dylan all night long and couldn't stop smiling.

Dylan is doing really well with breast feeding and has no blood sugar issues. NOT ONE! That is awesome considering that momma had gestational diabetes!

Dylan popped out, and was laid right on my chest where he warmed up and screamed his head off. It was right where he needed to be. :)

We didn't have a birth plan ready yet, but we knew what we wanted, and most of those were met. It was so amazing to have everything go well. I am beside myself.

Anyways, I am going to try and get some sleep. I just wanted to let you all know that God has blessed us twice in one year. We are so happy to have Dylan Scott in our family. 

I will write more later when I am rested, I am not sure any of this will make sense. So far 36 hours with no sleep. But I wanted to give it a try.

PS. I had no idea that babies heads smell so amazing. I think I shall spend all day tomorrow smelling Dylan's noggin. :)

Will post pictures soon. I am no longer able to keep my eyes open.

Chocolate

Okay, so today I went to my High Risk OB appointment. Everything is going well. And the good news is that I don't have to stick myself with anymore needles. Don't misunderstand, I still have to continue with the insulin shots before meals and the blood sugar testing after meals. But at every appointment I have had so far, they have told me that I have to add another way to stick myself. Today, there were no MORE needles, just the same amount of needles as before.


Need less to say, I was elated.


Then the nurse told me something.


I asked her if I still had to give myself shots and all that fun finger pricking stuff after the baby was born. She smiled and said that as soon as he is born, I can eat whatever I want. Are you kidding me? I went from elated to, well what's more than elated? Ecstatic? Overjoyed? Well whatever it is, that's what I am.


I write this to tell those of you that visit while I am in the hospital to bring reinforcements. Sweet, sweet reinforcements. Here is a list of the things that I like: Feel free to bring more than one.

Coca Cola Cake from Cracker Barrel

Molten Chocolate Cake from Chili's

Double Stuf Oreos

Reeses Peanut Butter Cups

Just to name a few. I like chocolate, dark chocolate, anything really that has chocolate. Feel free to bring In N Out as well. Okay, that one was just to make sure you were paying attention. That would be one nasty burger after a 5 hour flight. But I would love anyone who could actually find a way to bring me a fresh one. That would be awesome.

Well, now that I am starving and all I want is an In N Out Burger, I am going to go get dinner started: low carb spaghetti with homemade sauce, veggies and garlic bread. Not too shabby, but it ain't no Double Double.

Torpedo Belly

Jeff came home from a week long business trip. Actually it wasn't even a full week. He left Monday and came home Friday. So technically we went 3 days without seeing each other. Here's why this is important information:


When I picked Jeff up at the airport, one of the first things he said to me (after kissing me passionately and making me weak in the knees and telling me that he missed me).....sorry I need to focus.


After that, he looked at my belly and said that my belly got bigger while he was away.


This is impossible. There is no way that my belly got that big in 3....


Wait a minute. These jeans were a little looser last week. And come to think of it, this top fit a lot looser last week, too.


Crap, Jeff was right. I got bigger. In 3 days.


Now, before you women get on Jeff's case for saying that I am big, I must tell you that I am okay with him telling me I am bigger. It is the truth. I am carrying his 2nd child in 2 years, and babies are supposed to grow as are the vessels that carry them.


We also have the kind of relationship where we promised to be completely honest with each other always. While this sounds great, it has it's downfalls, like when I ask if my butt looks big in a certain pair of pants. Jeff will be honest, and tell me that yes, it does. The upside is that I, in turn, am allowed to tell Jeff that he can be a real jerk sometimes. See? Honesty is good for every relationship. Most of the times anyways.


Again, sorry, I am going to get back to the topic.


The funny thing is that I didn't gain any weight this week. Not. One. Ounce.


I think this has something to do with the whole no sugar, watch your carbs thing. But I am still looking into it.


Here's the kicker. I didn't get any bigger, but the baby did. My dear friend Heather, who saw me everyday but one last week, commented by the end of the week that the baby seemed to be all out front. Like a torpedo belly (okay I am putting words in her mouth, but it looks like a torpedo to me). 


It looks like this child is just squatting in the middle of my belly, he has his cute little feet pressed up against my rib cage, and then he is stretching as far out as he can with his round (and big) head... Like a torpedo...A big, round, slightly uncomfortable for momma, but still cute, torpedo.


Why don't I just show you. Because after all, a picture is worth a thousand words. But we all know that I am going to write a thousand words regardless, so at least there are a few pictures to reward you all for reading to my lengthy post.


Enjoy, you deserve it.

Happy belly!

This is why you wait longer than three months after the birth of your first child, to get pregnant with your second.

This wall really needs a picture on it or something.

The view from my front door

This is the view from my front door each an every Saturday.

