Come on, first trimester.

Go away. Go away and take all of your anxiety, exhaustion, over analysis of every little thing and nerves with you.

I did wind up going to the early pregnancy unit because of some spotting. According to the scan report, the sac is measuring perfectly. According to my bloodwork, my hormones are measuring perfectly. So why am I spotting? Who knows? Not the ultrasound techs, or the doctors, or the wonderfully stereotypical Afro-Caribbean midwives populating the ward.

It's just one of "dem tings." Same as last time, when The Stoatling was on his way.

The spotting's since stopped -- please God it stays that way -- and I feel fine. Tired, but fine. I just want this trimester to be done, although now I know that getting past 12 weeks isn't the end to worries at all...this is just the beginning.

Roll on, May!

So...Tired.

So very, very tired.

I can't rest. My home just isn't very restful. It's a disaster, and covered in cat hair, cat litter, cat wee and -- as I discovered on my way out of the shower -- cat poop. It smells. There's laundry everywhere. The dust is horrendous. It makes me cry.

I would love to clean, but A: cleaning with a toddler around is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos, it doesn't work and your mom always catches you anyway (okay, maybe not the last bit) and B: I have no energy, all I want to do is sleep.

I want my US home back, preferably with the ability to afford a maid every two weeks like we had then.

Is it any wonder I can't relax?

Here I Go, Again On My Owwwwwn (or not)

Or cor, blimey, and indeed bloody hell!

Who has two thumbs and wasn't expecting to be...expecting?

We'd just had a conversation about my getting a full hysterectomy (there's a long history of various ovarian cancers in my family and I've already got markers indicating I'm not exempt), a conversation that included maybe, possible TTC over the next few months and then drawing a line under it on my next birthday.

But then this hit me. And this time, it's very different.

For one, we're in the UK. While I have some (rather positive) experience with the UK maternity system, I didn't give birth here last time and frankly, I know that the attitudes of doctors, nurses and staff towards their patients is far less...I don't know, 'sympathetic' seems to be the wrong word, but 'groveling' is too strong. As in, my OB and the nurses in the US were willing to do just about anything I asked, especially regarding pain relief, because patients there are really customers and the customer is always right, even when they have a head trying to squeeze out of their hoo-haa.

Not so. I love the NHS, don't get me wrong, and it was a large part of why we moved back (after a $1200 bill for routine vaccinations AND we were insured!) but I've sort of been psyching myself out about giving birth here. Even if it's 248 days away!

Another difference is that it's not a pregnancy that happened under an RE's care, so I'm not being monitored any more strongly than anyone else. I did go and have a blood beta drawn, privately, for a cost of £90, just to reassure myself, but hCG betas aren't a matter of course over here. You only get them if you've been through fertility treatment or you're having complications -- which of course I do not want! The lack of monitoring is frightening. I've never been "normally" pregnant before. I can go do another beta any time I like, but I settled for a Clearblue Conception Indicator home test, the digital one up there. At 2-3 weeks, the minimum threshold (according to their patent) is 200 iu, so my beta has obviously risen acceptably. I'm cool with that.

And of course, I'm stressing over being symptom-free. That goes without saying!

I've dug out my pregnancy books. I've even dared going into Mothercare and looking at all of the adorable clothes for newborn squishies. I've told my mom, Kristyn (she's a nurse), Cheryle (she takes care of my horse and I need to find a sharer now), Joosh (because that needed to be handled with kid gloves, I didn't want to trample her emotions), and Johanna (well, duh!). And of course, the Foxy Stoat, and my parents. I know that's way too many people for this early, but I can't help it. I'm excited!

I have my first scan April 10th and my first midwife visit on the 19th. This is going to be a big year!

Four Months Into The Rest Of My Life

My son is beautiful. He is perfect, mostly well behaved, full of smiles and has giggles that make my heart melt.

He's also screaming right now, so this blog post has had to be cut off. Here's a photo instead. Sorry!

Baby Murder!

Dear Baby Stoat,

The following is a list of things that are not baby murder:

-Putting you down to get a bottle
-Putting you down to prepare dinner for those of us with teeth
-Putting you down in your cot/swing/bouncer/any other bit of baby gear designed by clever baby scientists to cradle, nurture, stimulate and support you
-Putting you down to change your nappy
-Changing your nappy
-Changing your clothes
-Listening to music that is not Devin Townsend or the looped classical music on your baby swing
-Baths without Grandma to help

Please work on a more appropriate reaction, since the neighbours have now put child services on their speed dial. Thanks!

