Last night, I stubbed my toe on the wastebasket walking to my side of the bed. Half my toenail ended up ripping off. I have a band-aid on it now, still in complete denial that it won’t stay on, in hopes that it’ll eventually re-attach itself back onto my toe. I realized our bedroom was too miniscule. We live in a one bedroom apartment. Where we somehow managed to fit a queen sized bed, two nightstands, 3 dressers, a full sized crib and a changing table in a room that’s approximately 10 x 10 ft (at least, it feels like it). I can’t decorate a nursery, I can’t perform my ‘nesting habits’, all I can do is try not to stub anymore toes on corners or bang anymore knees into furniture as I get as large as a house. In fact, I’ll be surprised that I won’t actually BE bigger than the bedroom.
Back in Rochester, we were living in a 2 bedroom, 1000 sq. ft. apartment with full kitchen pantry, storage room in basement, and garage. We knew that we would sacrifice space moving to the West Coast, as square footage is way more pricey for so little space. So we got rid of a big chunk of our furniture and hoped we wouldn’t be that cramped and uncomfortable in our new 1 bedroom, 648 sq. ft. apartment.
By the way, a good thing to know for anyone interested in moving to the West Coast: apartment buildings consider the balcony as living space. It is included in the square footage. Our apartment is listed as 780 sq. ft. but it is actually a measly 648 sq. ft. without balcony. If you do the math, it is the biggest balcony (wasted space) that ever existed on the planet.
Fortunately, our lease is up in a few months, a month after the baby is born. Ok, it’s not fortunate, since this is the worst timing in the world. Along with caring for a newborn for the first month, we will be packing boxes and moving furniture into a bigger place. On top of that, our families want to make the trek to visit the baby. And all this will be in the first month. I honestly have never felt so overwhelmed in my life. I’m the kind of person who cleans for days before any guests step foot into my place, the kind of crazy person who scrubs behind the toilet and has an array of appetizers ready on the table (er…not at the same time, that’s unsanitary), as if I’m the most organized person on the planet (ha). On top of that, I will be recovering from childbirth and will probably still look 8 months pregnant post-partum. I’ll be blobbing around trying to get my baby to sleep and feed on a schedule, in a messy apartment, and probably no food to offer anyone, and no place to sit, as there will be half packed boxes everywhere with dirty diapers stacked on top. I’m embarrassed just thinking about it, since I’m not usually disorganized, but I will be, and I won’t be able to help it.
But I’ll worry about that when the time is near.
In other news, I still feel like a giant blob. I know I know….it’s all for the health of the baby. And while I’m happy that the baby is gaining enough and is measuring the correct size she should be, I’m not too happy about the weight I’ve been gaining. But who really is? My last doctor’s appointment went something like this:
“Do you have any other questions for me?” The midwife asked me.
“Yea…um…when the nurse weighed me on the scale, it was 7 pounds off from my scale at home. I don’t think that’s right…” I said, grasping on to the miracle I may have stepped onto a faulty scale.
“You can try stepping on it again,” she suggested.
That didn’t make any friggin sense to me. Was I going to drop 7 pounds by stepping on the scale again after 5 minutes? So I stepped back on to humor her.
“Uh…yea it still reads the same,” I stammered.
“Well, do you think the scale is lying to you?” she asked.
WTF?! I swear she was, as Chris calls it, psyching me out. You know, playing mind games with me and twisting the meaning of my words around to see what I REALLY meant (even though I’m a pretty blunt, straightforward person). She stepped out of the room and came back with a sheet of paper titled ‘Diet for Gestational Diabetics’.
“You can follow the same diet as someone with gestational diabetes for now until your glucose test next month,” she explained.
This was frustrating. The digital scales I usually stepped on for the past few months at the doctor’s office weighed me the EXACT SAME as my digital scale at home. I never had a problem. And this time they weigh me on some scale that was made before dirt, non-digital, and obviously non-calibrated. And no, I’m not delusional! I didn’t even bother to argue with her, since she thought I was in denial by asking if I thought the scale was lying. Who says that?
So I’m on a damn diet now. Before then, I exercised daily, ate salads, veggies, lean meats, and occasionally splurged on something bad once in awhile. Like any other normal person. What was I doing wrong, damnit? It’s not like I was stuffing my face with deep fried butter balls at the county fair or satisfying double cheeseburger cravings at 3am. And, get this, the diet actually requires me to eat more than I do already. I tried it yesterday and I was so uncomfortably stuffed that, when I sneezed I thought my stomach was going to explode.
I’ll cut out the sugary drinks. But other than that, I don’t think I can eat more than what I have been eating. The ‘diet’ she suggested consists of about 2400 calories. Which is insane to me. I’m only 5’2’’, and if I’m only supposed to eat an additional 300 calories a day for the baby, that would equal 1900 calories. People really need to take height into account.
And that’s that.