We finally got a lawn mower, much to the excitement of our next door neighbor the treasurer of the HOA, who is out taking care of his lawn daily.

Yes, Jeff, I am taking pictures of you mowing, just ignore me.

Yes, those are vacant lots that currently have only a foundation, and have had only a foundation for about a year. BB is going to have fun playing in the construction.

So diligent, so handsome.

My favorite. :D

So diligent, so handsome, so sweaty. Eww, make sure you dry off before you step foot in my clean house.

Wow, I should really get back into the house and do some work, huh? Although watching Jeff do all that work up and down the yard is making me sleepy. Perhaps I will go upstairs and take a nap. Yes, that is exactly what I shall do.

Photography

Here is a collection of some of my favorite pictures that I have taken over the years.

Eiffel Tower at night

Big Ben

Eiffel Tower at night. 

Pond near Buckingham Palace

Notre Dame (a little blurry because it was taken at night with a small, non professional, camera)

In my mother in law's garden

Jeff's aunt's horse

California coast

These are just a few. While they may not be professionally taken, or have the best lighting or even be in focus for that matter, they are still some of my favorites.

Call me Ms. Dramatic

I have pricked my fingers a total of 24 times in the past week, with a needle the size/width of an eyelash. Seriously the thing is so small. But I have to be honest, each time I have to check my blood sugar, I have to give myself a pep talk. A really big pep talk. 


The worst part about it is the sound that it makes.


Each time that I have to stab myself, I have to cock the needle, and then I have to pull the trigger. It is spring loaded and really does make a noise that sounds terrible. It is like a gun. A really small gun, that doesn't even draw enough blood to bleed for more than 4 seconds. 


Oh dear Lord I need to put on my big girl panties. I can't believe that I am complaining about this. But I have to tell you that my fingers are really sore. Typing is not easy. I m srpzed tht I my tping is actlly mking snse rght nw.


Well, after a week of shooting myself with the wussy gun, there was only a small change in my blood sugar levels. They were lower, but not where the doctor wanted them. Oh and did I also mention that I have been watching every bite that I take and counting carbs? I have been very diligent, with little change. I can't tell you how badly I want to eat an entire bag of double stuf oreos. I haven't even gone down the cookie aisle at the store. That's how hardcore I am. Sorry, moving on.


So at the appointment today the nurse practitioner told me that she wanted to put me on insulin. I got excited because a friend told me that she took the pills and her babies were healthy and it was no big deal.


While I was silently rejoicing that I was going to be able to control my sugar levels with a simple pill and mentally going over the whole process, I heard the word shot.


SHOT.


What the? I am already shooting myself 4 times a day with the eyelash gun, how much more torture can a woman endure?


I may have actually laughed when she said it. I didn't mean to, but I thought she was kidding.


The rationale was that the insulin pill takes a couple days to a couple weeks to fully take effect. She said we don't have that kind of time. I am 35 weeks on Thursday. I have at most 5 weeks left in this pregnancy. While this makes me elated, it also terrifies me.


I have 5 weeks to:


a) get my blood sugars to a manageable level


b) get the baby's room ready


c) get sleep


d) enjoy alone time


e) enjoy only having to do 4 loads of laundry a week


f) enjoy sleeping


g) take naps


h) not have bags under my....wait, I already have bags thanks to 3rd trimester joys like heartburn and feeling so huge that rolling over once your legs go numb at night is a 20 minute ordeal that ends with you deciding that since you are up you might as well get up and go to the bathroom. 


Wait what was I talking about? Oh the insulin, right.


She told me that giving myself a shot of insulin is effective immediately and will help my levels even out right away and it will be better for me and the baby.


How can I argue with that? Well I am sure that I could, but at this point the nurse had already pulled out the needle and I figure that I was in no place to argue. She is really fit and could totally beat me in a foot race.


So she had the needle in her hand that looks like a pen with an even smaller eyelash needle than the first gun.


She told me that I have to give myself the shot right before I eat, I have to flush the line, and I need to turn up the dial to 8 cc's. Then she said to lift my shirt. 


What? Why do I have to..? What? You want me to what?


She wanted me to give myself the shot in my stomach. Surely she was kidding. First of all, there is a baby in there. I am pretty sure that babycenter had an article about not stabbing anything into your belly. It was right after the article  on not eating fish because of excess mercury levels.


Anyways, before I knew it, my mommy instincts were kicking in and my shirt was pulled up to reveal my old stretch marks from Brendan and fresh ones from this pregnancy as well. My belly really is a vision. (Jeff, you will be rewarded richly in heaven for commenting often how beautiful you think I am and for not being repulsed by my battle wounds.)


She handed me the gun and told me to rest my hand on my belly, stab my belly and pull the trigger.


HA! I can't believe that this is considered normal. She acted like this was something completely normal, stabbing yourself in the belly.


