The Sweet Smell of Baby Shit (working title)

So much to say.....

2006-01-25T12:12:00.000-10:00

so little time to say it.

Such is the story of this blog. Wow, I have really neglected it, and my fellow blogging buddies. But seriously, if I had time to say it right now, I would spell out all the reasons why I didn't blog for so long, and why now that I am back, I still find so little time to say all the crap I wanna say. But I will eventually, and you can take that as a threat.

Here is a sample of my day so you have an understanding of why blogging falls short on my priority list:

5:45am Finally drag my spent carcass out of bed after hubs has been gently caressing me, then tapping me, then flicking me, then smacking me for at least 45 minutes to try and wake my sorry ass up.

6am Start trying to coax Makena out of bed as sweetly and wonderfully as possible otherwise the punches start flying and the screaming starts--her, not me.

6:15am Finally get Makena dressed and downstairs and start the next battle: trying to brush her hair.

6:30 Pack Kaili's bottles and shit, along with pumping accoutrements; try and stuff my face with cereal or anything closely resembling breakfast.

6:45am Wake Kaili, change diaper, dress her, offer her at least one engorged boob.

7am Out of house (on a good day), in the car, and settle into morning rush hour traffic, hope that Kaili falls back asleep without any screaming, and try not to nod off during the 45min-1hour commute.

8am Arrive at care-giver' s house, thrust engorged boob #2 in Kaili's face while still in car, burp kid, try and avoid flying spit-up on work clothes, drop off at care-giver's and try not to grab kid and run into hills all the while telling myself that my family can live on peanut butter and jelly, be happy living in a tent on the beach, wearing clothes fashioned from ocean debris.

8:30am Arrive at a thankless job, at which my boss is still treating me like shit because I had the gall to get pg and take a 4mo. Maternity leave (long story that I will prolly write about some other time).

From 8:30am to 4pm Try and look productive even when daydreaming about girls and in between strapping on the P*imp N Style 2x's throughout the day.

4pm Hightail it outta there! Speed on over to care-giver's house, scoop up sorely missed baby in my arms, smother her with kisses, get detailed report on how many shits she took and volume of said shits, also receive reports on number of smiles, coos, zerbets, and generally cute things she did while away from me.

4:15pm Head over to Makena's school, hope the baby doesn't fall asleep on the way, pick up Makena and listen to all her stories about how much she hates her teacher, the asshole kids that pick on her, and her general dislike of 1st grade and the mounds of homework her Nazi of a teacher assigned to her that day. Give Makena lots of hugs, kisses, and positive words of wisdom and fantasize about kicking the ass of the big girl in 5th grade that always picks on my precious cherub.

4:30-6pm Depending upon the day and how many assholes are on the road, this is the usual time that the girls and I spend commuting back home. During which time, we sing, play I Spy, girl-talk, Makena usually gives Kaili a bottle, tries to keep her entertained, Makena and I strike bargains about getting the aforementioned homework completed, and try to keep the bickering and the mutiny at bay over the pain-in-mamma's-ass homework. All that peppered with comments on jerk drivers and wishing we could invent flying cars.

6pm-8pm Try to get Makena to not hate The Man, stick with the program, and complete her homework with as little tantruming, time-outs, and name calling as possible (her, not us). Try to fit in a nutritionally balanced dinner (yeah, right), prepared by the hubs. Insert my boobs in Kaili's face way too often because she likes to make up for missed mommy time by incessant nursing. Plop the little one in her newly purchased high chair, stuff her with organic rice cereal prepared with breast-milk, introduce the "yellow veggies" and convince her that they are the nectar of the gods and much preferable to the crap the big ones in the house are shoveling into their mouths. Wash and sterilize bottles and baby paraphenalia because I am obsessive and will practice any kind of voodoo to prevent the little one from catching all the lovely bugs and virus' that prey on day-care babies (so far so good, no illnesses yet *knocking on wood, saying 10 hail Mary's, throwing a pinch of salt over shoulder, clicking heels together 10 times*). Get the girls bathed, pajama-ed (in Makena's case, convince her to wear some clothes for a change, girl has nudist tendencies), and calmed down and prepped for the big finish: BED.

8pm-9pm Struggle to make that bed thing a reality.

9pm Look around the house and wish I could afford a cleaning lady, or at least perfect human cloning so that I can have 2 of me to get all the things that I don't have time for completed.

9:05 Stop daydreaming and give up on the idea of tidying up or getting anything else done and collapse in a catatonic heap somewhere and say a little silent prayer that this will be the night that I get at least 5 hours of continuous sleep.

For the rest of the night: somehow lose track of time by watching tv, surfing the web to check up on fellow bloggers and long lost sistas, and not accomplishing much of anything. Drag my ass to bed, but then realize that I cannot fall asleep because the hubs is snoring so loudly that I think a freight train is in my boudoir, I can't stop my mind from churning and thinking about all the things that I WILL get done tomorrow that I neglected today, and calculating how much sleep I will get before Kaili wakes up for one of sometimes many nighttime feedings if I fall asleep right this very second....or this very second....ok, this second....no wait, this second....or how about right now.....or now........

Midnight to 5:45am: Hear plaintive cries on the monitor to feed much fought for, much desired 2nd born child. Trudge bleary eyed into room, feed child, fall asleep in glider rocker, place precious baby back in crib, and head back to bed. If this routine happens more than once during the night, then time in glider rocker is spent seriously questioning the intelligence of decision to have a second, sleep stealing, vaginal canal enlarging, milk parasitic, belly flab causing, precious angel baby.

5:45am Oh shit, time to lather, rinse, repeat.

So that is my day in a nutshell. Pretty lucky, aren't I? No seriously, it doesn't escape me, and not a single day passes, that I don't feel this incredible feeling of wonder, that even when my life is at its suckiest, it still is pretty fucking wonderful on the whole. Really. Fucking. Wonderful. I am a lucky individual. Not quite sure who I blew to deserve it all really.

I think I am going to be sick

2006-01-11T11:06:00.000-10:00

Apparently even though I have 2 gorgeous, luscious lovelies at home, the struggle to conceive and carry to term has left me a tad bitter. This makes my stomach turn. Ugh. For those of you who still are struggling and are still reading, I want to rip her hair out in your honor. Un. Fucking. Believable.

Why does this bother me so?

Shit happens, man

2006-01-09T12:59:00.000-10:00

Notice the date? Just a special little gift from my sweet baby to me.

Note to self: if baby wakes up from nap and is giggling and cooing more than usual, said baby is probably up to no good.

Being a parent for me means being able to embrace the shit. Love the shit. Become one with the shit because it will end up all over me eventually.

Sweet, silicone breastices!

2005-12-23T12:07:00.000-10:00

You know that booby prize I have referenced in the past? Well, just wanted you to know that it wasn't fictional, it really does exist!

Well, actually, this is really is the contraption that saved my hide and allowed me to return to work. See, Kaili is one of those picky kids. From day one she had shown her preference to the boob, my boob, allowing and accepting no substitutions please. This means no use of synthetic nipple replacements of any kind, even the parental aid I like to call the Baby Plug (also known as the pacifier). This kid ardently, adamantly refused to accept a bottle when first introduced, sealing my fate as the functional "milk truck" and squashing all hope of my husband getting up for those late night feedings.

I tried just about every single bottle variation on the market. I became obsessed with the nuances of every nipple permutaion out there.

Finally, at some high end, over priced, baby boutique, I found the above pictured item. My husband admonished me for spending more money on such a silly looking contraption, and bitched and moaned at how hard it was to use and how dis-functional it really was. He complained that it wasn't ergonomic, and that it was akward, but really, I think the problem was that he just forgot how to handle a breast. I digress.

The booby contraption finally came to the test however. I had tickets to see a band with a visiting friend. I wasn't about to piss money away and not use the tickets, so I had to leave the house. It was sink or swim time. And after what I imagined was hours of screaming, downplayed for my sanity by my friend who babysat for me, Kaili finally settled in and grudgingly took a few ounces from the booby contraption! What joy! Sweet relief!

Hubs still argues that it was simply desperation that finally broke my child of her stubborn refusal of all nipples synthetic, but I give all the credit to the booby contraption. And while it is no longer needed as Kaili is finally making use of the small fortune that I invested in A*vent products, I still look fondly at the boob and the freedom that it gave me. And hell, with the money that I spent on it, it has got to have other uses, right? I am thinking that it could also function as some kind of marital aid of some sort. See, there I go again, finding some way to bring it all back to the sex. Is is abundantly clear to everyone that I am not getting any? I am so sex starved it just isn't funny. Really, it's not funny. So stop laughing now. That means you, Zeeks.

Thanks Santa....

2005-12-23T11:35:00.000-10:00

...but I already have EXACTLY what I have been wishing for all this time. Everything I ever wanted in this life is sitting right there with you.

I am humble, oh so humble this Holiday Season, and more grateful than words could ever express.

My only wish: That all of YOU, dear Internets, have some joy, some peace, and whole lotta love this Holiday. Oh, and a little sex to top it off would be just dandy too! What? I can't always be good! Can't give up the naughty!

I've got a joke for you....

2005-12-13T15:47:00.000-10:00

What is mustard yellow, smells like sour milk, has 4 eyes, and never sleeps????

I'll let you ponder that for a bit.....

OK, time's up. The answer is ME!

So I am feeling the need to come back to ye olde blog again, and intend to do so soon, but I would like a little audience participation. Heh. That implies that there is still an audience! But for those of you still audience-ing, (gluttons for punishment or tride and true friends?) I want your opinion.

A. Should I come back to the old stomping grounds and still blog away as the "Bermuda Triangle of Embryos"?

B. Since losing embryos may very well be in my past, should I start up a new blog under a different name and regale/bore you with tales of shitty diapers, latest parenting guffaws, and adventures of "Scooter Pie and Sweet Potato"

C. Or should I keep telling it like it is here, but change the name of the blog?

I am a suck ass decision maker, as evidenced by my lack of blogging because I was perplexed by this very issue, so I leave it up to the stragglers and miscreants that are still lurking about...abducted by aliens! Hmph!

And the real question remains: can I put coherent thoughts together to blog about in the first place in between my limited sleep, stuffing my face with any calorie laden food to keep my milk supply up, and the whirring noise of the Medela P*imp N Style?

Other than that, life is glorious people. REALLY fucking glorious!

Opine away little monkeys.

Mabel, she's the BOMB!

2005-08-05T13:46:00.000-10:00

The booby prize and the distinct knowledge of knowing that you are my soul mate if you can name the artist of the song in the title....

Funny story...while hubby and I were going around and around on names and could never agree on one, hubby kept reminding me of his love of the name Mabel. I rejected the name immediately- OVER and OVER again, but hubby kept coming back to the name.

After this 8lb 11oz luscious, delectable, fruit of my loins popped out from her 41 week bachelorette pad, and we established that she was indeed a she, hubby once again reiterated his love of the name Mabel. I was too exhausted and distracted by my task of counting fingers and toes and studying the Klingon like ridges on my new daughter's head to bring forth my objections once again to the name. Oh, yeah, I was also distracted by all the med students poking and prodding at my placenta and the unique learning experience that it presented.

The pediatric nurse then came in to take away my rotund little cherub of joy, and Keith and I couldn't help but notice the name proudly displayed upon her nametag--yep, you guessed it, it was MABEL. Keith called it kismet, divine intervention. I waited until later to tell Keith "screw divine intervention, we ARE NOT NAMING HER MABEL!"

And so my friends, I introduce to you..........

KAILI ANNE

And for those of you mainlanders the pronunciation is (ky-lee). I know, I know, we are one of those obnoxious assholes that has to throw in some unique spelling to make her stand out. I can see it now, when she is in 3rd grade, she will come home crying that each and every once of her Valentine's Day cards will have some butchered spelling of her name. But as long as we stay here on this rock, at least there will be a bunch of people who will get it right.

I am unsure as to the exact meaning of her name...Keith looked it up and said it meant sweet potato, but I looked it up and it said that it was the name of some obscure Hawaiian goddess. Either way, she is one delicious little sweet potato who I can't stop kissing and cuddling for one minute.

I have to take turns, however, and share her with one of her greatest admirers....her big sister.

So sorry about leaving all you guys hanging for so long. And my sincere thanks and return of all the love and support that I have received! This is all I have time for right now. The haze of lack of sleep and my inability to see past the huge pile of laundry leaves my blogging abilities to fall by the wayside. I see a glimmer of light on the horizon, so I promise to be back soon with tales of vulgarity, baby poop, cracked nipples, and urges to drink copious amount of alcohol, but first I must go see and OB about a gaping whole of a vagina. Be back soon!

Janet - please erase this post soon!

2005-07-31T05:07:00.000-10:00

I have decided to fill up space, as I assume everyone else is stalking Janet's blog multiple times per day in hopes to get an update or picture of her new baby.

I'll let you all know that I got an brief e-mail from Janet that all is well. PART of the reason she hasn't posted is because her mother bought them a new computer desk and it took forever for her husband to put the computer back together. (But, now that it's back on... well, I can make no excuses for her)

Janet said that she is tired a lot, but otherwise all is well. Her mother has recently left as well. So... come on, Janet - - you better update your blog soon! If you don't, you may regret adding me as a contributor ... he he he (sinister laugh)

BABY NEWS!!!!!!!

2005-07-10T10:21:00.000-10:00

Janet's darling little girl entered the world this morning (Sunday) at 7:34 am.

Stats: 8 pounds, 11 ounces and 21 1/2 inches long (big baby!!)
Name: As of yet unknown (what, were you expecting her to be named already?)

The Scoop: (Janet, I apologize in advance if I got these details screwed up.)

Janet's water broke Sat evening/Sun morning at 12:30 am. She went straight to the hosptial due to Strep B and the need to start treatment right away. Since the meds for Strep B need to be administered every four hours until delivery, they started heavy doses of Pitocin (sp?) which, of course, brought on monster contractions. Janet managed to go until 4 am sans medication, but needed a break, so had an epidural so she could take a quick rest. At 7:34 am, after three pushes, her baby was born.

Janet was able to breastfeed for about 20 minutes before the baby was taken away. When I talked to her, she was eating breakfast (around 11:00 her time) and waiting for both the nurses to bring the baby back and Keith to arrive with Makenna.

Janet said the baby looks like Makenna already. Her hair is blonde and a little curly. She is excited and perhaps a little nervous to see how Makenna will respond to the reality of having a little sister. Thankfully, Makenna really wanted a sister (and didn't want a brother), so this should help.

But, in true Bermuda style - Janet's placenta was attached strangely. Instead of the cord being attached somewhere in the center, it was attached at the edge. The doctor paraded in all the med students for a interesting lesson on her placenta telling them "you'll probably never see something like this again!!!". Luckily, the Dr. added that if her water broke differently, it could have been a very high risk and emergency situation.

I'm thrilled for Janet, Keith, and Makenna. And what an amazing little girl this must be. She is surely an "odd breaker" and is only a few hours old! Janet may be home from the hosptial as early as Mon evening, if not sometime on Tuesday. She will be posting updates when home, no doubt and hopefully pictures!!!

Congrats Janet!!!!!

STRIPPED...

2005-07-08T07:18:00.000-10:00

...membranes that is.

Went in for my 40week 3 day app. It was very disappointing. All the pain and pressure that I have been having does not equal or relate to the progress my cervix has been making. As a matter of fact, my cervix is still exactly the same as it was last week. So the good ol doc proceeded to touch me in a way that would be truly pornographic and take on a whole new meaning in the bedroom: she "stripped my membranes". And let me tell you, she had to really make a tremendous effort to not only reach the damn cervix which seems to be hiding somewhere up near my throat, but then she had to really rely on her dainty little fingers to try and get through my measly little barely 1cm dilation. GODD TIMES PEOPLE, GOOD TIMES! It was quite awkwardward to be "fondled" in such a way in front of my husband, but then that is me, always letting my thoughts go straight to the gutter.

Anyway, the baby seems to be ok. The heart rate is a lot lower than usual, somewhere around 135 as compared to its usual 150-160's, but there isn't much room for the damn kid lately, so doc said that he/she is just resting.

Head is very firmly down in the pelvic girdle, so once my damn cervix decides to behave, I won't have far to push.

I have "dropped" significantly, actually lost 3 cm in fundal height, so now I can rest my beer cans on my belly comfortably! The Joy!

I gained a pound, bringing the new total up to 14lbs!!!! But don't be fooled, remember how much I lost in the first trimester, so GROSS weight gain is actually 26lbs.

Urine clear and bp nice and mellow just like me (psyche!).

So the biggest disappointment is that my body just seems to be content at holding onto this pregnancy just like I hold a grudge. So we had the INDUCEMENT talk, which bums me out completely.

See, I know it is probably in my head, but I fear Pitocin in a big way. I blame the evil Pit for the horrific contractions, long labor, and the need to break down and get an epidural with Makena after 30 &*^%$@*^ flippin hours of labor with her.

I was really hoping to avoid my arch nemesis Pit this time around. Hell, I was/am having delusions of grandeur to even try and make it au naturelle this time with no epi or meds of any kind. And hell, I guess it can still happen, but I am feeling a little defeated at this point. I will be heading into Labor and Delivery at 3pm Sunday afternoon for my first dose of Misoprostol and overnight monitoring. Doc says to prepare for a 2 day event, especially if my body decides to reject this whole inducement thing. And for those of you who know me, you know that stubbornness is one of my most abundant qualities. So I forsee a long, long, looooooooooooooooooooooooong L&D. Hell, Makena took 42 hours or so to pop out, why should I believe all the lovely tales of the 2nd child being so much faster? I seem to be famous for bucking trends anyway.

Doc of course suggested the best 3 things I can do to prevent the dreaded "I" word:
SEX
NIPPLE STIMULATION
WALKING

So Keith is helping me out with #1 and #2. I just bought an Isis the other day, so I may sit down and watch a movie and work on #2 myself. And my mom is helping me out with #3 with her lust for shopping and spending ungodly amounts on me. I think we may even go to the beach tomorrow and I will go bounce around in the surf and get some sea weed up my snatch to see if that might help things along as well.

In the meantime, please keep your name ideas coming and either Zeeks or I will keep you guys informed.

Oh, and one more favor: if there are any of you out there that have the knowledge/expertise/advice to give, could you please guide me as to which products to purchase in the way of

SLINGS

NURSING BRAS

????????????

Merci Buckets!

Uh oh, mom is waking up, gotta go!

The Great Baby Naming Contest....no purchase necessary

2005-07-06T08:36:00.000-10:00

Super stealth blogging is nearly impossible at this point. I REALLY, REALLY don’t want my mom to discover my blog, so keeping you guys updated minute by minute is nearly impossible. It isn’t as if I have anything to hide, but my mom is SO DAMN UP IN MY BIDNESS ALL THE TIME, that it would be nice to at least keep my blog from her.

So not much is happening over here…I am 40 weeks 2 days and no baby yet. My body is JUST ABOUT DONE with this process though, but I won’t complain here. Suffice to say that there is NO MORE ROOM AT THE INN for this growing baby. It will be a welcome relief when I am no longer supplying room and board.

There is one HUGE problem however, and this is where you guys come in…

I think it is because I was in denial of giving birth to a live baby for so long, then it was work keeping me busy, and now it is all the last minute cleaning, reorganizing, and nesting going on, but this child HAS NO NAME YET!!!!!

The best I can come up with at this point is THE ONE WHO WILL NOT BE NAMED.

And Keith and Makena aren’t much help either. So far their contributions are as follows:

Makena: Porkchop, Cerberus, My baby, and Charlotte

Keith: Stryder, Ravi, Mabel, and Ranger

The name that is getting the most attention in the household for the last month or so is:

JAK JAK DINBANG

So you see my friends, I am at a loss. I have no idea what to name this kid, and the contributions of the other family members ARE NOT HELPING!!!!!

I am taking suggestions, any suggestions, no really, any at all suggestions.

I have a fear that I will end up coming home with a child and blank birth certificate. Maybe we should just call him/her Blank.

Oh, and I have got nothing in the way of *feeling* if it is a boy or a girl, so gender neutral name suggestions are welcomed.

Hurry, before I pop……

Testing Testing... Baby Alert System

2005-07-05T10:16:00.000-10:00

Beep!!!!!! This is a test. This is only a test.

The beep you just heard was a test of the Baby Alert System. Had this been an actual Baby Alert, the beep would be followed by graphic details of the event and updates on mom's condition.

This was only a test.

(The preceeding message was brought to you by Zeeks.)

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Don't tell my mom that I am online...

2005-06-29T21:55:00.000-10:00

Can't post long...mother alert. My mom that is. She is in town helping me prep for the baby, which really translates to her buying mad amounts of things and us rearranging and reorganizing my WHOLE HOUSE. Doesn't leave much time to post, especially when she is the nosy sort and is always looking over my shoulder, checking my temperature, asking me if I am having contractions, and nagging me to keep my feet up.

I'll give you the down and dirty....

39 week app was Monday. I am barely 1cm and 0% effaced. I have elephant looking feet that NEVER go away at this point, but my pressure is only 104/56, so still no worries. I only gained .5 lbs, but have grown even more GI-normous. Doc estimates at least and 8lbs baby. She says that she thinks I might blow any minute, and would be surprised if I make it to my next app on the 7th.

Am preparing like mad for the arrival. Although at this point, the house is in such disarray, that if I go into labor, I will be taking up permanent residence at the hospital. Keep fingers crossed that we get everything cleaned and put away before I undergo the most excruciating pain ever known to humankind.

My birthday was Saturday. I turned 32. Keith gave me the BEST present EVER!!!!! He took pity on the fact that I have burned out the motor on my special marital aide appliance and bought me a brand new, pretty pink thing. I love that man.

I am supposed to be officially on maternity leave as of 5pm last Friday, but my boss is still bugging me about doing some reports and shit. Right now I hate my boss. If I look back over this pregnancy, she has been one serious hag throughout. I think I am going to stick it to her really hard and take more leave than I planned. I have almost 7 mos. paid leave coming, she hopes that I take 2 or 3, so maybe I will make her squirm and stretch it out to 4 or 5. She is seriously on my shit list right now.

Ok, I better get going...Mom is getting suspicious of my furious typing. I will keep you guys posted...and if worse comes to worse, Zeeks will make an appearance over here and update you all should I go into labor.

Crap...gotta go....here comes Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

BEHOLD!!!!! THE GRANNY PANTIES!!!!!!!!

2005-06-21T09:08:00.000-10:00

WARNING: WHAT FOLLOWS IS VERY DISTURBING PICTURES! I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE THERAPY BILLS THAT WILL ENSUE! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK, AND FOR THOSE OF YOU THAT ASKED FOR IT.....IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I believe that this turkey is DONE cooking! Yes folks, that is my once pristine "innie". The advantage: no more pesky accumulation of belly lint! HUZZAH!

And one to tug at your heart strings....

Will it be possible to love the new one as much as I love Version 1.0??????

When wiping your own ass becomes a luxury: a 37 week update

2005-06-14T12:32:00.000-10:00

Now I am not complaining here folks, just think of it as documentation of the + and -'s of pregnancy, but apparently, I am no longer able to wipe my own ass efficiently and effectively. This is demonstrated by the heart attack that I had when I saw brown smears on my undies at my last visit to the Little Lass' room. I did a little exploratory reconnaissance, and determined the smears to be left over from an earlier visit, and not the start of spotting that can be the harbinger of onset of labor. So the problem becomes: How do I wipe my ass effectively? If I do what I have been taught to do since the wee stages of potty training, then I should be wiping from behind, right? Well, to do so, means that I have to twist and dip, which given my current girth, is REALLY hard to do without pulling a back muscle and letting out obscene grunts in the public restroom, which can be a bit embarrassing. Or, I can go against the mores of good hygiene and wipe from the front, but there seems to be a rather large obstacle barring my reach. Unless I am able to channel the greatness of STRETCH ARMSTRONG from my youth, I am physically incapable of reaching from that direction. So I guess that leaves me with only a few choices: round up a directory of all bidets in the near vicinity, which probably means potty trips to multi million dollar homes at Black Pointe, or it means living with skid marks on the ol granny panties. Lucky for my hubby that I am the laundress in the family and he doesn't have to be exposed to such atrocities.

Speaking of panties, I can also inform you all (because the details of my panties is OF COURSE on the top 5 list of important facts in all your heads), that another hallmark of my current largesse is that I had to finally give up wearing my regular bikini undies and switch over to THE BEHEMOTH GRANNY MATERNITY PANTIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now if someone could explain how I can take pics with my cell phone and upload them onto the blog, I would be happy to share them with you because there are no words to describe their monstrosity. It is a horror that can only be fully realized with an actual picture.

Random comments that have been tossed my way lately:

Coworker: Jesus Christ you are HUGE!!! You must have doubled in size since just last week!
Me: That is right jackass, now get the fuck out of here because you are FIRED!!!! (Not my real response, but I am sure you can imagine that the sentiment was real).

Starbuck's Bariste: "Are you sure you don't want to make that Grande Coffee Frappacino a DECAF?" As he was eyes focused not on my face, but on my belly.
Me: Yes, I AM SURE!!! NOW TAKE MY MONEY AND HAND OVER THE CONTRABAND AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT!!! (Again, not reality).

Hubby: Hey, do you think you can move out of the way? The remote control signal can't get around your huge belly.
Me: Well, as long as your dick can reach, that is all I really care about at this moment. (Again, literary license people!)

OB: Wow, your belly is so pretty for being so large! Most women with more than one pregnancy, this large, have huge linea negras and lots of stretch marks. You should be very happy.
Me: Well, thank goodness my belly is attractive because my labia are hanging down to my knees and my vagina is scaring away all the villagers. (Reality folks, I kid you not.)

Now I will conclude with my 37 week OB visit:

weight: a loss of 0.4 lbs. I plan on marketing my ALL OREO diet, look for it at bookstores near you soon.

fundal height: I think she said 39, up from 35 in just 10 days, thus the need for everyone to point out how large I am and how I look like I may pop any day now.

heart rate: 166bpm This without any intake of caffeine. Proof that I am giving birth to a humming bird, a very large humming bird.

blood pressure: picture perfect, no change

urine: clean and clear, no sign of the 3 lines of cocaine I snorted moments before the doc visit. Kidding, people, JUST KIDDING!

And I am happy to report that the searing, burning, bone crushing pain that I am feeling in my pubic symphysis is because the little bugger has FINALLY chosen to go head down and its undoubtedly Eintstein like noggin in firmly entrenched in my pelvic girdle. I am really happy about this, despite the pain, because now I can stop obsessively reading about C-sections due to breech positioning.

Lastly, but certainly not least, because I can't completely relax and be left with nothing to obsessively google, is that my Strep B culture came back positive. Doc was very reassuring about how common it was; how as long as we know and I am hopped up on penicillin when I am laboring that no harm should come to the bambino; that everything should be fine and I can ignore the statistics on infant death as a result of early onset meningitis, pneumonia, and brain damage due to untreated, raging Strep B infections. Thank goodness I had no visions of a home birth. I am firmly, 100%, all for a hospital birth. As a matter of fact, I may just check in soon to make sure they administer the antibiotics in a timely fashion. I am NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES folks, no sirrrreeeeee. I love hospitals, I love modern medical intervention, and I love my highly trained, board certified OB/GYN.

Now I must leave you to search out the vending machine that Anne spoke of on campus that doles out delicious ice cream goodness.

Ciao!

A little mental breakdown now and then is good for the soul

2005-06-06T21:50:00.000-10:00

Not much time to post...just wanted to let you goddesses that live in the computer know that I am doing MUCH better.

I am speechless. I am stunned. The fact that you guys not only didn't cringe in fear and terror of my incredibly self indulgent meltdown, but that you took the time to offer up words of support--well, it is just too much for my stunted brain to understand. But you know what? You all made my little grinchy heart expand to 1000 times its normal size with love and fondness. It is really you that rocks. It is really you whom are admirable. Please don't have any doubt in your mind that your words and sentiment touched me in a lasting way. And no, you pervs, not in that way, although I must admit lately with my overcharged libido, I wouldn't mind you touching me in THAT way either. See, still my normal self, taking any opportunity, no matter how crass, to bring it down to the lowest common denominator.

Anyway, just wanted to say thanks and let you know how much I am humbled in the knowledge of how truly wonderful you'all are.

Be back soon with usual absurdities and sexual innuendos.

In the mean time, anyone care to weigh in on the corporate conspiracy otherwise known as SPLENDA????? Splenda brings back fond memories of Illustra and that catch phrase: ANAL LEAKAGE. Good times my friends, good times.

The Pink Floyd of posts: depressing and self pitying. BEWARE!!!!!

2005-05-30T18:49:00.000-10:00

I am loathsome to even write this post. I know that there are quite a few of you out there that would love to trade places with me, who in your heart of hearts think that being pregnant should mean that I have nothing to be sad about. Then there are those of you out there that come to this blog for the snark or the half attempt at humour. Whichever category you fit in, I am giving you a preemptive apology for this post. Might I suggest you move along to the next blog and maybe overlook this entry.

See, I have alluded to it in prior posts, but have been unable/unwilling to talk about it before. But for some reason, today my heart hurts badly enough that I have nothing left to lose but try and explore these feelings in the hopes that maybe in dealing with them, I can move past them. No, not move past them, but deal with them, feel them, and maybe really change. You know they say that if it hurts badly enough, you will stop hitting your head against a wall and make a sincere and lasting change. Hopefully today is that day when I stop bloodying myself up.

Where to start?

Should I start with the fact that I keep a 12 foot wall between my heart and the rest of the world so that I can't/won't get hurt, but then I stop and wonder why I feel so alone sometimes?

Should I start with the fact my need for self preservation comes across as selfishness and self-centeredness to those around me whom I love? Hell, who am I kidding, it is what it is.

Should I start with the fact that I feel like a total inept parent? That when faced with the fact that most of Makena's problems seem to stem from lack of discipline, structure, order, and consistency, that I am firmly aware that all fingers point back to me.