I Am The World's Most Rubbish Lactivist

Breastfeeding sucks. And I do not mean that in a cute, literal way because I am watching my son chow down on milk straight from the tap.

Instead of this magical bonding picture (that I have experienced for all of 15 minutes since Baby Stoat was born), I am sitting here with the low fever, chills and "flu-like symptoms" of a plugged milk duct, which is yet another of those "Things they don't tell you about breast feeding." If breast feeding is an area that requires a whole industry to explain and support it, the things they don't tell you about it is the dark side of that Force.

I know breast feeding is best and that formula feeding turns magical, rainbow-pooping babies into axe-wielding maniacs who blame their parents for their failings in later years. As a formula-fed axe murderer myself, I get it. It's just that when you've been through D-MER, a c-section, bad latches, tongue tie and nipple confusion that axe murderer option starts to look pretty good. Believe me, it's looking even better since I came down with this plugged duct and all of the accompanying crappy feelings that go along with it.

I feel like I have the flu and yet I am Mum, so I have to not only allow a small, pointy (need to file those nails!) flailing person access to my aching ta-tas, I have to continue my fight to get him on the breast with more screaming and flailing (from him, not me). When I am not continuing that uphill struggle, I have to sit with my breast pump -- a machine I now spend more time with than I do with my husband. My LC says we *will* get it and reminds me that I am an excellent mother, but holy God in heaven I am tired.

I continue on the path of the not-really-too-militant lactivist because let's face it, if I formula feed and he *does* turn out to be the next Raoul Moat, I *will* blame myself. And probably be first on the hit list.

I don't know a single mother who has not had a problem with breast feeding. That has to make you wonder how we've managed to survive as a species.

A Dispatch From The Front: Further Oberservations On Motherhood

In about twenty minutes, I will have been a mum for one whole month.

If this were a normal mother's blog, this next space would be full of how much life has been changed, cute anecdotes about things the baby did and how being sleep deprived is funny and fun.

I am glad this is not a normal mother's blog!

Life has gone on at the Stoat's Nest with remarkably few ripples. Yes, there is an extra person here full time, and that person demands constant food -- apart from that, Baby Stoat isn't too different from the cats. He likes cuddles, sleeps a lot, wakes me up at night, poops inappropriately (sorry, Christian!), has sharp nails and occasionally does cute things. When we first brought him home, the same people who delighted in regaling me with tales about how pregnancy was going to get so much worse (it didn't) took great pleasure in telling me how much life would change. Like the pregnancy, I keep waiting for these changes and, as life settles into a routine, can only hope it's just as much their need to juxtapose their own crappy experiences onto my relatively placid ones as it was during pregnancy.

Being that I am one month in, here are a few further meandering observations on motherhood that have occurred over the past few weeks:

-Babies are psychic and even a calm Baby Stoat somehow knows it's time to start making stoaty little "I want food!" squeaks just as I get cozy under the duvet again.

-Breastfeeding is aargh. I'll probably be crucified by rabid La Leche League-ers and Natural Mamas carrying flaming torches and pitchforks for making that statement, but it's true. It may not be aargh for magical women who have perfect boobs, perfect babies and who own a pet unicorn, but I have yet to meet these women (probably because I don't go to La Leche meetings). Everyone else I know has had some form of problem -- tongue tie, preemies who won't feed, excessive weight loss (for the baby), colic...This isn't to say I haven't breast fed -- Baby Stoat is getting breast milk, but it is through my tireless devotion to a nipple shield, a breast pump and heavy antidepressants that I can even manage this at all. Baby Stoat is tongue tied in a way the paediatrician refuses to recognize (so correcting it will be at our own expense), he cannot get enough milk using the nipple shield so I *still* have to pump while a hungry baby cries, I am the wrong shape for many "traditional" breast feeding positions and I have raging D-MER. A lesser woman would guzzle more Wellbutrin and buy stock in Enfamil, which is pretty tempting at times. I am persevering despite the panic attacks, pain and continual need to be milked using a professional grade breast pump because not breastfeeding makes one into a social pariah -- all so Baby Stoat can, as a teenager, remind me that he didn't ask to be born. ;)

-Breastfeeding does let you get more sleep. It also burns two Hostess cupcakes worth of extra calories a day. Maybe I'm betraying the sisterhood by admitting this, but my reasons for sticking with it may not be entirely altruistic.

