Just to Catch You Up (Since I have to be Up with the Stinkin' Computer Anyway)...

I'm going to attempt to do a quick catch-up blog entry while I attempt to download three months' worth of baby pictures onto our Share site.  I should be sleeping.  I'm sleepy.

Regardless, since I'm completely alone... the baby has been asleep (in her room) for a couple of hours now and Husband finally stopped pretending to be watching TV (when he is obviously sleeping) and took his self to bed.  So.... that leaves little ole' me all alone.  I'm rarely alone these days-- that has been the biggest adjustment for me into parenthood-- the only time I'm really by myself is in the shower--if someone is home to keep an eye on the baby, otherwise she is hanging out in her bouncer seat on the bathroom floor while I try to hurry up and wash my hair.

Anyway... a lot has been going on lately. 

1.  We Christened the Little One the weekend before my last week of school back in June.  I felt like I sort of slapped the ceremony together, which was not my intent, but time just got away with me.  Looking back on it, we just have just done the ceremony during regular church services-- it would have been less of a pain in my side-- but we thought Husband's parents were going to be out of town that Sunday morning.  Miscommunication on my part, I guess.  In the end, it was a sweet ceremony and it turned out much smoother than I had imagined.

2.  The baby is in her room now!  Not long after I got out of school we had a little impromptu "pajama party" and the only person in our house that slept through the night was the baby.  She just wouldn't stay down in the pack-n-play sleeper and after the fourth time trying to get her to sleep, I just put her in the bed with us.  The next night she went in her crib, upstairs, in her beautiful nursery.  We watch her on the video monitor.  We have a movement monitor that we have yet to use-- I'm hoping this weekend we will be able to get the board installed.

3.  We don't Cry-it-Out in this family-- another blog entry for another time... when I'm not so sleepy maybe?

4.  I have a cardiologist now.  On Michael Jackson's death date, I had a SVT attack-- or in other words, my heart was beating 240 beats per minute and would not stop.  It had never happened before and I hope it never happens again but apparently I have an extra electrical pathway inside my heart that decided to work that day.  I got to ride in the rescue squad all the way to the ER and once at the ER I stayed there the entire day.  NOT FUN.

5.  My Granny died... I really don't have a lot to say about the subject for now.  But please know she had been sick for sometime.  She was 92 years old and had lived a purpose filled life, a life that touched a number of people in our little part of the world.  I am proud to be her granddaughter and I am thankful she got to meet my daughter.  We will tell Little One the stories of my Granny, of Pup-Pup, of homemade mini-ghosts and Tom n' Sally...

6.  I joined Pinterest and I can see how it can sort of ruin lives.  I have became one of those people that sometimes starts sentences "I saw this cool idea on Pinterest...." or "On Pinterest..." 

Finally, a little Little One Update:

Little One is officially 8 months old and she is doing great.  No teeth yet... but according to the chart I repined on Pinterest we are well within the time frame for teeth to be sprouting.  I'm preparing myself, since we are still breastfeeding and all. 

We have outgrown the Puj bathtub and now officially use "Howard the Duck" the inflatable yellow duck that fits into the bathtub.  She is fascinated with the drain.  Sophie La Giraffe (the bath time edition) is a great distraction and makes bath time so much easier.

As you already know we have our bedroom back!  I am so excited to be able to watch TV in bed again!

Little One is pulling up and trying to crawl.  She loves to stand and wants to take steps when you hold her hands.  I think crawling will happen, I'm holding out hope, but she doesn't seem to enjoy it... Being such a love-chunk of a baby, it is hard to figure out the baby belly with the chubby baby legs at the same time.  We will get there, I'm certain.

Recently I have put her in our kiddie pool in her big float and she loves it!  We can't wait for the beach in a few weeks!

So there... that sort of wraps things up pretty nicely for now.  It is late and the pictures I started uploading are loaded... ( I still have like 250 to go... but that will be tomorrow and the next day and so forth)

Be good y'all!

Two Months and Counting...

Tuesday was the 2 month check up for Baby.  Can you believe that we are already at two months?  Earlier in the week I sat her down for our monthly home photo shoot.  She hates it towards the end and basically just cries.  But this time I managed to get 105 shots as opposed to month 1 where I think I got 20 before she melted down.

But just to fill you in Baby Girl is growing like a weed, weighing in at a healthy 9 pounds, 13 ounces.  I can't help but beam with pride that I've been able to provide the soul nutrition for that darling girl.  The doctor was pleased with her development and felt that everything was going on track... No, she isn't in the 99th percentile for height, weight, or head size.  But considering that I'm a smaller than average person and Husband isn't a giant, it is to be expected.  Regardless, she is doing great.