How about let's start with the fact that since I haven't done such a bang up job with the Imp, that it hasn't escaped my attention that I am about to parent another little life just as badly.

Or let's begin with the fact that even though it says a lot that my husband is willing to attend couple's counseling, and that I know him to be completely committed to our marriage, that I still can't seem to be the type of person he actually enjoys hanging around. He thinks I am a pain in the ass and would rather walk away than give me a hug when he sees me crying.

Is it due to my shortcomings, that this man--who says he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, who willingly married me after knowing me for many years and knowing all of my worst traits, my hairy warts, how badly my farts stink--never once gave me a hug, never once offered me a kind word when I was dealing with the loss of my gramma? Or while I am at it, is it because I suck so bad that he hasn't been to one single prenatal appointment except the u/s that told him the sex? Should I be bothered that he has done not one thing to prepare for this baby? Should I be upset that I have to organize and orchestrate each and every shopping trip in preparation for the baby?

And speaking of baby prep...what the hell is wrong with me???? I have yet to wash any of the clothing that we have that is unisex. The soon to be nursery is mostly cleared out of crap, but the only sign that there will be a baby in there soon is the unopened bedding that I ordered and the glider rocker that my mom bought. When we go out on the shopping trips, I never buy a single thing. I did manage to open and put together the stroller last night, so maybe it is a start.

But hell, I can't even come up with one lousy name for the baby. By this time in my pregnancy with Makena, she was already named. The clothes were washed, the nursery was all put together and ready and I would sit in the rocker and just look around, imagining what she was going to look like, what she was going to feel like. I would close my eyes and imagine myself changing her diaper, giving her a bath, dressing her, kissing her. But for this one...I am paralyzed. I don't know-- maybe paralyzed with fear that I won't actually be bringing him/her home. Maybe paralyzed by my fears and knowledge about how hard parenting actually is, so now I am super worried that I am not up to the task? Maybe worried that my marriage is in such a crappy state, that we won't bond as a family and enjoy and savor the change that is about to come?

I want to give my children the best. The best of me. But right now, I don't feel like I have much to offer. I really, really want to offer my husband more of me, something worthy of giving, but again, I've got bupkuss.

So many of you write about getting back to your old selves, your happy selves, who you were and how your marriage used to be before all the losses, before the months of unsuccessful trying. But in my case, I didn't start out as a wonderful person, a happy person, a person filled with love of life. I have always seen myself as a work in progress. For so many years, it was all I could do to survive, make good choices and live to see another day, that it wasn't until my relationship with Keith that I started thinking that I could one day become a whole human being. It really was because of him that I started thinking that I could one day be a person that I could be proud of, be a "normal" person, be someone that I could like. It wasn't until him that I began to entertain the idea that I could stop wanting to crawl out of my own skin. However, it is days like today, that I feel so fucking far from that goal. It is days like today, that I become all too cognizant of the fact that I don't have the instruction manual on how to live a good life, be a giving and deserving individual. All this human interaction stuff is hard for me, it just doesn't come naturally. It is days like today when I feel like I haven't got a clue how to be a good parent, a good wife, a good daughter, a good friend, a good human being. Aren't those things that you all find easy to do? Am I missing some chromosome or something? Am I an example of de-evolution?

And then there is of course what it says about me that I am writing this trite, worthless, crap down and submitting it to the internet. Granted, I know that there are those of you out there that care, really care...but you know what??? Writing this crap down and letting you read it makes me feel like an even bigger asshole because I am polluting your minds. I don't want my toxic bullshit to effect any one of you, but yet here I sit, typing away and poisoning you anyway. What does that say about me?

Now do you understand why I go all neanderthall on you when I am down in the dumps? I am no party to be around. And frankly, you get to see how broken and twisted I really am. Nothing to admire here. 20 years of therapy and 10 years of Prozac didn't do me any favors, my friends. I am no poster child for success.

Now, my inner, rational self feels that she needs to chime in a bit...I am totally aware that I am treading on dangerous ground here. I am aware enough to watch for the warning signs of true, clinical depression, and while I am dancing on the edge of one right now, I don't think I am quite there yet.

I know my body and my mind well enough to realize that a great deal of what I am feeling right now is tied into my hormones, and my predisposition for, and history with depression doesn't help matters.

I know that I am working too much and too hard and that my body is exhausted.

I know that I am dealing with normal anxiety of impending labor, complications that can arise, and the fear and enormity of the task that lay ahead: being a good parent to another human life.

I also know that my marriage isn't totally in the crapper...that my husband just isn't the type to get all worked up in preparations and details before the baby comes. It was the same way with Makena. Once I went into labor, he was all hands on deck and has been to this very day. But through the veil of my hormones, it is hard to recognize his statement "well, when you go into labor, that might be a great time to finally catch Star Wars" as the humour that he intends.

I am just feeling very overwhelmed right now. I am feeling very uncared for by him. And I am feeling very alone. In a nut shell, I am having one hell of a pity party. But the thing about pity parties, is that they do no good, nothing gets accomplished, and eventually all you are left with is the oreo crumbs, the ding dong wrappers to clean up, the chocolate smears on your face mixed in with the tears, and that horrible bloated, I am going to puke up all this good chocolate feeling.

So by writing all this down and thoroughly degrading and humbling myself before the internets, I leave myself no choice but to stop feeling sorry for myself, pull myself up by my bootstraps, do something constructive, make some real and lasting change, and try and regain some dignity. Maybe one day I can look back on this and find some little sliver of funny...or at the very least it will serve as a measuring stick for how far I hope to grow and move away from this crap in the future.

Now after reading this, I am thoroughly confident that there isn't a single person out there that entertains a single molecule of envy or desire to trade places with me. Being insided my head is a very, very, very scary place. Now you believe me don't you?

The sexiest pregnancy photo EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-05-25T20:02:00.000-10:00

*****WARNING: pregnancy photo below. If you are feeling delicate, squimish, or have just eaten something, I suggest you move on NOW and DO NOT look at the photo below******

This is me after a long day at work. Can you say EDEMA?!?!?!?!?!? I swear, this photo has not been altered in any way. No photoshop tricks, no nothin'. Just pure, unadulterated, pregnant, swollen feet.

Tell me I am still sexy....please

What are my chances of getting laid with these beauties?

The snark gene, the crack habit, and other random crap

2005-05-23T21:10:00.000-10:00

You still here? Wow, I feel for ya: hangin around this here blog when it is the most boring piece of trite ever. You deserve something nice for your troubles, but alas, I have got nothing to offer but another mindless, boring, pointless post. I must say that you deserve a medal for reading this shit. Or maybe you are a glutton for punishment? Emotionally disturbed, maybe? Bored out of your mind with nothing better to do? Lord knows you don't come here for the wit and insight. Oh well, let me add to the list of boring posts with this next offering.

Just so you know, even when I am all depressed and feeling like I am a big loser, I still don't miss an opportunity for the snark. A repair tech came by the other day at work. He hasn't been by for quite some time and his eyes popped out of his head when he saw the large protrusion coming from my midsection. Being the polite, nice type he says to me, "Oh my, you must be expecting! Congratulations!"

My reply: "Oh no, actually, I have developed quite a binge eating problem in the last few months and I can't seem to eat enough Teddy's Bigger Burger. I find myself there for breakfast, lunch, and even dinner. I am thinking about seeking some help for my food addiction."

Innocent repair tech, turning five shades of red, looks down at his feet, and begins to stutter "Oh geez, I am so sorry Janet, I hope I didn't offend you. I am just so sorry for bringing it up."

I let him stew for a few seconds much longer than I should, but the shade of red he turned really had me mesmerized for a bit. I finally did the right thing and told him I was just teasing. And confirmed that I did have relations with my husband that resulted in the lab project that I will be incubating until July 4th in my womb. He turned another shade of red, more purple this time, and began to diligently work on the machine he had come to repair. I don't think he has ever taken less time to repair something. I got the distinct impression that he was eager to get the hell out of dodge.

And as to why I think that snarkyness is a trait probably linked to the 14th chromosome (just my hypothesis, not a tested theory):
If you ever met me in person, you might detect that I am not the touchy feely type of gal. I don't go around hugging, I feel awkward with the island tradition of greeting someone with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I don't go looking for hugs except from my huggable, squeezable, scrumptious daughter. So imagine how I must feel when I see someone attempting to make contact with my abdomen in the age old tradition of belly rubbing of a pregnant lady. I think I do a pretty good job of asserting my personal space and giving the impression that my midriff is a strictly hands off area.

So one day, a fellow preggo, who must think it is a secret handshake among preggos to touch other preggos belly, headed straight for mine when we hadn't seen each other for a month or so. I saw her hands coming at me as if in slow motion. She was talking to me, but all I saw where here LARGE hands coming in my direction, her words stretching out in inaudible tones. She made contact before I could flinch and move away. But the most amazing thing happened. Apparently, the being inside me does not like to be touched as well because it delivered a blow so targeted, so swift, it gave surgical strike a new meaning. He/she made direct contact with both hands on either side, effectively pushing off the foreign invaders. The offender made some comment about how I had "a strong one in there", but I smiled a knowing smile with the realization that this kid has got the snark gene. The legacy will continue. BOO YA!

My crack habit:

I can't seem to lay off the fudgesicles. I eat at least 3-4 a night. They are a little slice of heaven, but I am concerned about my addiction. See, I ran out tonight, and only had 2!!! I just hope I don't have the DT's in the middle of the night. Oddly enough, with my consumption of the cold, fudgy goodness at an all time high, I was quite confused as to how the hell I managed to LOSE A FUCKING POUND when I went in for my 2 week Is It Alive Still? Check. I am seriously boggled how I could have grown a few inches in the midsection, graduated from my modest size C cups and busted out the size D nursing bras, and consumed a life supply of fudgesicles and still lose weight. Honestly folks, I think the loss can only be explained by one thing: loss of brain mass.

Now on to the random:

To answer Zeeks, I am not hiding anything, I have no secrets. I honestly don't know the sex of this child. I chose to only ask the pertinent questions at the telling u/s at week 17: does it have 1 head? Does it have arms and legs or cloven hooves? Does it have horns? Does it breathe fire? When all of my questions were answered to my satisfaction, I chose to sing "la, la, la, la" and close my eyes tightly while the doc displayed the goods to Keith to let him know the sex. So there are 2 people on this planet who know the answer to Zeeks' question: Proactive Peri, and the donor of half of the genetic makeup. I will be sure to report when I have had a chance to inspect the goods myself in person.

I just took the largest dump EVER. It took 3 flushes to get it down. The mystery of the missing weight might be solved. I am FULL OF SHIT and it is finally coming out of me!

When I got done at my check-up last week, I had to ride the elevator UP before riding it down because the only button working was the Up button. The elevator ended up stopping on the 9th floor, otherwise known as the IVF floor. There are 2 clinics on the 9th floor, 2 of the maybe 3 total places on this rock that offer the service. A few women embarked. I couldn't help but study them from the safety of the back of the elevator. One of them couldn't help but stare at the screaming 2 year old in the arms of her father. Her stare wasn't one of disgust or annoyance that this kid's screams were ruining the lovely Muzac, no, it was more of one of longing tinged with a little bit of hope. I couldn't help but hope that her longing looks are fulfilled by her visits to the 9th floor.

The other 9th floor embarker left me feeling a bit sad. See, I couldn't help but notice that she had tape on her arm, the mark of a woman that has just had a BETA. What struck me even harder, like getting hit in the gut, was that I noticed she was wearing this maternity shirt. The part that made me sad is that she was skinny as a rail, and had absolutely no hint of a protrusion in the abdominal area. She didn't look happy and glowing, like maybe she was just overzealous and decided to donne maternity wear on the occasion of her 3rd BETA. The fact that she got on the elevator on the IVF floor, the fact that she showed evidence of a fresh bloodletting, the fact that she was wearing maternity wear when by no stretch of the imagination did she need it, and the fact that she didn't look happy and glowing only left my imagination with a couple of alternatives--none of them with very happy endings. I wanted so badly to give her a hug (remember my non-touchy feely personality), ask her if she needed an understanding ear, or at least let her know that my offensive belly was not easily achieved, or just do something to let her know that if my suspicions were true, that she wasn't alone. It led me back to a thought that I have had off an on for the last few years: that I wish there was some mark, some tattoo, some way of identifying those of us women who have suffered loss and heartache while trying to achieve genetic replication. Someone should create a Kabalah bracelet for infertility/pregnancy loss so we wouldn't feel so alone. It would have much more meaning and provide much more unity than those stupid, cheap pieces of yarn that Britney and Madonna wear.

Oh yeah, and by the way, happy 34 weeks to me today. Doc says that any signs of labor after today won't worry her one bit. She seems to be convinced that I should be extremely relaxed and confident at this point, that I will be giving birth successfully soon. I admit, I catch myself saying "when the baby comes" instead of "if the baby comes" just a bit more these days, but a full conversion to glowing, happy, and confident just wouldn't be me.

But I gotta tell ya, there has been quite a bit of good news lately that gives me hope....

CONGRATS TO MENITA, CRISTA, PATTY, AND KRIS!!!!

Now I must go to bed and dream about getting it on with my hot friend Barb.

At this moment

2005-05-14T22:35:00.000-10:00

Something just isn't working the way it used to. In true Austin Power's form, I have lost my Mojo, my blogging Mojo that is.

I have so much in my head right now, but not enough time to put it into cohesive words, and not enough patience either.

I feel very disconnected from myself right now. Or more disconnected from life, living, feeling.

Maybe it is growing pains, I don't know. Some important transitions are heading my way and I am trying to clean my head, my heart, and my soul along with the house and the supposed "nursery". I guess it is nesting of the inner-self kind. And it is just too jumbled and piece-meal right now to blog about.

Here are a few small, boring updates though for the detail hungry sort:

Keith and I have now been to 3 therapy sessions together. I am learning a whole lot: about him and about myself. Most importantly I am learning that the distance that sometimes exists between us is largely my creation. You see, sometimes it is easier to be distant and to avoid intimacy. While it is a lonely place to be, it can sometimes feel safe and comfortable.

Makena is doing pretty darn well. She is as funny as ever. She is very excited about the impending arrival in our household and she reminds me every day how time is fleeting and that if you blink, you miss your child growing up.

I hit the 32 week mark this week. I am starting to feel like this may really happen, that I may actually give birth soon, but to be honest, there isn't a day that goes go by that I don't imagine the baby is no longer alive. I wake up almost every morning and clutch my belly because I am convinced that he/she is gone and that it was all just a dream. Whenever the baby moves, the first thought in my head is: "Oh thank God, you aren't dead, you are still alive."

Health wise everything looks good with me and the baby. We are checking out quite nicely at every appointment. Doc says that this baby is going to be quite a nice size. My belly button popping out like the temp indicator on the Thanksgiving turkey is a strong indicator that this one is occupying all the room he/she can muster. The only troubling things have been the occasional sharp Braxton Hicks, the horrifying EDEMA that EVERYONE notices and seems to love to feign concern and comment on ENDLESSLY, and I have begun to see spots and stars at different times. My blood pressure is text book perfect and I am only 8 lbs up from my starting weight. Don't throw tomatoes please, remember that I lost 12 lbs or so the first tri so it is a 20 lb weight gain in totality.

On the work front, I am still working horrible long hours, but I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have managed to produce some fucking awesome data that is going to put us in a pretty good place publishing and renewal of grant wise.

I did have a mini blow out with my boss, blew off some steam about the long hours I was working and how I am not happy with some of the crap she has been dishing out. I left the meeting still not feeling heard and completely respected, so we have another meeting early next week where I plan to unload on her a bit more about how unhappy I am with the current state of affairs. But most likely, within the next 2 weeks I will wrap up the last pieces of the patient I am working on, and then will relegate myself to my desk and catching up on my reports and administrative bullshit.

Mongolian replacement girl is really smart, but there is only so much that I can do with someone who has had NO LAB EXPERIENCE and seems to not get the hang of simple tasks. It is getting near the time where I am going to set her free to sink or swim and just let nature take it's course. It is pretty much the way I learned as well, and frankly, I just don't need the stress or the time demands babysitting her requires.

Well, that is enough of my rambling bullshit for now. Time for bed.

I wish I could give you more right now, both on my blog and in the way of comments on yours, but it is kinda hard to come up with anything meaningful to say when I feel as lost in the ether as I am right now. Maybe some more sleep will bring me back down to terra firma soon.

Shudder to think

2005-05-03T21:29:00.000-10:00

I blame the hormones, God do I blame the hormones!

Last night I had the strangest dream. I was having sex, hot passionate, kinky ass sex with Ed Begley Jr.
*I will pause while you shudder as well*
But that wasn't the worst part. Wait. Get Ready. It gets much worse...

I dreamt it was a 3-way with my "replacement". Did I mention that my replacement is Mongolian and needs to take breaks to go pump for her 5 month old son? And yes, that fact was not lost on me in my dream as we were all 3 getting hot and bothered and she thought it would be kinky and great fun to shoot her milk into my mouth.

Oh god, is there any end to the hormone induced madness? Please promise me that I will be sane once again and go back to having sex dreams about regular every day hotties like Michael from La Femme Nikkita, the guy who played the phantom in the Phantom of the Opera--movie version, or Clive Owen in Closer. Please promise me!

Now I must go look longingly at my husband and properly place my misplaced, over-driven, hormone induced, MONSTER libido.

Will the horrible memory of last night's dream ever be erased? Should I look into elective lobotomy? And yes, I blame some of this on Zeeks and her need to send me XXX rated photos. Shame on you Zeeks, look at the monster you have created!

My life is sooooo like the Shining

2005-04-25T22:18:00.000-10:00

All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.

When I have a work day that lasts shorter than 12 hours, I will be sure to come up with a meaningful post, but for now, you will have to settle for the cliff notes of my life, or what little there is of one right now.

Pregnancy update:
Yep still preggo. Uterus still cranky, but have not exceeded more than 4 contractions in 1 hour so no need for more panic. Today was a momentous day: officially 30 weeks. Now if I could just let go of those last lingering dead baby thoughts. Then again, who am I kidding...I sometimes still obsessively check Makena for SIDS and she is 6 years old!!!! Positive outlook is not my strong suit.

Parenting update:
Had one of those weekends where I seriously considered the sanity of my desire to become a parent to another child. Hell, I was tempted to dump off Makena with the latest load donated to GoodWill. Just for the record: parenting is hard shit, and sucks the largest elephant dick ever--sometimes.

Marital status:
2nd counseling session today. So far so good--he hasn't left me yet. I love that man o' mine. I think I will keep him, I just hope he feels the same about me.

Now I must go to sleep so I can refresh and revitalize for another 10-12 hour work day tomorrow. OH JOY!!!

We now continue with our current broadcast:

All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.
All work and no play makes Janet a very suck ass blogger.

In which the Bermuda Triangle becomes very irritable

2005-04-18T22:00:00.000-10:00

I will not use dramatic license here. I will not leave you hanging and in suspense. So I will start out by saying that everything is ok. I am ok. The little one dwelling in the Bermuda Triangle is ok as well.

However, I had one upsetting day.

I have been having what I assume to be Braxton Hicks for a few weeks now. It is nothing troubling, nothing painful, just a tightening of the ute and a feeling of discomfort. I told the doc and she gave me the golden rule of calling her if I have 4 or more in 1 hour, which I have not.

But today, I had one mack daddy of a contraction. It lasted about a minute, I couldn't talk during it, and it felt like the real thing. I started crying like the wuss I am and got my coworkers all in a tizzy thinking that they needed to call an ambulance because I was in preterm labor.

I decided to go for a walk, empty my bladder, drink lots of water, eat lunch and see how I felt.

I did all that and noticed that I was still having minor contractions.

So I called the doc. Went in, got checked out and was sent for a Non Stress Test. Also had a culture done for fetal fibronectin.

As it turns out, everything is just fine. I did have regular "contractions" during the 30 minute test, but they were very low in intensity and the nurse tech said that there were more in the range of "regular uterine ripples", which means my damn uterus is cranky and reactive, but does not intend on evicting its current tennant.

So I am very tired, still dealing with my cranky ute, but staying off my feet this evening.

I plan on going to work tomorrow and just taking it easy. My so called "replacement" just started today, and I have 10 weeks to teach her what took me years to master. It is pretty hopeless, but I gotta try. I don't have room in my plans for pre term labor.

Now I must go to bed and convince my uterus to behave.

I am not hiding, I SWEAR!

2005-04-12T08:12:00.000-10:00

Just a quick update to let you know that nothing is wrong, everything is ok, I am still pregnate, and all is well in the land of Bermuda; just a simple case of DROWNING UNDER A SEA OF WORK!!!!!!!!!!

I am flying home tomorrow (watch out Portland, OR, the bitch is coming home!) for gramma's service. It should be more fun than you can shake a stick at. Lots of assholes wanting to touch my belly for sure.

Anyway, I am trying to get my cells and data in order so the house of cards doesn't fall when I am away, which means that I haven't had a day off in 10 days or so, maybe more.....

So please forgive me if I have left you hanging. I have a bunch of emails to reply to, but just haven't had the time. Cuz I gotta tell you, if there is a spare second in the day, and I am at home, and the imp doesn't need my undivided attention, then I am stuffing something in my mouth or chasing the hubby around for some S-E-X. Sorry ladies, but blogging and email don't seem as appealing as gettin some nooky. Hope that you understand.

I don't foresee being able to check in while I am in P-Town...but don't get too sad because this is only a quick jaunt to the mainland, I will be back Sunday night.

In the meantime, be good to each other and don't trash the place while I am gone. I will, however, allow alcohol in moderation and continuation of bra and panty pillow fights. Although, I must insist that you refrain from doing anything kinky, like have an orgy because that would be just plain rude to not include me!

Also, might I offer up another hot, sexy, infertile for you to become acquainted with while I am away? Go visit my friend Jenn. Not only is she H-O-T, but she knows how to have a good time, is funny as shit, and has never ceased to amaze me with how strong she is, and how good of an attitude/outlook she has maintained in spite of her battle with her reproductive system. I think one of the things that I admire most about her is that she was able to say ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! with all the meds and fertility tx because it was driving her batty. She is currently exploring the world of alternative medicine and if you have any experience with that, I am sure that she would love your input. A word of warning though: HANDS OFF MY WO-MAN! I am already insanely jealous of her husband and her relationship with Zeeks, so I don't think I could take it if one of you beyatches tried to steal her attention from me further! But I will give you a tip: when you go visit her, bring some beer as a blog warming gift--you will be welcomed with open arms!

Now I better skeedaddle. I don't want my husband to freak out that I am blogging when I am really too busy for it. And yes, I KNOW THAT YOU READ MY BLOG DEAR HUBBY! DO YOU THINK YOU MARRIED AN IDIOT?!?!?! I HAVE KNOWN FOR QUITE SOME TIME, BUT I DON'T MIND. IF YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT I HAVE TO SAY HERE, THEN BY ALL MEANS, READ AWAY. I HAVE NOTHING TO HIDE FROM YOU MY LOVE! I don't mind if you don't mind that I love to tell everyone how you are HUNG LIKE AN ELEPHANT!!!!!
*smooches*

Can ya help a sista out?

2005-04-07T22:46:00.000-10:00

I would like you to meet a dear sweet friend of mine. Her name is Zeeks and she has got to be one of THE coolest people I know. She is the whole package, my friends. She is smart, she is funny, she gives the best advice, she is always there when you need her, she is giving, she is caring, and she has got a killer bod thanks to her love of yoga.

She has been at this whole TTC thing for quite some time, with only a 6 week m/c to show for it and lots of ENDLESS, tortuous months of BFN's and let downs. But yet, she still manages to keep on a truckin with grace, dignity, and style.

She is a true friend and I really think you might like her.

I will warn you, she is a bit of a pussy and finds any and every excuse not go see an RE and get to the bottom of her "unexplained" status. She still is unable to come out and use the word infertile, but she definitely knows the road that we all seem to share.

Anyway, I think she is feeling a little like the last one at the party right now, and I think she would really enjoy meeting some new voices in the blogosphere. So please, stop by and see her. Let her know that there are still a bunch of us who would welcome a fellow fertility challenged gal. And be nice. If anyone messes with my Zeeks, they will get reap the full, awesome, ugliness of my monkey wrath!!!!!!!!

Go say hi and bring her a nice gift, preferably chocolates because if her svelte, sexy self won't eat them, then I am sure she wouldn't mind if I did.

Now go on, be good little monkeys and let her know that she isn't alone.

The score as I see it: MOB MENTALITY: 100 RESTRAINT, KINDNESS, COMPASSION: 0

2005-04-06T17:20:00.000-10:00

Truth be told, my feelings on this particular subject are one of the dominant reasons that my posting has become infrequent and why my commenting has almost ceased. But for now, the following are my feelings. I am giving you one big fat warning that what follows is one big fat fucking rant. I wish I were a better person and I weren't so moved to upset, but hopefully if I get this off my fucking chest, I can process it, move beyond it, and stop letting it effect my blogging. Here's hoping.

I think that there is DEFINITELY a MEAN GIRLS mentality floating about the blogosphere.

I think that there is plenty of backstage bitchery, gossiping, disrespect, and dissing.

I think that the "community" as a whole is dead, or maybe never truly existed. In reality there are only "affinity groups", groups of friends, groups of like-minded individuals, and yes, cliques.

I think hypocrisy abounds.

And I hate when people feign ambivalence when bitterness and judgment is really the soup of the day.

And forward thinking and anti-censorship? What a fucking joke.

The idea that you can say what you want on your blog because it is your own: a fucking joke.

What the hell ever happened to respectfully disagreeing?

What the hell ever happened to self restraint? Here's a tip: if you don't like a particular blogger and just can't see eye to eye, then don't visit their blog. K?

I believe that people, especially the ones in the IF/PIF/SIF/pregnancy after IF blogosphere should be able to express themselves as they see fit. Stuffing our feelings, feeling alone, misunderstood, and isolated is what brought us to blogging in the first place. To tell someone that they can't say what they want on their own fucking blog is the real shame.

And if you want freedom to say whatever the hell you want on your own blog, then why not the same freedom for each and every blogger? You like to rant and thrash about without worry of whom you may or may not be hurting? Well, then by all means, make the same allowance of other bloggers.

And what the hell is up with bloggers/readers feeling that they need to go around to other's blog and act as moral compass? Seriously, if someone is an asshole and does something really assholish on their blog, then why not just shake your head in pity and leave it alone? Why would one think it was their duty to go and correct someone's blogging behavior when it has NOTHING to do with them in the first place?

Lynch mob anyone?

There are two sides to every story, the truth always lies somewhere in between, so why get all pissed and up in arms when you don't know the whole story, and it HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU ANYWAY?!?!?!?

Explain to me the logic of trying to shut people up and demean them for their feelings/reactions by yelling about dead horses and taking the high road, yet then bitching about and beating the same dead horse? I mean shit, people are entitled to feel what they feel. They are entitled to react. Don't belittle someone's need to react and process and then turn around and want to have a reaction of your own. If you decide to take the high road, then by all means, stay on that fucking road. Don't have double standards.

So what I have learned the last few months:

That when you get preggo, you better high tail it out of the "community".

If you are lucky enough to get preggo, then you better not talk about being preggo, sound hopeful, optimistic, or cheery about it. You need to keep your blog for others, not yourself. It is only ok to be doubtful, ambivalent, and detached from your pregnancy.

If you say something on your blog that offends someone, however unintentional, then you better be sorry. But yet it is ok, encouraged, and even downright funny when other acid tongued bloggers blast others. As long as it is done with humor of course.

And it seems acceptable to demean, belittle, criticize, and scold each other as bloggers/readers, but then wonder why people just aren't blogging as much, why the "community" just feels different, and why everyone seems to be censoring themselves.

Again, lynch mob anyone? All the cool kids are doin it!

I am obviously really worked up right now and may even regret some of what I have written here, but I have decided that this post will stand. Like I said before, I have been troubled by some of this stuff for a while, and it really has kept me from blogging as much as I would like and need. There are other things of course that have been keeping me from blogging, things that I really want to talk about, but I haven't felt safe. Nothing has been directed at me, rather, I seem to be surrounded by lovely, wonderful, little monkeys whom I love and adore. Nevertheless all this shit floating out there has not escaped my attention, and unfortunately, has had an effect upon me.

There is something to be said for letting sleeping dogs lie, not beating a dead horse, and other apropos metaphors, but I have realized that I have to let myself react and I have to let these feelings out, otherwise my blogging days are over, and I really don't want to leave blogging with a sour taste in my mouth. So my friends, this is how I feel. Take what you want, feel free to leave the rest. I am hoping that by letting all this raw, toxic shit out here, that it will stay confined to this post and will disintegrate into mere malodiferous vapors, never to take form again.

Fuck a duck. I wish this post wasn't in me, but it is. It just is. If there ever was a community or an island or what the hell ever, well, then count me out of it. The way I see it, there are lovely little monkeys who keep coming back, who seem to want to hear what I have to write about, who care about me on more than just a fleeting level, and whom I value and cherish deeply and wholeheartedly. You, my little monkeys are what keep me blogging. You, and my need to hash out all my weird hang-ups and idiosyncrasies. So from now on, I am taking back my fucking blog, I am not going to worry about who the hell is reading. I will stop being such a lazy slouch and let you little monkeys know that I am still reading and loving your blogs as well.

Oh, and if my rant has offended any of my lovely monkeys, cupcakes, or farts, then please drop me a line. I would DIE if I ever hurt anyone here who has so freely given their love, support and friendship.

I promise, level headed, regular programming will resume shortly.

A note from management

2005-03-29T22:18:00.000-10:00

Testing, testing...
Is this thing still working?
Is anyone home?

I have been having a crisis of bloggging. I have been thinking about walking away and never looking back. Maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I am just trying to weed out the riff raff and see who stays around for the long haul.

Is anyone still there?

Well, for now I am too busy stuffing my face with left over birthday cake from the Imp. The results of the glucose tolerance test that I took today will determine when the gluttony ends. I'll be back when the cake is gone, or I am told that I can no longer partake.