-Baby nails are sharp. Ow.

-Baby manuals are designed to be helpful and impart guilt at the same time.

-Breastfeeding manuals are also designed to be helpful while imparting more guilt than a room full of elderly Catholic nuns.

-Thinking I was going to be able to balance working and parenthood without the help of a full time nanny/Daddy Stoat/grandma was ambitious, to say the least, and Baby Stoat isn't even that demanding.

-A "travel system" is cool but I am looking forward to $15 umbrella strollers.

-It's tough to worry about wee now, except when it is squirting all over the freshly painted walls. You may also want to be careful when sitting on our sofa, too.

-Six weeks is a long time.

Now I must return to gazing adoringly at Baby Stoat...happy birthday, little man. <3

FFFFFFFF.

I hate the smell of baby formula. Always have, ever since my little brother was a baby.

Now I realize what it smells like...

Failure.

*headdesk*

Got Milk? Why Yes, Yes I do.

Breastfeeding. There's a whole industry built around it.

I spent most of my pregnancy not worrying about it. I figured the more uptight about breastfeeding I was, the less chance I'd have of doing it successfully. Until today I owned one book on breastfeeding and even that was picked up for me at a yard sale for $.25. I read enough to learn the basics of a "latch" and the theory behind comfortable, safe feedings -- and that was it.

Like so much of the last two weeks, though, breastfeeding has not gone according to any kind of plan. By the time the staff handed me a Stoatling in the hospital, it was almost two whole hours after he was born and the shakes had just barely worn off for me. All I could think about was getting something to drink -- I told the nurse I was ready to drink the ultrasound gel they had in the recovery room, I was that damned thirsty. I wasn't thinking about the "first gaze" moment (Daddy Stoat had that honor), "skin-to-skin" or feeding anything. I'd just been sliced open to have a major organ and seven pounds of baby removed, then been stapled back together. Breastfeeding was emphatically not on my mind.

This being the case, Baby Stoat and I missed what is widely considered to be the golden opportunity to establish a nursing bond. About thirty minutes after birth is when the sucking reflex is strongest and that's when the baby should be, well, sucking -- instead, he was off in the nursery with Daddy while I was focusing on being stapled back together.

The hospital did try. We had a lactation consultant in twice -- even staying an extra day to make it happen -- and every nurse was convinced she would get him "on". Over four days, that was quite a few nurses who really did try, to no avail. Baby Stoat was just not latching. He dropped weight, I started frantically using a breast pump, and my life turned into an endless cycle of wash-pump-feed-wash. I will do anything to keep the Stoatling healthy, but our inability to sync up for breastfeeding just annoyed me. Surely someone, somewhere knew something about how to get around this!

I spoke with his paediatrician, who also happened to be *my* paediatrician as a child, and she gave me a list of private lactation consultants. I went home from the office that day feeling hopeful and chose a few names off of the list to call. After a few non-returned calls, a few flat out "No" answers (we do live quite a ways out from the area where we see the doctor) and admittedly scheduling a few and chickening out, my Google-fu turned up Mahala. Immediately I found the attitude on the website comforting -- I wasn't going to be made to feel guilty about pumping and bottle feeding! -- so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best as I sent off the contact form.

Diana West called me back and I explained our situation to her over the phone, and was immediately rewarded with a definite positive vibe. I instantly felt a lot better. No way I was going to chicken out this time! If I was going to have a lactation consultant out to my house, best to have it be the woman who literally wrote the book on breast feeding.We scheduled a visit and while there were no promises of miracles, I went into it with high hopes.

When Diana showed up at our house today, I was very happy to have her get right down to business, since today is one of those days when I can barely keep up with Baby Stoat's demands -- he's wanted food every hour, on the hour -- and breast feeding at the breast would take back several hours of my own time in pumping and cleaning equipment! She assessed the baby's "suck", and I wasn't entirely surprised with the diagnosis of posterior tongue tie. Several of the nurses at the hospital thought he might be tongue tied and others didn't, so it's not a total shock to hear he has some issues with getting his tongue moving the way it needs to go. It certainly explains the behaviour at the breast -- he roots, he scores, he starts to suck and then despite the fact that by that point there is milk ALL over us (and the chair, the floor, the cats and anything else in the line of fire), he drops off and looks confused. Today's assessment showed us that this is due to his tongue's inability to carry the milk in properly -- hello, explanation! -- and that if we have his frenulum clipped (*sniff* baby's first body mod!) we may well wind up with a happily breastfeeding baby.

