Sugar Baby

As the myriad of doctors appointments pile up, I'm thankful for having such outstanding medical benefits. As my gestational diabetes is being ruled by a strict thumb, so the need to skirt my diet is mandatory. I had an appointment with a dietician and diabetic counselor today. Formerly, a student of Nutrition 101, I never found the need to apply it to my life. Does anyone assimilate chemistry into their daily? Exactly.

In the depths of my mind, I was convinced my lab work was confused for another. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Jupiter. I deserved an apology gosh darnit, for wasting my time. I couldn't have developed this condition, I have been actively fit and managed a fit diet. There goes the delusional part of me again. Who cares that my parents are diabetic?

Sylvia, diabetic counselor, reviewed the blood test and provided the numbers. The numbers which pertain to the time it takes for my body to process glucose within three hours. The numbers weren't gold medal, it was no medal. The chip on my shoulder was just crunched. "Any person could develop diabetes?" Sylvia went easy on my pride, but my pride had nothing to do with my health. I was predisposed.

We moved on to diet, I had no worries as I strived for excellence in that category. Organic, free range, cage free is the way of the Lord, but nutritional fact is holier than thou. I was in for a nutritional awakening. As I sat upright on my tall organic box, it was quickly kicked from under me when the truth was finally revealed. The vital ingredient to be weary of, regarding the nutritional fact, were carbohydrate and sugar. Funny, I was always steered towards the calories and the fat calories.

Basically, organic or non organic, carbohydrates is still Satan in my blood. I was further cultured on the daily food pyramid along with entails what to eat, per meal, per day. Shackle and chain, I'm now in a prison. No milk or fruit in the morning (it turns into sugar). Worse, no cereal. This is a travesty! My world is spinning backwards. I keep looking on the bright side of things, that's the only way I'll get through it. My meals, mainly lunch and dinner, incorporates fruit, bread/starch, carbohydrate, fat, milk, and protein. Apparently, when all these foods are introduced to my blood system, it takes awhile to breakdown as opposed to simply introducing just two food groups into the blood. It's a hemoglobin diversion. I assumed that carbohydrates would be omitted, but I was wrong...again. On top of everything else, I have 3 snacks that are wrenched into my meals. Phew, will my days compass my eating habit?

Shellie's Proverb: A hog that rules the trough is worth eating.

The big cherry, the sprinkle and the nuts, the dollop of whip cream and all the guck, is that I have to gauge my blood glucose four times a day by way of finger pricking. Four times! Pricking.....Painful.....Four Times! I loathe finger pricking! Eeeeek Gadz! Here I am face to face with a prick. First prick is taken before all meals and the rest are taken an hour after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was provided with a kit with an electronic reader, blood strips, spiffy prick gadget, needles, and a container to dispose of my needles. High maintenance? Gulp. Exactly. The objective to this game is to score a glucose count of 130 and below.

Double gulp. She did the honors as I cringed like a kitten in a corner ready to pounce. She promised that it would be harmless, but so is a blood sucking tick. I gave into her prick, she inserted the blood onto the strip which read 148, the goal is to reach 130 or below. "Damn you whole wheat organic blueberry turd." I cursed under my breath. I was appalled. No, I was shocked! No, I was shockingly disappointed. How could this be? Shane and I had just gone shopping on Sunday and filled our pantry with organic goodness. The counselor advised that there's lots of sugar and high carbohydrate in everything. So I shouldn't be fooled with packaging and marketing. The only reassurance is the nutritional factoids. You'd be surprised as to how much carbohydrates and sugar are in yogurt, unless it's plain and even than. She kicked dirt in my face. I couldn't believe my ears. Here I was a high snooter with my nose in the know it all, only to find out I didn't know diddy. Damn you glucose. I curse you and that sugar coated cookie you rode on!

I went straight to Rainbow, hippie co-op, to carry out my duty to be healthy. There I was in the bread aisle reading the nutritional facts like a psychotic obsessed carbohydrate counter. I was consumed by labels of organic and quickly picked them up only to find that the carbohydrate count was astounding. Finally, after sorting through the entire bread section there it was the no wheat, no glucose, organic, and weighed like a brick with a perfect carbohydrate count of 13.5 grams. I was in heaven. Onto the yogurt, I perused each shelf reading the back of each container like a I was hooked on phonics. I was truly astonished by the nutritional fact and how much sugar and carbohydrates were in these yummers. Death defying. I had no idea. None in the world. I settled for the Saint Benoit plain Yogurt as the nutritional value was the best.

Between my soap box and the chip on my shoulder, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In a matter of a week, my eating lifestyle has been turned topsy turvy. I must make amends to make sure I don't endanger Kitchstar. I need to snip this at the stem. Cest la vie ice cream sundae. Whah. Sniffle. Sob. Maybe I'm too strict on myself. All in moderation I keep telling myself. But, could moderation possibly compromise the baby? For now, I'll be fighting this diabetes through my food intake.