If I ever get my blogging groove back, you will be the first to know.

Thanks,
The management

Goodbye Gramma

2005-03-12T18:25:00.000-10:00

The reason for my mom's flight to Portland in my last post was because my Gramma was in the hospital. She was admitted because her heart rate was extremely elevated. She was discharged on Wednesday. I spoke with her Thursday and she sounded just fine. My mom flew back home on Friday and by the time she walked in the door to her house, my aunt called her to tell her that Gramma had just collapsed in the bathroom and was gone. Just like that.

Makena had a school outing on Friday afternoon. Keith and I met her at the beach park and we spent a lovely afternoon at the beach together. We stayed on the beach until after dark and waited for the Friday night fireworks that a local hotel puts on.

Almost the minute the fireworks display was over, the cell phone rang. It was my mom telling me that Gramma had passed just a few minutes earlier.

So I guess, in a way, the fireworks were her send-off. Leave it to my Gramms to go out in a blaze of color and flash. She was quite the woman. But not always in ways that a typical "Grandma" brings to mind.

Things my Gramma taught me:

That happy hour can never begin too early. I am sure that she is one of the only 78 year old woman around that could down whole fifths of Bourbon, Gin, AND Vodka in the span of 4 days, which she did when she visited here for Thanksgiving.

She was the first person ever to call me a "royal shit" and a "total brat" all at the ripe age of 6.

New and interesting ways to parent a child: she once made my mother sit naked and sleep that way at the dining room table until she finished her brussel sprouts.

She was the first person who I ever saw flip someone the finger. Which she did with incredible style and dignity.

She believed every holiday should be celebrated to its fullest. At Christmas you couldn't even walk into the room where all the presents were because she loved to spoil everyone rotten.

She was the toughest and most determined person I have ever known. She once walked out of an intervention that the family did on her, disappeared for 3 weeks, and surfaced with scathing letters to all involved about what a horrid husband/child/friend they were for treating her with such disrespect. She refused to come back until everyone apologized and stopped all the idiotic talk about her being an "alcoholic"; for which they did, and no one spoke of it again EVER in her presence.

She NEVER admitted defeat, fault, or EVER apologized for anything.

She was always the life AND the center of every party she went too. She was the greatest hostess ever, with every social grace that you could imagine.

She always amazed me that she could yell and scream and berate her husband in front of anyone and everyone, but then that same husband still seemed to adore her, love her, and try and please her at every turn. But then again, I did notice that my grandpa wouldn't wear his hearing aide most of the time.

When I look back on my life and the history of my familial ties, I see how I spent so much time trying to avoid her, trying to escape her criticism and her scorn. In therapy I have even given recognition to those parts of me that I disdain so much as being attributes and tendencies that I share with her. Trying to not BE like her has always been my greatest impetus for reflection and change, but yet her strength of will and character were wondrous and admirable on some level.

But no matter how many tears of anger, frustration, or hurt that I cried over something she said or did, I always knew one thing very clearly: NO ONE makes you cry like that unless they mean a great deal to you and you love them very much.

I loved her very much. So. Very. Much.

And of all the people in my family, she was the one who really understood my pain and the loss I felt with every miscarriage. She knew exactly how it felt.

She and Grandpa tried immediately after marriage to have kids. Finally, my Auntie was born. They tried for years more and nothing. Endometriosis was her enemy. They finally decided to adopt my mom and I think soon after, she became miraculously pregnant. She lost that one pretty late. So late, that she told me of how horrible it was to have to recover in Labor and Delivery and watch all the other mothers with their newborns while her arms were empty. She knew it was a boy, but she never got to see him or hold him.

When she was here for Thanksgiving this year, I was 8 weeks pregnant. I couldn't dare to tell her because it was so soon and I didn't feel confident yet, even though I knew she would understand. When I blogged of not telling family and friends yet, I was mostly thinking of her. I was so scared to tell her because I didn't want her to be mad that I waited so long to tell. Then of course, like the true pussy I am, the longer I waited to tell, the more I feared her disappointment, the longer I wussed out telling her.

When mom called me and told me she was in the hospital, I decided that there was no time like the present. I called her, and eventually an hour into the conversation, I finally got around to the big news. She was so happy for me, and told me so many times. She said that she thought Makena should have a sibling. She told me that she knew how much this baby is wanted and is already loved. She even said that she totally understood why I waited so long to tell. "Of course I understand, with everything that you have been through" she said. Coming from her, it meant everything. We spent a few more minutes talking about this baby. She was so tickled to hear that the due date is July 4th. She said "we will have so much more to celebrate this year."

I am so grateful that we had that phone call. But also very sad at the same time of all that will be missed.

So here is to you Gramma. If I had a little vodka in the house, I would drink a toast to you. I hope you are happy and at peace. And I hope you know how much you were loved and will be missed. You were a strong force in my life and things just won't be the same without you.

*CHEERS*

More proof that I am an asshole, and fully aware of it

2005-03-07T10:21:00.000-10:00

I think I may have a Case of the Mondays*. I submit the following email I just sent to my mother.

To: mom@yeehaw.com
From: daughter@ungratefulwench.com

Subject: email to the dearly departed

I will assume that you will NOT be reading this email
since you are now deceased. That is the only logical
conclusion that I can make since you did not call me
to tell me of your arrival in Portland safely as I
VERY specifically requested.

Let's just hope that this stress does not cause me to
go into premature labor. *a very sick joke I know, but
a joke nonetheless*

Your grieving daughter,
Janet

A little strong? Maybe I can blame the hormones. Aw, who am I kidding, it is just my nature.

*If you haven't seen Office Space, then I give up.

Proof that there is no "safe" point for the infertile

2005-03-03T22:37:00.000-10:00

I don't want to take away from the interesting input that I am getting on the last post, but I saw this on the news and my heart broke.

The article just breezes over it, but this couple struggled for 7 years to have another baby. Their 3 failed IVF's only gets one line, which probably was only included to elicit extra tragedy points.

They probably thought all that was behind them when they gave birth to Izzy and he was screaming and kicking like any other healthy baby. Too bad a medical professional was having a bad day and didn't take the time to read the label. Now that employee's bad day means their precious little boy will be in a constant vegetative state for the rest of his life.

Does anyone ever feel that God hates infertiles?

Sneak Attack Pap

2005-03-03T11:00:00.000-10:00

***Zeeks, please forgive me for leaving you hanging. Those damn 12 hour days at work are putting a serious cramp in my blogging...but then again, it is just excuse number 9 in my top ten list of excuses***

****Disclaimer to everyone else: some of this may be boring, there will be talk of healthy pregnancy and normalcy, but there will also be a few questions and seeking of opinions. So if you are feeling up to it, I would love your input. But if you are feeling delicate, bruised, or hurt by the discussion of pregnancy, then you might want to move along. I don't want this post to be interpreted as insensitive, but it is my reality today.****

Now on to boring updates!!!

Blood pressure the same as always, but then again, I have no freakin clue what range is good/acceptable, but I can say that my bp is the same pre-pregnancy, which is a good thing.

Urine clean and clear

Weight: I am up 5 lbs, added with the 3 lbs from last month, now puts me only 4lbs behind my starting weight. *Please don't throw things at me, I started out a bit of a chunk, so now I am back to being a chunk!*

Oh, and I forgot to fill you in, as some of you have asked whether or not I am still sick. Well, I am pleased as punch to report that I finally stopped taking the Zofran at 20 weeks!!!!!!!!! This is not to say that I still don't dry heave and feel like I am going to be sick, but it is manageable now, less frequent, and a fucking walk in the park compared to the previous 14 week duration of please kill me now, put me out of my misery nausea and vomiting. So now I just have to contend with how grossly out of shape I am and my poor eating habits. I mean shit, who is gunna blame me for only eating Oreos when that is the only thing that I could keep down?!?!? AHHHHH sweet Oreos, our love affair must end......maybe next week.

Fundal measurement "good" but those numbers don't mean shit to me either so it is suffice to say that I am not having IUGR problems.

Bambino(a)'s heart rate: 155, super active as always, doing acrobatics that you could hear on the doppler. All fine and good, but the pessimist in me wonders if the baby is already showing signs of Turret's or spasmodic movements in the womb. Is there such a thing as TOO MUCH MOVEMENT?!?! *Joke, just kidding*

So then Dr Young and Perky, Only One in the Practice, By Which Guaranteeing Her Attendance at the Birth, God Dammit (I have yet to come up with a good name, can you tell?) informs me that I am so far out of the woods, that I now am a NORMAL pregnant lady. NORMAL I tell you?!?!!? Me being called normal?!?!? Normal doesn't sit well with me, but hell, I will take it. Hell, I welcome it. Boring, mundane, snooze fest from here on out! Sounds like the best gift I can get.

Ok, so I admit it, it put a lump in my throughout because after all the losses, after all the evidence that my ute is a hostile, toxic environment on par with Hanford, there is a part of me that doesn't want to let go of the special status that HABITUAL ABORTER smeared at the top of every chart and blood slip warrants. It almost feels as if Dr Young and Perky wants to discount the past and forget it, and not give any merit to my worries or concerns anymore, but then again, I also feel like I won the BToE lotto, so now it is time to just sit back, relax, and revel in my NORMALCY. And really, it is a good place to be. Finally able to let out that breath that I have been holding for so long. Finally willing to wear maternity clothes that don't hide the road bump on my abdomen. Finally willing to answer questions about my pregnancy and have a smile on my face rather than the need to throw salt over my shoulder and sacrifice a few chickens for daring to speak of a "possible" baby at the end of this road. Finally able to tell my friends and family back on the mainland that I am pregnant (yes, a true testament to my pussiness, I still haven't worked up the nerve to tell, despite Cathy offering to do it for me *sigh*).

But you know what kills me the most out of this new declaration of normalcy?!?!?! NO MORE GOD DAMN FUCKING U/S'S!!!!!!!! That is right, you heard me. While some of you lucky bastards out there get to take a peek every few weeks or months, as my doctor put it "You won't be seeing this baby anymore this pregnancy until you meet face to face." The only option is to spend almost $200 at the local Beauty Shots 4D U/S place that set up shop in town. They offer packages that start with only 2 measly little black and white photos, 2 4D photos, all the way up to the whole shebang with mood lighting and a 15 minute video set to music. Lord help me, the temptation may be great, but the reality that I will fork out all that money is pretty slim (as evidenced by my attachment to Blogger, rather than TypePad). And besides, the whole idea of a U/S place that is specifically set up to offer Glamour shots rather than medically informative views of your fetus just gives me a little bit of the creeps. They even make you sign all these waivers saying that they won't give you ANY medical advice/opinion/information as NONE of the techs are actually medically trained. Is this a chain? Do you have these little "boutiques" where you live?

So what this means is this blog will be an u/s free zone from here on out. I still have the pics from 17 weeks that I never posted, but I am such a slacker, they never made it up here. If someone would really like to see them, speak up, otherwise I will remain to be too lazy to post them.

Back to the Dr visit........

Dr Young and Perky et al. then asked if I had a Pediatrician all picked out yet. What?!?!?! A pediatrician?!@?!?! That implies that I assume I will give birth. Of course not!!! Of course there is Makena's doc, but she has only seen the imp a few times and I never got a strong feeling from her one way or the other. I don't know if our styles really mesh or not, and since I absolutely ADORED Makena's doc when she was a wee sprite back in P-town, I have high expectations of what a good Ped should be like and how you need to have a good rapport, lots of trust, and lots of communication.

I asked the good doc for her opinion and recs, which then led to a conversation on overuse of antibiotics and the risks of immunization (as it relates to autism and allergic reactions). My OB showed her true colors and went off on a tangent about how vaccinations were good for us, so it is just plain silly for parents these days to worry about the effects upon children. She totally poo pooed the idea of vaccinations and autism, which I expected because I have heard the whole Good Science vs Bad Science debate on the issue. But I am curious....has anyone out there given this thought? Have you researched it? Do you have any interesting thoughts, links, or resources that you would like to share? I don't often get into "issues" on this blog, but I would welcome your input here. And just to let you know, that this is a safe environment to share your opinion/ideas, you won't be chastised for them. I pretty much know where I stand, but I am always up for new info/discussion/opinions.

And on to another hot topic (read: sarcasm)--To Doula or not to Doula, that is the question. I asked Dr about her experience and her openness to the presence of one, and she got a look. The same look that Makena gets when I suggest to her that she eat a vegetable. She said that she would support any decision that I made for my delivery, (bringing up another patient of hers that is demanding a C-section because she has read studies of the detrimental effect of Pitocin on an infant during delivery), but that she has never had a good experience with one. She had no one to recommend. She said that she loves the nursing staff at the hospital, that they are well trained and suited to help me try and achieve a natural delivery, eliminating a need for a doula.

Here is the thing: I am NOT all new age, hippie, and/or brave, thus the reason that I never even thought of having a midwife or a home birth. I remember quite well how much I welcomed the drugs at 24 hours into my 42 hour! labor and delivery with Makena. But I also remember the way I tore, the way that the pain took over and eliminated any logic reasoning that I had. So I had entertained the idea of a doula to help me get through it as much as possible without any kind of intervention. I have had whimsical ideas of having a completely natural birth this round. But then again, who am I kidding, Keith would probably NEVER tolerate another person in the delivery room, let alone a paid stranger that doesn't have a medical degree of some kind. And who the hell am I kidding, if I go as long as I did with Makena, the best thing that I did for myself was have an epi so that I could sleep, get rest, and try and recover some energy before I pushed her out.

But again, I am interested in your thoughts/ideas/opinions/information on this matter.

Well, I think that just about covers the visit....oh but wait!! The reason for the lame title of this post....the damn doc had the nerve to surprise me with a Pap smear!!! WTF?!?! I freaked, because not only have I not bothered to shave my legs, or under my arms for that matter, but I still haven't had the chance to spruce up the ol muff! And let me tell you, you thought it was bad before, well now some of the damn hairs can be stretched down to my knees. I even perused the "beard trimmers" at Sears last weekend, but felt too cheap to purchase one. I even thought, "hell, I have time to fix up the ol yard, no one is gunna see it, especially NOT MY HUSBAND", hint hint, wink wink, nudge nudge; so I just passed them by with a thought of purchasing one a different day.

I warned the pretty young doc that I was thoroughly unprepared for a visit down below, and that I hadn't bothered to shave. She just laughed and said that it was no problem, that she sees a lot of incept legs given my condition. But what I was really referring to was the deplorable state of the muff. I mean that is just embarrassing now that I know that every other female on the planet actually tends her garden and keeps it neat and tidy. I mean shit, I think she even got the damn speculum tangled up in my unruly weed of a muff. Seriously, she delayed quite a while coming back up with that swab. I think she thought about hiring a Safari guide to help her. Hell, I know she must have been thinking "too bad I didn't bring my machete and insect repellent to enter this wild, uncharted territory."

I think I shall be heading back to Sears afterall, at the very least, for the sake of my hubby. I need to spruce things up a bit and at least portray an inviting environment. Lord knows I would give ANYTHING for a visitor...other than the doc that is.

So last question of the day: does anyone have any "beard trimmer" recommendations? Please don't forget I am cheap, but I don't want to get stuck a piece of junk that can't handle the Garden of Bermuda.

Gecko shit on my favorite cereal

2005-03-01T08:13:00.000-10:00

Hope that it isn't a sign of things to come. There are so few true pleasures in life, and to sit down with your favorite cereal in the morning....ahhhhhhh. Only to find that a fucking gecko has shit directly on the top of your box so that you can't open the box without having to deal with said shit! I couldn't simply enjoy my cereal goodness--I couldn't get the notion out of my head that somehow the shit tainted my cereal. Fucking gecko!

Sorry my cupcakes and farts, but that is all I have the time for today. I am a busy little beaver at work (13 hours yesterday) but I hope to find the time for my beloved blogger (oxymoron if you ask me) soon.

Just wanted you to know that the words of support and wisdom you gave me on the last post really meant a lot. A WHOLE LOT!! Things sucked huge ass donkey dick last week, but a truce has been declared and I think eventually the details of the armistice agreement will be signed.

I better hop off the puter and head out to my 22 WEEK FUCKING OB appointment!

Be back soon.......

I would have failed miserably at clown school

2005-02-22T09:28:00.000-10:00

Isn't it one of the must have prerequisites for being a clown--to juggle? Well, I suck at juggling. Really. suck.

Life feels like a constant juggling act. Each ball representing an important aspect of life. You have your job ball, you have your parenting ball, you have your "be a better human being" ball, you have your friendship ball, you have your mental health ball, you have your extended family member ball, and then you have your spouse/partner ball.

Just when I think that I am finally getting the hang of juggling a few of those balls, all of them are dancing about in unison, a perfectly timed choreography, I realize that I have dropped one or even two of those balls, or even neglected a ball or two completely.

And there are times when I feel like I can only handle one ball anyway.

*sigh*

I can't find my husband's ball right now. Which makes me very sad, but then on the other hand I am so mad at that damn ball right now, I don't know if I want to find it.

Hell, of course I do. I love that damn ball. That ball--no matter how much I neglect it, take it for granted, think it is a stupid ball-- happens to be the cornerstone of my act. Maybe I don't appreciate that ball enough. Maybe I don't tell that ball how much it means to me enough. I think I have disappointed that ball quite a bit too. But fuck, how am I supposed to appreciate the damn ball, when the damn ball seems to always be pointing out to me how bad I suck? It is hard to want to juggle a ball that seems like it is critical of you and doesn't like you too much.

And it gets really frustrating when I feel as a juggler and clown, that I am constantly analyzing my act, constantly trying to improve it, constantly trying to make the balls dance in the air happily, but yet I don't feel like that ball enjoys or acknowledges my efforts. It is like that ball has no problem sitting in judgment of me, but never owns up to its own role in the act. Hell, I know that I am a bad juggler, but I think I try and explain my efforts, I try and improve my act, I even try and apologize when I know perfectly well that my technique just plain sucks. But that damn ball, hell, you would never, NEVER hear it admit it is wrong or even think of making an apology. It would NEVER happen.

I face that fact that I suck as a juggler every day, sometimes every minute. It may not seem it to some, hell, maybe I do a good job of hiding my lack of skills and confidence, but I am all too aware of my deficits and flaws as an artful juggler.

I think that sometimes the fact that I am so hard on myself makes me defensive. That defensiveness leads to me shutting down and going into protection mode, even when I know that it isn't wise to do at the moment. But fuck, I am so tired of being so acutely aware of how bad I suck, it is really hard to want to stand before that ball, that doesn't feel very loving or caring at the moment, and tell it how bad I feel. It takes vulnerability, but to be vulnerable, means that you want to feel safe doing so. I mean, who would want to juggle naked in the middle of a busy intersection? It is hard enough to juggle naked in your bedroom with the lights on.

Well, apparently, not only am I a horrible juggler, but I have abhorrent use of metaphors as well.

I think I need to go practice my juggling for a while. But I think I need a good cry first. The tears of a clown.

Ahhhh, another pathetic use of misplaced imagery, man I do SUCK!!!

What is on my mind

2005-02-15T08:07:00.001-10:00

I haven't had much time to formulate any substantial, real posts. I have had plenty of ideas, but not the energy to make them worth your time or interest, so I bring to you the buffet of my thoughts at the present time. It will be a bit like heading up into your grandparents attic, full of dingy, half formed thoughts, lots of cobwebs, and no logic. You have been warned.:

Refreshing like a tall glass of Ihilani House Ice Tea on a hot day: Baby Hungry Man and HisVeryOwn
How fucking awesome is that?!?!? To have the male perspective on this whole thing?!?! And how jealous am I of the women lucky enough to be their other half?!?! BHM even swung by here and wanted to join our pillow fight, which I have no problem with, as I am an equal opportunity pillow fighter, but I think my own husband might have some jealousy issues. Besides, I don't want to take responsibility for damage to his twig and berries. We all know that when the pillows fly, and women's arms and legs are a flaylin', the nuts ALWAYS get grazed.
Nevertheless, I am so excited and tickled to see these guys blogging. I always discount my own hubby's experience and how this has effected him, so by reading these guys, I feel a bit more enlightened.

It makes me think though....if my hubby had a blog, what would he say????

Coming out of the closet:
I have been trying to work up the nerve and the activation energy required to finally come out of the closet with this pregnancy to my family, friends, and acquaintances. Yes, you read me right. I am 20 weeks, and the only person in my family who knows is my mom. So besides the friends that have read my blog since the beginning, my coworkers, my docs, and Makena's school, I haven't been willing to discuss the matter. My mom calls me up almost every night hounding me that it is time that I tell already. I know it is hard for her to keep the secret, but at this point, I don't know what the hell to say. Now I am afraid that I will only get people pissed at me because I waited so long rather than understanding that I was just being cautious. Anyone want to make the phone calls for me? Seriously, I wouldn't mind.

Friends:
Been feeling a little distant from some special people lately. So shout out to Zeeks, Jenn, Cathy, and Amber. You guys have been on my mind a lot lately. I love you, miss you, wonder what is up with you, and can't figure out for the life of me why you guys love me and put up with my extremely selfish and cavish ways.

Valentine's Day:
I hate that fucking holiday. It is probably number one on my top 5 list of pressure holidays. Keith isn't the holiday sort to begin with, so every year, I find myself doing battle with myself: it is a silly, stupid societal construct, funded by Hallmark, set up to leave you feel nothing but disappointment, besides, Keith doesn't dig on holidays, so his apathy towards this one has no reflection upon his love or value of me as his life partner and love. The other side of me would just enjoy some kind of token of love, no matter how small, no matter how silly.
Keith came home with a box of Godiva chocolates that contained only variations on the chocolate and raspberry theme--the perfect gift, showing that he cared enough to know what my favorite thing is and that he loved me enough to go against his logic and reasoning and head to the mall, let alone the Godiva store on Valentine's Day. He rocks. Not only is he hung like an elephant, but he gives me Godiva--he IS a keeper!

Supernanny:
Our homework is to watch this show. We fired the old therapist that wanted to medicate Makena and have now started working with a new one. She seems pretty cool. At least well suited to child psychology. The kicker is: she puts all the work and the blame exactly where is belongs--on our lap. We have a lot of work to do with our parenting. I think we are making progress. Parenting is hard shit my friends, especially if you have a child that is hard wired for anxiety and super sensitivity. I look around and it seems that there are all these parents out there that just parent without too much thought and worry. As for us, sometimes it gets tiring that we have to be extra vigilant! extra sensitive! extra thoughtful! extra analytical!
The whole discipline and structure thing is the hardest for me. I never had either growing up, so it doesn't come naturally. I find myself confusing being loving with being a pushover. I don't supply too much of the d&s, then when things go to shit, I lose my temper and patience and feel completely overwhelmed. Besides, if you never had a model for loving discipline, it is hard not to mix up discipline with overbearing, over critical, and bitchy. It is just so weird that you can love your child so much, to such depths never imaginable, but yet you can be making the very mistakes that cause your child to be unhappy and frustrated with life.
I hate to be using a ratings ploy to be helping me with parenting skills, but if you can look past the creative editing and the commercials, and the fact that the problems seemed to be wrapped up tidily by the end of the hour, and just look at the simple truths and tools, it is actually helpful, especially for this gal that doesn't have very good parenting models in my family.

Makena logic:
Driving home from school in rush hour traffic leaves the imp and I to have many interesting conversations. Be prepared: a couple of disgustingly cutesy stories ahead:

Makena: singing a made up song, kind of free style, word association
Me: pissed off at the car that just cut me off and stopping myself as I began to swear "JACKASS!"
Makena: "You know mom, you shouldn't get so upset. Just listen to my song. When I sing, it makes beautiful music. It is so beautiful that is makes the rain clouds go away and the world is a happy place"
Me: Feeling the stress and tension magically drain from my body, a smile creeping up on my face where a grimace once was. "Well then hun, keep singing your song, make the world happy and beautiful"
Makena: starting a melody between two of her favorite songs: Highway to Hell by ACDC and Sheep go to Heaven, Goats Go to Hell by Cake.
Me: laughing hard when I realized the songs she was singing

Hey, I never said my life was a Hallmark movie.

Story #2

Makena: (whining, begging, and pleading) "Moooooooooooooommmmmmy, I want McDonald's for dinner!"
Me: I am sorry Makena, you had McD's just a few days ago. You can't eat too much from that place, it isn't good for you.
Makena: "PUHLEEEEEEEZE MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYY!"
Me: "I am sorry Makena, the answer is definitely NO. Besides, I don't like to eat from there. How would you feel if we went to a eat at a place that there was nothing that you liked or could eat, but I didn't care, because I wanted to go there?"
Makena: "Well mom......how would you feel if you were just a little 5 year old girl and you wanted McD's soooooooooo badly and your mommy said 'no, just because'? How sad would you be if you had been thinking about it all day long, and how good a happy meal would be, and your mom wouldn't take you?"
Me: laughing- and thinking that she painted a really accurate picture of what it feels like to be a little girl, at the mercy of your parents decisions, and thinking that she is going to make one hell of a litigator some day. But the responsible parent in me replied: "Boy, I guess I would feel badly, but I would listen to my parents and not argue"
Makena: folding arms over chest "HMPH! Well you stink mommy!"

And guess who the crappy parenting award of the year went to???? ME!!!! Because we then compromised and went to Taco Bell for dinner. What can I say? After being stuck in traffic for over an hour, tired from a long day at work, I sure as hell didn't feel like cooking! Bite me Martha Stewart!

Real life baby thoughts (very random in nature because I don't allow myself to think to long on this subject)
I think I might be having a large-ish baby. At the last u/s when Proactive Peri was asking me questions about how large Makena was, I didn't think much of it. But I have been reading a little lately, and every source that I have read estimates that the baby would be around 3 oz at 17 weeks. Proactive Peri's estimate from the measurements: 7oz!!!!! No wonder I felt so much movement early on. And when books talk of "fluttering" I scoff. I remember Makena felt like flutters until I was in the 3rd tri. This one feels like it is trying to break out of prison. I feel very distinct kicks and punches. My only conclusion is the kid must be disenchanted with his lair. My response: I am grounding him to his womb for at least another 20 weeks.

On a family outing on Sunday, Keith brought up the subject of names. He and Makena were bouncing around a few, some serious, some silly. I couldn't really bring myself to participate in the conversation, other than to listen. When I think about names, I draw a big huge ass blank. I think it has something to do with the fact that I am still in denial that this will really happen. Maybe when the child turns 1 I will be able to come up with a name. Maybe.

Love and Marriage:
I have been thinking a lot about my hubby and the state of our union. I really can't say much right now other than that it is a struggle trying to come to terms with how much I neglected our relationship and closed down for shop that last year and a half. I love my husband, and without him, I wouldn't be half the person I am today. He deserves so much more than I have given him. I hope that he never regrets his decision to spend his life with me, although, I can't imagine why he wouldn't. Anyway, he and our marriage need and deserve much of my attention. The blog might make a shift in his direction for a while because I feel the need to really work on things, especially before the baby comes and really puts a wrench in our intimate quality time. Ha, as if that exists now, but I tend to be delusional. I better get my act together before he catches a clue that there are greener pastures out there other than my own, and well manicured to boot!

That is all for now. Sorry that I am not holding up my end of our blogging relationship, but I gave fair and ample warning, so I will offer no refunds.

Can't we all just strip down to our bra and panties and have a pillow fight?????

2005-02-08T08:42:00.000-10:00

There has been so much said on the uproar in bloglandia lately, that I don't have much to add. There are some wonderful, insightful things being said, there are some crappy, petty things being said. Neither of which I care to add to, only to say that it has made me think, evaluate, re-evaluate, and ponder my blogging existence and where or if I want to fit in.

The conclusions I have reached are such:

I blog for me, my sanity, my heart, and my mind, first and foremost. That being said, it never leaves my mind for one second that I have an audience (unbelievable, but true). There are times when I feel the need to say something that will be unpopular, bitchy, or rantish, but I have always given warnings and disclaimers. The fact remains, is that this is my front porch, and I will say whatever the hell I want to, whatever the hell I feel is helpful to my growth and evolution as a human being. And to that end, there is involved some floundering, some immaturity (my favorite), errors, and faux pas. And if someone is entertained by my experiences and views, learns from it, is interested in it, or benefits from it in any way, well that is just whipped cream on the already delicious sundae.

I think anyone that reads my blog is aware that my journey is one of SIF. I have that picture of Makena and I at the top of the page because that is where I get a large chunk of my identity -my parenting of my daughter-and it also serves as a sign post of what is ahead. I will never be ashamed of the pics I post of my most precious gift, and I will continue to post pics of her until/unless I determine that it is harmful to her in any way. And if there is someone out there that is hurt by a blog about SIF, parenting, relationships, and personal demons, then hell, I think that they figured out long ago that this is not the blog for them and moved on down Julie's list.

As to the title, the description, or the About Me stuff: hell, I have been barely upright, let alone hopeful that this freakishly lucky pregnancy was going to stick, so I haven't had the heart to change anything except the subtitle over the weekend. When I do have a chunk of time, I plan to change some things around, adjust my blogroll and such, but no promises when that will happen. I am a lazy bitch with higher priorities. I will however, not be changing the name of the blog because whether someone likes it or not, agrees with it or not, I came up with the name because that is how I identify my uterus. And that will not change. My past history dictates the title, and that my friends, will never wash clean.

One of the best lessons I learned lately about this tentative "community" was that when you have a problem with what someone says on their blog, the best course of action is to email them directly, calmly, with pure intention. My experience was that someone had removed me from their blog list, and while I understood and felt that I had no right to challenge that or be hurt by it, I made a remark that I must have been removed because I was pregnant, which saddened me, but that I needed to understand and accept it. The wonderful surprising thing that happened because if it, was the person who did the removing, saw my comment and extended me a personal email to explain her thinking. She didn't have to do that, but she cared enough about my feelings, the feelings of a virtual stranger, to explain and express her position and reasoning. We entered into a discussion that I felt left us both a little wiser and more enlightened, and me with an eternal respect, love, and understanding for this woman. And that my friends is what I love about this "community" and why I will never leave it unless forced off a gang plank.