But whatever, I took a deep breath, and then looked up at her and apologized for being a wuss. She smiled and was really patient with me.


I started to think about this wonderful baby inside my belly. I started to think about how if I had to, I would cut off my arm to keep him safe and sound. I would literally do anything for him.


Then I pulled the trigger and was shocked that it actually felt like being stabbed by an eyelash. I laughed to myself thinking that I can always be counted on to overreact and make everything WAY more difficult than it needs to be.


Sincerely, 


Ms. Dramatic.

Wilford Brimley

Remember this guy? He's the diabetes testing supply guy. He is the one that says diabetes funny on the commercial. He makes me laugh every time he tries to pronounce it.

Anyways, here's the story behind why Wilford Brimley is on my blog:

The last few days have been irritating. My fingers hurt, I am hungry and I am tired.

Here's why:

Last week I went to my second OB appointment. There were some concerns that the baby was measuring big and that my sugar levels were too high. Oh joy.

Well, we had an ultrasound to measure the baby and lo and behold! He is measuring about 2 weeks bigger than he should. And his arms are measuring about 4 weeks bigger. My child has monkey arms. That explains the intense poking and prodding I feel all day and night. His head is also measuring about 2 weeks bigger as well.

I blame Jeff. He has a big head. So big in fact, that most hats do not fit him. It really is quite a problem. He also has long arms. Long monkey arms. I blame Jeff.

The good news is that it sounds like Jeff gets his turn to have one of our children look like him. Brendan looked like the mailman. Seriously, look at pictures, the only thing they had in common was their blue eyes and the fact that they were both boys. The rest was all me.

Anyways, moving on.

So, they were concerned about the size of the baby, and my sugars, so after the confirmation that I am carrying a 12 pounder (not really, but 5 pounds is still big) they sent me up to high risk OB.

This is nothing new to me. I am used to being high risk. Jeff and I just say that I am high maintenance. It is true. My mother was right. Poor Jeff. He had no idea what he was in store for when he married me. 

When I got upstairs to high maintenance OB, they wanted to check my levels because I had just eaten lunch (chinese food- looking back, not a good choice). My levels were high. So they gave me a blood glucose monitor, you now, the one that pricks your finger and it isn't supposed to hurt, but it does, but you don't want to admit that it hurts, especially in an OB office because once you say something hurts, every nurse, doctor, patient, whatever, tells you that this pain is nothing compared to child birth.

I know this. I have had a child. Childbirth is not something I would choose to go through everyday. But the reward is great. Pricking my finger to check sugar levels knowing that I am going to have to do it 4 times in one day is not rewarding. Not even a little. It hurts and I am going to complain about it.

So they showed me how to correctly inflict pain on myself, and told me to eat every 3 hours and to make sure that I don't skip meals or snacks and to make sure that I am not eating too much sugar, but to make sure that I am getting enough sugar........ Okay are you tired yet? Me too.

Essentially I have to watch my carb intake. I thought this was going to be really hard, and at times it can be, but I have learned that I usually don't eat enough carbs in one meal, and this is not a good thing when you are a diabetic. I also learned that I wait too long to eat between meals and snacks. Go figure, all I ever talk about is food, and it turns out I am not eating  enough throughout the day. 

There was one problem, though. I got home on the first day and realized that while the nurse gave me good advice about how many carbs to eat in one day, and how often to eat, she didn't tell me anything about all the other food groups. What if I wanted a burger, or chicken, or anything else that didn't fall in the "Carb" category? 

I was starting to panic, so I called the nurse the next day. This was the conversation. You ready?

Me: I was wondering what I have to watch other than my carb intake. The dietitian focused only on carbs and didn't address any other food group. What do I do?

Nurse: Don't worry about anything other than carbs, this is not a heart healthy diet, we are just trying to monitor your sugars. If you are hungry, eat. Eat as much protein as you want, have the burger with mayonnaise and bacon, just make sure that you count the bun.

Did you catch that? This is not a heart healthy diet. Someone in the medical profession just said those words to me.

I think she may be married to a cardologist on the 4th floor. I am looking into it. I heard her talking to a coworker about putting in a pool next summer. Perhaps my triple bypass will pay for this pool.

Anyways, I am feeling better about all this blood sugar stuff. The baby is measuring big, but he is healthy.

The risks of diabetes are a harder time delivering naturally, and a higher risk of c-section. These are the common ones. There are other risks that are much scarier, but those only occur if the mother goes untreated. I am treated, and the doctor says that with the monitoring of my sugars and watching my carbs, there is no reason to worry.

Well, I am off. I think that I am going to ask Jeff to escort me to Hardee's, where I plan to order a heart healthy sausage biscuit.

Chores

My wonderful mom and me.