Lesson: Grasshopper must lay gentle on the bed of nails to overcome all hostilities.

The Slip

In my black business suit and my black sneakers, I stepped out of the house at 630am to start my usual route to the bus stop. The sun hasn't peeked its head yet, and I am one step ahead of the day. In the eye of the hub, the cold air brushing my cheek as I briskly make my way to Third Street. It's Friday and I have no plans this weekend, except to spend it with Shane and Chloe. I have high hopes of catching Smoking Aces which opens in theatres today, but I'm better off catching a matinee this weekend.

It's been a long week and I look forward to spending time with Shane and taking Chloe for a walk at Crissy Fields, and enjoying brunch at Rose's Cafe tomorrow. Yes, it's the little things that make me happy. As I make my way towards the overpass, the repercussions of last nights work out heeds it's pain on my gluteus maximus. The rush of traffic below is thrilling as I witness the surge of man's invention at it's climax. Potrero Hill is at a standstill, except for the usual indolent dog walker. Northward the weeds of buildings and lights stand upright, and to think that I'll be in that financial jungle in thirty minutes.

Shellie's Proverb: Never stop to smell the flowers at a dog park.

Insignificant tasks effortlessly trickle in my head, "Researching strollers, changing tables, What am I preparing for the dinner party tomorrow? I didn't pack my lunch today, what am I going to eat? These shoes have no support, but they look better than my white sneakers. God, I'm hungry. Was that a kick? Baby never kicks as much as it should. Uh, it's so nice to be walking.." Like a faucet, I wish I could turn my thoughts off. The main purpose behind my foolish reprise of catching public transportation is to integrate a cardio workout into my day as sitting on my butt doesn't coincide with my fitness. It's Friday and I should be jumping for joy, because I'm eight hours away from freedom! I'll be happy once I'm off the San Francisco public transportation, a vessel for bacteria, psychotics, and bad manners. In the meantime, keep my chin up and paint a bright smile on my face. It's Friday!

Lesson: Grasshopper must remember that flatulence is a form of violence.

Hard to Fit Genes

As I have been peculiar about eating ridiculously healthy, despite the closet ice cream sundae that I have become accustomed to sneaking, I was just notified by Dr. Sue McDonald that I have developed gestational diabetes. After suffering from drinking that putrid orange glucose matter and giving blood on the hour for the next three hours, it never occurred to me that I could be victim to the medical condition. Apparently, it's common in the top 2 to 7 percentile of pregnant women. As I hectically browse through my books and google trying to resolve this condition, I realize that I am genetically screwed as both parents are diabetics.

The women on the other end of the line lectures me to steer clear of juices and sodas, I remind her that it is not part of my repertoire. She than tells me to refrain from fruit. That is a very vague generalization, "What kind of fruit?" As I enjoy my morning breakfast with strawberries, rasberries, blueberries, banana, apples. I mean she might as well advise me to stop breathing oxygen. What am I supposed to eat instead? I will have to wait till next week's appointment at the Diabetes center for the educational low down. I'll probably have to meet with a dietician which will be pretty nifty. I keep reminding myself that it could be worse. I could be in bed rest with a hemmeroid the size of a hibiscus. If I'm proactive and watch what I eat...whah... no more ice cream sundaes...and increase my exercise, I should be okay.

Shellie's Proverb: Constipation is all about diet over matter.

Thus far, my pregnancy has been darling. From the narcoleptic episodes to the discovery of Kitchstar's movements, I'm whizzing through my second trimester like a kid at an arcade. Although all good things must come to an end. As I blew my sciatica out from simply sneezing while standing up, it has taken my acupuncturist, yoga, pilates and masseuse to manage this monster. It's better loads now, but look where a simple sneeze will get you. No complaints from Mrs. Kitchen, but you may want to inquire with my better half. He may tell you otherwise. Smile.

Lesson: A grasshopper that accepts his flaws won't mind drinking cold tea.

Love and Marriage

As we delve into the open jaws of crib searching, I walk among the trap of sharp teeth vulnerable and alone. As my husband usually doesn't want anything to do with shopping and would prefer to spend his time on a golf course, I am left with the task by my buoyant lonesome. It may sound fun having full reign on the crib sector, woo hoo! Halt, as my husband is opinionated and will provide his two cents at the very tail of my decision. Truthfully, it upsets me that he has the audacity. Secondly, he, and every father to be, would rather put their kid in a dresser drawer or a cubby hole and call it a day and resume to their tee time. I can feel the searing eyes of the "I walked 20 miles to school everyday" generation shaking their heads at what today's parents find vital.

Shellie's Proverb: A wife with no husband is lucky.