I just wish everyone else's experience could be just as positive.

Keith and I had a discussion not too long ago about groups of women and the dynamics that arise. The discussion came up as we were watching Survivor this past season. The women had an "alliance" and became the dominant powerful force to be reckoned with. It looked as if they had the game in the bag and that there would be no doubt that the next Survivor would in fact be a woman. The ending: the guy won.

Eventually the woman began to turn on one another, feelings of distrust arose, criticism and judgment started to abound. Feelings became hurt, defenses went up, and the larger alliance fell apart.

In my experiences in life, that is all too often true.

Men get together and they bully, they fight, they posture, they assert, they rant, they argue, they challenge one another's position. And at the end of the day, they seem to be able to pat each other on the back or the ass, go out for a beer and tell each other jokes. They shrug it off and don't seem to take things so personally.

It doesn't seem to be this easy for women.

I sometimes think that the beauty of being a woman-our desire for more deep, meaningful connections-can be a double edged sword. Especially in this community, we are even more sensitive, emotional, hormonal, and raw. Most of us are here because we need an outlet for the thoughts and feelings that seem to be overcrowding our daily life. We need a special place to put these complex, overwhelming thoughts. A special place that we con process them, sort them, come to terms with them. Out of this desire, we have found that there are many of us, sharing the same dreams, sharing the same nightmares, sharing the same twist and turns. We celebrate the highs, and we tighten the group to carry each other during the lowest of the lows.

How can we get back to just that? How do we look past all the ugliness that is happening lately?

If you are reading this, and you are somehow involved in this whole hellfire, then I am sorry, because you are hurting right now. And from my perspective, talking to the individuals that I have, reading the comments and posts that I have, there have been some blatant MISUNDERSTANDINGS and MISINTERPRETATIONS. Yes, some people have been direct about their pettiness, and yes, some people have been hiding behind anonymous comments and private hate emails, but I think for the most part, there isn't as much hate and upset as one might believe right now. Again, I reiterate that there have been some horrible misunderstandings among some of the parties involved.

Unfortunately, I cannot make those go away, or do anything myself to mend fences and build bridges. I think what is needed now is some time, some distance, some patience, some understanding, and some restraint.

I just want us as women to be able to dispel some myths and predjudices that men have. Let's prove the bastards wrong and show that we can all respect each other and value each others thoughts and feelings without resorting to personal attacks.

So in the meantime, if anyone would like to join me in a bra and panty pillow fight, then I am here, with my crappy bra, my hole infested cotton panties, ready and waiting. I have pillows enough for each and everyone who would care to join. Won't you join me?

A "Muff"led Conversation

2005-02-04T21:33:00.000-10:00

I am in the foulest of moods. Don't know why, just am. But I know when I am in that kind of mood, the best thing I can do is keep my trap shut because I have no idea what may spew forth.

So instead of talking about feelings and deep thoughts, I am gunna keep it real tonight by discussing a very, very disturbing event, which is not the reason for my foul mood, but it sure didn't help matters much.

So there I was sitting on the toilet for an absurdly long amount of time waiting, putting in much effort only to deposit a few rabbit turd looking things from my poop pipes. I got a little bored, but I had no good reading material in front of me, so I do what every other woman does while spending unless time on the throne. I began inspecting and evaluating my body and its parts. I looked at my toes for a while, decided that I could really use a peticure. I checked out that mole on my upper thigh and plucked that errant hair that grows every other month or so. Then I got distracted by my unruly, monsterish, wookie. And lo and behold, the thing that just put the cherry on the top of my day: I FOUND 2 FUCKING GREY HAIRS IN MY BUSH!!!!!!!!!

How could it possibly come to this? I am shocked. I am dismayed, hell, I am mortified.

I am tired of my womanly thatch causing me such dismay. First the embarrassment of its lack of style and grace at my day at the spa, now with its hagly grey hairs!!! Something has got to change here my friends. I guess no longer have the luxury of a well tamed, youthful bush, instead I have an old hag that has seen better days and that no one would dare be caught in public with.

And to top it all off, I have noticed that due to those damn progesterone bullets, that ALL my underwear have tiny little holes in the crotch. Almost forming nice little circles directly where my hoo ha comes in contact with the cotton.

My only conclusion is this: not only is my muff unruly, resembling and escaped mental patient living out of her grocery cart in the back alley, but my muff is also toxic and radioactive.

What the hell are my options? Is there anything to be done about this dreadful situation?

Shaving: yeah, that would be delightful--seeing me obsessively scratch and paw at my crotch because undoubtedly, the red bumps and crazy itching will begin within 5 minutes after shaving the damn hag.

Trimming: I am no Paul Brown, so I don't know if I could do anything with it. Do you give it a style? Do you mouse it every day? Will it need expensive conditioner and a flat iron every day? And what the hell scissors do I use? I don't think it would be appropriate to use the kitchen shears. And it would be my luck that I would then find the scissors in the hands of my daughter and me yelling "Stop! Don't use mommy's muff scissors to cut out your My Little Pony cutouts!" Oy!

Waxing: Holy hell, I hear rumors of how bad that mother would hurt. The skin is so damn sensitive down there. How do women do that? It isn't like I could pop a valium and pound a tequila shooter before the process. And do I really trust myself with hot wax down there? I could scar myself for life (more so than the hideous tear from my lack of episiotomy with Makena). So that leaves going to see a professional to do the waxing for me. But hell, how do you do that? Explain to me how it works that you make an appointment with some stranger, strip down to your birthday suit, and spread and lift for a stranger?!?! Shit, a girl has gotta have some kind of pride! I felt so invaded by every u/s wand and female parts doc in the state, I thought sharing my hoo ha days were over.

Seriously ladies, all crassness aside, what the hell do YOU all do to tame the beast? What is the best option here? And if waxing is the way to go, please explain to this virgin how the whole process goes? Do you invite your asthetician out for a drink before you show her the goods? Do you look at a book of latests trends and styles and say to her "ooooohhh, I want this one, I want to have a muff just like Janet Jackson, Miss Janet if you are nasty"? How much does the service cost? Is it really, horribly painful?

A coworker was telling me her idea the other day that she wishes her OB were a one stop shopping experience. You go in for you "muff"acial and a leg shave, and then while they have you in the stirrups, they do your pap and your pelvic as well. All while playing nice, relaxing music, while you sip on your herbal tea, and maybe have a peticure while they are down there. I think at my next visit to the OB, I will suggest it to her. I mean after all, she is a woman too, you would think she would see the brilliance in this idea, don't you?

Oh, and as for the two grey pubic hairs? I plucked 'em and put them in my memory box along with the first 2 grey hairs that I plucked off the top of my head a few months back.

And that my friends is how I spend a Friday night. Don't you wish you could be here with me?!?! Fuck, don't answer that.

But I am seriously looking forward to your own tips and strategies for taming the wayward muff. Truly, I am serious. I really want to know, lord help me.

Heaven, thy name is Memory Foam

2005-02-01T08:15:00.000-10:00

Sorry my little cupcakes and farts, I haven't forgotten about you. I have just been very busy sleeping on my new California King memory foam topper purchased with a $30 coupon from Costco. Ah, what bliss. Ah, what heavenly slumbers. The only problem is, that I don't want to wake up in the morning anymore. I want to stay in my bed and give peace a chance, all we are saying, is give peace a chance.

The other downside of a mattress topper is that I can't have any womanly accidents. Oh no! God forbid I should bleed, break my waters or get my husband's DNA on it! Hopefully he will tackle his problem and do his part and stop wetting the bed. Hee hee!

Also, I have been slavishly working. I even pulled a couple of 12 hours days (not spent with my boyfriend as my husband accuses, he dumped me because I am getting too fat). We have a review today, that will decide the fate of our funding and the fate of my employment. The good news is, that boss has been very happy with the new data that I pulled out of my ass last week and I am back on her good side. So work isn't such a stressful place anymore.

I haven't forgotten about some of your requests. I will hopefully have some time to post in the next few days.

I am heading off to an OB app, hopefully a yawn inducing bore fest.

And if you have some time today, please stop by the following blogs and offer your support, for various reasons, there are some ladies out there that could use some extra sisterhood lovin.

Dee
Jen P
Jen
Bugs: a very brave post that deserves recognition and support

And if you want to add some ladies that need a little extra underwire support, then feel free to add a link in your comments.

Holy Shit! There was a damn bridge after all!

2005-01-24T21:20:00.001-10:00

17 weeks 0 days

And that was exactly what the little slugger measured. I kept hearing the word "perfect" mentioned again and again by the Perinatologist. Holy hell, the word "perfect" being tossed around about anything that is in my uterus?! The tears just began to pour. He kept asking me questions and trying to make chit chat, then finally looked at me and realized that I couldn't talk because I was crying so damn hard. All I could muster were head nods. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would start the really ugly cry. You know the kind where spontaneous, uncontrolled sobs emanate from somewhere deep in the diaphram. The kind of ugly cry when you can't form words, only unintelligible guttural sounds. Keith was kind enough to answer the questions for me.

I just stared at the screen in awe and wonder with gobs of tears running down the side of my face.

According to Proactive Peri, he said that the triple screen results should fall in line with the "perfectly formed, healthy baby" that I have growing inside. He asked details about Makena: her weight at birth, gestational age at birth and all that stuff. He said that he wouldn't be surprised if this one ended up on par with her size and weight given the wonderful measurements that he took from this one. The Mr Wizard in the u/s machine seems to agree with all the charts, wheels and calendars, and this one is going to be an Independence Day baby. July fucking 4th.

As to the sex of the baby:

It was clear one way or another. I closed my eyes and told Proactive Peri that I don't want to know. Keith is very adamant on knowing, so we decided that he can know, and it will be a surprise for me and the rest of the world. Weird, sure, but we are just weird enough to pull this one off. Keith is very, very stoic and a good poker player and will find it very easy to keep the secret. I for once in my life want a wonderful surprise and am actually looking forward to being blissfully unaware. All I cared about was a healthy baby, the sex doesn't matter at this point.

So now onward and upward. Time to move to the next stage of this pregnancy where I don't worry so goddamn much, where I am not so paralyzed with fear, time to take a deep breath and just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

And if you are still here after the last few months of disgusting obsessive self doubt and fear, then I salute you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you have managed to trudge throughout the last few months of shit that I have been doling out on this blog, then you my friend, are a true friend, and deserve a brownie, or a truffle, ooo, a box of Godiva truffles! A big fat cyber box of Godiva truffles from me to you. Thanks for putting up with my shit. I promise to not be as much of an asshole from here on out, or at least no more so than I was before.

Now I can go back to my regular posting and commenting ways. Sorry to be such a slacker. If you have any questions or curiosities that you would like answered, then feel free to ask away. I will open up the floor for requests. Would you like to hear about my adventures with Mr. Massaging Shower Head? Would you like to know about my current work with the Dengue virus and how I plan to take over the world with my findings? Or I bet you are dying to hear about my poop pipes and if the raisin bran is working. You just let me know, and I will accommodate your wishes. After all, I owe you big time for reading my crap the last few months!

I do have pics of today's event, but I am too tired to fuck with the damn scanner tonight. Besides, you don't really want to see that shit.

Oh, and to the lurkers out there: feel free to chime in and let yourself be known. I don't bite--usually. I try and reserve my bitchiness for my husband, who deserves it. So feel free to say "hi", I know that I often don't comment on the blogs I read because I am afraid that they might not want to hear from an SIF asshole, but all are welcome here, especially if you have a propensity for cursing! Have I ever mentioned that cursing on my blog is whole heartedly accepted and downright encouraged here? A sentence is always improved with a healthy, hearty fuck, shit, cock sucker, and asshole. It is so cathartic. Trust me.

Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow--I know that I will because I won't be checking the sky every five minutes looking for the other shoe to drop. What a fucking relief.

A post just for Jenn

2005-01-24T08:56:00.000-10:00

Blogger bitch has been mighty naughty lately and hasn't let me on when I wanted. Besides, I am sort of cave-like once again waiting for the big u/s that is at 3pm today. Fear is so damn paralyzing, even freezes up the brain and fingers, which doesn't bode well for posting and commenting.

My mom used to have this recurrent dream, which then became my recurrent dream. I am standing on the edge of a cliff, dangerously close to the edge. My mom is standing behind me, wanting to scream out, wanting to run to me, wanting to protect me from the inevitable tumble off the edge, but she is paralyzed with fear. Fearful that if she calls out to me, that it would startle me and cause me to slip and fall. Fearful that if she runs to me and grabs me, that I might be startled again and resist her grasp and go over the edge that way.

I can't help but feel that I am on that cliff's edge right now. The only difference being that there is no turning back, I must go forward, I must take a step. That step will either be met with a huge fall or it will be met with a footbridge to the other side. The only problem is that my eyes are clenched shut so tightly because I am so scared of what may come, that I just can't open them and see what lay before me. I guess I have to take a step based on Faith. Faith that no matter what may come, that I can handle it, face it, and not break into a tiny million pieces. And maybe, just maybe, that bridge might lead me to the other side where I can finally kick up my heels about this pregnancy and experience some Hope. I will only find out once I take that step.

3pm today seems that it may never come.

Note to self: must stay alive to finish project (with an update)

2005-01-18T22:59:00.000-10:00

Thanks for all the tips and helpful advice. Today I tried the wrist bands, peppermint tea, and ginger candy. I have already tried most of those other things before. Unfortunately, I am unhappy to report that I am worse today than before.

I am trying not to be a hypochondriac here, but I have this strong feeling that something just isn't right with my body. I think the baby is ok, the Doppler has reassured me that the heart is still beating strong. The alien in my tummy is also rather active. I can actually feel the movement now, so I am not too overly concerned about the baby. At least not yet.

No, what I am concerned about is the fact that I actually feel worse in the past few days than before (if that is possible), and now I have graduated to severe abdominal tenderness/pain. The only thing keeping me going is the fact that I have a project due in the morning, for which I have just now completed.

I told Keith when he got home that my body just doesn't feel right, but that I am not going to call the doctor until the project is done, because I am actually worried that I am in for some kind of hospital stay.

I know that I am a little insane for trying to finish the damn project before I call the doc, but I am so sick of my boss ranting and raving at me for every fucking thing that is wrong in the lab since the flood, that for my sanity, I need to hand this into her to get her off my cotton pickin back.

So I will hand the shit in at 9am tomorrow, then make a bee line for my doc.

I don't like to ask for things, but if you could think some good thoughts and send some good vibes my way that this is just some horrible indigestion or something, it would be much appreciated.

Now, I must collapse in bed. Hopefully sleep will at least alleviate this killer headache that I have had all day.

I will post any news as soon as I can.

UPDATE:

Doc fit me in as soon as she opened this am, but not before my boss called me and wanted to know where I was and where the finished project was. I made a detour, stopped by work, dropped off the disc and then told her I had to go, that my doc cleared some time to see me in an emergent situation. Boss says "I know you are in a hurry, but what if this disc doesn't read on my computer? What if the data is incomplete? What do you plan on doing?" I told her: "I plan on making sure that everything is ok with me, then if you have problems, I will help you work them out." Now, normally my boss is on the A list as far as bosses go. I would do just about anything for her, and I know how stressed out she is, and that with the flood, if we don't pass this review, there will be no more grant money, thus no more job. But Jebus Fucking Christy, she needs to realize that my job is no longer my first priority, nor should it ever be in comparison to my kid, my soon to be kid, and my husband. But I digress, you don't want to hear that shit right now.

On to the app:

Blood pressure only a tad higher than usual, but not anything remarkable.

No protein in urine.

No fever.

No more weight loss.

Vampires descended upon my viens to check on Thyroid, Liver function, Electrolytes, and other metabolic functions.

Doc thinks that I have a virus. I am not sold on that opinion, but I feel better knowing that she ran all the appropriate blood tests. I don't get the results until the morning.

Doc also thinks my abdominal pain is due to the fact that my poop pipes are at a stand still being that I only go once every four days or so. She thinks that maybe I am backed up and need to injest more fibre. She wants me to work on my diet and nutrition, rather than take a bunch of pills and supps. I told her that would be just great if I could manage to eat anything real, besides French Fries (oops, Freedom Fries) which are the only things that seem remotely appealing and stay in place in my tummy.

She thinks that I need to stick with the Zofran and hope that this lets up soon. She says that most bad cases like mine clear up in weeks 16-18. Fingers crossed that there is a light at the end of a tunnel that isn't supplied by a mack truck heading straight for me.

So I need to just keep pushing the fluids, eat when I can, and try and make what I do eat count in the way of fibre and nutrition.

Barring anything surprising in the blood test results, she says no need to worry, no need to panic, just rest more and tell my boss to bite me (not her exact words, but close enough).

The good news: she listened to the baby again and the heart is beating strong at 162, and very, very active. She said that the good heart rate and the strong, frequent movements are really, really good signs. She thinks the baby is thriving, in spite of mom not doing the same. So all in all, as long as this baby has all appropriate appendages in the right location, has no life threatening conditions due to misplaced appendages, and manages to be born when it is supposed to, then all this crap is worth it.

They shoot horses don't they?

2005-01-17T08:53:00.000-10:00

And from my experiences on working ranches, they shoot dogs, lambs, goats, and anything else that moves when they are in misery.

Well folks, maybe it is time that someone put me out of my misery.

Some people have inquired about my nausea.

I make mention of it often, but I try (maybe poorly) to not go on and on and bitch and moan too much. But the fact remains, I feel pretty beaten down right now.

I am 16 weeks today, a point when all the stupid pregnancy books say that I should be over the nausea, right? FUCKING WRONG!!!!!!!

My rx for Zofran (no more freudian slips here) was about to run out over the weekend and I seriously thought about not refilling it. I began to ponder if I were dependant upon it, so afraid of the nausea and puking that maybe I didn't need it. I thought that maybe the level of nausea that I have always felt while taking it, might even be bearable, something I could handle without any medication. I decided to fill the script just in case and take a wait and see attitude.

I slept in yesterday morning and when I woke up, the first thing I felt wasn't an overwhelming need to run to the toilet. I thought that maybe not taking the meds might work out after all.

This is the moment in all scary movies where you shout at the screen "Don't open that door you stupid bitch, the killer is right THERE!!"

Yep, you guessed it, avoiding horrible smells (like hot dogs) and making it to the toilet in time was once again the sport of the day in the Bermuda household.

I am once again taking my pills.

If I were on a ranch, I would have been put down by now.

I have a dream, it is a simple little dream. I want to ENJOY being pregnant. I want my family to ENJOY this pregnancy. I don't want to miss out on this pregnancy. I don't want to spend the whole damn thing feeling like I do now, but I just don't know how to get to that place of enjoyment when I feel this sick.

Any tips?

Bogged down in blogville

2005-01-10T22:09:00.000-10:00

I find myself a little out of gas lately. Maybe because I am back to work more regularly. Maybe because I am a tired pregnant person. Maybe because I still have the exact same nausea as I did at weeks 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and now 15, the only difference being that with Zoloft, I am no longer living next to the toilet bowl. Maybe because I am tired of my own bitching. Maybe because I am tired of being scared and hope that I can jump to the part where I am going to be a glowing pregnant gal. I don't know what exactly my deal is, I just have no spunk left with which to write lately. So I can offer you a short list of what I could write about and what has been going on lately.

Boss is still riding my ass. I think she thinks I am not working hard enough, when there isn't much I could have done this whole time while our lab was down, but then again, who am I kidding, I really am NOT working as hard as I could. But hey, I play the pregnancy card. It trumps all. Besides, what is she gunna do? Fire me? Bah!

My best gal pal Cathy is here. So fucking awesome to have her here. Not only because she is the bestest friend ever (who else has a friend that treats you to spa treatments for no other reason than to make you happy?), but because it has been so nice to spend some time with her and reconnect after the long silences due to my fertility challenged mental and emotional paralysis.

I could tell you about how when I was at the spa for my day of relaxation and pampering that I was amazed and dumbfounded with all the different hair styles out there. Not on the head hairstyles, but the below the waist hairstyles. I saw landing strips. I saw baldness resembling prepubescence. I saw finely coiffed mini triangles. I saw a nice circular do. It made me feel like me and my bush straight out of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom had no place at the spa. I wondered if I should be embarrassed of my untamed beast? Am I missing out on something? Was I asleep once again when instructions were given that you are supposed to manicure all the hedges? Does this make me a hippie? I shave under my arms. Am I a schizophrenic hippie? Keith has offered to rectify the situation with his trusty shaving cream and his disposable bic, but for some reason, I am having some doubts as to the prudence of such extreme measures.

I could also tell you about how wonderful it was to have Cathy here because she figuratively held my hand and helped me go into the Dungeon of Doom: the maternity store. She helped me pick out non offensive, practical stuff. She streamlined everything for me and ran around the store putting things away, getting different sizes and just being genuinely helpful, so that I would have to spend as little time as possible in a place that I was sure to be struck by lightning at any moment. I was waiting for a Deus ex Machina to come and snatch me away the minute the perky little 17 year old sales clerk asked me for my due date and I had the audacity to answer with a real, actual date, as if I actually expect to give birth. But hey, who the hell wants to hear another maternity store adventure. Been there, read that. Nothing novel there.

I could tell you about how, while Makena on one hand seems very excited and tells everyone and anyone that she comes across that I am having a baby, she has begun to wet the bed EVERY SINGLE night. I think her subconscious is trying to tell me something, but hell, I can't channel Freud, so instead, I have a lot more laundry to do than usual. I just try and ignore the wetting thing and just spend a little more time with her, giving her extra hugs, extra kisses, extra reassurances.

I could tell you about how I went to see Phantom of the Opera this weekend. I could tell you that I am in love with the Phantom; a poor tortured soul that feels rejected by normal society, who has to compete with a pretty boy land baron for the affections of the pale and waif-like Christine. I guess the last few years have made me feel that I have more in common with the Phantom. Besides, he isn't such a bad guy; I know he killed a few people, but really he is just misunderstood. Besides, with that mask on, he is one damn fine hottie! He can sing to me and whisk me away any day. Sometimes the garish light of day just sucks, ya know?

Let's see, I could tell you about how I love my shower head, but not for the reasons you may think. My shower head should be advertised as a "marital aid". The massaging action isn't just for the back muscles, if you catch my drift. I am currently having a torrid affair with my shower head. I just hope that my husband never finds out. Can we keep that between us friends?

Oh, did anyone see Inside Out: Cindy Margolis on VH1? I was flipping about the channels and saw her, was about to keep flipping when they showed her giving herself shots in the arse. I admit, I was curious, wondering what the hell the most downloaded chick on the internet was doing injecting things into her arse unless it was collagen or some new way to do botox. I kept watching and imagine my surprise when I realized that the show was documenting her last and final IVF before she threw in the towel for good. I came to the show late, but I guess that she had to do 4 attempts to get that sweet little cherubic boy that the camera kept focusing on. So the show was following her attempt at #2. Now if you can put aside your feelings of disdain everytime you looked at her barbie doll features, what I was actually impressed with was that that VH1, or any channel for that matter, would air something so honest and real. Say what you want about how plastic she is, they showed her having meltdowns, tantrums, pouting during injections, her retrieval, her bleak fertilization report, and then her transfer. It threw me a bit that her doctor and all ther supporters in the room during transfer laid hands on her abdomen while the doc said a prayer for good fertilization, I mean who gets that kind of treatment from their RE? Unfortunately, it wasn't the missing ingredient for a successful IVF, because hers failed. It was sad. It was honest. It was real. I found myself feeling a strange respect for Cindy Margolis--that she would be brave enough to air something that was so personal, so hard. It felt like she was doing her part to take infertility and IVF out of the closet. It is just so nice for once to see something other than uber fertiles, getting pregnant within months of marriage, and never having the fear of miscarriage, loss, and failure play a part in the quest for a larger family.

So I think that is about it....not much going on here. See why I have nothing to blog about? I have absolutely nothing interesting to say.

14w1d

2005-01-05T07:56:00.000-10:00

Are you surprised? I am. How did I make it this far? Who'd a thunk it.

App summary:

Boring for the most part.

Dr Younger Than Me has such a new practice that she doesn't have a u/s machine. She is young, she is the only one in her practice, her practice is only 1.5-2 yrs old, which also means that I am only 1 of 3 patients that she has that has experienced multiple m/c's. Her knowledge and experience is lacking, but she makes up for it with care and personal attention. It is very clear to me that she gives me and her other 2 defunct patients much thought and attention. Plus, I am guaranteed that she will be available to deliver this baby should it come to that, unlike the great fiasco that was the birth of Makena where they had to pull in the Resident to catch her as she was falling out and I ripped from stem to stern.....ahhhh I digress, a different story for a different day.

Back to the app:

All my prior labs were normal. Dancing in the streets that I don't have Chlamydia. Duh!

I have lost 4 more lbs.

A run down of the next few weeks was discussed.

I have my triple screen set for the 18th.

I will have a level II scan done that week as well.

If those 2 things come back all clear, then I promise to lighten up a bit. It is mostly my line in the sand moment. The point at which I will feel able to let Hope take up permanent residency in the Bermuda household.

We listened for the h/b on Doppler, which I wasn't too excited about because I had just done so at home an hour ago, but there was an added bonus this time. We heard the baby actually thrashing about. I thought it was gas or something but Dr YTM told me that it wasn't. That it was baby movement. And quite strong movement too, she pointed out. We heard 3 different distinct thrashings. That was nice.

The best part of the app:

Makena came with me.

We were running extremely late yesterday morning, so I knew that I wouldn't have time to swing by her school, drop her off and make it to the app on time. I took a risk and let her come with me. The risk payed off big time. Once she heard the h/b and heard the doctor tell her about the baby and explained to her that we were listening to the baby moving around, something changed in Makena. A light turned on. You could see it in her eyes. She looked truly joyful.
She hasn't stopped asking me questions since. When we had pizza delivered last night she ran out on the porch and told the delivery person that her mommy is pregnant and she is going to be a big sister. She spent a lot of time last evening running around the house jumping for joy and singing "hallelujah, mommy is having a baby!" Now that she knows what that Doppler thingy is for that I keep by the bed, she keeps hounding me to let her listen to the baby. I feel like I am being chased around the house with a Doppler. I think she is coming around, don't you?

Now on to the next 2ww. Shit I hate those.

Punxsutawney Janet

2005-01-03T22:36:00.000-10:00

If the sun shines tomorrow at 9am at a degree of 45, with respect to Earth's rotation and at the current longitude of 21° 20' N, and the latitude of 157° 55' W, then Punxsutawney Janet will emerge from her cave. If she sees a shadow, then there will be 2 more months of the season of discontent. If no shadow is seen, then I will post after my o.b. visit. I'll let you know.

First day back to work in the lab.

Came out to my boss and told her of my intent to take leave in July.

Still trying to fight the urge not to o.d on Zofran. I mean really...waiting 12 hours to take another pill?!?!? That is just down right hard. Keith tried to inform me that I was taking the pill incorrectly. He looked up the proper, best way to administer said meds into blood stream. At this point I would stick it up my anus if it would do a better job/last longer. Turns out I am taking the pill correctly, I am just blessed with strong nausea. The joy! I keep thinking of a discussion from a movie that best describes what my body is going through carrying this little slugger.

Brodie: It's impossible. Lois could never have superman's baby. Do you think her fallopian tubes could handle his sperm ? I guarantee he blows a load like a shotgun right through her back. What about her womb ? You think it's strong enough to carry his child ?

TS: Sure. Why not?

Brodie: He's an alien, for christ's sake! His kryptonian biological makeup is enhanced by earth's yellow sun. If lois gets a tan, the kid could kick right through her stomach. Only someone like wonder woman has a strong-enough uterus to carry his kid. Only way he could bang regular chicks is with a kryptonite condom, but that would kill him.

Where is the womb of Wonderwoman when you need it? I always wanted to be her anyway. I really would like a pair of gold, bullet blocking bangles, not to mention a magic truth lasso. I know Keith would really appreciate it if I had tits as big as hers as well. I am working on that.

Anyway, before I began to meander, the point that I was trying to make is that I am tired. T. I. R. E. D.

I fully intend to respond and further discuss my last post, but that will have to wait for tomorrow--if the app goes well and I don't get spooked by my shadow that is.

I do have to give a quick thanks and a shout out to all of you that emailed me and posted here with such gracious, wonderful words of support (If you haven't had a reply yet, don't give up on me, one is coming) . It means so much. You have prevented me from pulling the plug on this blog. I have been known to stay in my cave for very long durations, just ask Cathy, so it carries much weight when I say that your words have pulled me out ahead of schedule.

Now I must go to bed.

I am too tired to form coherent, structured sentences.

Nighty night my little chick filets.

Let me introduce you to Neanderthal Janet (also known as the big 1st trimester rant for the archives)

2004-12-27T14:34:00.000-10:00

In other words, I feel an incredible need to go hide in a cave, somewhere in the mountains, somewhere far, far away.

I warn you now, proceed with caution. This post is bound to piss some people off. The intention is not to hurt, but I remind you all why I started this blog, and that this blog is really for me. I also hope that if there is just one person out there feeling the same way, that they can take comfort in the fact that they are not alone. Too often I go looking through blogs looking for some ribbons of recognition and comfort at this fucking scary and precarious time, and due to the prevalent lack of blogging in the first tri, I don't often find what I am looking for. So if someone else out there finds what they need from reading me, well, that would just be wonderful.

Zofran, while it prevents me from puking up everything I eat (mostly), is no longer making a really good dent in the nausea. I look at food and just wanna cry and often do. Food is now the foe. At times I get hungry, sooooo sooo hungry, but I just can't bring myself to eat as much and as well as I should. This situation is no longer comforting. It is not fun, nor funny. I am miserable. It sucks. I am not looking for pity, only stating the truth. I think that it is even causing a little depression, a trip back to a place where I have fought long and hard to get away from. And when I come across some poor saps story about how the nausea lasted the whole pregnancy, it turns my hair white and my blood ice cold. I can't imaging living like this for the next 6 months. I just can't imagine.

