A Case of the Blahs

I don't know what's wrong with me.  I have two weeks of "spring break" aka only having to work part-time.  I have tons of projects to work on.  I have lists upon lists upon lists.  

But yesterday I sat on the couch just staring.  

Not even watching TV (like days prior), just sitting there. Thinking of all I had to do.  Wondering when I was going to find my motivation.  Waiting for the sun to come out and inspire me.  

Didn't happen.  

And apparently my gall bladder is fine despite my having about 7 of the symptoms saying that something isn't fine.  This is what the ultrasound said.  But, they told me my liver is enlarged.  Hmmmm...

Is it from fruity cocktails years ago with friends? (Doubtful, I was never much of a drinker).


The "vodka incident" on St. Patrick's Day my senior year? (Also doubtful, as this was enough to make me shun vodka for the next 16 years).


Or is there another culprit?


Because during the ultrasound I felt a little monster awaken inside of me.  And you know what we saw?  Said little monster kicking the heck out of my organs!  The tech said, "Wow, he's really beating up your gallbladder!" And sure enough, I turned my head just enough to see the world's tiniest leg kick-kick-kicking right to the sore part under my rib. 

This morning I was shaken awake by this kicking, the pain was so intense.  I wonder now if it's possible my liver is enlarged not because of any abuse it's taken from me, but rather from a fetus bruising it repeatedly for the past few months.  


Tomorrow I have my 32 week appointment, which hopefully will go as all the others have: pee in a cup, answer a few questions, listen to baby's heartbeat and you're back in the car in 15 minutes. Maybe 20 if there's a blood draw.


Oh. My. Gosh.


I didn't even tell you guys this part.


When I went in a week ago, they requested a blood draw.  I went into the little lab area, where the soft strains of Wham! were playing from a small boom box in the corner.  A man was there, his back to me while on the phone.  He was wearing lavender scrubs.  The color really looked good on him, especially since it complimented his frosted, layered hair with rat tail.  And his gold jewelry everywhere.  He was really, really nice and tried to distract me during the needle-entering-the-skin part.


"So, do you know what you're having?"


"Yeah, it's a boy."


"Oh! What are you going to name him?"


"Brixton."


"Oh! What's his middle name?"


"James."


"Oh! BJ!"


I'm usually not without a lack of something to say, but when someone's holding a needle into the middle of your arm and they just pointed out that your kid's initials are the kind of thing that can get you arrested in a truck stop bathroom I was taken aback.


I think I just mumbled something about his father being a BJ too, which made the whole thing even worse and I just didn't want to talk about BJ and all the connotations and man, I felt embarrassed.  Of course, we always knew Brix's initials would be BJG, and yes, there's a BJ in there, but geez.  


What should I have said?