We did try some feeding with the nipple shield and we did get a latch, all on his own, while I was reclined on the sofa. I can't even begin to say how hopeful I feel after that! It's true he didn't take in much milk, but he did it, and if we get there once now, we can get there again in the future. Baby steps for a Baby Stoat!

Apart from that we also received some great advice on how to bottle feed effectively and some advice on the best way to pump, since that is going to be our routine for the moment. So while not much has changed here at the Stoat's Nest -- it will still be a routine of clean, pump, feed, clean for a while -- I'm incredibly glad I have found some fantastic support and have a lot of hope for the future.

Next up, discussing D-MER -- or yes, it is possible for things to get more dysphoric...

Mellow

Dinner is cooking, Baby Stoat is sleeping and making stoat-y noises, the lights are low and there is some mellow music playing.

All is right with the world.

Baby Observations

I should probably at some point write up a birth story here. I've never been much for birth stories, though -- do you really need to know when my water broke or how many shots of epidural juice I had before the eventual baby-ectomy?

Besides, if you're on Twitter or Facebook with me you know it anyway -- God bless the iPad. What can I say, I was bored!

Andrew's been in the world a little over a week now and on balance it's been pretty good. There have been some bumps in the road -- who knew he would have his first "I'm-going-to-scream-my-head-off-for-hours-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it-so-ha!" moment when I snuck off for an hour or two to have my nails done? Poor Daddy Stoat, since I am the one with the mammaries and, therefore, dinner. But on the whole, while life with a baby has obviously taken some adjusting, we're doing okay.

I really just wanted to jot down a few observations from my first week of parenthood, because they're fairly new and I want to get them while they're fresh.

#1 -- I will someday write a book titled "Breastfeeding -- It's Not That *%#$! Simple". Those who know what I'm talking about will understand it when I say that Andrew has yet to latch on well, which could be a result of many things, including the Completely Unprepared Childbirth I had. My birth plan, with the nice "allow me to breast feed immediately" and "skin to skin immediately after the birth" checked off? Still saved to my desktop as Dr. I-Don't-Want-To-Discuss-This-Yet, well, didn't want to discuss it yet. Funny, I imagine had she done an internal I might have known Korma McPuddingbutt was on his way. Anyway, from all of the "nipple zealot" websites (as Daddy Stoat calls them) it seems we may have inadvertently affected Andrew's ability to latch with skipping out on those things and subsequently allowing bottle feeds in the hospital because he was losing weight with my milk supply being a bit slow to show up. So yeah -- breastfeeding? Not as simple as it sounds.

#2 -- I still refuse to worry about poo. I do, however, worry about wee. A lot.

#3 -- I have a new respect for cows.

#4 -- There is nothing more awesome than watching Daddy Stoat be a daddy. Nothing.

#5 -- Babies sleep a lot, but I spend my "down time" obsessively Googling all of the things I am likely doing wrong.

#6 -- Epidurals are good.

#7 -- C sections don't hurt. The recovery is another story. Laughter was banned for about a week.

#8 -- It was probably very smart to never, ever watch a birth video, C-section video or see an epidural being given. That unpreparedness meant I went in with no expectations, just flexible plans, and I was not freaked out about anything that happened, which for me is pretty unusual. Either that or oxytocin makes you *reaaaallllllly* mellow.

#9 -- Losing 20 pounds in a week? Freaking awesome.

#10 -- The postpartum body is a bit scary, but I actually kind of like some of the redecorating pregnancy has done. I could be okay with this.

#11 -- Lochia. Euwww!

#12 -- For every website or book with an opinion, there is an equal and opposite opinion in the next book or website. Read at your own risk. When you have time to read. Which is never, anyway. Why read when you have a baby to cuddle?

#13 -- The shower is my friend. Though I think that's as much to do with my thyroid being funny again as it is anything else. Showers make me feel normal.

#14 -- Daddy Stoat is an awesome daddy. Fastest nappy change in the West!

#15 -- I miss my feet, which have been replaced by stuffed sausages. I also miss wearing real shoes.