What wasn't great.  Shots.  And lots of them.  Baby Girl had to endure one oral vaccination which wasn't so bad... the rest were traditional old shots, which were just as violent as ever.  One in each leg.  DTAP and Prevnar.... hopefully keeping her safe from things like Polio and Whooping Cough.  I brought along Aunt Jenny to for moral support as Husband had a tobacco meeting to attend. 

As the mom of Baby Girl, I've been wittiness to her pain cry.  I know how horrible it sounds... how it makes your insides hurt because you know that she is hurting and you can't really do anything to make it better.  Her hunger cry, tired cry, and regular old-notice-me-cry are far less heartbreaking.  I'm not sure that Aunt Jenny was prepared... as soon as the nurse was through jabbing the needles into my poor baby's chubby little legs, Aunt Jenny sprung into action, scooping Baby Girl into her arms and methodically bouncing back and forth until she (Aunt Jenny) felt better.  Baby Girl was going to need more than just bouncing. 

Luckily I was meeting with the lactation consultant and we were going to feed and sometimes food is the only way to heal a hurt. 

 

At home, Baby Girl was in some serious pain...  crying anytime her legs were moved-- either by her or us.  She got to experience her first dose of baby Tylenol (which by the way did help her a little).  She slept from the time we got home except for diaper changes and feeds until the very next morning.  Sometime around 2:00am she began to feel better and we caught her smiling in her sleep. 

Relief... we survived the first big round of shots.  We go back for our 4 month check in March.  I think this time Husband is going to have to go with us... I know I don't want to go by myself!

Just to Catch You Up...

This is what's been happening y'all:

 I'm breastfeeding.  Its what I do these days.

I never thought that I'd be the type of person that would do such a thing.  It had always appeared awkward and unnatural to me.  All through my pregnancy when someone would ask if I intended to breastfeed, I'd say (in a rather apathetic way), "if I can I will, if I can't I won't."  I took no classes and the only research I did about breastfeeding was to skim over the chapter in "What to Expect" the day before we left for the hospital.  But then in recovery, when it was asked if I wanted to try I said yes.  The mild sedative that had been given to me in the operating room while they were sewing me up probably kept me just relaxed enough that before I knew it, Little Girl was happily feeding with absolutely no problems.

Little did I know that I would be spending so much time feeding.  The first two weeks I fed her every hour on the hour while she experienced her first big growth spurt.  I never had the bleeding nipples, but I did experience pain and my pediatrician referred me to the on-staff lactation consultant.  I recommend everyone go to a pediatrician that has a lactation consultant... she is the only reason I'm still breastfeeding.  Psychologically, breastfeeding 24/7 can be draining.

At week three I contracted Mastitis which persisted through week four (see why below)... it is the sickest I've ever been since having the flu in 10th grade.  I had a low-grade fever that left me shaking and chattering for hours on end until the fever reducer would kick in and then I'd be sweating like a stuck pig.  I had body aches that radiated to my core.  I got a huge lump under my arm pit and it hurt to walk (yes walk!) and feed and the only way to make that feel better was to feed and try to "express" the lump during pumping or feeding which made me want to run in the opposite direction of that precious, crying (hungry) baby.  On top of that-- I started throwing up. And I developed an allergic reaction to the medication I was on.  I no longer can take penicillin.  So after spending one night in the throws of body aches, chills, fever, chattering, crying, throwing-up, itching, etc. I was taken back to the doctor for a different medication.

And of course, after taking antibiotics, Little Girl got thrush in her mouth.  And of course now I have thrush... on my nipples and milk ducts.  Yea!

Again, if I didn't have good support I'd be hawking the formula right now.  But now I have a special medication and so does Little Girl and hopefully we will be completely well in a few more days. 

These days you'll find me sitting around my house in some state of undress in the attempt to air out my boobs all while leaking breast milk... I'm afraid that most days I permeate the air with the soft aroma of slightly soured milk.  Little Girl likes it.  No complaints on her end.  I on the other hand prefer the scent of Ralph Lauren's Romance.  But I do firmly believe that my discomfort is a small price to pay for all the benefits that are gained from breastfeeding.  So I'm taking it week-by-week, day-by-day.  And this week we are feeding!

Three Hour Glucose Test: Waiting Around...