My body is so fucking tired, that all my joints hurt. Hurt so bad, that it keeps me up at night, which then makes me tired in the morning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I had a very scary experience one night that I never blogged about for reasons that I will get to later. I awoke at 2am, with what felt like contractions. They were centered around my uterus, they were regular, every 2 minutes, and reminded me exactly of what it felt like when I was in labor with Makena. I got up, and instinctively sat on the toilet. The "contractions" came at very regular intervals for the next 1.5 hours of so. The whole time I was sitting on the toilet. I felt so damn sick to my stomach, was dry heaving with each contraction, and broke out in a horrible sweat. I was so soaked with sweat it was like I had just taken a shower. I was convinced it was over. I started crying for a while, but then realized that crying wasn't doing anything for me, and I had to put all my focus into getting through the "contractions" without screaming. I thought of having Keith take me to the hospital, but I didn't want to wake up Makena and scare her, nor did the thought of being in an ER provide any comfort. Finally 1.5 hours later, the source of the "contractions" became clear. I wasn't having uterine contractions, I was having intestinal contractions. I "delivered" a serious amount of shit finally, and I think it was due to consuming too much Splenda earlier in the evening. An empty stomach with a glass full of Kool aid sweetened with Splenda a happy night does not make. Take my word on it. Please.

Christmas, while not totally sucking, really wasn't the delight that I had hoped for. I was too sick and tired to make all those yummy recipes that everyone helped me out with. I didn't decorate. And due to the laws of supply and demand and what a fucking backwoods island I live on, we didn't get a Christmas tree. My mom took pity on us and shipped one, but it didn't get here until xmas eve, so it looks a little like a Charlie Brown tree, for all the effort and time that we had to put into decorating it and the fact that it wasn't too healthy after 6 days of shipping.

And what truly blows, is that I thought it would all look wonderful in light of the good news that we decided to finally share with Makena by way of giving her some books on What is that alien thing growing in mommy's tummy and You are gunna be a big sister. Her reaction? Well, lets just say that we are seeing tantrums the likes we haven't seen since she was 2, only this time they are peppered with "I hate YOU" and "You are a horrible mommy, I am running away!" It all came to a head this morning when sobbing uncontrollably, she told me that she was losing her family, that she didn't deserve her family's love, and that we won't want her anymore once the baby comes. I don't care if anyone thinks she is just manipulating me, or will get over it. Looking into her beautiful, big, blue eyes and seeing the pain she is in left my heart in a. million. tiny. pieces. We huddled together on the floor, me rocking her, sobbing together.

And I really, really feel naked and vulnerable right now writing this all down. I am not feeling safe in the land of blogging right now. I was perusing my trusted list of blogs that get me through and saw that someone saw fit to remove me from their list of reads. Then I read that same gal say something on someone else's blog about how she removes the preggos from her list. So then I go back to said gal's blog, and see that just isn't true. She has a few preggos on her list. Mine is the only one removed. And really, so what, I know better than to really be upset, because I also know how bad it felt to go traveling the blogging corridor and see so many others with good news and not have good news of my own. I remember it very well. But you know what? I don't feel safe in the land of preggoville at all. In my mind I haven't gone anywhere. I am still here. I am no where near convinced that I am going to end up with another little miracle in my arms come July 4th. Sometimes it feels as if I am just biding my time until the triple screen and the level II u/s confirm my worst fears.

Just because I am pregnant doesn't erase the very, very bad history of the Bermuda Triangle. It would be hubris to think that just because I am heading into the 2nd tri that I will be having a healthy, live baby. If you made all my pregnancies into a batting average, then it is clear that I probably shouldn't even be on a farm team, let alone the Big Show.

And what the hell is the deal with all the bloggers that find out they are pregnant and then go into hiding, barely posting? I even read one dear sweet blogger who said that she felt guilty for keeping a blog, for continuing to write. And some turd even came by and blasted her for not being more happy and grateful that she is in the position she is in.

News flash: just because you get pg, doesn't mean everything is all sunshine and daisies. The first trimester blows for those of us who have a really crappy history of miscarriage. On one hand, yes, you have the positive pg test, you know that there is great potential, but it also hurts like the biggest son of a bitch ever to find out that that potential is gone. To hear the words "I am sorry but the baby died, your body just hasn't let go yet" is a fate that I don't wish on anyone, not a single soul. Yes, there is utter devastation to have failed cycle after cycle, to have failed IUI's, to have failed IVF's. There is no denying that. But honestly, and maybe everyone won't agree, (but I don't care, this is my blog), I would rather be staring at a negative test than staring up at the lights in an OR room having your 5th, 6th, 7th, 100th D&C. And that is what the first trimester has been about for me. Waiting to be rolled into the operating room, because why, oh why, should I expect any different outcome? Yes, there is hope, but hope is hard to let in your heart, because sometimes the mere presence of hope makes the future pain even more gutwrenching.

So to all of those people out there that say "you should be grateful, at least you are pg", well, I invite you to bite me, and you are more than welcome to remove my blog from your favorites. I am grateful for this opportunity, for each and every day that I take one step closer, that I have this growing life inside of me. But the existence of gratitude does not prohibit the existence of fear. I can exist in both places at once. And the existence of this pregnancy does not erase the past and does not erase the feeling of mistrust and doubt that I have for my uterus, my body, and its ability to produce a live, healthy baby at the end of this process.

The first trimester is a scary place to be, especially for an infertile, especially for a habitual aborter. It is no picnic. And what has been especially troublesome to me is the lack of posting that goes on with the newly pregnant infertile. I think some of the time it is due to shock and speechlessness at the newfound turn of events, but more often than not, from what I glean off those blogs and from what I have read in comments and have felt myself, is that it is scary and fearful for the newly preggo to post. I think that the newly preggo is scared of being shunned and abandoned by the community. If you write about your fears or how bad it sucks because you can't stop puking your guts up, then you open yourself up to the scorn of the rest of the infertile blogging community. And some I know are afraid to write anything because they don't want to hurt their readers that are still struggling. I have only read a few bloggers out there that are truly the insensitive type. It is the exception to the rule. The mere act of blogging usually means that the blogger is a thoughtful, insightful sort, and it should never be misconstrued that if someone blogs or dare complains about the scariness of pregnancy, that they are insensitive. A newly preggo infertile needs support and understanding, and dare I say might need even more, because it is such a scary time, with very real bad, hurtful, devastating things lurking behind every scan, every test, every doctor visit. And for some of us, it isn't just a chance of bad, it can be a liklihood that something bad will happen.

The first few weeks that I found out that I was pregnant, I scoured and scoured every pregnant infertiles' blog looking for some kind of recognition, some kind of guidance or proof that I wasn't the only insanely worried one crazy with fear. What I often found was a distinct lack of blogging once the good news was revealed. I also found a lot of talk of hope and optimism, which was nice, but nothing that I identified with at the moment. I also wondered how much of that optimism was forced or written about for the sake of the audience, because I also read a lot of apologizing, excuses, and justifications for feeling scared, worried, terrified, and not enjoying the moment. And what was even more sad is that I saw some attacks on the people that were honest about their fears or their lack of enthusiasm.

Of course the exceptions to the rule were Julie and Tertia. They called it like it was, but I even got the sense from Julie that she felt obligated to wax a little optimistic, or at least mask her fear with cynicism. Actually the blog that really got me through some horrible nights was Tertia's. She was honest and forthright with her fear. She knew what it was like to be in a very dark place, and she knew that a positive pregnancy test didn't excise those dark parts. I made sure to let her know how much her blog saved my sanity.

*interesting aside: the same people that supposedly shun newly pregnant blogs never once removed those blogs from their list. I guess popularity plays an important part in whether or not you want to read about and infertile's pregnancy. Yes, my bitterness is showing.

And while I am pissing people off and making enemies, I have to add another thing that left an awful taste in my mouth. Remember all the uproar when Cecily of Unwanted Birth Control talked about her reaction to the fact that her twins were boys? Boy that was a doozy. And a very good example of how cold it can be when you are shunned by the infertile blogging world. And all because she was just being honest and working her feelings out on HER OWN GODDAMN BLOG. I have more respect for her honesty now, even more so than I did at the time, but especially now, I see how brave it was that she put herself out there for all to judge. Too bad people took the opportunity to do so.

I don't know where the hell I am going with this tirade and why. I guess I have some pent up feelings that need to be purged. Maybe it is the hormones, maybe it is my burgeoning depression-- who the fuck knows. I have been lucky in that I have never had a troll or some hurtful back-handed support, but I have seen it out there and I was hurt by it even though it wasn't directed at me. It has also effected me in that I worry about it when I think about whether or not I will post now that I am pregnant, and whether or not I will be honest or pretend and post what I think that some out there want to hear. I never thought I would worry about those things as I started my blog as a very personal journal, but like it or not, there are a few out there reading me besides my sistas, my true friends, the fellow infertiles that I have come to know and love through their blogs. But in that same vein, I need to be honest, I need to be me, I need to call things as I see them, because it doesn't do me any good to keep up a false front. And besides, I know what it meant for me to find Tertia's blog that night I couldn't sleep when I was paralyzed with fear before that first u/s, so if I can give someone else that same comfort, then who the fuck cares who I piss off?

I know that there are quite a few of you out there that genuinely care about me, who love me, and I love in return, and I thank my good fortune for you. I am thankful for you more than I can ever express, more than I am capable of expressing. I thank you for being there every second. And I also want to apologize for this post. I hope that it doesn't waste too much space in your brain for too long, but I felt that I needed to come clean about why I am doing the hermit thing and why I feel unfit for your company right now. Believe me, this post leaves a bad taste in my mouth just like the bile that I harf up all the time. But the fact remains that I am scared. I still remain unconvinced that this will have a happy outcome. I wish that I could be optimistic. I wish my faith and hope could be inspiring. But every day that passes I feel two things: happy that another day has passed that I am still pregnant, but then even more scared and aware that with every day that passes, I have more and more to lose. For the first time I question my decision to try and have another baby, because I become humbled by the fact that I am in no way prepared for the pain if I lose this one too.

I hope there comes a day when I don't feel so sick.

I hope there comes a day that I finally feel confident, and oh how I hope that the triple screen and level II scan make that day a reality.

Slithering back to my cave now. I hope you all understand because I am not sure if I do.

Will you be there when I emerge from my cave? Am I that lucky? Lord knows I am undeserving.

pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt

Scene from a Mall Santa visit

2004-12-21T22:39:00.000-10:00

Setting: Standing in an awfully long line to sit on Santa's Lap, 10am, 4 shopping days till Christmas.

Makena: You know, that isn't Santa. That is a fake Santa
Me: What do you mean fake? Why do you say fake?
Makena: Come on mom, look at his beard! That is a fake Santa beard if I ever saw one.
Me: (Looking at Santa, pretty sure that his beard is real) That is a real beard hun, I really think it is.
Makena: Do all these kids know that they are standing in line to meet a fake Santa?
Me: Sssssssssshhhhhhh, we don't want to spoil anyone's fun. There are little kids here who aren't as wise as you, and they are looking forward to meeting Santa. (Then in hushed tone, I bend down to give my smarty pants of a daughter the same load of bull my mom gave me, just a few years older than Makena is now.) You see, Santa is VERY, VERY busy preparing all the toys for all the children around the world, so he has his special Santa agents come to the mall and represent him to make sure that he knows exactly what you want to receive this year.

She seemed appeased with that, but then we got into the discussion over whether or not she has been naughty or nice this year.

Makena: I have been very nice lately, that is all the matters.
Me: No, actually, Santa keeps watching over you all year round and keeps track and sees if you have been naughty or nice overall, throughout the WHOLE year.
Makena: No, I don't think so, he is too busy for all that. There are too many kids to keep track of. He saw that I was a good girl last week, so I am sure I will get lots of presents this year.
Me: Santa is never too busy to watch you all year round. He sees you ALL the time, and he will keep seeing you until Christmas when he decides exactly what to leave for you this year.
Makena: No mom, I am not worried, it isn't like Santa has telescopic eyes or anything. He can't see me all the time. I will just tell his representative I have been very, very good and he will believe me. Trust me mommy, trust me.

Then it becomes our turn *finally*. As Makena gets ready to go sit on his lap, she turns to me, and says in a hushed tone: "Mommy, you forgot to put panties on me this morning!"

And with horror, I realized that my little girl was about to sit on Santa's lap, in a nice dress, with no undies on. What did I do? I leaned down to her and whispered: "Hunny, whatever you do, keep your legs crossed when they take the picture."

Luckily she is quite the demure little lady, and she was very careful to keep her dress held down as she sat on his lap.

Oh, but wait, it gets even better.

When Santa asked my sweet, innocent, little 5 year old daughter what she would most like for Christmas her response was as follows:

"I would like a Homo Erotic Peekaboo"

I just about died. Santa craned his head just a little and looked puzzled. Luckily, I think Santa is a little hard of hearing, or at least used to the fact that some kids requests are unintelligible, and his response to her was "How about a nice Barbie? Do you like Barbies?"

And for those of you needing an interpreter for a 5 year old's language, whose speech can be hard to follow sometimes due to the loss of her 4 front teeth, (yes I said 4), what she meant to say was Home Interactive Pikachu. An honest mistake don't you think? How Home Interactive Pikachu can become Homo Erotic Peekaboo? Really? Don't you think? Just agree, please just agree.

Santa's representative and the demure one

**I hope that I am not tempting google fate and opening up my blog to some perveted googles. This may end up being one of those posts that self destructs in 24 hours. We shall see how it goes.**

Anyone out there named Betty?

2004-12-17T06:10:00.000-10:00

Betty Crocker that is.

It is a plain and simple fact: I am no Holly Homemaker. I make a mean macaroni and cheese, of the Kraft variety, and I can follow very clear, simple recipes, but I am a total fuck up in the kitchen. I dunno, maybe it is my perfectionist self, but if I don't do something really well, then I don't much enjoy it, and I tend to stay away from it as much as possible. And I am totally serious on this one. It began at an early age as well. Who else do you know that could fuck up and make nothing edible from all those Easy Bake oven mix kits???? My cakes wouldn't rise, my frosting was like paste. No joke.

So now that my good friend Zofran is on board (still too soon to give it glowing endorsement, but so far so good), I think that I will try and be upright this weekend and try and save what is shaping up to be a pretty lame Christmas over here in the land of palm trees. I intend on doing some serious Christmas cookie and goody baking. That is the intent at least.

I have a few family recipes, some are decent and I have made before, but most are pretty boring. Here is where you guys come in. It is class participation time. I would love, love, LOVE it if you guys would help me out by posting your recipes for confirmed, delicious, not too hard to make treats and goodies. I would go buy a book of recipes, but I always worry that I will end up with something that tastes more like cardboard, rather than a tasty holiday treat. This way, I know that I will be getting recipes for things that have passed the delicious test.

Consider it your good deed of the season, cuz lord knows I am a charity case in the kitchen!

And if you want to add a funny holiday anecdote, that would be welcome too!

Could someone hold my hair please?

2004-12-16T18:04:00.000-10:00

....while I convulse and spew what remaining matter I have left in my stomach. I think I saw a piece of my lower intestine with that last one.

I have long since passed the stage of feeling comfort from my severe case of ALLLLLLL DAY sickness. You can often find me crying in a ball on the bathroom floor. I have begun to enter scary territory: where my kidneys ache so bad, my head is killing me, and I can't stay upright for very long, virtually nothing is staying down, not even water.

So tonight I caved. I called my doc crying. I told her that I am no longer brave, I am no longer tough, I need medical intervention. No one should have to live this way, especially my family (interpret that I am no party to live with right now).

Praise Allah/Jesus/Beealzabub, Ann was right, my insurance covers Zofran. Keith is on his way now to pick up the prescription as I write. I hope it is the miracle drug that it claims to be. PLEASE let it do the trick.

On a lighter note, I caved and rented one of those Doppler thingys. It is worth its weight in gold my friends. Worth its weight in gold. The last three days the heart rate has been coming in loud and clear at 175bpm, for all those detail nuts out there. Once I get this nausea/harfing under control, I might even approach a Zen like status. But then again, who am I kidding?

Must find toilet now.....

AC#2: Grace don't live here anymore

2004-12-12T22:15:00.000-10:00

*****a disclaimer from the author:
As I warned all of you before, I have a need to purge some asshole thoughts lately. This is just the latest installment, in which you finally become convinced that I completely lack any grace and dignity while I have been dealing with all this SIF shit. Some may find the following diatribe offensive, so I encourage you to move along if you are trying to find a "glass is half full" blog entry. The sad fact is, that the pain and frustration of the struggle does not go away once you get pg. It still lingers like a sickness. Hopefully by laying it all out here, I will find it cleansing and I will be able to let go of it. And also, don't take the following rant too seriously either. A lot of it is tongue in cheek and I know there are a few of you out there that will actually get quite a tickle from this. Proceed with caution, and don't say I didn't warn you folks.****

Some of you may or may no know, but I came to blogging through a common route: from a message board. I found the message board when I became pregnant for the 5th time in October of 2003. I wanted that pregnancy to work out so badly, and because I wanted it so badly, I was worried from the moment I peed on that first stick and saw 2 lines that it was going to be taken away from me. For some sick, twisted reason, I was searching the web for information on m/c and came across a TTC after m/c board. I became fascinated. I lurked daily, sometimes refreshing multiple times a day. I was so curious to see how these women were coping after m/c and also drank in every detail about how long to wait before trying again, charting, testing, and also really getting attached to some women, becoming engaged in their stories, and really becoming invested emotionally in their attempts at success.

I have never been a "joiner", and I have never done well with groups of women. I have always found relationships with women to be more challenging...I have never really felt successful at it, so I have always limited my close ties with women to just a small group. So imagine my surprise when I started feeling such a kinship, so many things in common, and feeling so attached with all these women that I wouldn't know if they sat next to me at lunch. It was so freaking ironic when just a short amount of time passed that I found the boards and became so engaged in lurker mode, that I found out the painful fact: I was having a missed abortion.

I clung to the board with even more ferocity at that point. Every word, every message held so much more meaning--I gathered strength from the board, it was my life-line, my port in the storm. But even when I was going through the loss, I still couldn't bring myself to post and reach out. I just wasn't used to asking for help, especially from other women.

When I found out I was pg with #6, just 2 months later, I was so scared out of my wits, now fully coming to terms with my chance, or lack of chance of success, that I finally reached out. It was so fucking gauche of me to do so at that moment, since I hadn't been sharing my story with them--I just popped out of the woodwork and said "holy shit, I found out that I am pg again, and I am scared witless, and it probably won't last." Instead of being judged for my crappy timing, I was welcomed with open arms. Right away some women opened their hearts to me, reached out to me, and cared about what I was going through. And when I found out 2 weeks later that my fears were completely founded, those women wrapped their arms around me so tight that it carried me through, and I came out on the other side just a little bit stronger and feeling like I actually gained something by that loss--I gained friendships that continue to this day, and along with some that were formed shortly thereafter, persist and sustain me, and will continue for quite some time to come. I love my sistas, and I really would not be this sane without you, my losses brought me to you, for that, I give thanks.

Now that being said, and knowing what treasured gifts of friendship that I now have because of the boards, let me just say, I had to sift through a lot of turds to find the gems. A whole lot of huge turds thank you very much.

Now really, the assholish comments to follow are mostly targeted at women who were on the boards, got their BFP, and then lost all common sense and reason. After reading through month after month of this shit, combined with the disappointment of months of failed cycles, I started to become uber bitter, uber cranky, and decided to make my exit from the boards. Partly from self preservation, partly because I didn't want to become contagious with loathing and jealousy. Some beauties are as follows:

OH MY GAWD! I got my BFP!!!!! Miracles really do happen!!! Don't lose hope, I almost did, but if I can get my miracle, then so can you!!!!
Well, sorry that just ain't true my friends. Some of us are in it for the long haul, and if we do find our way out of it, it might not be a miracle, it will be due to modern fertility advancements. Nothing miraculous about it. Sorry, but just because you got off easy after only 3 months of trying, doesn't mean all of us will. And by the way, how miraculous is it when you have only been trying for 2 months post m/c. Boy, that was a long period of pain and suffering, wasn't it??? And here is a sad fact: your success does not equal my success. Your success is just that: yours. It has no bearing on the rest of us sad sacks.

Well, I have been trying for so many months now (3 to be exact), and nothing, I mean nothing was happening. So I (insert some new technique or voodoo practice) and lo and behold: I GOT MY BFP!!!!!! So I highly recommend (drinking gallons of Robitussin, inserting Instead cups, drinking herbal crap tea, taking Geritol elixer, placing hips on 3 pillows instead of 1 after sex, standing on head, burning sage, hanging crystals around the LOVE BED), it worked for me, it will work for you!
Sorry again folks, just because it worked for you, doesn't mean it will work for anyone else. What you prolly have a case of, is you are a normal female in the prime of her reproductive years, and you did what most homosapiens and animals for that matter do: you had reproductive sex, nothing more, nothing less. There was no need for a witch doctor or any of that other crap you tried.

The truth is, I was so high strung, so uptight about this whole thing. I hate to say it, but it really is true...if you just relax, then it will happen!
Now ain't that a beauty. A fellow woman touting and perpetuating that cliche that truly hurts women at the core. It implies that we are all a bunch of shrill, high strung ninnies; that our attitude has some magical power over our reproductive organs. That if we are too stressed and uptight, that our mucus will fry our hubby's sperm, our eggs will shy away, and our ute will become an inhospitable environment. Way to go sister, way to support women-kind and perpetuate a fucking myth. And oddly enough, that same asshole who posted that, just got finished saying a few months earlier that if anyone told her to "just relax" again, she would pop them in the face. And this crank was so dammed "relaxed" this time, that she peed on OPK's and kept temping and charting. How is that different than any other month. I guess it was the antique shopping that she did that month that made her so zen like and relaxed, or that prayer that her and her hubby said as they sat on the bathroom floor, holding hands, with eyes tightly shut, while they awaited the results of that stick she peed on. Whatever.

I got my BFP!!! I got my BFP!!!!! Now I want everyone to get their BFP so they can sail away on the BFP cruiseship to the land of preggoville!!!! Come on ladies, come join me in the BFP conga line!
Oh joy, this just makes the rest of us losers feel really great. Not only are we not pg, but we are obviously not good enough to join this elite group of women that have all purchased their tickets. Boy sounds like fun over there in insensitive preggo land. Thanks for making me feel like more of a loser. Why don't you just get on that ship, do the congo right of the gang plank, and end up on a deserted island where I never have to hear your insensitive drivel again!

Oh my GAWD! I peed on a stick 10 seconds ago and now I am going to go shopping for maternity clothes!!!!
Now that is sensitivity isn't it? Also quite a bit of hubris too. It makes you feel so evil because you find yourself having visions of them returning said clothes in a few weeks, and actually smirking while you are daydreaming such horrible things. I mean shit, of course you are happy, but is that really something that you should be posting to a bunch of ladies that have had cycle after cycle of negatives?

Oh my, I am only 7 weeks and I am showing!!!! I am forced to go shopping for maternity clothes!
No hun, you are just fat.

I thought this might be fun...I am going to post a gender chart. Wonder if it will be true for this new miracle baby I am carrying?
Award for sensitivity goes to..........asshole who just posted a gender chart on a board full of ladies that are starting to become just a little bitter and jaded as they are staring down another failed cycle; on a board that is for old timers-- the wretched, dreaded no man's land of 6+ months of trying, when it starts to become apparent that you may have some serious fertility issues. Bravo for Mrs Insensitive!

Or for instance take a situation like this:
me: BFN. Am bummed.

asshole who is already pregnant: OMG!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so sorry!!!!!!!!!! I will keep my fingers crossed for that big ol' BFN to turn into a BF HAP-HAPPY P!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Turn your frown upside down girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First of all, whistle on the play for unnecessary flagrant use of a punctuation point. No, it does not drive home to me how bad you wanted this for me, it only makes me think you are a total tard. And take your optimism and shove it...easy for you, you are pregnant.

It annoys me when ladies are on TTC boards with names referencing their other children. Like:
sammyandmichaelsmommy
or
mommyofthreewantingfour
or
mommyoftenalready
Way to be greedy ladies. Also, way to be sensitive to the fact that there are women on the board that would be overjoyed if they could just have one. Quit hogging the babies!

Or how about the people that feel it necessary to introduce their religion in their name. I almost felt that I should change my user name to iam1withJesus. Because we all know that all things are possible under HIM, and that if you were just a little bit more God fearing, just repented for your sins, were just a little bit more deserving, prayed more in church,then He would love you and "let" you get pg. Man, I guess all that Satan worshipping really fucked me good, huh?

ok what relly anoys me is the postts that are filed with spelling errors and grametical errors and seem to ramble on and on with no real point in site. you know the kind where punctuation seems only a mere afterthought. in the most odd places and it realy strains your brain to cipher through the muck of the carnage of the inglesh language and believe me i know i'm no perfect gramaticitician but it just seems that once in awhile you'd wanna run a spell check or even capatilize a freakin' i once in awhile: oh, and now i'll throw in a poor me for the hell of it cause it seems like a good place to do it rihgt?

And the cherry on top is the "it's all about me" crowd. You know the ones...the ones who whenever they post something in response to anyone, they somehow manage to bring the topic of hand back to them. Nothing is ever right in their lives, they identify with each and ever single horrible thing you are going through because they have had it at least 10 times as worse as you have. Or if you are down in the dumps about something, anything, then they post a reply that starts out as sympathy for you, but ends with a "woe is me" twist to things. And if you are worried about something, their fear is exponentially more than yours about something similar.
Or even if you have good news, or something hopeful going on in your life, then they reply back "oh congrats, that is so great! I am so happy for you, and I will be especially happy for you when I feel better because right now I am so torn up about my dog dying, my farts stinking, my pregnancy isn't far enough yet that I feel good." Here is a clue: if you wanna support someone, then support them, don't make it all about you, that is just plain tacky.

And some advice about posting ettiquette:

For Pete's sake, don't use your little tacky pregnancy tickers when posting to someone who is struggling. Granted, for newbies, it gives them hope in the beginning because it means that they aren't doomed to pergatory for long. But for the old cronies, your ticker doesn't do a damn bit of good. It is just a reminder of lack success. And frankly, it isn't very considerate to rub your good fortune in someone's face.

And please oh please, don't post an "oops, I had a m/c 10 years ago, just gave birth to a healthy baby boy 3 months ago, hubby and I got carried away and he forgot to wear a jimmy hat, and now I think I may be pregnant" on a 6+ after m/c board. Really, just don't. Step away from the computer, think about your audience and then walk away.

And on a final note, I stopped believing in Santa Clause when I was 8 years old, I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in leprechauns, I don't even believe in Unicorns anymore, so please, take your magic baby dust and shove it where the sun don't shine. You can spread all the baby dust all over me until I fart it out the other end, and it still won't get me pg. Don't waste your time and energy, k?

Yes my friends, I hang my head in bitter shame at what I have become. Like I have always said from the beginning, I lack grace and dignity. I wish I were a delicate, optimistic flower that didn't feel so fucking bitter, but I am what I am, I lost my wide eyed innocence long ago. And my bitterness isn't a result of just what I have gone through. It is hard to watch women whom I truly love, admire, and respect still not getting their break. Why do we have to learn the lesson over and over again that life isn't fair? Why is there such imbalance in the world, especially in this case. There are so many assholes and idiots out there with full, ripe bellies, procreating like nobody's business, but some of the world's most deserving women are trying to muster the strength and determination to gear up for yet another cycle. It is hard to not be bitter and jaded when some of the most wonderful women in the world, who would make the greatest moms ever, still have empty arms and empty utes. I just hold onto the hope that someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, this gross mistake will be rectified...I hope...I hope...I hope.

Asshole chronicles installment #1

2004-12-09T17:46:00.000-10:00

So I have been a total asshole since the end of October. No, this isn't just self depreciating talk, trust me, just ask my husband. If I had one of those fancy Typepad blogs, I would begin a category entitled The Asshole Chronicles, but I am too cheap and too lazy to change over my blog now, so what will follow in the next few days will be installments in the Asshole Chronicles.

I have many examples of assholish behavior, but first and foremost has been my self absorption and my lack of response to certain friends and emails. I am sledging my way through the back log now, so if you are one of those out there that is muttering "asshole" under your breath because I haven't responded...well I am getting to you soon...and please forgive me...mea culpa. And if I don't get back to you...well take it as a sign. I don't like you and I don't plan on responding. Heh, just kidding.

Now to one big huge asshole moment, for which I am so fucking sorry, and because I know what a wonderful person you are, I know that you are going to forgive me even though I clearly don't deserve it: Cathy, my dearest, bestest, most cherished friend in the whole universe, I am so sorry that I forgot your birthday this year. It dawned on me a couple of days ago, and if it makes you feel any better, I was in the shower when I remembered, and almost immediately when I remembered, I leaned over and puked my guts up. Chocolate milk to be exact. And when you throw up chocolate milk, funny thing is, it takes on the constancy of brown cottage cheese, but it sure doesn't taste like cottage cheese, rather rancid milk bile actually. Instant karma got me good.

Cathy, you are truly a gift. You are the most giving, selfless, loving person I know. I have never deserved your friendship, not from day one. Most of the time I insult your sensibilities by speaking of such things as Santa getting a hard on when you sit on his lap. You put up with my freakish mood swings, my impossible nature, my high expectations, my insane sensitivities. Really Cathy, no one else on the planet would do so--even Keith tells me to go fuck myself when I am at my worst, but you just embrace me and want to understand me and help me.

Especially in the last year, you have been such a wonderful friend. You have been patient and have done your best to understand what I am going through. And especially in the last year, I have done and said so many things that have hurt you, but you have made and accepted my excuses for me, and instead of telling me to fuck off, like you should, you have just tried harder to understand where I am coming from. I can't ever forget the day we talked and you said that you felt sad because you felt like I was a paraplegic in a wheel chair and you wanted to become one yourself just so you could understand and support me more. I believed you when you said that, and frankly, you are the only person on this Earth that loves your friends enough to really mean it.