I'm sure there will be more of these observations in the future, but for now, that is what my brain can handle. :)

Dear Boobs,

Dear Boobs,

I'm glad you are functioning for what you are designed to do, apart from attracting men. I know I haven't always been nice to you; you've been pierced repeatedly, squished into corsets and I am constantly threatening a reduction.

However, leaking all over me without warning? Come on, don't be petty.

Have to go and change my shirt now. Gah.

Drippy.

Leaky nipples leak. Yay?

I looked down today to find the front of my shirt saturated with colostrum. Fun times.

My baby shower is October 17th. :) More to report on that front as things take shape -- right now, the only definite is that I am having my goat cheese croquettes!!

Been A While...

Just to update, for myself really since all of the ladies who started blogs with me seem to have drifted off in the vastness of the Internet!

We are 23 weeks this Sunday. Despite months of uncertainty, the final decision was to come back to the U.S. after Mum's estate was settled so I could have the support of my family during the final half of this pregnancy. It was quite daunting to pack and move the house while pregnant but it did get done. Now we're unpacking the old place and preparing for baby's arrival, slowly.

I had my 20 week scan done at almost exactly 20 weeks, about 3 weeks ago on Monday. The baby looks fantastic and we chose not to get a gender determination -- I still want the "It's a xxxxx!" surprise in delivery. :) I will probably have another another anomaly scan done on this side of the pond at the nice place that did the NT; if not, I'll pay for a private one in a few weeks.

I haven't really had much time to sit back and enjoy being pregnant, like all of the magazine articles tell me to do. It's just been too busy. I hope that we're at the tail end of that now and that once the last boxes are cleared away, I can start relaxing. Maybe. I have yet to go back to work and that is a bit disconcerting. I'd hoped to do it Monday, but looks like that won't happen and I'll be relying on the Foxy Stoat in whole for yet another month.

Still, things are moving along well and for the kicky Stoatling in there, I am very grateful. Baby shower planning has started and that is very exciting too! :D

Goodbye, Mum.

We love you.

14 weeks

Can't get the last ultrasound out of my mind. Can't wait to meet my baby, kiss that adorable little belleh, play with those tiny feets. :)

13 weeks. Welcome to Trimester 2!

A part of me can't believe we made it here. A part of me is pretty smug. A part of me, though, is terrified something is about to happen -- always.

Lots has changed in the last three weeks since the previous update. For one, I'm in another country. This was *not* a part of the plan. I'll be giving birth here. That was *not* a part of the plan, either!

The Foxy Stoat has worked very hard to make sure I am as non-stressed as possible about the whole thing, but really, giving up the swish new birthing suite I'd booked for in the US for the hospital over here was not in the plan. Very little can change that.

However, I must say that the prenatal care has been absolutely top notch. If one was to be tallying up whether we were getting value for money out of the NHS in the last three weeks, one would be forced to admit that the NHS is absolutely spot on with prenatal care. In the last three weeks I have had two ultrasounds and been booked in for a consultant's appointment for my thyroid issues, another ultrasound, a midwife appointment (which was yesterday) and an endocrinologist's appointment. I've been put under the care of every type of doctor possible to cover every angle of the pregnancy where there might need to be any monitoring at all and it's been done with pretty much what I would be inclined to call blazing speed.

I've been to a walk-in prenatal clinic where all you have to do is walk in and you can have an ultrasound whenever you like.

I've been to the emergency room (yes, that wasn't fun) and had everyone jumping to take care of me, including a ward sister walking down and hauling a sonographer up bodily to get my scan done.

I've met with a midwife and have just about managed to come to terms with *how* to give birth in the UK, been given my choice of birthing suites (not as nice as Morristown, admittedly!) and given all sorts of options for the birth.

This doesn't count the other things I haven't even had a chance to take advantage of yet, like the tax breaks we get for my being pregnant (those come later), free prescriptions and free dental work for a year after the birth. It also doesn't count the care they're giving the very ill relative we're here to care for or the great optometrist I visited yesterday which cost all of £40 -- and that was for the contacts!

I'm feeling well cared for, which is good because it looks like we'll be here for the foreseeable future due to family obligations.

Now I just have to get past three Foxy Stoat-less weeks, packing up all of our belongings and two more flights, one of which is today. That's the hard part.

9w 4d -- life marches on

Only this time, life is punctuated by every flat surface in my house being covered by pregnancy, baby and parenting magazines, scrapbook paraphernalia that I don't know how to use, and bills.