Friday I got a call from my doctor's office, early in the morning.  I failed my 1 hour glucose challenge test with a 174.  The cut off was 140.  The nurse called it "slightly elevated" but I'd call it high.  I'm no math major, but last time I checked 174 is a ways away from 140.  I immediately started to feel "funny."  This was the same morning that my loving husband went to the dentist, got a good report (something that rarely happens for him at the dentist) and to celebrate decided to purchase a bunch of sugary treats from the local bakery.  His farming cohorts got donuts... I got an oatmeal cookie.

And even though I got the devastating news that I was going to have to take the 3 hour glucose test, I still had to eat a little bit of that cookie. And as soon as I ate a few bites I started to feel "funny" again.  And irritable.

I'm the type of person that jumps the gun.  I immediately started to think about gestational diabetes and how I have it... and how much I hate hurting myself... and how much I hate getting my finger pricked... and how much I really love sugar.

So on Monday, bright and early, I went for the 3 hour test.  I had to starve myself starting at 12am.  At 11:30pm, Sunday night, I ate a little bit of cheese and went to bed.  I woke up and immediately felt hungry.  Great, I thought, here we go.  How am I ever going to last without eating a little something?

When I arrived at the doctors office, I was sent back to the lab and the vampire (I realize that vampire is not the correct term for this person's job, but it is easier to spell than the correct term) took my baseline.  Then she gave me the sugary glucose drink.  I had to down it in 5 minutes and then return to the lab in an hour. 

The first hour was uncomfortable.  I was no longer hungry.  I took a few small sips of water to get the fruit punch taste out of my mouth and to make my throat a little less sore.  We (my mom came with me in case I got sick) walked to the car, sat outside on a bench.  She read a book.  I read a book.  I went to the bathroom.  Apparently sugary drinks make my stomach hurt. 

Before I knew it was time for another blood draw.  Then it was more of the same.  The nice little vampire told me to come back in another hour.  I still wasn't hungry.  It was more of the same.  We walked to the car.  We sat on the bench outside.  We watched a new mom being wheeled out of the Women's Center next door.  My mom commented on how scary that feeling was... being allowed to carry your baby home for the first time. 

We read books.  I went to the bathroom.  Sugary drinks really do make my stomach hurt.

At 11:20 I went for the 3rd (of 4) blood draw.  The vampire and me were becoming good friends.  She debated on which arm to use and commented in disbelief at the bruise I had from Wednesday's blood draw.  She talked about how she was left handed just like me.  She commented on how our birthday's were just one day apart.  We even talked about her boyfriend a little.  Apparently he is a hypochondriac too.

She sent me away, only to return for my final blood draw in, you guessed it, an hour.  By this time my stomach was starting to feel better and I was getting a little tired.  Waiting is never fun and getting up as early as I did was probably starting to take its toll... and even though the book I was reading was interesting, it was not helping to make the time go faster.  I went to the bathroom for the fourth time that morning.  A friend texted me a little bit asking about acupuncture.  That helped to make the last hour go by quicker.

12:20pm I went back for the final draw.  Strangely, I felt like I had really accomplished something.  I expressed my concern of the test being positive to the Vampire.  I might be a masochist, but I'm far from ever being a sadist.  The thought of hurting myself is more than I can take and the idea of pricking my finger multiple times a day is just scary as hell.  She laughed.  She pointed out that knowing and controlling gestational diabetes is better than not.  She's right.  I still don't have to be happy about it though.

She told me that the office would call with the results in a couple of days.  I still wasn't hungry but I was ready to leave the doctor's office. 

Now I have to wait to see what's going on or what is not going on.  I'm hoping that I'm gestational diabetes free, but if not, I'd like to know so I can do what I need to do to keep the baby and myself healthy.

I expect to hear something tomorrow.  So stay tuned for updates...  Un-pricked fingers crossed for luck!

Normal?...

I've been a bad blogger these last few weeks... but as always I have plenty of excuses.  Excuses, although I don't find them attractive, are sometimes all we are left with.  Work is crazy busy.  Most days I come home and I don't know if I'm coming or going.  Exhaustion is my new normal.  I'm learning that it is impossible for me to do two big jobs successfully at the same time.  These days I'm wearing my Test Coordinator hat much more than my well-worn School Counselor hat.

But sometimes work can be a blessing, especially when you're waiting to find out what is going on with the tiny inhabitants inside your body.

Last week we went for our first official OB appointment at my regular doctor's office.  We graduated from specialists to normal-ole-normal--although I have felt nothing close to normal in more weeks than I care to count.