I used to have chores. My mother split up the downstairs and upstairs between me and my brother. I was in charge of the downstairs. I was thankful that I didn't have to clean the bathroom that I shared with Shaun, because, well, boys are gross. This was something that my mother undoubtedly did on purpose. She knows how gross boys are, she was married to one for 26 years and gave birth to one as well. Us girls got to stick together.

Well, there is another thing that I look back on and realize that my mother did on purpose, and not for the same reason.

She had me vacuum the stairs. This was not a big deal, and I usually tried doing it without complaining. Okay that's a lie. I wasn't allowed to go out with friends until my chores were done, and on Saturday that was torture. I am sure that I complained a lot. Sorry mom.

Anyways, this afternoon something dawned on me. My mother gave me this task for one reason and one reason only:

VACUUMING THE STAIRS STINKS.

It's as simple as that. No one wants to vacuum the stairs. They are the small reject pieces of carpet that get trampled day in and day out. They have little crevices that are hard to reach, they never look totally clean no matter what you do, you have to be a friggin acrobat just to hold the vacuum while balancing on a step, bending over and cleaning one stupid step at a time. It is lame.

Unfortunately my child is still in utero, therefore I cannot make him do this task. I cannot follow in the footsteps of my mother and pretend like having chores is a way to build character (which by the way mom, is a load of crap). I know the truth, you can stop pretending. 

Don't worry, I still love you and I hold nothing against you.

I also don't want you thinking that I have learned nothing. I have gained much knowledge from the chores I had to do when I was living at home. It did build character, it taught me how to keep a house clean. It taught me discipline, and it taught me that if I want the stairs vacuumed, I need to tell Jeff that my back is killing me from carrying his 2nd child (and being pregnant for 2 years straight now) and I need to push this responsibility off on him.

Thanks mom. I would call you and thank you over the phone, but you wouldn't be able to hear me over the sound of Jeff hard at work.

Thanks for the years spent teaching me how to be a good wife. I certainly learned a lot.

"Babe, you missed a spot....and could you bring me the cookies when you are done? Thanks!"

Update on my cousin Jeremy

So, It looks like they have a name (finally) for the infection that Jeremy has. It is called Lemierre's Syndrome and it is incredibly rare. Only 160 cases reported in the last 100 years. Here is a link to the wikipedia page if you want more info, but I am warning you, they talk about pus. click here to read about the pus.


My mom told me that Jeremy is getting treated with strong antibiotics, and is still in the ICU. The doctors may have to excise (clean out) his jugular vein to fully get rid of the infection, but we aren't sure if that is needed right now.


My mom also reported that Jeremy is sitting up in bed and able to eat a little, which is a great sign! I mean, let's be honest, it's my family, and we all love food! But I imagine that having a sore throat where you can barely breathe because you have a pus filled abscess draining fluid into your lungs makes it hard to swallow, and thus renders food completely unappealing. 


So that's the update. Jeremy's white blood cell count is still high, and the doctors are trying to get it down, but for now, Jeremy is doing okay.


I am bummed that he is all the way in California, because I would love to go see him and tell him that only he would find some rare disease and stump doctors for a few days. He is such a show off. Always trying to one up me.


Well, congrats Jeremy, you scored one this time.

Jeremy, Jared (my other cousin- to tell you about him would take another blog post entirely, but I can tell you that he is a pain in my butt, and that's why I love him) my Grandfather, and my aunt at my wedding 6 years go. This is the only picture I have of Jeremy. He hates getting his picture taken, as does his brother. Like I said, pains in the butt, both of them.

Victory

I just fixed a vacuum. Me, the girl from Orange County, that didn't know the difference between a Philips and a Flathead screw driver a couple years ago, just fixed a vacuum. 


Our new house has a central vacuum system. It is awesome. It looks awesome a least, because the vacuum doesn't work. The brush didn't spin.


So I went and bought a new belt today, that part was Jeff's doing, I had no idea that was what was wrong with it (let's be honest, I can fix, but I cannot diagnose).


The vacuum was already taken apart (thanks Jeff), and I put the belt on, used the screwdriver (the Philips) to put the cover back on, plugged in the vacuum, and marveled at my awesomeness.


The best part? The vacuum worked. The worst part? I had to vacuum the house.


Now I am off to make dinner because this domestic diva's work is never done.

My evening

This is what I did last night:

I made dinner

And waited while Jeff built the remaining chairs for the dining room table

I waited while he fixed the toilet seat (while looking handsome with no shirt on)

And I waited while he put the table together, too.

This is what my plate looked like by the time Jeff was done. I picked at it for 20 minutes waiting for him to finish. I really tried waiting, but asking a pregnant lady to wait to eat the food in front of her is like asking a kid to wait to open presents at Christmas. It wasn't going to happen.

That was my evening. Not too shabby if you ask me. I wonder what I can ask him to build for me tonight.