I've been feeling very much like I'm in over my head lately, but at least I'm not alone. The Foxy Stoat has impressed me with his very realistic and pragmatic views on what life with the Baby Stoat around will be like, although this could just be that he wants to justify the purchase of a new Macbook and another bass.

It's not helped by the fact that we received some disturbing (non baby related) news yesterday which doesn't change our situation immediately but has the potential to affect things in the medium to long term, including where the baby is born. I am finding this idea more copacetic now that I'm released to a regular OB but still, I would hate to have to go through the process of birth abroad and not in my hospital of choice. I have plans, damnit!

We're going to spend the day together sorting out the massive mounds of bills, going grocery shopping, and making as many future plans as is possible given the current situation.

I'm ready to see the baby again -- I wish the doppler would work well but as of yet, the baby's too small and I'm too fat. The next scan is probably going to be the nuchal translucency, which I have to schedule soon. I've debated going to a private scan place, the kind of places that do 3d scans - some of them have regular ultrasounds, too, but they won't do a scan until the NT scanning is done and they have the doctor's consent so it looks like that will have to wait. DH looked at me like I had two heads when I suggested this!

9 weeks!

Yay!

Each new week -- or, really, each new change on the pregnancy ticker -- feels like a new milestone. According to various sources, we've graduated from "embryo" to "fetus" now and the baby is either the size of a green olive, a small prune or the amount of brain cells I have left that aren't devoted to worrying about this baby.

Or, we could just go with a CRL of 22mm, since that's what the scan said.

Since I was sent off into the wild unknown of a "normal" pregnancy this week, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to have the luxury of an ultrasound or more a week anymore. To combat the mounting terror of Something Going Wrong, I bought a fetal doppler . Sure, I might not have needed the one-day shipping, but it was $3.99 per item. Sue me.

This could go one of two ways. I could, in theory, find the heartbeat immediately and feel a wonderful surge of joy and relief as I hear the steady thump of the Baby Stoat's heart.

Or, and this is far more likely, the fat on my belly could get in the way and I will wind up panicking until my next scan in June.

I know this, I know what I'm like, I *know* how paranoid I am, and still I spent $70 for even the chance at some peace of mind.

The doppler is out for delivery now. This should be fun!

8w 5d

Nearly nine weeks. Over two months. Definitely still knocked up.

I had my first "real" OB appointment today. The RE who was attending me is also an OB, and a GYN, and several other acronyms too but he doesn't handle births, just the art of knocking women up, so I had to pick a new OB last week when I was discharged.

My normal OB is nice enough and I've been seeing her since 1995 when I was first diagnosed with a hormone imbalance (PCOS didn't have a name back then) and she's also the doctor both my mother AND my grandmother use as well. However, she delivers at a hospital which is not my first hospital of choice. There is no NICU there and the birthing suites, while getting better, have the most hideous floral wallpaper imaginable. There are no facilities for water births should I decide to go that route and the prenatal classes offered are slim. Based on that, it was time to find a new OB, so I did what anyone would do -- scanned through the insurance company's listings and picked one at random.

Fortunately for me, this turned out to be the same practice my best friend goes to for her normal girlie checkups, plus that same friend's sister in law just used them to give birth and the baby looks okay, so I went with it. Glad I did, really, since -- despite the fact that I am still a touch overwhelmed -- the doctor was lovely, friendly and smiled a lot. I like that in a doctor. Smiling goes a long way when you're discussing potential complications.

I also have a metric ton of information to digest right now, what with new bloodwork (just rehashing old things like STD tests and thyroid functions) and new terms ("nuchial translucency", anyone?) so overwhelmed doesn't really begin to describe it. Right now my primary goals are to A: not throw up and B: exercise. The last one is really important; the weight is coming back pretty quickly now that I'm not riding. I have to figure out something to do with Wings over the next year so he's not out of shape; right now I'm thinking 2x a week longeing for 45 minutes and one training ride by Rose. I'd consider half-leasing but no one suitable has come up yet and yes, I'm fussy and I'd demand that they lesson with Rose. Since all of her students are, in fact, horsed at the moment I'll just have to wait.

I hate not riding, I hate putting on weight and my emotional state is a whole other post worth of self-pity, but hey, at least I'm growing another head inside of me. This was the goal. :)