The appointment went well, I'm pleased to report.  We got our third ultrasound.  It was amazing to see what kind of changes had taken place in the last few weeks.  The tiny blob from a few ultrasounds back actually had a baby-like shape this time and surprisingly it was rather active, moving all about.

The good news was that the second baby that had us so worried, had in fact vanished as predicted.  All that remains is an empty sack that apparently will be absorbed by the growing baby. 

We are relieved that things seemed to have corrected itself.  Looking back I had numbed myself in a protective manner because in all honesty, I didn't exactly know what I was going to do if I had to undergo further testing and worry.  After going through so much already with all the infertility testing and procedures we endured this last year, I had nothing left...

Nothing left, and so far to go.  Not a good position to find yourself in... not in the least. 

We go back to the doctor in a couple of weeks.  I have to get a physical, which apparently is standard practice.  I'll probably get to find out my blood type-- something I've always wanted to know...  So exciting things are on the horizon. 

Hopefully I'll be able to share some pictures soon...  I'm just too lazy right now to go and scan something.  I hope you understand. :)

And I Signed Up for This...

First of all, doctors can't count. Apparently I'm 7 weeks pregnant.  Last week at our 6 week visit with the RE, Dr. Park pointed out that I was officially 6 weeks and 2 days along. That was just about a week ago.  Husband was excited and later at McDonald's said to me, "Can't we just start telling people now?  I mean, you're 6 weeks pregnant.  That is almost two months!" 

Hold, wait.   I quickly asked him to rewind 6 weeks.  Were we pregnant six week ago?  No.  In fact, 6 weeks ago, a week ago we were just starting our IVF cycle.  So don't get so excited, okay.

Regardless, something else happened six weeks ago... well days before I hit the six week mark to more accurate.  Morning sickness.  I hesitate to call it that, seeing how morning sickness really isn't exclusive to the morning time. It can strike at any moment at any time for any reason whenever it feels like it.  When it first hit, I didn't really know what it was.  I didn't think it would hit this early for some reason.

The majority of what I have experienced has been nausea mixed with a healthy dose of heartburn.  And to be graphic, prolonged nausea makes my stomach breakdown, which can be just as bad as vomiting.

Today was the first day in a long time that I had very little complaint and part of me started to think that all this junk might just be behind me.  Wrong.  As I type I feel the nausea and heartburn igniting. 

This is all linked to my eating habits.  Apparently growing baby means having to eat all the time.  I've seriously considered asking for a feeding tube as I'm the type of person that eats two big meals a day and maybe a snack.  If I ever get hungry, in comes the nausea.  I have to eat literally every one to two hours and even then that is not a guarantee that the nausea will stay away... I did everything right today and I'm starting to deteriorate... (I think , it is hard to tell really)

Lately I've taken to eating breakfast, then a snack, followed by lunch.  If lunch is big enough I can make it to about 4:30 for a quick run through the drive-through for a snack or mini-supper followed by a small supper sometime later on.  Last night I was eating crackers at 1:00am because my stomach felt empty.  And an empty stomach can mean hours of laying around on the bathroom floor.

I eat defensively.  And I hate it.

Who knew that growing a person would be so draining?  I have to have an afternoon nap between mini-supper one and mini-supper two and then most nights I'm falling asleep on the couch by 10:30pm.

The toothbrush is a real bitch, mostly at night.  Last night, after getting a shower I brushed my teeth and then had to lay on the cool tile floor until the urge to up-chuck passed... wet hair and only wearing a towel.  It is a sad state of affairs... let me tell you.

And to think that a seven weeks ago we forked over a butt load of cash to actually get me in the position.  What were we thinking?

Everyone keeps telling me that this will pass and hopefully it will sooner than later.  I can take pain.  I can take torture.  Nausea is a whole different kind of story... I'm trying to hang in there.

I still can't believe that I willingly volunteered for this...

I'm Back...

Sorry for the absence folks... things have been a little hard to take these days.  It is not what you think though.  We actually got good news a little over two weeks ago from the blood tests.  For those of you familiar with the IVF process, you get to completely by-pass the whole pee on a stick thing (yea) and go straight to the blood test.

Our beta came back at a solid 300.  For a reference point, 25 is considered pregnant.  Then in two days we were to go back for more bloodwork.  That number (300) must double.  And double it did, actually it more than tripled and that was exactly what my RE wanted.

This week we go for pictures.  Sounds easy doesn't it?

But please let me assure you these last two weeks have been no cake-walk.... by no means. 