You are a rare person my friend. A true gift. A special gift. Your presence in my life has touched me in so many ways, on so many levels, that you will truly never know. I am so bad with true intimacy, you know what a cold fish I am on the outside, but you love me enough to see through that and see my gushy, protected insides as well. And you know that I am too emotionally stunted and immature to ever be really deserving of you, and to be able to fully express just how much you mean to me, but I hope that this is a start, and that you know me well enough to know how I really feel deep down.

Knowing you and feeling your love and friendship makes me want to be a better person. Yes, sometimes out of shame, but sometimes just because I really want to be that person that you see in me. Your soul is so pure and I can't help but feel the warmth of it by merely just being your friend.

So belated Happy Birthday my friend. I love you.

It has a good rhythm, a beat you can dance to...

2004-12-07T23:25:00.000-10:00

Went for my first OB app today. My OB was so excited and happy for me, she practically squeezed the life out of me; she just kept holding me tight in a hug that lasted just a few seconds longer than comfortable. We went over all the details, she even showed me the letter from CP2 pronouncing me pg and cured. The little bastard even took the credit for this pregnancy. In the letter he states that the pg is a result of "ovulation induction". MY ASS!!! It is the result of me giving up on his ass and him being out of town! Hmph!

So anyway, we went through all the usual hullabaloo, what I can and cannot do, that precious baths and hot tubs are a no no for me, only 2 servings of sea food a week, and that I should take B6 to help with the nausea and vomiting. I have lost around 8 lbs since the onset of pg, but buhleeeve me, it ain't missed. With the Mak-ster, I lost 12 lbs until the 3rd tri began, so I am not too concerned.

I had to have some STD cultures done as dictated by Hawaii state law. I had to drop trou and get horizontal on my lovely OB's electrically warmed exam bed, with purple flowered cotton coverup, as is standard in her office, as opposed to those hideously impersonal paper thingys.

The dreaded Doppler lay mere inches from where I lay, taunting me. I waited for her to offer up the use of it, but when she didn't seem to be making a move for it, I spoke in a squeaky little voice "are you planning on using that thing?" She looked at me with total compassion in her eyes, took a deep breath, and started with "Well..." and went on to explain that 9 weeks is the absolute earliest that you can hear something, and I need to keep in mind that I am only 10w1d, and that whether or not I hear something is largely influenced by your size, whether you have a lot of padding. She explained that a little Filipino girl with only 10% body fat and a ute that practically pokes out from the abdomen would have no problem, while a large and in charge Samoan would have no hope of hearing anything until at least week 12. Now mind you, I am neither extreme, so she explained that it would be hit or miss for me, and asked if I really wanted to take the risk. She was very careful to explain that if we didn't hear anything that she in no way would be worried, and would still have every expectation that this pg was just fine--she would order no emergency u/s's or anything.

I took a big gulp, ignored the huge wave of nausea that I felt at that particular moment, and told her to go for it.

After what seemed like an eternity, like time were standing still, sky scrapers could have been built, a constitutional amendment could have been enacted, she asked me if I could hear it. I struggled, I tried, but I had to admit that I couldn't hear a damn thing except my own internal gushing sounds. She moved it to a different angle, pressed a little harder....and lo and behold, the rhythmic pulsing of one teeny tiny little heart, beating away at 160bpm. I cried of course, and more awkwardly long hugging ensued once again.

And guess who made a guest appearance in that room for the first time in ohhhh so long? Sitting in the chair in the corner, looking as precocious as ever, swinging her legs back and forth, twirling her long pigtails around her fingers, was Hope. She took my hand in hers and we left the office together, me trying to resist her pleas to skip to the parking garage--it is too soon for skipping frivolously, I am happy with just holding her hand and having her back in my life. She was missed.

And so [I'm] back...from outerspace...

2004-12-04T09:08:00.000-10:00

I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face...
la la la la, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmmm....

Oh sorry, got a little carried away, my ass is shakin in my puter chair; I just love a good song to start the day.

I don't have much time to post, but I couldn't help but notice how sad and lonely my little blog is lately. Since I have found out the jaw dropping, life changing, panty soiling news, I sure haven't been very prolific have I? And most likely, my neglect has caused you all to go elsewhere and think I am a total asshole for not posting, huh?

I shall list my excuses to the head master of bloggery as follows:

Have been scared shitless to talk of condition

Have been effectively puter banned by the fact that my houseguest of 3+ weeks was using the puter room as a bed and breakfast. (Noticed I said "was", that is right Z, she left yesterday)

Have often been unable to post due to wretching, blowing chunks, tossing cookies, yarping, whathaveyou

If not participating in the aforementioned activity, then I am laying prostrate, waiting for the next round of wretch to commence

Did I mention scared shitless yet?

And if the good luck doesn't stop there, I got called to Jury duty!!!! I tried my hardest to get out of it, boss lady even wrote a letter, but since I am a scientist, they had the silly assumption that I am calm, reasonable, rational, and would make a good juror. I was also voted the fucking foreperson, and to add a cherry on top, we are fucking deadlocked, and will go in for day 2 of deliberation on Monday.

And did I forget to mention that I am scared shitless to admit to the world that I am pregnant yet? Only the blogworld knows, my hubby, my RE, my OB, and my mom. I have been too scared to even whisper it to anyone else. Makena doesn't even know yet. We have all been very careful to keep her away from earshot when I am making my visits to the vomitorium. Even the real world friends who read my blog have been very, very careful and have not dared to call me and discuss the matter (*waving*, and smooches to you!)

Is my list of excuses satisfactory? Can everyone find it in their heart to forgive me? I promise now that Sr Bermuda is gone, that I will be much, much better, that I won't neglect the ol blog anymore. I mean shit, I will be 10 weeks on Monday, I am puking like a pro, my boobs have reached Baywatch babe proportions, but still feel like they will break like glass, I have a goddamn Koala pouch on my belly that is being exaggerated by the weightloss due to the obscene amount of puking, and I am hoping at Tuesday's first app with the OB, that I might hear the Babe on doppler, so I think it is time to stop being so fucking scared, and take up my blogging duties once again. Whatta you think? Besides, whether I publicly acknowledge my condition or not, whether I blog about it or not, isn't going to change the outcome, and it won't have any effect on the pain that I would feel if this fetus (notice the use of fetus, not embryo) gets lost in the triangle like all the others--it will still be pretty fucking painful.

So my friends, I am back, from outerspace so to speak, and I promise to regale you with many tales of bitchery, and maybe with time, some tales of hope. Thanks for not changing the locks.

Now with visual aides!!!!

2004-11-23T08:08:00.000-10:00

It is official. I have been kicked to the curb by my beautiful, precious CP2. He broke up with me yesterday. The reason for the break-up is due to the pictures below:

I don't know if it shows, but the little infinity looking thing up at the top left is the yolk sac and near the bottom of it is where we saw the flicker.

Proof of life at 6 weeks

"Wow, you have a large booger in there"--direct quote from CP2

8 week pic of the Bambino

If you look closely, you can see that the Bambino seems to be doing the chicken dance, with the little arms resembling chicken wings, and it's little leg nubbins at the bottom.

I have lots to say, but no time to say it. Hope these pics will do for now. I can give you the short story of my life lately:

abject fear, puke, sleep, try and eat, puke again, yell at mom for the 50th time that I am NOT MAD at her, just trying to focus my chi so I don't puke all over the floor, more fear, Keith giving me lectures on how I need to make more of an effort to "be there" for the family, puke again, pick up great grandma from the airport, and try and look like I am actually being productive at work. Oh, and did I mention puke?

But the big fat cherry on top is that it seems that the Bambino is growing despite my fears, despite my negative attitude. How did I get so lucky?

Potpourri

2004-11-12T17:09:00.000-10:00

I may be lacking in my blogging and commenting duties for a bit...my mom has come to visit and will be here for the next month. The guest room is also the puter room, and my mom is very, very nosy, so I don't imagine posting too much unless she is out on the town at a luau, snorkeling, or buying every single silly tourist souvenir in sight.

Work still blows and will continue to blow for a very, very long time. They have a disaster team in there trying to salvage what they can out of the building. However, the brilliant brain trust that designed the building put everything of importance electrical wise in the basement. The basement that sits right on top of an old lava tube that acts as an aquifer. Said aquifer has a tendency to overflow and flood when the stream nearby campus floods, so not only did the basement flood, but it was basically underwater completely, with a foot or so making it to the first floor. They don't know if they can salvage any of the existent lines, and they don't know if they can "afford" to artificially power the building with monster generators shipped in from the mainland. We can't even move out of the building and into another lab because the damn elevators won't work, so we can't get out equipment out of the 2nd floor. It is truly a cluster fuck. In the meantime, I am trying to salvage what cell lines I had up at the time of the flood by taking care of them at the hospital. But space is limited, and those people aren't too happy about letting my hog all of their lab time. Who knows what will happen.

On the pg front. I am sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. I don't throw up every day necessarily, but I always feel as if I am about to. I am not complaining, trust me, but I feel very ill, like I am coming down from a frat party where I challenged some asshole to a drink off and now the room is spinning and I am feeling the need to cradle a garbage can to act as a vomit vesicle. I only have brief moments of relief.

Oh, but I will share one totally obnoxious anecdote: I am only feeling that I can eat soft things, noodles, tunafish, egg salad, cereal, and Jamba Juice. Well, on the way home from a Jamba Juice excursion, I knew that I would not make it home....so I opened my Jamba Juice cup, and threw up in that. Oddly enough, it looked the same as it did before it went into my digestive tract, just a little more watery. Glad I shared aren't ya? But you gotta give me points for proper aim. I got everything in the cup, while I was driving on the freeway, and didn't dribble at all. Accomplishment, I know.

I am too busy feeling ill and crabby to worry about this pregnancy. I am just trying to make it through the day. I guess it may be promising that I am so sick, since I have NEVER experienced this before with any of my pregnancies. I did get sick with Makena, but not until the 2nd tri. and it was only brief interludes with nausea, not whole day events like now. I know that this can still go south at any moment, but for now, I am not stressed.

And before I go, I must relay my oh so joyous story of the first real life person I have told about my pg: my mom. Since she was coming, and me being so under the weather and crabby, I felt it was fair to give her the heads up as to why. Her response: "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" To which I said, "I don't know mom, I picked up a pamphlet from the local abortion clinic to check out my options. What the hell do you think?!?!?!?!?" I pretty much hung up on her after that. She called me back the next night and apologized for her reaction, but she just had this insane notion that I might not be happy to be pg because I might be scared to m/c. She also was under the false impression that a pg was a risk to my health. Mental health yes, but she was talking about physical. I again went over my list of obstacles to a viable pg, and told her that all the meds that I am taking and what they are for, and that I am of course happy about this pg. I told her that of course I am scared, of course I don't want to m/c, and docs have differing opinions on the likelihood of success, but all agree that my odds are more in my favor than against at this point. I think she just has a hard time understanding what I am going through because she never wanted to have anymore children after me. In fact, she confessed to me that she has had one m/c, for which she was really grateful for because it was unplanned and while she was drinking heavily Also, she even had an abortion after she got clean and sober because she just didn't think she was ready to handle a new life when she was just newly into her sobriety. And honestly, I know that she loves me to pieces, and she just doesn't want to see me so unhappy and suffer another m/c. I explained to her that to me, the risk was worth it. I know that another m/c won't kill me, and the desire to have another one is just too great to ignore.

So now that she is here, she is trying to fuss all over me, and make me any and every food that I might have a whim for. And she keeps asking me every few minutes: "Are you going to puke? Are you ok? Cuz you don't look so good."

Gee thanks mom. That sure makes me feel better.

It is gunna be a long month. A long month indeed.

Oh, and wait, it gets better: my grandma, her mom, is coming in the week after next. Good times, people, gooooooooooood times.

Anyone have an extra room available for me? I don't need much: just some saltines and a jamba juice cup, and I am good to go.

Proof of Life

2004-11-08T20:08:00.000-10:00

I guess I can finally say out loud that yes, I am indeed pregnant.

There was a flicker. Couldn't help but think of a neon sign that reads "Eat At Joe's" but in this case, I guess it would be more appropriate for the sign to read "This pregnancy is real" The only time that there has ever been a h/b with any of my pg's, it was when I was pg with Makena. Hope that that result will follow in this case as well.

Details:

Hubby and CP2 met face to face for the first time today. It was like worlds colliding. It felt weird. I was wondering what was going through hubby's mind when he saw CP2 holding me for just a little bit longer than what is usual for patients and their docs, while I sobbed on his shoulder. I immediately recovered the situation by asking how long Keith and I were going to have to abstain. Answer: that will be decided at the next scan....a whole 2 weeks away.

CP2's ego took a little beating though when he realized that he wasn't the one that got me pg (i.e an unmedicated, no stress, au naturelle cycle). He quickly recovered by saying the dreaded cliche that makes us all cringe "well, I guess that is what happens when you just relax and stop trying." I will try and forgive CP2 this transgression, although it will be hard.

CP2 upped my dosage of supps. One in the morning in addition to the one I already take at night. I guess I will be heading to the feminine protection isle once again, although for this reason, I do not mind.

I am measuring 6w1d, when in fact I am 6w0d. So a little bit of an overachiever, but not so much to set me at ease completely.

CP2 has a very simple u/s, not a fancy high def one, so we did not "hear" the h/b, only watched it. That was good enough for me. He didn't time it either, I don't think he believes in over picking the details, besides, it is one less thing for me to stress about. No nitpicking of details.

Oh, and the results of my new APA test came back and I am well below negative; Proactive Peri called me at home this evening. So I have decided to take a leap of faith and follow CP2's firm belief that I don't need heparin. I told Proactive Peri this, and he was very agreeable. Again, he stressed that there is no conclusive data that my situation really warrants this, but there is also no clear reason and explanation for the nature of the Bermuda Triangle of Embryos either. He said what is important is that I feel comfortable, and that his willingness to tx with heparin is more for my sanity, and that he feels the choice should be mine given the knowledge that I have. The very low results on the test give me the confidence that I need to not do the heparin. I feel good about the decision. I reserve the right to change my mind if this embryo falls victim to the triangle, and I will never make the mistake again, but for now, my instincts tell me that this is right.

I will try and get savvy with the scanner tomorrow and show you little Babe Red Sox, but at the moment, it is just too much for my mind to attempt. VERY tired. Slept a total of 3 hours last night, plus I think that m/s is deciding to set in.

Thanks for all the support.

I will go to bed smiling tonight...that will sure be a nice change of pace.

I am so weak

2004-11-05T10:10:00.000-10:00

Because I am devoid of the ability to hope, and because faith is a concept that I have no understanding of, I cannot face going into the u/s with CP2 on Monday without some kind of indication of how it will go. I called Dr No Name's office and asked for another beta. I am heading out into this rain storm of biblical proportions now: rain coat on, heart in my throat. I just don't trust that everything can actually go the way that I have been fighting so hard for. I just can't imagine being fortunate enough to have a viable pregnancy. Man, if positive thinking is the only way to have a pregnancy go full term I am in serious trouble. Let's hope Tony Robbins is full of shit.

Proactive Peri makes his triumphant return

2004-11-03T21:10:00.000-10:00

So I guess there is upheaval in the Fetal Diagnostic Center. All the Peris are jumping ship for some reason unknown to me, so my app was supposed to be with some fill-in peri on hospital staff. Lucky for me, I make an impact and when the nurse saw my chart and that I was actually preggo after all this time, she asked old Proactive Peri if he would be the one to see me so I wouldn't have to tell my sad tale to yet another strange doc.

My new best friend Nurse Joy was training another nurse and they were looking over my chart together and filling in all the gaps. Blood pressure, temp, weight, LMP, all the good stuff. Then it came to tallying up all my pregnancies. I was caught off guard at the need for accounting, so we walked through it together. How sad was it to look on paper and see pregnancies: 7, live births: 1. New nurse kind of let a little gasp and as she was taking my temp she asked what the usual time that I would lose my pg's. I looked up at her and was overwhelmed by tears. Tears out of no where. Side swiped by tears. She looked at me with true compassion in her eyes and said "You usually lose them around this time don't you?" I nodded yes with even more tears streaming down my cheeks. "So this is crunch time, huh? It must be so hard. I am truly sorry." I grabbed a tissue and just tried to smile. She can never know how much it meant to me that she treated me with such kindness, understanding, and respect for my losses.

They gave me some time to gather my self, dry my eyes, and prepare for the head to head combat that I figured would lay ahead. Proactive Peri came in, all congratulations, looked at my chart quickly, asked how I was feeling, asked how far along I thought I was, and then wrote out his orders for heparin injections, to be taken twice daily until (Lord help me) 36 weeks. Was very hard to hear the 36 weeks part. Seemed a little premature and a little too optimistic for my taste, but I just shut up and let him do all the talking.

He explained what I already know. That given my borderline elevated levels, I fall into a very grey area; an area of controversy and differing opinions. But he said that given my history, all my clotting issues combined, plus all my early losses, he said that it was time to be proactive and preventative. He did want to air on the conservative side on one issue however: he thinks that my tx should not begin until we see a h/b. So if we see one on Monday, he wants me to head down to the office and get my injection training.

I also discussed the fact that CP2 was going to be against this. I told him that I was afraid that CP2 would even go so far as to actively oppose this. He said not to worry, that it was my choice, that he would be the prescribing dr, and that it was my right to seek this tx. He does not feel that the risk to myself is too great. He feels that tx is warranted, but he also added that part of the benefit of the injections would be that it would ease my anxiety and that I could relax knowing that I am doing everything I can to carry this pg to term.

So there ya have it. A plan is in place. Now what is the likelihood that there will be a need for the plan? I am trying not to think of the fear and importance that Monday holds, especially when it might just be too soon to see a h/b, but it is hard to ignore.

Oh, and on the flood front: things totally blow. Administration thinks that the building's electrical wiring is absolutely toast. The generators and the air con were all in the basement, and all are most likely fried. They are evacuating my part of the building and moving us over to this ancient hospital a few minutes away from campus. The problem is, that the building is so old, it cannot handle the increased need for electricity that we would need to run our lab. Things are just plain fucked up, and I don't see anything getting really sorted out until we move to the new Medical School site in summer of next year.

I just don't understand this university. I don't understand how they can get away with this. There are so many things wrong with this on so many levels, I am just flabbergasted. I just don't understand the mentality of not fixing the building that houses all of the university's major federally funded research, plus the medical school. Seriously folks, Hawaii may seem like a paradise, but the reality of living here is that the state is run by a bunch of idiots that don't know how to do their job. They don't know how to think outside the box. And instead of fixing the building properly, their solution was to notify us at 9:30 am that the movers would be here at 10 am to pack us up and evacuate us, and spread us out to all these odd nook and crannies all over the city. The university is a sinking ship. No one in their right mind would want to bring their research dollars here now.

The good news is that my boss is going to do whatever it takes to allow me to continue my work, so I think I am pretty safe from a lay off.

That is all for now....must get sleep.

Whistling underwater

2004-11-02T20:50:00.000-10:00

Not only impossible, but illegal in the state of Vermont according to Uncle John's Legendary Lost Bathroom Reader, from which I have been reading quite a bit as of late. Let's just say much time is spent on the throne, either dealing with too much, or not enough.

The reference to whistling underwater is also appropriate right now because there was a flash flood in the valley where the university I work at is located. The path of the flood decided to take out my building, where all the research is done and the library. *Hi Anne, I hope all is well, I am sure that you are prolly busy saving rare and irreplaceable documents.*

So life has been turned upside down because here in the grand state of Hawaii, everyone sticks their thumbs up their asses and looks to everyone else to make decisions. See, the electrical wiring is irreparable I guess, and they don't foresee fixing it for months, someone even said that they might just condemn our building. Idiots. One and all.

Everything is all topsy turvy, don't know what is going to happen. We can't afford to stop the research. NIH would not understand why they have just given us tens of millions of dollars and are unable to produce data simply because the local stream decided to run amuck on campus.

I don't know what is going to happen, and right now what scares me the most is that we may have to shut down completely and I might be temporarily out of a job, which I can say would be pretty devastating to our financial outlook at the moment. Especially if there are going to be even more medical bills, such as D&C's, whathaveyou.

The latest state of emergency is doing pretty well at keeping my mind off things, but when I do think about "my condition" I can't help but feel like it is impossible to entertain the notion that things are progressing well and that there might be signs of life at next weeks rendezvous with the absent CP2. I just can't imagine the best happening. My mind can only entertain the worst.

I have no reason to suspect the worst at this point (other than my miserable track record). Panties are blood free, as is toilet paper. Boobs are so sore, both in the actual boob area and the nipples , that they must be holstered at all times. Peeing is still one of my most frequently accomplished tasks. Colon problems abound. I go from unable to eat, to shoving anything not nailed down into my mouth, to feeling like all that food is just moments away from making a reappearance in new and amazing concoctions. I am tired. DEAD. TIRED. Basically, body is functioning properly, accommodating and recognizing that something alien is inside. I just can't imagine a reality where that something actually is *alive*. No freaking out. No worrying. Just a plain and simple fact.

Anyway, I have an app with the peri. I fully expect it to be unfulfilling and bewildering. I don't expect an u/s, just a long drawn out conversation as to whether or not heparin is in my future. I found out the app is just with one of the Peri's on staff who will be reading my chart as we speak, and to whom I will have to explain my history, my concerns for the hundredth time. I foresee a very frustrating and worthless adventure, but I will be sure to update.

That is all for now...gotta go plop into bed and ponder the results of the election.

Sistas: please understand that I am not distant for any reason other than mother nature seems to be plotting to take away my cyber time. Good news is: since work has no power, I took puter home, so I can be on nights and weekends. Maybe I will be able to catch up by this weekend.

Bullets in Bermuda

2004-10-29T09:17:00.000-10:00

I am going to try and make this short and sweet. I have so much shit on my mind, so much to say, but not enough time to blog.

Beta #2 results: 350 HCG
24 Progesterone

This means doubling time was 38 hours I believe. So I guess we can rule out chemical pregnancy.

Dr No Name was quite nice. He said no more need for betas as my numbers rose quite nicely. As I was cranky and pushy, he agreed to have the APA panel redrawn to help with the decision as to whether or not heparin injections are needed. I have a consult with the Peri next Wednesday to discuss it. It is almost better that CP2 is out of town, because I know where he stands on the heparin issue: he is firmly against it, he thinks the risk of side effects is too great to justify use when my levels were only borderline high. He thinks aspirin is enough. But he doesn't have to face the prospect of another loss, so if my levels have increased any tiny bit, I am going to get all badass and insist on shooting up.

I also have an app scheduled with CP2 when he returns November 8th for an u/s, at which time, we hope to see some proof of life.

Symptoms are all good, definitely feel preggo. Very reassuring.

Have begun use of the infamous progesterone bullets. I put them in at night, which results in some light cramping and slight discomfort. Is this normal? Not worried, really, it isn't like contracting or feeling of imminent m/c, but just wondering if anyone has had this happen. Also, it hasn't been too messy so far. I wonder if it is the way that this pharmacy makes them up. Which I am told, they make it up themselves, and are the only ones on island who do. They look exactly like bullets, and feel like wax.

Oh, and Dr No Name suggests that if hubby and I were feeling in the mood, that we should wear a condom so that hubby doesn't absorb the hormone through his schlong and grow boobies. Then he paused for a second and said, "actually, given your history, I think that maybe abstaining is best for the time being. You don't want to have any cramping or bleeding or any extra worry at this time." Needless to say, when I returned home and told my husband this, he was quite cranky. He said "it isn't bad enough that you only got horny for one week a cycle, but now you are telling me that I won't get any???? Figures." I feel very bad.

Does anyone have any experience with these magic bullets and the sex issue? Any advice or input is very welcome.

k, gotta get back to work now.....

Comfortably numb

2004-10-26T23:18:00.000-10:00

I am very detached from this latest turn of events. It really hit me out of the blue, I wasn't expecting it, I was feeling very resigned, that this was never going to happen again. Even more odd to me that this is all happening one year and one week from finding out that I was pregnant with m/c #3. Back then I was giddy, excited, planning the nursery right after the + hpt. Very different this year. Now, I am just hoping that history does not repeat itself.

When I received the results from Beta #1 yesterday, I was honestly expecting the call to be "Sorry Bermuda, the HPT result must have been a fluke, you are no where near pregnant", followed by insane cackling and guffaws. This was not the case:

14dpo: HCG 148
Progesterone 24

I go in tomorrow for vampire bloodletting #2, followed by a consultation with Dr No Name. Yes, you heard me, I will not be rejoicing with CP2 because the fucker had the nerve to go on vacation just when I really need him most. Bastard. I will not be baking him cookies any longer.

So Dr No Name is covering for CP2, he wants me to go on the dreaded Bullets of Progesterone, he will be following me closely, doing an u/s as soon as my Beta's lead him to the conclusion that there may be something sticking in the Triangle. I will also discuss with him the issue of Heparin injections and maybe having my blood work repeated to see where we currently stand with the APA issues.

I am still half expecting my Beta tomorrow to be a big fat zero. Hell, I didn't get here by thinking positive, so why would anyone think that I would become Pollyanna at this point?

One good indication that things will go well.....

THE RED SOX WON GAME #3 TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

Apparently, pigs do really fly

2004-10-25T04:41:00.000-10:00

Other things that must be true this Monday, October 25th, 2004:

Monkeys are flying out of my butt as we speak
Everyone is wearing mittens and down coats because hell froze over last night
Yellow is the new black
Up is now down
Day is now night
The sky is purple
The Red Sox are winning the the World Series

Oh wait, that last one is true, so maybe it isn't so weird that I peed on a motherfucking stick this morning and the damn thing has two lines.

Holy shit. I am pregnant. Now what????????

Oh, and please, no sudden movements, no loud noises. The Embryo is an elusive animal here in the Bermuda Triangle; we must approach it slowly, cautiously, it may not be here for very long.

Check this out!!

2004-10-22T09:53:00.000-10:00

If you haven't already, you really need to go to this blog. It is the start of something wonderful. The start of something amazing. Do what you can to support this and make it happen!

The best idea I have heard in ages!

Fertility and Baseball

2004-10-19T19:50:00.000-10:00

Keith spent the weekend explaining the MLB teams currently battling it out for the pennant and then onto the World Series. Normally, I don't give a flying fuck about baseball. I actually hate the game. It is B-ORING and way too long. However, after hearing the tale of the Curse of the Bambino, I now have great interest in the current series, and have decided that its outcome is closely tied to my fertility outcome.

In 1918 the Red Sox won their 5th World Series, the most by any club at that time. One of the stars of the Boston championship franchise was a young pitcher by the name of George Herman Ruth, aka The Babe or The Bambino.

In 1920, however, Red Sox owner Harry Frazee needed money to finance his girlfriend's play, so he sold Babe Ruth's contract to Colonel Jacob Ruppert's New York Yankees for $100,000 (plus a loan collateralized by Fenway Park).

Since then, the Yankees, who had never won a World Championship before acquiring Ruth, have gone on to win 26, and are arguably one of the greatest success stories in the history of sport.

Meanwhile, the Boston Red Sox have appeared in only four World Series since 1918, losing each one in game seven. Many consider Boston's performance after the departure of Babe Ruth to be attributable to "The Curse of the Bambino."

Aside from the play on the word "Bambino", I too feel like the Red Sox. I garishly took my fertility for granted in my younger days, and am now paying the price as well. I can't seem to win the World Series of Conception.

So imagine my delight at the current turn of events.:

The Yankees seemed to have the series in the bag, they were leading 3 wins to 0 Red Sox. But the last few days have seen a dramatic turn of events. The Red Sox have defied the odds and have rallied to come back and tie up the series 3-3. Game 7 is tomorrow. I have decided that the outcome of the game tomorrow night will also be the outcome of this cycle. If the Red Sox win, then this cycle of going au naturelle will also be a success. If the damn glory hog Yankees win, well, then it will be just like the every cycle so far this year, a Big Fat Failure.

Sorry Cara, I love you, but you can see my dilemma.

GO RED SOX!

Crank Master Cranky in da hizouse!

2004-10-19T07:40:00.000-10:00

A little disclaimer before I begin:

I am not completely pissed off at the world, just a little cranky, but not all cranky. There have been some very nice moments lately sprinkled in with the crank. But since hubby snapped at me this morning that I am a big hairy crank meister right now, I figured it was time to do some purging.

And away we go.......

First on my cranky list:

I read Grrl's post the other day and it made me cranky and a little miffed. *Stop throwing tomatoes, while she is deservedly on a pedestal, she is not God.* What bothered me is that she mentioned names of people that are going through some serious, sad shit right now. The problem is, that she left out some names. I know, I know, she can't be expected to be on top of every single infertility blog out there and to know every single heartbreak that is going on right now; but the fact that she went through the trouble of mentioning and linking so many different women, I couldn't help but be ruffled that she left out some really, truly, wonderful, beautiful women out there that are currently facing a Royal Flush of shit right now. It is kind of like the proverbial question "if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?", so if Grrl doesn't mention you does that mean that you don't feel any pain? I just hope that the women that were left out don't feel even more wounded that their pain was not recognized in that post. I hope it is only me, in my crankiness, that was bothered.

And seriously, don't get all up on me because I have dared to besmirch an infertility iconness. My rational, reasonable mind does prevail and I know that it is impossible to mention every single one of us out there that are currently munching on a shit sandwich, but in my moodiness and increasing bitterness and resentment that anyone should have to go through this shit, I am just a little touchy these days. And I also know, that by linking to more women here on my blog, that I am still leaving out some others that are not feeling especially partytasctic right now. My pitiful excuse is that my puter time is extremely limited and funded by tax payers, so I haven't been able to make the rounds as I like.

But I digress....

See, I went away on vacation with a few mantras that kept repeating in my head over and over again, on just about a daily basis:

Please let the ones who are preggo, stay preggo
Please let the ones who are waiting to test see double
Please let there be good news for the ones who are waiting for test results, u/s's, what have you.

