My third beta came back at 57,—-. 

After I heard the nurse say, "Fifty-seven-thousand…" I kind of tuned out and didn’t hear the rest of what she was saying. 

I’m assuming at most there are only two in there, right? Since we only put back two embryos, that would make sense, right??

RIGHT?! She shrieks maniacally at the computer screen.

BeBop and I go in Saturday for our first ultrasound, so I guess I’ll get a better idea of what’s going on In There then.

BeBop asked me this morning how I’m feeling.

"Uh, fine, I guess.  Just super, super tired."

"Well, you’d know, instinctively, if things weren’t going well, right?" he asked.

To say I became unhinged is somewhat of an understatement. 

"HOW THE FRICK WOULD I KNOW?" I yelled. "I’ve never been pregnant before, how the hell would I know what’s going on?? I’ve never carried a living creature around inside me before, I have no idea what feels like what," I continued, making less and less sense as I carried on.

I think the stress of our upcoming scan is starting to get to me. I’m cracking under the pressure.

****     ****     ****

In other news, my poor sister is still sick and my Mom is still shirking her motherly duties.

The day I heard my sister was put on bed rest, I scrambled onto Babies R Us and Target and bought tons of stuff from her registry.  Tons of stuff I had no idea existed and that I would have no clue what to do with. Like milk storage bags (although their title is fairly self-explanatory, I guess…), a microwave steam sterilizer, a Supreme Snuggle Nest with Incline (HEY! Can I get one of those, whatever it is?) and some other crap.

Did the prospect of maybe needing to know what all this stuff is make me all nervous and twitchy? Why, yes.  Did the idea of one day possibly even needing to own all of this stuff, AND USE IT,  send me into somewhat of a panic?  Yep.  And did that send me scurrying to the kitchen for a stale Mrs. Field’s cookie that we got from placing an order with Office Depot sometime last quarter? How did you know?

I also ordered my sister a special relaxation CD made especially for women on bed rest.  I was on the phone with her when it arrived, and can only imagine the smirk on my (very conservative) brother-in-law’s face when he saw the package from Earth Mama Angel Baby.  "It must be from your sister," I heard him say as soon as he saw the return address.

She had to start taking blood pressure medication and had a terrible reaction to it at first.  I’m planning to go down there in mid-May, and I won’t be surprised if her baby makes an early appearance, so we’ll see what happens.

****     ****     ****

Anyhoopers, my Mom regaled me with tales of the Sedona Life Vessel.  "It’s not a pod!" she kept correcting me.  (And the official story is that no Peyote was involved, but I’m dubious.)

"But you sit in a machine that’s like a tanning booth, right?" I asked.  "But you’re all enclosed or ensconced or whatever? Sounds like a pod to me…"

Apparently she sat in this vessel for an hour the first day, two hours the second and yep!  you guessed it, THREE hours the third day.  While in this pod (excuse me, VESSEL), flashing lights beamed down on her and it had a slight vibration.  There may have also been noise or music involved but I was having a hard time paying attention after a few minutes of her story.

I still can’t quite grasp the overall impact of the life vessel, but it’s supposed to cure anything that ails you. 

"Oh!  Well then your sinuses must be much better," I helpfully suggested.

"You know what? You’re right! I hadn’t thought much about it," she said.

Hmmmm….doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement if you ask me. If you were cured of everything that ails you, wouldn’t you want to at least feel healthier?

****     ****     ****

And?  She’s totally torturing my sister about her choice of non-organic, non-hemp made materials for the baby’s room.  My sister is more into the high-end, designer baby decorations. My Mom, on the other hand, prefers an all-natural approach, as you might remember from The Infamous Baby File.

My Mom’s been calling her twelve times a day, warning her about the imminent danger from ‘out-gassing’ from the mattresses my sister has for the crib. Not to mention how her choice of non-organic sheets and bumpers and GASP!  some polyester, fleece-like blankets will mean certain and immediate death for the poor little tyke.

My Mom kept telling my sister how she went to Babes R Us and even though my sister corrected her forty-thousand times, she kept insisting she was horrified by all the polyester clothing at Babes R Us. Which sounds much more like a strip club than a baby store, so at least my sister and I got a good laugh out of that one.

And for some reason, my Mom was also against the idea of a glider rocking chair thing for nursing.