For months I've been focused on just getting a positive test.  Just a little pink line or a "congratulations, Emily!  It's positive" phone call.  That's it.  And now that we've got it, I'm at a total loss as to what to do next.

This past summer I became a walking-talking encyclopedia of reproductive information, studying nothing about pregnancy and what to expect after the pink line.

I didn't even have a plan of action for what to do once you get the pink line.  Because we did IVF, we didn't really get the luxury of keeping the news to ourselves for the first couple of weeks like other non-IVF couples.  My family knew what was going on.  His family, for the most part, knew what was going on.  Getting pregnant takes a village... and several doctors, nurses, gynecological tools, shots, microscopes, embryologists, scary procedures, and even scarier phone calls about cell division...

And after the news came out then I suddenly felt at odds-- like someone who had geared up for battle and unexpectedly won, knowing very little about what was to come next.  And angry!  It was nobodies business and I made it clear that this was not to be something we make a big deal about. Ever heard the word Miscarriage?  Ever heard the word Ectopic Pregnancy?  Blighted Ovum?  Molar Pregnancy?  So many things could go wrong and so many things are never a guarantee.  I'm an honest-to-goodness example of how things don't always turn out the way they are supposed to.  Wasn't the Clomid supposed to do the trick back last winter?  Wasn't the shots and perfectly timed interactions with the Husband supposed be just the ticket?

So I've learned to just be paranoid like my friend who is convinced that there are three black cars that follow his every move cautious. 

Husband's family didn't get the memo.  When they got the news they obviously never heard the part about "we aren't telling anyone" line.  And the rational side of me totally gets it.  It is a big deal.  Just five short years ago I was in their shoes when my favorite IVF'er finally got her Big Fat Positive.  I was ready to shout it from every roof-top.  But I also remember her reining us all back in... because it is a scary world out there.

However I have this irrational side of me.  The passive-aggressive side of me that should never be crossed.  The irrational, hormonal side that can't even sit through a Designing Women's re-run without tearing up feels robbed... a little bit violated... ignored.  How dare someone just go around spreading information that isn't supposed to be told!  I swear I really now understand how those silly 4th graders feel...

But I also think I now understand why people do unexpected things after stressful life-altering events or why they retreat from the world for a bit.  You've got to re-center.  Re-focus...

Infertility doesn't run in the Husband's family as far as I know.  They don't know about how the whole process really messes with your head.  That's why they talk so damned much.  But the odds are not in their favor-- 1 in 5 couples experiences infertility to some degree... and there are a lot of grandchildren over there....  I'm not saying, but I'm just saying it may not just be us!

So on this week we go for pictures and to verify that there is something going on in there...  this is my update.  Oh, and Zofran is my new best friend.  Nausea is a bitch and it making me really reevaluate why I tried so hard to get in this condition in the first place.

And just as a disclaimer:  we are still not telling anyone.... not that that matters to some people.  But if you are reading this you probably understand where I'm coming from.

Thanks for all the good wishes, prayers and positive thoughts!

Rolling on the Rolling Coaster...

If you were a fly on our wall, you'd think I'm sick.  I've done nothing but lay around the house for the sake of the two embryos that were implanted Sunday morning.  Doctor's orders... two days of rest.

Yesterday also marked my entry into the emotional roller coaster that is IVF.  The embryologist that performed the transfer had a heavy Asian accent and neither me nor the Husband could hardly understand her.  She told us, I think, that we had two really nice embryos to transfer, one being very good... and possibly one to freeze tomorrow.

One?  What happened to Friday's report that everything was going great?  My heart sunk... and then I started to obsess and worry that these two little guys that were being left under by supervision were not going to make it... because let's be honest, I have no idea how to be a normal person and just relax and go with the flow.

Regardless, I had to suck it up and before I knew it, the little guys were safely in my uterus.  I think the Husband has a whole new respect for what women go through with gynecological tools...

Then today, while I was laying in the bed feeling sorry for myself, worried that we'd have to go through all the medication and surgery again... the lab called.  The embryologist that I had been working with all last week called and said that they were going to freeze 5 embryos today!

Suddenly much of the pressure I had been putting on myself was lifted.... relief.  Not that this changes anything really, but for whatever reason, it makes me feel less stressed-- a little less crazy and a lot less overwhelmed.

Continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers...  we definitely need them!

Do Your Ovaries Hang Low? Do They Wobble To and Fro? ...