So when I arrived home and didn't find these things to be true for everyone that I was thinking of, I cried. I wish I could say something to make it all better, or at least make it go away, but my pathetic words could not begin to heal the pain that they were feeling. I feel so impotent in the face of their pain. I wish my words had more power. But they don't.

Second on my cranky list:

The fact that I don't have a puter at home is driving me BATTY!!!!!!! Man, I would rather forego TV than have to lose my connection to my cyber friends. I feel horribly out of touch. And I even feel like I am letting some people down. I barely have time to read all the blogs that I love, let alone comment. I always have some dork- wad at work asking me questions, interrupting my puter time or having the audacity to look at my screen, so I have to be careful about what I keep on it for too long. So I feel muted. *sigh*

So to all you happening utes out there whom I adore, please know that I am thinking about you, reading your blog when I can, and loving you from a silent distance in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There are also a bunch of new utes that are rocking my casbah, that I am crushin on, but I haven't had time to mess with my damn template to show you some props--one of these days...dammit! And my sistas whom I don't put on my ute list to protect your anonymity, I hope you know how much I am always lovin on you--but of course you do...

Third on my cranky list:

Positive people.

I just don't understand it. People who continue to have a positive outlook on the whole TTC game in spite of being dealt a full hand of shit are so alien to me. Whenever I meet one, or read the blog of one, I want to dissect them, look at them under a microscope, and study them closely because being positive, and dare I say*hopeful*, is such a foreign thing to me these days. How do you muster up a positive attitude at this stage of the game???? How on earth can I be positive in the face of cycle after cycle of nothing? I tried the whole "positive outlook" thing about 10 months ago, and tried to scrape it together month after month, but now I am just plain tired. I don't have the energy or the stamina to get hopeful during the 2ww anymore. The outcome is always the same.

Once on the boards of Evil, someone posted this damn, supposedly true story, of a man who always was happy, jolly, kind, and positive no matter what. Even in the face of adversity, this man would always put a smile on his face and have a cheerful disposition. As the story goes, he even got shot and almost died in the midst of a robbery, but even as he was being put under to have surgery, he was cracking jokes and smiling. He said his secret to happiness was that each day he woke up and "decided to be happy" that he "made the choice not to be bothered by things, to always look at the bright side, and be positive." Everyone on the board responded with ooooey gooey words of enlightenment and cheer of the lesson that we could all take from this story. Well, to all that I say FUCK YOU and your positive attitude. I am sorry, after all this time, all this disappointment, all this let down, I quit deciding to look at the bright side of my conception struggles a few months back. It is time that I just embrace my crappy attitude and stop trying to be something that I am not. I am no fucking Pollyanna. I am the Harriet Oleson of the fertility challenged. I am shriveled up and bitter.

So those of you who aren't bitter, sarcastic, twisted, and jaded by this whole process--what is your secret????? How the hell do you do it???? How are you able to enter into each 2ww with anything less then double fisted bird flipping to the fertility gods???? How in the hell do you muster up the courage and the hope to pee on a damn stick? I am so jealous of you out there that still count down the days until testing with excitement and hope.

Fourth on my cranky list:

Sharp objects.

I have a problem when it comes to sharp things such as knifes, and now scissors. I tend to cut myself. This weekend, I was doing the environmentally friendly thing and cutting apart those plastic rings that hold six packs of soda. Don't gasp, I do drink soda. Fuck eating healthy and not injesting caffeine while TTC. I am past that shit.

Anyhoo, I was snip, snipping away and SNIP! I cut right into the base of my pointer finger. I knew I was in trouble when the blood spurted up at least 6 inches. It was deep my friends, very deep. Adding to my distress was this is the same finger that I tried to remove with a boning knife 7 years ago, to which I had to have nerve reattachement surgery.

Keith came to my aid and made the comment, "I guess you won't be happy until you lose this finger. Maybe it is fate trying to right things. You should have lost it 7 years ago." Thanks Keith for the fantastic view on the situation.

So the BA must be working, because I kept bleeding for 3 hours. Normally, I would clot faster than a JLo marriage ends in divorce, but it kept oozing and oozing. No clotting. Should I look upon this as a fortuitous event?

Fifth on my cranky list:

Fertile people, especially celebrities .
If the rumors are true and that skank ho bag slut cunt from hell Britney Spears is pg.....*shudder* I just can't go there. I. Just. Can't. And not just celebrities and their fertileness are pissing me off, but my friends and their fertileness. When I was at Disney, I met up for lunch with a friend. She knows of my struggles has seen me through the last 2 m/c's. Since then, she moved back to the mainland. She has 2 daughters, aged 2 a 10 mos. At lunch she proceeds to tell me that she plans on scheduling # 3 and #4 between the months of June and August in 2 years, and 3 years into the future. Oh how nice it must be to "schedule" your pregnancies. Bully for you. And do you realize at all what this kind of talk does to me????

I am just so sick to death of everyone else having it so fucking easy. Fuck fairness, I know there is none in life, but this just sucks. Sucks I tell you, but then, I am preaching to the choir, am I not?

I am just a little pissy right now that my life has been one challenge after another. It has been one thing right after the other since I was 11 years old. Of course, life has been worse at times, and in comparison to my dark days, my life is supercalifragilisticexpealidocious, but it has never been smooth sailing. So what does a girl have to do to catch a break???? Who's cock do I have to suck?
This is some cosmic joke that I could conceive Makena on the pill, but I can't conceive a viable embryo doing everything text-book to save my life!

It is so fucked up that my friend, who has had no hardship in her life to really speak of, has suffered no great injustice, has a fucking Pottery Barn life, can schedule her fucking 4 children, yet all you wonderful women, including me dammit, cannot get pg and have suffered so much loss.

Oh, and I don't see an end to the bitterness soon. I actually prefer bitter to sad, depressed, and disappointed. I am making myself comfortable here in Bitterville.

***upated to add....

I had a lovely phone call with a woman whom I am in love with. Not the sexual in love, but the admire and adore love. She helped me to see that there is prolly a simple source for all this crankiness that I was completely out of touch with.

It is one year ago almost to the day that I found out that I was pg with my first "planned" child. At this time last year I was on cloud nine. I was busting at the gut and unable to keep it a secret from everyone around me that I was with child. One person even guessed that I was pg because she said that I glowed.

Oh, and while I am looking at the calendar, another little gem of a doozy demands my attention. I was supposed to be due tomorrow with m/c #4. Lovely. Just lovely.

Now, anyone want to take bets on just how crabby and bitter I am going to be the week of Thanksgiving, the anniversary of m/c #3??? That one is sure to be a doozy. Especially since I will have family in town. Oh the joy.

Note to self: stock up on booze. It is gunna be a rough holiday season. Ho. Fucking. Ho.

Enough with the pics already!

2004-10-12T09:42:00.000-10:00

I told you that it would be garish, gluttenous, and over the top...
Is anyone tired of looking at pics yet????
One of these days I will have time for a real post.
And don't fret, I am still just as snarky as ever, but felt that it was time to show the warm fuzzy part of me, the part that is not tainted by the quest to concieve, but the part that is happy, and loving the family that I have already.

It is a nice family indeed. I am so in love with them. I can't ever forget that.

2004-10-12T09:41:00.000-10:00

My all time favorite character with my all time favorite daughter and my all time favorite mom in the background.

2004-10-12T09:25:00.000-10:00

The princess and the pooh

2004-10-12T09:21:00.000-10:00

Yet another furry woodland creature that my daughter enjoyed cuddling with.

2004-10-12T09:20:00.000-10:00

Please notice the dichotomy in this pic. It is a PERFECT representation of my daughter. Dressed in a beautiful princess costume, demanding to drive the car, nervous yet excited, accompanied by her favorite toy--the T-rex. My daughter rocks!

2004-10-12T09:18:00.000-10:00

This one is for you Patty!

Pictures galore...the odyssey begins

2004-10-08T17:48:00.000-10:00

I am just figuring out how to operate the publishing of pics, so bear with me. Here is the beginning. I will show my American propensity for gluttony and overkill by posting more later, but these are it for the next few days.

Also, I warn you...if you are feeling delicate, raw, or vulnerable right now, please skip this blog. It might not be your cup of tea to see such blatant, narcissistic displays of family vacation pics. And I really don't want to hurt any of you dear readers. So please, instead of seething with anger and disgust, roll on to the next blog over.

Otherwise, enjoy.

2004-10-08T17:47:00.000-10:00

Look at me! I am ready for the Audobon!

2004-10-08T17:46:00.000-10:00

I think I am going to be sick!

2004-10-08T17:45:00.001-10:00

I'm having the time of my life!

2004-10-08T17:45:00.000-10:00

ahhh, the great american family

2004-10-08T17:44:00.000-10:00

The primadonna must have her uninterrupted beauty rest

2004-10-08T17:41:00.000-10:00

The beginning of her Furry fetish.

Back from the happiest fucking place on earth

2004-10-04T09:26:00.000-10:00

My home puter is officially dead Jim, so I can only post while at work. I don't think the tax payers of Hawaii would appreciate me spending too much time on the puter, but I have to at least put some of you out of your misery.

I am not pregnant at this moment.

Good ol aunt flo had a wonderful time tagging along on the rides with me. She especially enjoyed the new roller coaster The Screamin Californian. We rode that one a lot. And I would not have felt right about riding it if a something was hanging on for dear life in my uterus. So at least I got to experience sheer terror, motion sickness, and weightlessness many times. A silver lining can be found in everything.

I will post pics soon, although I am sure some of you will be bored with the hundred or so pics of the imp and each character that we could find. We are hoping that this experience doesn't turn her into a Furry.

I missed you guys horribly, and yes, I realize that it ain't normal, but missed you all nonetheless. I will be jonesing to catch up with all that has gone on in my absence.

Au Revior folks!

2004-09-24T20:49:00.000-10:00

Just wanted to bid a fond farewell for the next week to my blog pals. Sorry I can't give you any news one way or another as to how this cycle is gunna turn out, but I just happened to spill juice on my puter and it is no longer functioning. I am at work now at 9pm on a Friday night trying to wrap up a bunch of crap so I can go on vacation and not worry about how bad everyone is gunna fuck up my cells and experiments while I am gone.

So I plan on testing tomorrow morning, but won't be able to tell you the results. Sorry, don't mean to let this be a cliffhanger. But I can tell you it will be one of two outcomes. Either I will come home from Disneyland with the greatest little souvenir ever, or I will be hosting af at the happiest place on earth. Either way, I plan on having a good time no matter what and plan on coming home with a fresh attitude. I am tired of all this emotional crap.

Oh, and I plan on doing some serious emailing and blogging when I get back. I feel like I have neglected some of you, I feel out of touch to some degree, so I plan on making the rounds and being a much beter, supportive human being when I return. In the meantime, have fun, play nice, do something naughty that would make me laugh, and will someone please feed my cat for me while I am gone?????

Lator gators!

P.S. I also promise to post pics when I get back. Won't that be a treat! Not!

Random notes

2004-09-23T08:15:00.000-10:00

My brain is once again paralyzed by the 2ww. Last month was such a joy...no IPS, no thoughts of pg, no worries. I tried to carry that attitude over to this month but it isn't working currently. I will get to that in a bit.

So, thanks for your concern about Makena. She has recovered nicely and is back to her regular eating habits. It was just a 24 hour bug that left as fast as it came. Fortunately, I did not catch it even though I spent much time catching her vomit in bowl, blanket, towels, hands, whatever was available at that second. For those of you expecting and trying to be expecting, you have that to look forward too because babies and young children do no get the concept of running to the bathroom and depositing their vomit in the toilet.

School is getting better too. She had another meltdown Monday after school, but I chalked that up to residual fatigue from her illness. I spoke with her teacher, and she said that for the most part, Makena is doing very well at school. So I guess she is saving her emotional meltdowns for the safety of mom and home.

I have contacted a therapist whom we will be seeing when we return from Disneyland. I explained the situation to her, told her that we are dead set against medication, that we think that it is really a matter of behavioral modification and work on our part to help her. She seemed very agreeable to that. So hopefully that will help us out. At this point I will try just about anything. I honestly think it is really going to involve a lot of change on our part, how we structure her time, how we organize OUR time and so forth. I was looking around our house yesterday realizing that it is such a chaotic environment, nothing is neat and tidy, she has way too many toys....I think some simplification is in order and it will benefit all of us. The hard part is getting my husband to follow along with the simplification plan. But change is needed, it has got to be done, it is not for us, but for her, so after vacation it will be time to roll up the ol sleeves.

I had a huge scare yesterday. I think my hubby found my blog. I looked at the site meter and our home IP address appeared at a time when I wasn't home, but he was. I danced around the issue a little with him, trying to ascertain if it was indeed him, which it has almost got to be, but he played ignorant. So I have decided that this is best. I will continue on as if he hasn't found my blog and not worry. I don't want to censor myself here. This blog is for my sanity. So I will let the chips fall where they may and not give it more thought. If he did find it, the fact that he didn't say anything is good. It means that he is respecting my privacy and is not offended. So we will just leave it at that. And if you are reading this dear stinky pants, I love you, I adore you, I cannot live without you, but you gotta let me have an outlet for all this crap in my brain so you don't have to bear it all yourself. *Smooches*

The other night as we were cozying up to go to sleep, dear hubby was in talkative form. He wanted to tell me all about his strange dreams. Man, he is one tortured soul! I told him that it sucks to be him that he can't seem to dream about rainbows, puppies, winning paintball games and wonderful sexual conquests. Instead he dreams of painful losses, sad morose things. He asked me if I have any recurring dreams or recurring images in my dreams. I said "of course! In every dream I see HPT sticks. They are traffic lights, they are crosswalks, they are antennas on cars, they are little cell phones....they are just plain everywhere." He laughed at me, and said "no seriously!", and sad but true I said "no hun, seriously."

Which brings me to last nights dream. I kept dreaming over and over again that I POAS and it was positive. It was so real that I kept waking up all giddy thinking it was true. Then my heart fell when I realized that it was just another tortorous dream. I dreamt this at least 3 times last night. Now that is my idea of a horrific nightmare.

So when it comes to the 2ww I am a very guarded and private person. I feel so naked and vulnerable and I don't want anyone to see how bad I am sweating it out and worrying. I don't like to talk about IPS's because for me, IPS's haven't equaled a pg. At best they have equaled a chemical pg. I feel ashamed and immature if I get caught up in the IPS's and talk about them. Undoubtedly I end up with egg on my face in a few days when my period shows up. And what is worse, is when af does show up, I feel like everyone is looking at me with pity, shaking their head, and thinking that I was an idiot to get my hopes up. So I don't like talking about this crap.

I won't go through all the details, it feels so useless to do so, but needless to say, that I have been having major IPS's. I even had this *feeling* the other day that this was it. This time is different. This time it is gunna be a sticky one. Always in the past, even if I had a + FRE, I just didn't feel right, like I knew it wasn't going to happen. Not so this time. I had a strong sense. So since I have been unable to sleep through the night the last two nights from having to get up and pee, a symptom that ONLY occurs when I am pg, and also with the added bonus of my temps being much higher than usual--usual is 98.3, I have had 98.7 for the last 3 days--I gave in and peed on one of those thingys that I continually dream of.

I took my shower and when I came out, it was nice and snowy white. I thought I saw a hint of a line, but since I have been teased with faint lines before, I decided to just let it go, throw it out and not give it another thought. It was negative at 10dpo.

Now there are two agreements going on in my head right now.

1. It was too damn soon to test....I have never, ever had a + at 10dpo, and as a matter of fact I have tested - at 10dpo but then + at 12 dpo. So I need to just relax, not worry. I have my usual RPG symptoms and they will either stay, and I will find out I have a little embryo inside, or they will fade and I will be hosting af at the happiest place on earth when we go to Disneyland next week.

2. Since I have been having major IPS's for the last 3 days at least, including the wonderful sore boobies, then I should have already tested +, even at 10dpo. All that excitement and Hope doing a dance the other day when I just had a *feeling* that I was pg was just my delusional, over-active imagination taking over.

It is out of my hands, all I can do is wait and see. But what is really hard is the shame, the frustration, and sadness if this doesn't pan out.

I don't know how to really express myself clearly about this but I will try. It is hard to get my hopes up month after month only to be let down. But what is harder is to do it in front of an audience. I constantly think about how a lot of you are pulling for me, are hoping for me, and are even feeling guilty because you are pg and I am not. I gotta tell you that just sucks and sometimes makes me feel even worse. I feel this pressure to succeed, but then more of a failure when it doesn't happen. I just can't stand the thought that you might feel sorry for me. What the hell is that? I don't understand my own mind sometimes. My rational self knows that you care, you are concerned and you just want this to happen for me--plain and simple. But my emotional side just feels so naked, vulnerable, and embarrassed at my lack of success.

Someday this will all be a painful, distant memory, right???? Someday I will look back on all this shit while I am rocking my newborn baby in my arms, right????

I guess only time will tell. Fuck. Patient I am not. Fuck this sucks.

Well, I am going to go pee now. Seems like I have been doing an awful lot of that lately. I guess I will just chalk it up to my bladder loving to torture me with a fruitless IPS. Fuck you bladder!

On a different note....

Anyone watch the season finale of Amazing Race? Thank goodness good triumphed over evil! At least something worked out the way it should.

Butterflies

2004-09-18T18:42:00.000-10:00

Makena update: I picked her up from school on Friday and she kept lamenting that she was "soooooooooooooooo sick momma," and I just dismissed it as pure exhaustion from a full week of Kindergarten with no napping.

I got her a video at the store, brought her home, set her up on mommy's bed, turned to put the video in the player, and heard an awful wretching sound coming from behind me. I turned back towards Makena to see her in mid spew as she wretched yet again and added to the pile of vomit forming on my bed. I was pleased to note however, that she must have eaten tomatoes for lunch, which means that she is trying a little of everything and eating the nutricious meals that they serve her at school. A comforting realization indeed.

So needless to say, I am a little busy this weekend following her around with a large bowl and trying to keep her from going out of her mind with boredom, but yet keeping her rested and letting her body recover. I am happy to report that she has eaten a bowl of cheerios this am, and so far, they are staying down. She is currently sitting on my bed and playing her ukulele.

So, for more archiving purposes, I dug this one out from my board days as well.

A little background first:
One thing that I was having problems with on the board was that everyone talked about their "angels" and everyone comforted each other with things such as "I know our angels are up in heaven playing together and looking down on us." Now, while that is a lovely sentiment and comforting to some, I felt awful when I would read that.

See, I have a very tenuous relationship with God, it has been tenuous at best since I was 5 years old. At a young age I felt God around me all the time. I was keenly aware of His presence. I felt like I had a special connection to Him. As I didn't have a father growing up, I looked to God to be my father. I talked to him every day. I filled him in on the boring, mundane, everyday occurrences of my life. Sometimes I would even sleep cradling my crucifix. Then one day, a dear family friend was hospitalized and I was told that she might not make it. So I went to the corner of the playground where the statue of the Mother Mary was, and I prayed my little 5 year old heart out. I was on my knees the entire recess time. Praying over and over and over again. I thought for sure God was listening. He always listened to me.

Agnes died that afternoon.

I stopped talking to God.

Then later when my mom started drinking and abandoned me at 11 years old, not only did I refuse to talk to God to ask His help in getting through the horrific ordeal, but I decided he didn't exist at all. How could there be a God? What kind of God would let a child suffer and be in so much pain? The only way I could make sense was to think that God didn't exist and I truly was alone in the world.

Today, I don't know what I believe. With all the miscarriages and the heartache, I have begun to talk to God again, but I am not too sure where I stand. I look around at all the beautiful, miraculous things in life, and I think that there has got to be a Divine force behind it all. And even as a scientist, I can still recognize the wonder of things even when I have broken it down to a molecular level.

But when it comes to thinking about the losses that I have had, I still cannot bring myself to call them "angels" or imagine them all playing together up in heaven. I just am not built that way. At the time that I wrote this letter, I was feeling very guilty that I didn't share the same view as a lot of the other women on the board. I felt deficient that I didn't have one of those angel blinkies or names for my losses. I also started wondering if maybe I wasn't having success at getting pg again because I hadn't made peace with my losses, that maybe the fact that I was trying to move on too fast was hindering me in some way. So I wrote this letter to find some peace within myself, to recognize and validate my losses, to say good bye, and allow myself to move forward without guilt. I also wanted to recognize that there has been some "signs" in this whole process that have given me comfort, whether they are "signs" from the Divine I cannot say, but they are "signs" from nature, the symbolism of which offers me solace.

Written June 14, 2004

So this has been eating away at me for a week or two and I just need to get it off my chest and hope that it will make a difference somehow and I won't feel so sad, so here goes...

To my magical little butterflies,

I don't know what else to call you or how to describe you. An angel doesn't seem right, it feels hypocritical on my part since at a very young age I have had a hard time making peace with religion in my life. If I call you my lost souls, then that makes me feel even more sad for the loss of potential and makes me worry that since my body couldn't support your soul, then you are lost out their somewhere, aimlessly wandering and never knowing a home. The scientist in me knows that due to simple laws of physics, that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, so the energy that was created when I became pregnant with each of you has to be out there somewhere, maybe in the sunrise, the rain that falls to the ground, or the beautiful rainbow that comes after that rain, or maybe in the flower that is nourished from that same rain...either way, I feel like I have done something very wrong...I have not given validation to your existence and how it has changed my forever.

I have avoided thinking about you all for so long, for when I think about you too much, I feel sad. Sad that I will never see how your eyes light up when you smile. Sad that I will never know if you would have the same dimples that Makena does. Sad that I will never be the one to wipe the tears from your eyes. Sad that I will never hear your laughter. I will never get to count your toes and compare them to mine. I will never get to imagine the endless possibilities for you life and what you can do and achieve.

All of these missed moments feel overwhelming sometimes, as a way of survival, I have put my thoughts of you in the back of my heart and mind and tried to forget. When I was younger and lost one of you, I just chalked it up to bad timing and told myself along with everyone else, that it was just not meant to be and a new addition at that time just wouldn't fit. But the ones I have lost in the past year have hit me in a harder way, because I am ready now, and now is the perfect time. But instead of letting myself grieve and mourn, I have just barreled ahead and rushed to try and get pregnant again. I tried to be clinical and focus on the terms: fetal demise, no heartbeat, blighted ovum, trying to pretend that I didn't lose anything and that I didn't need to reflect, but instead looked forward and blinded myself to the loss.

In the past few weeks I have been feeling very sad and guilty. I feel that I have done you all a terrible injustice and I am writing this to correct it. I need you all to know that I love you and I miss you. Even if you never became what I had envisioned and hoped for, I still feel the love nonetheless. I feel the emptiness in my arms where you should have been. I need you to know that I am not trying to replace you, that could never be done. Each of you has a special part of my heart and you were a reality to me regardless of how short a time you spent growing in my body.

I realize now that my guilt has been holding my back. While I have hoped to get pregnant again and am doing everything to try and become pregnant again, something has been tugging at my heart, holding me back and making me feel unworthy of getting pregnant again. And I think that reason is because I have not allowed myself to feel the loss of you and to honor you in some way. By not validating your existence and giving you my love then what right do I have to try and have another child? And also, I need to let you go because the reality is that I will never get to do all the things a mother should for you and it is holding me back from living my life and from being a proper parent to the child who needs me the most right now, Makena.

And what dawned on me the other day, was that when I lost one of you in February, that I kept seeing butterflies. Every time I felt sad and alone, thinking of all that I had lost once again, I would look up and see a butterfly. It was so comforting and so special, that I knew that it had to have some meaning...and now I know. Each of you has become a butterfly to me. A butterfly is so beautiful, so magical, so fragile, you just want to reach out and catch one. But a butterfly is so elusive, once you get close, with a few flutters of your wings, you are out of reach, unattainable, and unfortunately, that is how you will always remain to me...beyond my reach, never to be held. But now, every time I will see a butterfly, I will think of you, I will honor you, and I will cherish the time that I had you. And even though that time was passed by with a flutter, it will be forever imprinted upon my heart and I will always be your mommy.

All my love and remembrance,
Your mommy

Now, in my defense, I don't often get this sappy and maudlin, but it was a moment, a stage in this process. I feel a little silly and embarrassed of this letter, but the feelings are real and I can make no excuse for them. And oddly enough, there has been quite a few occasions, where I was in my car, walking on campus at work, or playing with Makena at the park, that I was thinking of this whole last year, thinking and questioning where I should go next, and I would look up and see a butterfly. I don't care if it has special meaning or not, something about watching a butterfly, and thinking about all the meaning and symbolism that the life of the butterfly holds, just gives me a sense of peace, joy, and even hope. And I don't care where I find those things, as long as I have those in my heart, that is all that matters.

Mounting evidence that my husband is the Rat's pajamas

2004-09-16T21:32:00.000-10:00

As expected, Makena is having a rough time adjusting to Kindergarten. The new routine of no napping is doing a serious number on her attitude and behavior. She needs a lot more of my attention than usual, so that doesn't leave a lot of time to post. So I submit to you this oldie but goodie from the archives for your reading pleasure. It is also more evidence in my mounting case against my husband. While the rest of you have married such wonderful, understanding, loving husbands, I on the other hand, am married to the Rat's pajamas, a very far cry from the Cat's pajamas.

Written June 17th, at the end of my first cycle on clomid:

So I have finally pulled my head out from an undesirable area since I am no longer biting my nails and obsessing on every tiny detail of my body and whether or not I was having IPS/RPS and decided to get some laundry done. The 2ww is very hard on my family cuz I just cannot be bothered to do household chores!

So anyhoo, I am doing the laundry like a good wifey and I come across something VERY disturbing....dun dun dun.....pause for dramatic effect.....
I FOUND DH'S BIKINI UNDIES IN THE DIRTY CLOTHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yep that is right, remember how I outed him not too long ago about the kind of scivies he "used" to wear???? Well it seems that the undies found their way out of the closet and onto my honey's love basket!!!

So I had what I can only call a WIFEY DEAREST moment and I ran to dh who was happily couch potatoe-ing it and yelled:
"NO MORE BIKINI UNDIES......EEEEEEEEEVVVVVVVVEEEEEERRRRRR!!!!!!!"

Poor dh didn't understand what my latest tirade was about and was hoping that he had finally escaped the HCG shot induced moodiness and looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I asked him what in the sam hill possessed him to wear such atrocities and explained to him the TTC taboo of it all...he sheepishly looked up at me and said "but honey, you weren't doing laundry and all my boxers were dirty, so it was all I had left to wear" I yelled, "DAMMIT, THAT IS NO EXCUSE!!!! ONE WORD: COMMANDO!!!!" After some further discussion on the subject it also came out that dh was actually kind of fond of the old purple leopard print triangular shaped things as they were reminders of his "glory days" and he was so proud that they still seemed to fit. (He has been having major body issues ever since he turned 30 last year, he thinks he is fat and bloated, so the fact that his 180lbs panties fit on his 240lbs body gave him some kind of satisfaction.)

Well, I heard what he had to say, I looked thoughtfully in his eyes and nodded and acted the understanding wife, and then I went through his drawers and gathered up all the contraband undies and hid them in a place he will never find them...my underwear drawer...but if he ever finds them, then we have a whole new problem cuz what in the hell would he need with women's underwear?!?!?!?!?!?

So now I blame this months BFN on my husbands idiotic decision to try and recapture his youth and wear underwear that even a self respecting gay guy wouldn't be caught dead in...the guys from Queer Eye For the Straight Guy would shudder at the sight!!! Although, in reality, if I just took a few minutes break from TTC obsessing, then I would have done the laundry, then he would have worn the boxers......my solution: I am going to Sears (yes, Sears, cuz I am CHEAP!) tomorrow and picking up my man some new boxers!!!!

...any excuse not to do housework

The husbands of infertiles should never be allowed to compare notes

2004-09-14T08:13:00.000-10:00

If you have been following for a while, then you know about the whole itchies issue. Well, the issue still exists, but oddly not for me, only for hubby.

After a little research and from the help of you lovely readers, I decided that at the beginning of this cycle that I would preemptively tx with clortrimozole. This has been the magic cream for me from the beginning, it is effective within hours of application, thus reinforcing the idea that what I have is yeast. And after doing a little more research and talking to CP2, I guess it is actually quite common for women to get yeast issues, especially around the onset of their period, due to the pH changes and for me, I think the use of pads. Looking back, it seems that I don't have much of an issue during cycles that I use tampons, but since I have been using pads since the m/c in November, I have been having problems (I have been paranoid about tampons and infections, thus the switch to pads). Also changed laundry detergent, since CP2 says that Tide can be a common cause. Also began obsessive grooming and cleansing after each interlude with the ol hubby, and he as well began more thorough cleansing. As and aside, isn't it romantic and lovely when the first thing on your mind after sex is cleaning off your spouses toxic love juices??? *shudder*

So this cycle has been itch free for me. So I figured that since I am the cause of all our angst, that my lack of itchies would equal hubby's lack of itchies. Not true. He admitted to me last Thursday that he had em back again. And after doing some epidemiological like sleuthing, we realized that his itchies didn't coincide with our activity in the bedroom....
I immediately got on the horn to CP2 and relayed to him our dilemma once again. He again tried to reassure me that a yeast infection will not prohibit conception, of which I am totally convinced it will-- wouldn't a yeast riddled vagina equal a non hospitable environment for sperm after all????? Anyway, CP2 said that hubby needed to be treated by his own doctor and to ask his doctor if he thought it would be ok to tx us both with Diflucan. Cp2 reminded me however, that we can only take the diflucan if I get af again, as it cannot be taken during this crucial time of conception and implantation. I am all too aware of this fact since it is most likely the use of Diflucan at the exact time when I was implanting in January was the cause of that m/c. *sigh*

So, I call up hubby's doctor and tell the nurse all the embarrassing details and how important it is for Hubdoc (which he will now be referred to as) to see hubby. She relays all the details and tells me that unfortunately, Hubdoc cannot see hubby until Monday afternoon. Which meant a whole weekend of trying to convince and coax hubby to have sex with me and not let the clomid angst that I suffered go to waste this cycle, while he unfortunately is reduced to a quivering, itchy, incredibly irritated man, which is not conducive to loving procreation.
*note, hubby was really a trooper and realized the importance of timing and sucked up his discomfort and took one (daily) for the team.*

So yesterday, he finally got in to see Hubdoc. And the following conversation ensued, as relayed to me by hubby....