"But you have Papa’s rocking chair," she told my sister. "Why don’t you just use that?"

Ummmm…probably because it’s from our family’s 1800s farmhouse in the Northeast, designed for a 5’3", 140-pound man to sit in while smoking his pipe and contemplating the impending secession of Southern states and wondering if that could lead to an actual Civil War and is conceivably the most uncomfortable piece of furniture ever fashioned from a piece of wood. 

Maybe that’s why.

Oy. It’s never a dull moment around here.

So first things first, my third Beta came back at 7589 (and my progesterone is still up at 418) so that was a relief, to put it mildly!  I know we still have a looooooong way to go, but it’s certainly nice to get some reassuring news every once in a while.

My first ultrasound is next weekend and then I have my Killer Cells re-tested in another three weeks, and hopefully all goes well on those fronts.

In the meantime, I’m cramming the Metformin, thyroid (which I need to increase) and Prednisone down my gullet like they’re Skittles.

In terms of Symptom Watch 2007 [duhn duhn duhn…] there is nothing new to report.  I’m still suffering an acute case of Bologna Boobs Syndrome. I apologize to everyone who either didn’t know what bologna was, and thus had NO freaking clue what the hell I was talking about; to those who were eating lunch at the time they were reading that post (and possibly threw up a little in their mouths); and, finally, to those of you who actually like bologna and now can no longer eat it, haunted by images of my enlarged aerolas as you try to chomp on a bologna-and-mayo-on-white bread sammy.

But you know what?  Bologna and mayo on white bread aren’t all that healthy anyway, so perhaps I did you a favor.  Ever think of it that way??

Moving on…

So news in the Watson household yesterday is that I think the ultra-fabulous Oneliner was correct when she guessed my Mother was not, in fact, undergoing some miracle treatment in the Life Pod but rather was smoking Peyote on her trip to Sedona. I think she’s in some sweat lodge, smoking Peyote, going on a mental walk-a-bout vision quest thing and I can tell you one thing for sure: it’s doing NOTHING to increase her nurturing capabilities.

My younger sister is 31 weeks pregnant, and just found out yesterday that she has to be on modified bed rest because her blood pressure is way up.  Thankfully, the baby is fine.  But she needs to go in twice a week for stress tests to monitor him, and in the meantime, stay at home in bed or on the couch.  She can still work on her laptop, which is good because she owns her own business and not working at all would really cause her stress.

My poor sister called me hysterical yesterday, sobbing into the phone, worried about the baby and possibly having to deliver early.  Also, she has nothing – nothing – ready for him.  She was supposed to fly up here this weekend for two baby showers, and was hoping she’d get stuff from her registry.  Because she was waiting for the parties, besides ordering the furniture which hasn’t arrived yet, she hasn’t bought a thing. So needless to say, she was completely freaked out about having the baby early and not being ready at all.

Because my Mother is in Arizona and scheduled to fly back today, and because last time I checked Arizona was perilously close to Southern California where my sister lives, I made the suggestion that perhaps my Mom fly there instead of coming home and help my sister out for a few days.

"ARE YOU CRACKED?" was my Mother’s response.

Honestly, she acted as if I asked her to lay a golden egg out of her own asshole, hatch it into a goose and FLY it to Orange County.  She responded as if my idea was seriously the most outlandish suggestion EVER uttered from one human being to another since the Dawn of Time.

The Life Pod Peyote Sweat Lodge of Sedona is doing nothing to improve her maternal instincts.

A few years ago, she would laugh and say, "Since going through menopause, I’ve decided to give up the nurturing, mothering parts.  You brats are on your own."

Of course, being the bitchy little snot understanding daughter that I am, I would roll my eyes dramatically and respond, "Errrrrr…WHEN exactly was your nurturing period?  I think I must have been on vacation.  I missed that era."

And that would devolve into her You Ungrateful Brats Speech #375A.

But I digress.  The bottom line is that my Mom is beyond frustrating and my sister is on bed rest.  And although I really didn’t want to fly during the first trimester (just one of My Things, you know?) I will be making a trip to LA in the next couple of weeks to help her get settled and ready for the baby.

Good grief!  With genes like this I’m getting nervous, people.

Let’s hope the Un-Mothering Gene isn’t passed down from one generation to the next.