Seriously! Big example, grocery shopping with Shane is like a blind man finding his sight for the first time and realizing that he's been having sexual relations with a trannie. He just goes on about the price of meat, produce, bar of soap, tooth paste, ice cream that it drives me batty. It's ridiculous. Resolution, designate him the official grocery shopper. We live in California, what do you expect in the state of gimmick? Despite his uproar, he'll still eat it the damn food.

His lack of interest in anything has got his head in the clouds. Why am I complaining? Well, this head in the cloud factor applies to every aspect of his existence which in turn triggers my failure to exist. This is my pain. This is the man I married. This is my life. I'm not grumbling, sigh, I am just venting. Where's the punching bag when I need it? Serenity now!

I invest a lot of time on research, and it takes ten seconds for him to retort on either the price or the look. Normally I can tolerate it, but today it's my bane. It's all coming to a head and I just want to be ready as possible, which is impossible, before my butterball butt explodes. To think that we still have to tackle the name game. Sob!

Lesson: Grasshopper must learn to co-exist with monkeys in order to evolve into the temple of Buddha.

Fade to Fad

It's the new world baby order. These days women nest. These days babies get their own room filled with toy debris. These days parents spoil their kids in attempts to fullfill the emptiness of their own childhood. Well, except for my husband, because he's had every toy made by mankind. In a world full of dizzying material pressure, when do I say, "stop!"

We, well more I, started browsing for baby essentials. I wanted to start now while I'm still mobile and patient. The online world is decadent and mischievous. In a world of material things, I realize that I am keeping up with the Jones(s). From the
Bugaboo stroller going for $800 and the endless baby crap, I begin to wonder, if it is all about me and less about Kitchstar. I grew up in the days where babies slept in dresser drawers stuffed with sheets for the first couple months. The fortunate ones with cribs well you were a rockstar. These days a baby in a dresser drawer would be considered child abuse. Damn you social services.

Besides the basic crib, changing table, and stroller, I'm being hit with a list of ridiculous absurdities. A must have list like diaper bags, gliders, bassinets, jogging stroller, swings, bouncers, baby bjorn, and play yards. It is all too much for me. Could it be that I'm suffering from a metropolitan syndrome called yuppie? Does the baby require all of this? I have become a victim to my own environment and I am embarassed. Damn you Potrero Hill! Sheesh, imagine if I lived in Noe Valley or the Marina,? I'd be in a world of hurt!

Shellie's Proverb: The Ford Pinto rocking the spinners is still a Pinto.
How did I get here? When did I transform into such a fluppie? The BMW X5 really doesn't help my image. Huff, I've worked hard to get where I am. There's nothing wrong with having nice things, especially when I've worked hard for it. Hence, I can spend it anyway I please. I think the same goes for anyone. I started from the bottom. The same goes for any hard working individual that started from the bottom and worked their way through.

If you possess the drive, than why not? In fact, slumming it in the kitchen for $8/hour after taking a $100K+ paycut surely transformed me into a humble person. It's not like I'm sitting at home plopping bond bonds, playing the Superlotto, and sucking the blood from my husband's income. Good grief, no! But, the idea sounds beautiful. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being a lazy turd. My envy goes out to you awesome turdies.

Suddenly, I was feverishly taken over...I apologize for the baby detour. It's more about the parent's attempt to ease the mind: translation: hmmm, what will keep this kid quiet? Parent's are willing to donate their liver to make sure their child is comfortable and healthy. Besides, babies sprout faster than weeds in the summer time, and in sprouting, these trendy gadgets become null.

It is our duty as parents to fulfill the safety and health of little Kitchstar. Simple and clean. The cost of a stroller or any newfangled gadget is indifferent when it all comes down to true purpose. I am a sucker for marketing. The first time I saw a bottle of Voss, I snagged that sucker regardless of the price. Who cares look at that fabulous bottle! That is me in a nut shell. I am a person that is susceptible to packaging. I am a marketer's wet dream. Now, that a child is on the way, I have to be extremely careful. I have to think of the child's benefit and forget about the dernier cri. It's a great plan. It's a start. It's a change.

Lesson: In order for wise grasshopper to achieve Nirvana, it must always write his name on his underwear.

Pregnancy Update

My weeks have been overlapped between doctors appointments, acupuncture, prenatal yoga and pilates, long walks, that I've neglected my will to write aka vent. I've promised mom in law pictures of my development, but I can't even find the time to upload pictures to Ofotos. What is my problem? I need to snap with it! Not to mention the holidays was just one long speed bump. So here I am trying to find my way through my jungle of excuses. I spend most of my days in front of the computer slaving for a private equity, work has been quite hectic like a rabid dog in heat. It's been difficult to motivate and exercise after work. The very thought of it sometimes can be silenced with a relaxing moment on the couch.

