Okay, I know that's the slogan for Wal-Mart, and this story takes place at Ikea, but it's fitting and funny and I couldn't resist. This is a longer-than-usual one, so settle in.
It's time to get the nursery in order. Since I have the summer off from work, and I'm obviously not doing any marathon or half-marathon or cycling training this year, I am finding myself with A LOT more time and energy on my hands than I am used to during these months. I never would have thought that I would have MORE energy than usual while pregnant. I'm realizing that those hot summer runs took a lot more out of me than I ever knew. One of my summertime goals is to get the baby's room all set up and decorated before I head back to school in August.
Bitty Bebe's room is going to be one that we previously used an an office. Our townhome was built in the 1940's, and we frequently encounter many puzzling architectural inefficiecies that were used back in that decade. For example, the small galley-style kitchen--why would anyone want such little workspace in the kitchen? And why would you use a regular door to access a wide closet?
This was the issue that we wanted to tackle as we prep the room for the babe; improving closet access by installing folding closet doors. We also planned to have the guys install a ceiling fan and paint. The construction guys were scheduled to start this week, which meant one thing for us--we had to get all our sh@# out of there.
Our office had become a catch-all for a lot of the junk that we couldn't find another place for. In addition to all of the reorganizing, relocating, and purging, we had to find a new solution for some of our books. One of the bookcases that we were currently using had to be crammed into the corner, supported by two walls, in order to keep it from collapsing. A $30 bookcase from Target, I guess you get what you pay for.
A shopping trip for a new bookcase was imminent. My hunt led me to Ikea, in hopes of finding a decent bookcase (at least better than the $30 one) for cheap. Ikea has many smart marketing strategies, like the way they make you weave through the entire lower level of "marketplace" products in order to reach the cash registers. You literally need a map in order to bypass the yellow-brick road that winds you through the dozen departments of items you had no idea that you needed--until now.
I, personally, am always a sucker for the the wafting odor of Swedish meatballs that envelops your nose the moment you walk into the building. It's an unusual balance between institutionally cafeteria-like yet deliciously salivating at the same time. I often wonder if Ikea intentionally pumps the scent down from the kitchen to the entrance to lure customers up to the cafe the way the Pied Piper led the rats of Hamelin to their watery death in the Weser River.
Today, the line was long; a week-long promotion of free meals for childen up to age twelve the culprit. But, I, intoxicated with the bouquet of Scandinavian comfort food, patiently joined the line, eagerly awaiting my fix.
The line moved quickly, and soon I was at the cash register to pay and then dig in. Suddenly, I started feel dizzy, see spots, and feel unsteady. In the briefest moment I was down on the ground, and I opened my eyes to see two ladies peering over me. "Are you okay, dear?" one of the women asked. "I feel like I'm going to faint," I replied. "You did" the woman responded.
Fortunately, the two women hovering over me were nurses who also happened to be shopping. They helped me over to a table, brought my tray of food and got me something to drink. The kind ladies tended to me and assured that I was alright. They were concerned that I may have injured my head because they heard such a loud bang when I hit the floor. Luckily, and as my husband will tell you, I am very hard-headed, and I didn't suffer a hint of a bump or tenderness.
I actually felt better right away and figured that there was no reason to let the perfectly good Swedish meatballs go to waste, so I ate my lunch before deciding that I should probably call my OB's office to see if this whole fainting incident was something that I should be concerned about.
My OB wanted me to go to the Emergency Room in order to rule out the possiblity of something more serious. So, the good patient that I am, that's what I did. Blood work, of course, was part of my check-up in the ER. And you know how that goes over with me. I warned the ER nurse of my Scarlett O'Hara tendencies, in hopes that he would be EXTRA careful inserting the IV. Mark went to the hospital with me and tried to keep me distracted with conversation as the nurse did the dirty work. "Okay, you're going to feel a poke," the nurse informed me. Don't TELL me about it, dummy! I thought. I'm trying not to think about this!
A moment later, I heard the dreaded words from the nurse "Well, that didn't work." Great, he was going to have to start all over again. By this time, I was starting to get that now-familiar woozy feeling. The blood-pressure monitor behind me starting beeping, indicating that my BP had plummeted below a certain level. Although I didn't COMPLETELY pass out this time--I still had somewhat of an inkling of consciousness--I was out of it enough that the nurse was able to insert the IV into another vein without me really noticing.
No worries, all of my lab work, EKG, and whatever else they tested on me while I was there came back perfectly fine. I'm fine, baby's fine. The doc attributed the fainting to something called a vagal reaction. Which basically means that I faint a lot. Thanks for the clarification.
I don't know if it was those low, low prices or the allure of Swedish meatballs that caused me to faint dead away, but I write this as another warning to all of you women readers--perhaps shopping at Ikea, like going to the restroom, is best done in groups.
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