March 13th I had a final follow up appointment with my OB that didn't go nearly as well as I had hoped. A lot of the issues I wanted to discuss we didn't get to, because of two more pressing issues:

• A screaming Libby
• My still unreasonably high blood pressure

The preeclampsia had still not resolved itself completely. Crap.

I am a total freak of nature. Not only did I develop this condition AFTER delivery, but after 4 months, it's still an issue. A month ago I was doing so well on medication that Dr. Swizzle Stick decided I should be fine without it. Not so, as it turns out. And again I say, Crap.

I asked about my chances for having preeclampsia again. The standard chance is 1 in 3, my chance, given my BMI and family history of the condition, is about the same as the chances of being hit by a car if one plays in traffic all day. Crap indeed.

This brought us around to a discussion of my weight. I am not grossly overweight, but I have definitely gotten heavier in the past two years, and it has affected my health. There is no denying that a significant weight loss would probably help this situation considerably.

So the determination: back onto medication, and a weight loss plan. With the not so subtle hint that I should pursue these options with my general practitioner. As in didn't refill my BP medication, and said she'd see my for my next pap or pregnancy. This, in case you couldn't tell, is what's known as "Le Grande Brush-Off."

So I made an appointment with the newest Dr. at the practice we use. Let's call her Dr. Dandy because dandy is just what she was. She is a woman on a mission, and that mission is to get me back on track, and oh, blessed Dr-patient transference, I love her for it already.

She was terribly concerned about the quality and quantity of rest I'm getting, and how I'm taking care of myself. Terribly. Concerned. She didn't like the level of stress I'm under, and suggested that I find a polite way to tell a few folks to buzz off, and set some boundaries (so if you've been griping at me because you don't like our particular brand of attachment parenting, drop dead). Rx: less grief, more sleep, more help, more me time. Me: floored.

As for my blood pressure, it was a bit lower than it had been previously, and she took this as a good sign. Rather than medicate me again and risk dropping it too low, she suggested I modify my diet further, and monitor much more regularly. Rx: Lower salt, no more sodas period. Me: meh.

She applauded my weight loss and told me to keep up the good work. I have already reached my pre-baby weight, and I had lost 3 pounds since I had last been in their office on the 7th of March. Kudos to me.

She fussed over my aching back and shoulders, and wrote me a prescription for enough Flexeril to choke a horse. Like, three a day. Yeah, dude, whoa.

So with all that, a general physical, and bloodwork, she sent me on my way with orders to return in a month to check on my progress. I have to say I'm pleased and feeling much more optimistic. Or it could just be the Flexeril.

1. Tarah wants you to know. Because you should know, knowing's important. *The More You Know* Thanks NBC.
2. Tarah wants pork wafers. I had to look this one up. Apparently it's some sort of junk food from the Kim Possible cartoon. I'm actually relieved, after all this is the south, I thought someone might have found a whole new kind of gross.
3. Tarah wants to get to gether to marrow. To marrow? Like the stuff inside bones? Spell check just can't help some people.
4. Tarah wants to find me a boyfriend. Totally. A pediatrician, who'll be so grateful for the introduction that he will take my frantic phone calls at all hours, and never sound ticked that I woke him up.
5. Tarah wants to be seen with a smart guy. Smart guy? Okay folks, time to bust out the handy, dandy Wikipedia and look up "oxymoron."
6. Tarah wants to trade work for use of a car. A nice car. Not to be confused with the Escort of Shame parked in my driveway currently. Actually a minivan would be better, one with the remote that opens the doors automatically. Work? Well jeez, isn't just bein' pretty enough?
7. Tarah wants to speak to you. Do you feel that your long distance phone service is serving you well? Here at Kudzu Bell, we have some discounted packages that we think you'll be interested in. *click* Hello? Hello?
8. Tarah wants to work in the US. I don't care what anyone says, I'm already working in the US. That snooty teen queen who works reception in our doctor's office can take her "unemployed" categorization of me and stick it in her ear. I'm a stay at home mom, dangit. I can work circles around her blonde frosted butt.
9. Tarah wants attention. How did they know? Hey, Hey look at me, look at me!
10. Tarah wants to be cool. I so already am. Too cool for school.

I had so much fun, I even did Ben:

1. Ben wants to be a millionaire. Well no kiddin'. Who doesn't?
2. Ben wants to toe the J. Lo line. Doubtful, not even for the aforementioned million dollars. I don't know what kind of prescription Marc Anthony has to put up with her, but whatever it is, I want double the dose.
3. Ben wants Dustin. Um, only if he's a general contractor, we need the bathroom remodeled. Dustin had better be a tile genius. Bonus points if he refinishes my kitchen cabinets.
4. Ben wants you. But barring that possibility, he'd take a two liter of Dew and some homemade pot roast.
5. Ben wants New Jersey. That's right, the whole state, just hand it over and noone has to get hurt. Whaddya mean "Why?" It's the garden state, 'nuff said.
6. Ben wants to give back rub to Annabelle. Over my dead body.
7. Ben wants Kate to leave the sleuthing to the authorities. Of course, Kate should let the authorities figure out who was doing lines in those pictures because it certainly wasn't her. She was too busy doing heroin in her underwear. Snorting blow is so last season.
8. Ben wants to know how you'd describe him. Because he's feelin' a little low, so come on now, feed the ego.
9. Ben wants his own life. So he can feed it, and pet it, and love it, and call it George.
10. Ben wants ham radio. Probably not, but he might go for a ham sandwich.

I'd still eat him with buttah.

edited to add: Stupid me, I didn't even post the furry lobster's link. And now I can't get the B-52s "Rock Lobster" outta my head.