Heaven in a Fed-Ex Box

Gosh, I have been so distracted by this impending miscarriage thingie that I almost forgot to post what I was already writing about previously. Silly Mara. Anyways.

A few days ago, I guess it was Monday night, I come home to find this... this huge box on my doorstep. A box really big enough to store, say, my computer or something. And it is from Becca, which bodes really really well, because she manages a luxury chocolate shop; I will not name it for the purposes of privacy but... one of the best brands, no question. So a box from Becca is always a good thing.

She sent me an Easter basket. Except instead of a "basket", it is an enormous ceramic mixing bowl-- the size you would use to let bread dough rise in, for example, or maybe plant a geranium in for the front porch. Huge. And instead of "Easter candy"-- marshmallow Peeps, jelly beans, candy eggs-- it was filled, filled, with fine chocolates. Truffles. Caramels. Candy bars. A rabbit. And instead of a "Happy Easter" card, it had a card that depicts chocolate Rabbis coming down a conveyor belt as someone says, "You idiot, I said chocolate RABBITS", with "Happy Easter/Passover/Etc" inside.

I took some pictures (after ripping into it like a pig, unfortunately) but they don't do it justice-- the bowl is much bigger than it appears here:

I have literally never seen so much chocolate of this quality in one place. I mean if you don't count being in the store itself, obviously. I wanted to take some of the truffles to work for the meeting tonight, but Don argued vociferously against the idea, pointing out that chocolate lasts a long time, we could put some in the freezer, etc etc etc. He likes chocolate as much as any woman I know, quite unusual for a guy I think. Becca's gift is going to go down in history as one of the BEST PRESENTS EVER. Definitely a hall-of-fame-er.

When I went to the doctor Tuesday, I learned that I have gained 4-5 pounds in the last 6 weeks, something I promptly (naturally) forgot about after the ultrasound. Until several hours later, when I was stuffing my face with chocolate, and I kind of realized that I have to do something with the weight... either count it towards my next pregnancy (which probably won't work very well) or lose it, or just be heavier. Don is of the opinion that we will get pregnant again so fast that it will just be part of that, but it took us some months of trying the first time...The problem is that I carry all my weight generally in my ass and hips region, where I really can't see it, or feel it, or whatever. But this little bonus pregnancy poundage is sitting right in my belly. Which I was fine with before (pregnant! belly! it's all good!) but now what? My pants fit funny. This is the most I've ever weighed-- almost 160. (Too much information, I know.) I know, I know. It's sweating the small stuff when I've got much bigger things to obsess about. It's just how I deal with life, I guess.

The only decision I've made about it is that the chocolate should be savored, not devoured. It is very special stuff, not a bag of Hershey's Kisses that can be emptied in the course of a single movie-viewing. Filling myself with chocolate isn't going to make me OK again, it can't bring my little embryo back. (Although if it could, after Tuesday I'd have like quintuplets in there or something. I really ate that much.) So I am going to stop drowning myself in the stuff just because it's here. Take Don's suggestion and set some aside for later-- eat each piece with consciousness, purpose, rather than mindlessly hand-to-mouthing it.

Hmmm. One thing that I just remembered is that at the doctor's office, they had me weigh myself, and do my own pee-in-a-cup. They said it would be part of every visit: instead of just plopping down in the waiting area with a magazine I was to step into the back, use the scale and the bathroom (and a Dixie cup and a magic marker), and then go back and wait. Oh and then they just ask what the scale number was! It intrigued me because of course we are all capable of weighing in, remembering the number (like anyone could forget) and using the bathroom, but I've never had a doctors' office that actually acknowledged the patients' ability to do simple tasks. Or that would take their word on the weight rather than having to see it. It just makes so much sense, because by the time the nurse or doctor is ready to see the patient, half of the little distracting tasks are already done. They can have the urinalysis finished by the time the patient is in the examining room; I know they did with mine because I asked about my kidneys and was told that I tested clean, no signs of a bacterial infection. So they ran that test before I was even on the table. What a great system!

One bright side to this whole steaming pile of crap that is this week is that I really do (so far) like the doctors' office, nurse-practitioner, and hospital that I will be using, if not for this pregnancy than for the next. It would suck if on top of everything else I had gotten a bad vibe from them and had to start over in my search for care. I haven't actually met the doctors yet because the first visit is always with the MSN/NP, but it bodes well. Both the doctor's office and hospital are within 2 1/2 miles from the house, a 5-minute drive. I love small cities. This morning, I left the house at 7:00, got to the hospital (for the follow-up blood work) at 7:05, got stabbed right away (the lab opens at 7, so there wasn't a wait yet), went to the coffee shop, was home by 7:23. Don't have to be at work until 10:00, so maybe it wasn't the best plan, (could have slept later) but hey, time to write this post, right? Since I will (I hope, someday, please) be delivering at this hospital, it's nice to know how close-by it is; it makes staying home longer an option, or returning home, or whatever.