Not that I ever thought that I was big Bertha or something or other, but I never saw myself as especially small.  The evidence states otherwise.  I'm five foot tall.  I wear a petite 00 in pants, an XS or XXS (if I can find it) in shirts, preferably petite.  The Husband has stated on numerous occasions that he will never buy me underwear because he says people will think he is a child molester.  The last time I weighed I didn't break the 100 pound mark. 

But even with all the facts staring back at me in the mirror, I have never once felt that I was remarkably small.

My ovaries have since changed my mind, and recently I might add.  Ovaries should be roughly the size of a walnut.  The uterus, by comparison is a little bit larger.  Today, on the ultrasound screen, my ovaries were double the size of my uterus and had long left the cute walnut stage, looking a lot more huge that cute.  I can feel my ovaries when I cross my legs, when I walk down the hall at work, or when I stand up or sit down. 

On a daily, normal basis I doubt many people ever notice their organs...  excepting the one 3rd grader who looked at me in the hallway yesterday and said, "My spleen hurts."  But excepting that one 3rd grader with the hurting spleen, I doubt many people walk down the hallway at work thinking, "Man, my liver sure does seem swollen and tender today."  I think I walk too hard...

I reported my feelings of feeling my ovaries to the nurse today at my monitoring visit.  I love the nurse by the way, she looks sort of like Jenelle's mom on Teen Mom 2, but much more rested and much less angry.  The nurse said because I was so tiny, I'd probably notice my enlarged ovaries more than some, stating that I just don't have as much room as others.

And to think that I used to brag about having a short torso. 

I really did.  I thought it was a bonus since I wasn't going to be tall, at least I had long legs for a shorty.

Sick. 

As for my monitoring visit:  Things are looking good.  My follicles are looking very uniform, which means, I'm assuming, that all the little guys caught up to the bigger guys.  My estrogen level has tripled in the last three days, which they assure me is wonderful.  However, we will be remaining at the larger dose of drugs.  Sigh....

We also are predicting the egg retrieval procedure sometime during the first part of the week.  I guess we will know more when I go back in two days for more monitoring.

Happy Weekend Y'all!

Dinosaur--Are You Listening?...

Christmas has come and gone and we survived...  Sort of.  The Husband, as I type, is laid up in the bed with what I'm going to start referring to as "The Worst Virus Ever" or TWVE which is similar to the virus that struck the 3rd graders during IQ testing-- but worse.  Worse because the Husband, unlike the 3rd graders, lives with me and shares a bed and bathroom with me.  Needless to say my new best friend is Lysol.

So after pigging out all day, Christmas day, on delicious foods and sweet treats at approximately 1:00am Eastern Standard Time, the Husband fell ill with "The Worse Virus Ever" and from that point forward every hour on the hour up until about 10:00am he regularly 'called dinosaurs.'  Unfortunately he was not successful in making contact with them, but he did manage to wake me up... 

I had intended to take a nap today, but I keep thinking of new things that I haven't Lysoled yet.  My hands are all kinds of chapped because every time I go into the hot zone-- our master bedroom-- I have to scrub up.  And it is not like I can just pack him a bag and drop him off with his parents while he rides out TWVE (although the thought did cross my mind) because that is not how it works.

The Husband has a new list of foods he will not eat anymore... sorry Daddy but Fried Turkey is at top of the list.  Apparently the flavor of Fried Turkey tastes the same going down as it does coming up and can mask the flavors of asparagus, spaghetti noodles, spaghetti sauce, tenderloin and steak!  Good to know, but I'm guessing you as well as the Husband and me didn't need that juicy detail.  Sorry for the juicy reference...

I'm going to go check on the sick who is the afflicted.  Have a good one y'all.

Sick...

Friday morning a blinding light flooded into my bedroom.  I awoke.  Angry and confused I looked over at the Husband who had just flopped back into bed.  What is the bathroom light doing on?  His reply was that it was so dark he couldn't possibly make it the 10 feet or so from the bathroom to the bed without having some sort of light to guide the journey.  Are you going to leave it on?  He was was.  What did it matter anyway, it was only a "little light." 

Sure.

As I got out of my perfectly warm bed to turn off the "little light" and walk, in the complete darkness, back to bed (safely I might add) I realized that I was getting sick.  I had all the symptoms-- the stuffy nose, the sore throat, the headache...

Perfect.

Long story short-- I have a cold.  Sunday was the worst.  My entire head hurt-- including the roots of my hair.

I've laid around for two days straight and I'm hoping the rest will have done me some good.  I go back to work tomorrow and I'd hate to be all snotty, spreading germs all over school.