In the meantime, little Kitchstar is starting to kick and/or punch. It all started with subtle butterfly flutters and as the weeks proceed it's becom more apparent that this little tyke will be starting a riot soon. As I spend most of my days sitting in front of the computer, the punches and kicks become evident. Today, especially, I swear it was pounding on the walls of my body for food. Perhaps, I am neglecting Kitchstar. For Pete's sake I had a healthy bowl of fruit and cereal this morning topped off with a yogurt for my morning snack. It's eleven o'clock what more does it want? Honestly, it's so cool to feel this miracle growing. I absolutely love it! In fact, I'm kicking myself in the butt wishing that we had done this earlier.

Shellie's Proverb: A book with no words has no meaning.

Thus, I am trying not to find a reason to gorge my face with nonsensical food. As my visit from the doctors last Friday, I have broken the 140 weight barrier. One should never be concerned with one's weight, although it is pretty scary when I've never ventured in these scary dark woods before. In my attempts to eat healthy and simply be healthy it seems that Kitchstar is growing at an alarming rate. I have sixteen more weeks to go and my belly is growing faster than a bacteria performing in a petri dish parade! In fact, the 20 week ultrasound the head on Kitchstar was pretty big so as I laughed and joked with Shane. He had an gigantuous head as an infant. I mean this thing could have been in the Guiness Book of World Records...anyway as I harmlessly jest, Shane shrugs, "laugh it up, I'm not the one that'll have to push it out." Right than and there, the comedy came to a halt. My little frame, my little box will have to push this turkey out. Gulp. Double Gulp! Triple Double Gulp Skip Gulp.

It does make me feel better that people at work have only noticed my transformation recently. Women, just remember the color black does wonders to slim the body. Especially, if your at that stage where your feeling like a super blimp, a black shirt does wonders and will really make your day. Please don't get me wrong, I embrace my pregnancy wholeheartedly, but I would like to preserve my body as best I can. What's wrong with taking care of myself? In true relativity, I'm taking care of little Kitchstar too. I mean between the intake of probiotic, organic, free range and cage free to have chocolate is a true sin (as I stuff a caramel kiss into my mouth). I am enjoying my pregnancy while it lasts. In fact, I had a Mitchell's ice cream at 3 o'clock pm before consuming a Thai duck lunch plate. Living on the edge baby, living on the edge. I'm trying to have fun with this, because as we shoot to start the Kitchen clan which means rug rats galore, I will fight the elasticity, bloating, fat, and gravity off with a stick. That is why it is important to be proactive.

All in all, it's been busy and I can't fathom how hectic it will be at the end of nine months. I keep telling myself to enjoy this time. Really take it in. I know it's sounds hippie and granola, but it's true. I am in the eye of the storm. I could be whining and complaining and finding every reason to bite my man's nuts off, but I'm not. I'm better than that, besides life is too short for tantrums.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must slowly walk on hot coals to appreciate the air of life.

Happy Birthday, Shugah!

Ode to the man that stole my heart!

My sweet bee that coves in my honey
My sweet honey that coves in my hive
My hive that I hold in my heart
My heart, he is my heart.

2007

We greeted new years in our home surrounded by a few close friends. As the past two years we greeted the new year as intoxicatedly festive as possible. Instead, we took the quite route. A glass of champagne, for me, went a long way. By midnight, everyone had consumed enough alcohol to kill a baby pig. As I wanted to do the elderly thing, and have a boggle master tournament, the drinkers slurred instead. In the height of my sobriety, I reflected on 2006, a year of celebration and unforeseen events. It was a year of definite highs and lows.

Shellie's Proverb: A home with windows welcomes light.

It was the year of the Dog, and I could not get enough of snowboarding. In world sports, Italy took the World Cup. In July, my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Simultaneously, a dear friend Johnny suffered a misfortunate accident. In August, Duke, Shane's dad, enjoyed his 60th birthday with a surprise from his children. Also, we celebrated our first year as the Kitchens followed with the conception of Kitchstar. In September, I celebrated the entry into the cougar world as I turned 35. In the meantime, we adopted our sweet bichon Chloe.

As most people don't believe in new years resolutions, I do. It's been three years, since I've had a cigarette. Cold turkey! Furthermore, I have achieved my past new years resolution. I thank my lucky stars that 2006 kept most of us safe from harm. In good thought, I hope 2007 will bring a fruitful and positive year for everyone, we all could use it. In my secret of secrets, I only wish absolute positivity for all. Moreover, 2007 will be a record year as we expect Kitchstar to make it's appearance in May. Finally, I hope Shane the success on his embarkment with his new business. 2007 brace yourself, because here we come with a vengeance for happiness and health.

Lesson: An unwise grasshopper does not believe in fortune cookies.