March 14, 2009

This is what my sister-in-law told me once after a brief discussion about my early pregnancy symptoms, which included such wonderfully exciting realities as NOT POOPING.  I know this happens to many women, maybe to most women, but constipation absolutely terrified me.  For years, I have lived with the havoc Crohn’s disease wreaks on your gastrointestinal tract and to be quite honest, that havoc includes ridiculous quantities of diarrhea, which is probably best described as pooping in excess.

On the first day of no diarrhea, I told my husband that this thing?  This pregnancy thing?  I could totally rock it.  On the second day of no diarrhea, I told my husband that I would sell his baby to roaming musicians, to wild bands of Russian gypsies, TO MONGOL INVADERS if it meant that I would have an explosive and uncomfortable bowel movement.  On the third day of no diarrhea, I had an ultrasound wherein the now-former-doctor told me that my bowels were rather active and I thought NOT ACTIVE ENOUGH, WOMAN.  When I finally did poop, the clouds parted and the angels sang and I discussed the oddities of pregnancy, including my total lack of dignity about my pooping habits, with my sister-in-law.


© 2009 Helios Media, Inc.  Please click here to see this image on Flickr.
Sebastian wants to know why I won’t shut up about poop.  He poops regularly without any problems.

She said: “Right now?  You are biology class.“

At the time, I thought she may have exaggerated just a tad.  I like to think that I’ve spent the past two decades of my life evolving into something a little bit higher on the totem pole than fart-inducing stomach bacteria or microbes under a student’s microscope.  Then, last night, Donald and I visited my parents.  It was a pleasant visit, likely because my parents are pleasant people, (but don’t tell them I said that), (it might go to their heads), (and then they might think I like them or something), but I had to cut it short because I could not STAND to be hungry any longer.  FOOD!  I gasped.  WE NEED TO LEAVE!  I said.  I NEED FOOD!  NOW!!

Everybody happily obliged.  And maybe twenty seconds after we’d left, I pulled a Ziploc bag of Girl Scout cookies out of my jacket pocket that I’d packed as a dog-walking snack earlier.  Donald GUFFAWED, which is very typical of how he deals with his pregnant wife, and that’s when I realized that my sister-in-law was right all along.  Here I am, packing snacks just in the off chance that visiting my parents - FOUR HOUSES AWAY - might take awhile and make me hungry.

So, hello, it’s nice to meet you.  My name is Sarah A. Schlothan Christensen.  And I am governed entirely by cells and digestive processes over which I have no control.  I am biology class.

HAVE A HAPPY WEEKEND!!


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After a series of unsavory interactions with my obstetrician, Donald and I recently decided to change doctors.  If I had to describe this experience in a word, that word would be: painful.  As it turns out, bashing our heads against rocks and letting seagulls pick at our brain matter would have caused less trauma than getting my medical files successfully faxed from one office to another, NEVER MIND the act of actually selecting a new doctor.  But find a new doctor we did, because we are nothing if not annoying persistent.

Yesterday afternoon was the big day.  I put a spare change of underwear in my purse, just to satisfy my fear of *cough* botching the urine sample, and we were off to the doctor’s office.  AND IT WAS AWESOME.  Totally friggin’ awesome.  We selected a doctor at a teaching hospital, and both the doctor and the medical student were remarkably sharp.  They cared and were interested in my pregnancy, asked a copious number of questions, answered every question we had, and generally behaved like gentlemen.  That alone was a huge step in the right direction, as our last obstetrician’s mannerisms could be effectively used to PROVE that man had evolved from monkeys.  Or brainless slugs.  Or some weird Jurassic combination of the two.  But on top of that, both of them spoke English.  ENGLISH, GLORIOUS ENGLISH.  I had almost forgotten what it was like to hear words like “pregnancy” and “baby” and “heartbeat” without a heavy accent.

I was very nervous for the first appointment with the new doctor, but then something amazing happened.  My baby, the one that I could now discuss in ENGLISH, GLORIOUS ENGLISH, hauled off and kicked me in the middle of the appointment.  It was the first time that a baby kick literally took my breath away, and then it just kept going.  Thump, knock, THUMP THUMP THUMP, bam, POW!  So the doctor poked at my uterus and counted centimeters and let us listen to the heartbeat and gave us a new, earlier due date and all of that wonderful stuff, but very little of it registered 100%.  For a long time, I wasn’t alone in a room with three men.  I wasn’t even alone in the office with two doctors and the boy I married.

I was alone in the world with my healthy kicking child.  Thump, pow, KNOCK, bam, THUMP, POW!


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March 12, 2009


© 2009 Helios Media, Inc.  Please click here to see this image on Flickr.


© 2009 Helios Media, Inc.  Please click here to see this image on Flickr.

When Donald saw me uploading these files, he felt it was necessary to warn me that I had prepared my graphs incorrectly.  I tried to listen, but then a bunch of words came out of his mouth, words like “independent variable” and “exponential growth,“ and pretty soon I was twitching on the floor from the information overload.  I don’t speak math-dork-glish, but what I did glean from our brief conversation on the matter is that I have an inate inability to properly create a graph.  BE YE WARNED.


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When I set up this website, I wanted to include a design column so that I could indulge my love and hate of design on the Internet.  By that, I mean that I hoped to show people how design affects my life, for the better and for the worse.  In yesterday’s entry I included some really awful pictures I took of Sebastian, pictures that are clearly a demonstration of poor design on my part (is that statement being too generous?)

Nobody commented on that entry at all, which surprised me because I thought the conversation I had with Donald was far less interesting than the fact that I had accidentally taken a picture of my cat’s ass, and that entry received a handful of comments, but WHAT DO I KNOW?

Today is going to be a very long day for me, so I doubt that I will have a chance to write an actual entry with updates and photographs and witty takes on life, so instead I thought I would commit that unthinkable blogging sin and re-post yesterday’s design column photograph with a link to yesterday’s entry.  After all, nobody else may have found it funny, but I sure did, and I feel that on days like today when I wake up expecting the world to SUCK THE LIFE FORCE FROM MY BODY that I deserve to laugh.  So here’s yesterday’s photograph.  Every time I look a this today, I’m going to laugh.  Thank you for your patience.  I will resume normal blogging about things besides Sebastian Furry Britches tomorrow =)


© 2009 Helios Media, Inc.  Please click here to see this image on Flickr.

Hah!  Ha.  Ha ha.  Woo-hoo!  Heh.  Ha!  Oh, come on.  This doesn’t make you laugh just a little bit at my stupidity?  (You don’t have to click that link.  It just goes to yesterday’s post.  WHICH IS HILARIOUS BECAUSE I SAY SO AND I AM THE MASTER OF DETERMINING THESE THINGS.)


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-  The baby’s kicking right now?
-  Yes.  It’s beating the crap out of my bladder.

Donald placed his hand on my belly.

-  Where?  I don’t feel it.
-  I promise it was kicking a second ago.

We waited.

-  Maybe you’re just a calming influence?
-  Yeah.  The baby probably thought THANK GOODNESS!!  I FEEL LOGIC!!


© 2009 Helios Media, Inc.  Please click here to see this image on Flickr.


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