Hubdoc: So tell me why you think this rash is preventing you from having a baby?

Keith: I don't think the rash is, but it sure curbs the desire to even try, when I have got a raging fire down below and can't stop thinking about how much it itches.

H: So you guys are trying huh? How is that going?

K: Crappy, thank you. She makes me do all this stuff, she is seeing all these doctors, she is fixated and focused on every last detail, and gets all moody and upset that it isn't working.

H: I completely relate. My wife and I have been trying for 6 months with no luck. She is very OCD and is convinced that there is something wrong. She even had me go and give a sperm sample, which was one of the worst experiences ever!

K: Shit, you too??? I had to go to this little window in the middle of the corridor, it looked like I was placing my order at Dairy Queen. I asked them if they had a place for me to collect my sample and the lady pointed me to a room across the hall. I went in and it must have been a converted janitorial closet. There wasn't even a place to sit, just an end table with a porn mag from the early 80's. It is a total wonder how I was able to jack off in that kind of environment!

H: I think we went to the same place!!! I couldn't believe it!!! It was the most uncomfortable experience!

*At this point in hubby's story, I interrupted with a snort. Men are such pussies! I wonder how they would feel if they had a dildo cam shoved up their anus twice a month?!?!?!? I know, anus and twat are not the same thing, but penetration is penetration....

K: Of course after all that, my sperm was just fine. Which I could have told her all along!

H: yeah, I am fine too. But my wife is just so worried and into this, she keeps a thermometer under her pillow, temping obsessively, is always talking to me about cp and cm and demanding sex at certain times. Some days I don't even want to go home, since I know as soon as I walk in the door, I will be pestered to drop my pants.

K: Oh, you have the thermometer under the pillow too???? My god, I hear that beep, beep, beeping at the most ungodly time in the morning....I don't get what the deal is with the temps? I have even seen her stick it in her mouth in her sleep!!!!!

H: And then there are the pills! My wife is on hormones and it makes her so damn moody and almost unbearable to live with! Every little thing sets her off. She will start crying and yelling over the smallest things. She has always been a clean freak, but now on the hormones, it is at an all new level. She can't stand the sight of a single thing out of place. One night I woke up in a cold sweat when I realized that I left my water glass down on the table. I got up at 2am just to run downstairs and clean up the glass for fear of the temper tantrum that would ensue if she woke up to find it herself.

K: I hear ya. Mine starts crying at commercials these days. And if she isn't crying she is yelling at me for something. I know that I can't say this to her, for fear of the smack down that sure to follow, but conceiving has never been our problem in the past. I honestly think that if she just relaxes, then it will happen. I don't understand her need to force the issue. If it is meant to be, then it is meant to be. I mean what ever happened to fucking for fun? I am sure that if we just fucked when the mood struck, she would be pg in no time. She has got a strong mind, and I just know that our lack of success is due to her thinking and worrying too much about it.

At this point I am sure there was some patting on the asses and some high fives of brotherhood solidarity going on. They have it all figured out, don't they? Well, problem solved....the men have the answers. They know what is best.

I choose to take it as a compliment that my husband thinks that I have got such a great, strong mind. I am flattered that he believes that I have that much control over the situation. He thinks so highly of me, huh? However if my mind were that powerful, I would have made damn sure that sperm met egg and strong implantation had occurred by now. If only it were that simple.

Well hubby, I have thrown out the thermometer, I am not obsessively checking my cp and cm. And this month is the last month for any type of hormone intervention. We shall try it your way from now on. And lord help me if his way works. I will never hear the end of it!

The one with all the follies

2004-09-11T23:32:00.000-10:00

So I didn't have time to post about my visit with CP2 on Friday, nor did I feel up to it. It was kind of sad really. My lining was only 6mm, and I had 3 follies:
right: 13x13
left: 17x17, and 14x13 or somewhere in there....
So we had a nice chat about my situation.....
He thinks that we are at the end of the road for clomid--duh! I told him I had no interest in it...the mood swings this time were just too much....it was mentally painful this time around.
We talked about this and that, but basically the jist is that he wants me to go natural for a while, he will monitor my progesterone and give me supps if needed. He thinks I can do it on my own, that I have no definite reasons for him to doubt a successful outcome, but just in case he brought up the big daddy of all options. We had the IVF talk.
It turns out that I have a fucked up insurance that won't pay for injectibles and IUI's, but it will pay for IVF since I haven't had a successful pg in 5 years and all my m/c's. It would end up costing $2,000 out of pocket, which from what I have been hearing, is pretty damn good.
I don't think I am ready to go that route yet. I know my husband isn't. Even $2,000 is a huge chunck of change right now, financially it just isn't feasible. If I am not pg by my b'day in June, then we will prolly go for it, but that is a long way away...so we shall see.

So I saw CP2 again this am, and mercy me, my lining went up to 8.1mm, so he wasn't concerned. Especially since I perked up that much in less than 24 hours. And follie measurement were as follows....
right: 18x18
left: 20x19, and 17x16

So now I am just sitting her working up the nerve to shoot myself up with the ol Hot Charged Gonad-o-tropin shot. Where is a good junkie when you need one?????

Let the games begin....let's place bets on whether or not I keep my sanity during this 2ww.

A heart felt thank you

2004-09-09T21:04:00.000-10:00

I just wanted to let you readers know just how thankful I am for all your wonderful comments and your readership.

I have spent most of my life inside a wall of self protection, where I tried to hide myself and my feelings because I didn't think anyone would understand. I always thought that I would be shunned and ridiculed if people knew what I was really thinking and feeling. And because of this fear to share and be my true self, I never got the chance to find out that I am not abnormal, that there are a lot of people out there who's reality closely resembles mine, or at the very least you all understand where I am coming from.

I can't stop shaking my head. It is just so unbelievable that you guys are so incredibly helpful and understanding. It means so much. And I don't write all this crap just so you guys can inflate my ego and tell me how wonderful I am. Honestly, with each and every post, I keep expecting someone to tell me what an asshole I am. But you guys don't. Instead you are really having a profound effect upon my life, my view of the world, and my vision of myself.

And what really makes me happy, is that if there is anyone out there that is reading this that is touched, or feels just a little less alone, or just a little comforted by the fact that they aren't the only one to feel something, experience something, or think something that I talk about in here--well, then it is all worth it. I know how much it has meant to me to read other people's blogs to find that I am not alone.

I am so much in awe that you guys are reading my drivel, let alone that you offer up such wonderful words of support and strength, especially when it comes to my struggle with good parenting.

I just have to say that you guys rock. You are way better than my therapist! I really think that I should be paying you guys instead of her!

You make me proud to have a uterus, however defective it may be.

It gives me a saccharin headache to be so sappy and mushy, but it had to be said.

Just leave me alone, I enjoy sitting in the corner picking off head lice and eating em

2004-09-09T19:16:00.000-10:00

So I have realized that it has been quite a few days since I posted last. There are two reasons for this:

1. I have officially entered the land of computer geekdom, and have buried myself in HTML code trying to put together a new template for my blog, but working on other blog templates as well.
I have just come back from the store where I procured myself a pocket protector and slide rule. I am soooooooooo cool.

2. I have officially gone off the deep end, lost all my marbles, gone cukoo, whickety wacky, hand me the lithium for Christ's sake, and unfit for human company. If you need a visual, I am 2 evolutionary stages from Smeagal, on my way to being a full Gollum. I am one sick, moody, cranky, unhappy BITCH right now.

Why am I in such a sad, pitiful, pathetic mental state?

IT'S THE CLOMID DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously folks, the next time I get the bright idea that I should give clomid the ol college try, please shoot me, lock me away, or at the very least smack me around a little, K?

At first I didn't attribute my craptacular outlook on the state of affairs to the clomid. I have been beating myself up over what I perceived to be my problem:
I thought I had become a green eyed monster. You see, some of my very dear, very loved sistas have had the truly wonderful happen....they have gotten the Golden Ticket, they have obtained the unreachable, they have conquered the Mount Everest of conception and now find themselves pg.

Now mind you , when I found out about them getting their coveted BFP's, I just felt such relief and joy for them. I really did. It is wonderful. It is a blessing. It is what they have been waiting so long for...it is what so many of us are waiting for, and our desire to get there is what brings us together.

But what happens when your bestest, cherished friends find themselves pg and you are not? How does that change the dynamics of your relationship? Will you still be as close as before, even though the very issue that brought you together is no longer valid? And what about the pg one? Does she feel guilty for having the good fortune that her friend does not? And once you get the BFP, you enter a whole new realm of fear, paranoia, worry...so what happens when the non pg one is so fucked up and twisted over her inability to get pg, that she finds it hard to be supportive and hear about all the worries and obsessing over symptoms?

One worries about the safety of her new baby growing inside her, imagining the terror and pain that she will feel over the loss of this new life, all the prior losses still fresh and vivid in her memory. While the other worries that she will be the last to stay on the merry-go-round...all her playmates, soulsistas move on, but what if she is the last one to stay behind? I mean someone has gotta be last, right? It is an inevitability. How lonely and sad is that place? I know that particular fear is narcissistic and self involved. But hey, I am honest. And I honestly think that most have felt this way, at least to some degree.

I mean it isn't as if getting pg is like waiting in line for Krispy Kremes. Where you take a number, wait in line and watch all the fat cows in front of you getting the last of the really delicious, fresh, warm donuts, while you sit there and just salivate and imagine how good it would feel if you could just get your hands on one of those sweet, delectable treats.

Oh wait, maybe this is just like that.

Because how hard is it to sit there and watch others up in the front of the line enjoying the tasty goodness, when you look down at your number and see that it says 1,465 and you look up at the "Serving Number ___" sign and it says "12"? It is hard. It is hard to tell yourself that it will be your turn eventually. It is hard to sit there and be happy and enjoy yourself as you realize just how long you are gunna stand in line. It is hard to watch the others enjoying their donuts while your tummy gargles and churns because you are so hungry.

It also does not help when people who have gotten their donuts already, pass you in line on their way out and tell you how they managed the wait in line for their donuts. "Oh, well I just decided to relax and only think about donuts every 36 hours, you should try that!" or "Well I did yoga in and aligned my chakras while waiting in line. It worked for me! I am sure it will work for you!" or this lovely tidbit "Well I prayed and had faith and turned it over to the almighty. I recognized that it would happen in His time, not mine." You know what is funny? The same bitches that come back in line to tell you just how they did it....well, they were whining, moaning, bitching and freaking out just a little bit ago about how "hard the wait in line is." So you know what? I don't wanna hear what worked for you.....I want you to go the fuck away and leave me alone and not remind me of what a failure I am, thank you very much.

The one saving grace to this whole thing is....the donuts will never run out. The skank bag at the front of the line will not get the last donut, leaving you empty handed. In the world of procreation, there is an endless supply of donuts...errr babies. Just because some ho bitch with 4 kids already, who complains that she doesn't have time for them because she is too busy running around after her cheating boyfriend, father to kids 2, 4, and now 5, is up in line in front of you, doesn't mean that there won't be any more left for you when it is your turn. Even though it is hard not to think her a glutton and hogging all the babies....there will still be enough to go around when it becomes your turn.

Oh, and just to be clear, I honestly, scout's honor, cross my heart and hope to die, I would gladly give up my place in line and give cutsies to any one of my sistas if there really were a line. I don't want anyone to feel left behind. I would rather be the one last one, I just wish there was a guarantee that even if I am the last in line, that it will happen for me too. *sigh* No guarantees though--that' s life.

Well to go back to my craptacular mood.

What I know now is that I am not jealous of my dear sistas, really, I am not. What I am is paralyzed by fear, self-recrimination and guilt.
Fear that it will never happen for me too.
Self-recrimination that my extreme moodiness and bad attitude are preventing me from reaching out, supporting, and really being there for my friends.
Guilt because their good news didn't fill me with complete joy. I of course felt joy at their news, but closely after the onset of joy, a feeling of loss followed, and sadness that we won't be doing this together, at least not in the same way as before.

And also, seriously, the clomid has me so twisted and moody, I feel toxic and unable to really support them right now. Every little thing is getting on my nerves right now, I am feeling so fucking raw and out of control, that I feel like I need to keep a distance from them so that I don't hurt them, or make them feel badly in some way. The first trimester is so fucking brutal. It is a hard, hard time. And I know that when (trying to think positive here) I am in my first trimester, I will never feel comfy, I will always be worrying, I will always be waiting for the bad news. I don't want my behavior and twisted feelings to bring them down in any way. It just kills me that I am not there 100% holding their hand, supporting them....I mean shit, I would want that from them if situations were reversed, right?

So I have been completely paralyzed by all this crap the last few days, thus, the lack of posting.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It finally dawned on me today, that there is a reason for my behavior. It is not an excuse, really--I don't usually allow myself the luxury of excuses. I know that this craziness in my head is due to the clomid. I mean cus this shit is just purely irrational. I feel so fucking out of control emotionally. I was driving home yesterday and there was a billboard for some guy running for mayor. There were tons of people lined up down the street holding signs and waving in support of their candidate. Makena asked me what the sign said....I told her "Mufi Hanneman", and she made a comment about how he had a very funny name. So I started thinking about that poor guy, how he has been trying to run for mayor for years, and never gets elected. I stated thinking about how bummed he must get at every election when he never wins. I started crying. I fucking started crying. I was crying for a motherfucking politician because I related his pain at political defeat to my lack of success at baby #2. Jebus....it has got to be the clomid right? Please say it is the clomid!

Never again folks, never again will I take the crack.... errr clomid, because I am a true junkie that can't handle her smack!

So walk away folks, just leave me here in the corner. I am the one muttering to myself, hair all disheveled, haven't bathed in days.

Just say "NO" to clomid my friends. Walk away before it becomes the monkey on your back!

In which you become convinced that I am schizophrenic

2004-09-03T23:03:00.000-10:00

Or at the very least a crack.....errrr clomid whore.

First in reference to the last post...thanks guys for the huge amount of cyber love and reassurances! I was especially worried about posting something so negative about parenthood when that is the coveted prize that all the readers are aiming for. I feel so immature that I get like that upset, where I just feel so fucking helpless and clueless. Thanks for not judging me and thanks for throwing some support my way. It really soothed my tortured soul today...so much so that I am cracking like my hubby's knuckles and am going for it this cycle.

Makena is still on break from school, so we had another day of stopping by work to sort some crap out and then heading off for errands. Things went much better today. I am trying to limit choices, trying to validate her feelings, but letting her know that there are things to be done whether she wants to or not, but the easier that she complies, the faster the day goes, and the sooner we get home to go swimming. She seemed to respond pretty well to that. My stress level stayed low, and things went well.

So I drag her to the app. w/ CP2. First I peeked my head in the waiting room to see if anyone was there. I don't know what I would have done if there was someone there, but I just didn't want Makena's presence at a RE's office to upset anyone. Luckily no one was there, so in we came, with much fawning over Makena ensuing by the nurses and receptionist.

Makena and I went into the exam room also dragging her 3 foot stuffed gorilla that currently wears her Cinderella costume from 2 years ago (that is princess gorilla to you folks). Makena wanted to know what the u/s machine was for. I told her it was for the dr to look at mommy's insides to make sure that I am healthy. She just looked at me for a moment then said "ummm, mommy, can you please give me a brother?" It really threw me off guard as she had no idea that we were sitting in a RE's exam room addressing that very issue. I told her that I would love it if I could give her that, and that I would do my best, but it requires a lot of time and patience. She seemed pretty agreeable and sat peacefully with Princess Gorilla and her Highlights magazine for the duration of the appointment.

But her innocent request kept ringing through my head...over and over and over again.

So CP2, looking slightly disheveled and uncharacteristically cowlicky today, performed the scan and made sure to comment that I have quite a large quantity of eggs coming up to the forefront and getting ready for ripening. *Ding* Went the alarm bell of my obsession. *Wirrrrrrrrr* Went the machinations of my brain. Cp2 and I went over the calendar, taking into account my vacation and then his, and if I don't go for it this cycle, then I will then be forced to go au naturelle for the following 2 months. Once again, another nail in my obsession coffin. So "what the hell" I said to him. I told him that this last cycle was so nice not worrying, stressing, and feeling so let down by the lack of payoff. He touched my hand ever so lovingly and said that I should let the feeling and lack of stress follow through to this cycle. He said not to worry, just put all the work and worry in his hands---ahhhhhh, I am merely putty in his hands.

He gave me a little speech about how I should not be stressed out...that he is sure that a healthy pg is in my future. He wants me to stop calling myself infertile. He said I need to get that thought out of my head...I balked and had to remind him once again that a recurrent aborter status is also a form of SIF, but he just shrugged me off, as he believes that it was mostly bad genetic misfires and not my long list of fertility challenges that caused my m/c's. "Besides" he says, "as long as you are taking your fa and ba, then that covers most of your issues." OOOOOPS, can you guess what pills I started taking again this evening?

So anyhoo, I left the appointment with him being very confident and self assured that I should give it a shot this cycle. He thinks that I respond well to the clomid and there should be no reason for a success soon. I left with my refill and my appointment for a cd12 check.

I came home and discussed the situation with the ol hubby. He of course was no help and said when asked if we should jump on the clomid wagon once again "sure, I don't see why not." Some help he is. I asked him if he was just being agreeable because he wanted to make me happy and he said "yes." I then asked if he was opposed to trying in any way, or if he had any negative thoughts whatsoever about us doing a cycle this month. He said "nope", which for him, is a glowing and whole hearted endorsement.

So down that hatch went the two tiny crack pills....errrr clomid pills, chased down with some Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade. Let's give it a whirl. It won't hurt to try, at least I don't think so. I know that this may not work yet again, but I honestly feel that the break last cycle will prevent me from going down in a blaze of fury. I hope.

*cheers*

So much for mental health (warning: if you are a PIF'er, you won't want to read this)

2004-09-02T21:30:00.000-10:00

I have decided to definitely go one more cycle without trying. Mainly because I think I should have my motherhood card revoked. Makena has been in rare form the last couple of days, trying my patience at every step of the way. I can't even begin to really explain and detail every last gut wrenching moment, but she is being extremely obstinate and challenging. It makes me so mad, upset, and downright sad that I can't seem to get through to her. She just keeps getting so upset and throwing tantrums, my heart aches to see her that upset and out of control of her emotions, but I can't let her get control me and manipulate me can I?

We went to the mall again yesterday (yes, I have learned my lesson, no malls for me ANYMORE!) and she didn't want to continue on, she just wanted to play in the Zen rock garden. After letting her play for quite a while, I wanted to continue shopping and maybe get a bite to eat. She wouldn't budge. I tried reasoning with her, I tried understanding, I tried firmness, but nothing worked. She started throwing a tantrum, so I just picked her up and dragged her 60lb self out to the car. I put her down to get my keys out of my purse, and she ran away, darting out into the parking lot and almost getting creamed by an oncoming car. I grabbed her up, took her over to the car, and spanked her. Yes, it is true, at the risk of being cyber pelted, I have to admit that I spanked her. She just looked up at me and said "You are a horrible mommy, I am telling daddy and he is gunna kick you out of the house!" I tried to explain to her that what she did was very dangerous, that she almost was hit by a car, and that I was very scared...she just proceeded to throw an even bigger tantrum while I tried to buckle her into her car seat, and she even punched me a few times. It was so much fun.

We drove off, her still screaming and alternating between aplogies for her behavior with shouts of "I hate you mom"! I just drove home crying my eyes out.

Keith and I spoke about it, he of course thinks that it is my fault, that I give her too many options and chances, which leads to ambiguious messages, and the downward spiral of her behavior. I dunno, he has a point, maybe he is right. All I know is right now, I feel like such a miserable parent that I am questioning everything right now. I felt so bad last night, that I seriously started to think that maybe my family would be better off without me. No, I was not feeling suicidal, just like running away, changing my identity, and living like a hermit for the rest of my life. A mountain cabin with no electricity and living off a garden fruits and veggies is looking awfully appealing right now.

Today was more of the same, I had to take her into work with me for a bit. Things went a little better in the fact that I didn't give her a choice or a "chance to behave better", instead when she started her whiney routine, bordering on tantrum town, I just picked her up and took her out of the lab and we went for a walk. She loves going to work and being the center of everyone's attention, so making her leave the lab due to her behavior really sent her a message.

I dunno, I am so fucking exhausted. As soon as Keith got home today, I took a 3 hour nap just to recover from the last few days. I just feel so fucking awful that I can't seem to parent my child in such a way that alleviates these times of tension. It rips my heart out when she tantrums because all I can think about is how much pain and frustration she is in when she loses control. I know that she is just like me in tha fact that she doesn't like to lose control like that. I know it embarrases her and pains her. But sometimes, I feel so fucking manipulated by her as well. She always knows what buttons to push to really ellicit negative attention and incredible guilt.

Being a parent is such a challenge because it brings you face to face with your true self. You give your heart to your child so completely, that it brings you in touch with a capacity of caring, loving, and nurturing that you can never imagine that you had in you. But then it also makes you painfully aware of your ugliest attributes--the limits of your patience, your insecurities, your weakest characteristics, your darkest fears. In one day I can reach the highest of highs when I am just bursting at the seams with love for my beautiful child, but then it can leave me feeling ugly and monsterish when I find myself spanking my child.

I really hestitate to post this...especially knowing that some of you that read this might be seething with hate for me right now because you think that you would not be as much of a failure at parenting as I am. But again, I have to remind myself why I created this blog, and that it is really for me--a place where I can be as honest with myself as possible and work through all the things that this quest for parenthood does to me. And sometimes the stuff I have to work through is just plain ugly, but I have to be honest, for I am hoping that in that honesty that I will find my way.

Some days are just so damn hard I wanna cut out my heart with a dull knife, or at least have a lobotomy performed so I can spare myself the constant self analyzing and doubt.

I want so bad to erase this post and pretend like I am not feeling these things, but to do so would only prevent me from growing and changing and moving away from this. I am sorry that I have polluted you with this.
Sorry

And before any asshole decides to post that "I should be grateful for my daughter," let me preempt that sentiment by telling you I AM FUCKING GRATEFUL FOR MY DAUGHTER! I love her with all my heart and soul, what I am more upset about is that I feel like I am failing her. So I can gaurantee you that the pain that I am feeling right now is going to spur me on to make whatever changes that I can possibly make to get better at this whole parenting thing. Because really, the only accomplishment that I really want in life,that truly matters most, is to be a good mother. I just want to be a good mother. I just want to be a good mother.

Cleaning house, taking stock

2004-09-01T08:49:00.000-10:00

Well, the cycle of non-stress is officially over. Af came to town yesterday. So a little inventory is in order.

So how did that cycle go? How did the "not trying" work out?
Well all in all, it worked out pretty well. It didn't go quite the way I planned but lets break it down into pros and cons....

Pros:

I was considerably more relaxed this month. I took some of the attention and focus that I have placed upon my reproductive innerworkings and transferred it to important things, like paying bills, getting caught up at work, trying to be a responsible adult overall. I even finally cleared the traffic citations that I had off my record, no how is that for responsible?
I think my husband liked me just a bit more, as evidenced by the fact that he couldn't keep his paws off of me until the itchies got the best of him.
I had a month where the feelings of self-doubt, self-recrimmination, and self-loathing seemed to be held at bay. I didn't spend the whole 2ww telling myself that I didn't deserve to be pg and other lovely thoughts along those lines.
I feel like my body is having the chance to readjust itself and my cycle seems to be getting back to its pre-m/c self. With the clomid, yes I ovulated, and yes, my lp was extended, but things just didn't seem "right". Af shortened from 6-2 days, and I just felt my body getting all hostile on me. This cycle seemed very natural. I 'o'd on cd14, which could not be denied and ignored, given that instantaneous ovarian cramping with the bloat that ensued. And since I know when I 'o'd, I know that my lp was 12 days, which without clomid, I think is great! So I have the reassurance that everything is working properly again.
I didn't pee on single stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now that is incredible progress!
I think that I was a nicer person this month. I didn't snap, didn't bitch, didn't hide when the emotions got rough, because the emotions never got too rough.

Now on to the cons:

While I managed to keep my fingers out of the bermuda triange for 13 days, the day I 'o'd made me crack. Forgive me fertility obliviousness, for I have sinned...I checked my cp and cm more than thrice this month....ok, so maybe like 6 times or so, give or take a few.
I stayed free from the thermometor for most of the month, but I couldn't resist taking my temp on three occasions.....once a the day after 'o', just to reassure myself that I did indeed know my body well enough to know when I 'o'd, then the other 2 times to just spot check. Yesterday morning was the 3rd time, and the 97.5 was a dead giveaway that af was on her way. I was however happy that my body was behaving normally...I know from those 3 checks that I 'o'd, that my progesterone was enough to sustain a lp and my temp dropped as af was aproaching. These are things that my body has struggled with since the m/c in Nov. so all in all, I am pleased the the machinery of procreation is funcitoning properly.
Because I was on a "break", I didn't take folic or ba. I also let my eating and drinking habits seriously get nasty. I should take care of my body better whether I am trying to conceive or not. Not happy with myself on this point.
The major down side to being on a "break", is that there is no hope for pg that month. Well, of course there was a little chance for pg this month, we did boink and all. But due to the itchies, we didn't do it too much around typically fertile time, plus, I am convinced that my itchies make my bermuda triangle a hostile environment, so I don't think any sperm could make it through the sulfur fields of my uterus.

So now I sit here and wonder "what's next?" I have an appointment with cp2 on Friday (hear the choir of angels singing?) so we shall discuss things then. I am really just going in to get checked out and for him to percscribe meds for the hubby and I. But I admitted to his nurse that I am on the fence about what to do next.

Should we try this month???? Should I give my body, to say the least my heart and mind, another month of relaxation???? I really don't like being on the clomid, but I can't figure out if I didn't like it more because of what it did to my body, or because I didn't get pg (with a sticky one) those 3 cycles.

I am pleased with how I am doing at this point. Should I leave well enough alone and just keep continuing on this path? I have made steps towards sanity that has eluded me since the m/c in November. Am I a TTC addict now, so that any steps in the TTC direction would mean a total relapse? I don't want the be the "board Janet", I rather prefer the "blog Janet". Will "board Janet" take over once again and I will be reduced to endless cups of green tea, massive amounts of Robi, drowned in a pile of sticks--OPK and HPT?

I have no answers today, just a blood soaked pad. But since this cycle did not bring the heart stopping, gut wrenching pain with that first glimpse of blood on the tp, but rather a shrug, and a "oh well", I think I know where I am leaning. Do you think it is possible that I might be getting healthy? Me??? Mentally well???? What a concept!

Pain

2004-08-30T22:36:00.000-10:00

I have been rumminating on this subject for quite a while, for a little over a week, but I could never figure out my firm position on the matter and how I should go about expressing it. Just like how pain can be an onion, with layer after layer peeling away as you get to the center, so might this post be. Although I wonder if I can truly get to the heart of the matter, but I will give it a shot. Beware: verbal vomit without organization ahead!

First I need to give props to my girl Patricia, and if you haven't read her post on this subject, then do so post haste. It is beautifully written, has a wonderful point. She tempers her insight with just a touch of sarcasm and a little irony since the pain she is going through right now defies her quantified number. I respect the hell out of this new found friend and I hope that her pain diminishes in intensity soon.

You should also read Tertia's timely post on Pain Olympics. Tertia is a very wise and wonderful person, whom has earned her "pain points" the hard way. I know that the day I found her blog, read about her journey, and found her tribute to Ben, I cried and cried and cried. Not tears of pity or with the thought in my head "well at least I don't have it that bad", but I cried in recognition of her loss and her pain--a pain that would, and does bring others to their wall, yet she continues on. How can you not respect a person who can carry the heavy burden of such a loss and turn it into a wisdom and understanding of herself that is truly beautiful to behold?

What has brought me to this post, is not the quantification or understanding of my own pain, but rather my lack of understanding of the need to compare pain. I am sorry, I just don't get it. And it is not because I haven't felt as much pain as the next person, no, rather pain has been a close relation of mine since I was a young girl. The pain brought on by my struggles with m/c is just icing on the cupcake of pain that I have had the pleasure to endure since the tender age of 11. So please don't write me off or dismiss my words as coming from someone who doesn't understand the depth of pain, for that is not the case. No, I have never watched my baby struggle for its last breath, no I have never watched my child wither away and die of cancer at the tender age of 4, no I have never had to make a decision as to whether or not to bring a child into this world that will only suffer and might die young due to some congenital defect or abnormality. I thank whatever higher power is out there that I have never had to experience these things, but you know what? On some days I actually thank that higher power that I have experienced the losses, the trauma, and the heartache that I have--only some days mind you. The thing is, I am a much stronger, capable person due to my experiences.

The thing that confuses me is why there is a need to compare, contrast, or compete for who has the most pain. Why, especially in the infertile blogosphere, does there even exist the mentality that "my pain is greater than yours" or "why is she bitching, she doesn't know as much pain as I have". I just don't get it. What is the point of comparing? And no, this is not easy to say because I have a daughter, so therefore my SIF pain is less than a PIF's pain. I refuse to defend myself by listing, proving, or justifying my pain to anyone in order to say what I am saying now. Because the fact is, pain is personal. Each person's pain is different. The way that a person faces their pain varies from person to person. The amount of pain that one can endure is different from individual to individual. How a person copes with the pain is just as unique as the individual themselves. The same painful event might bring one person to their knees contemplating suicide, where another might search for meaning, comfort and understanding of that pain. The same event might cause one person to withdraw and crave numbness, whereas for another person might draw people around them closer as if to use as a shield from the pain. The commonality is the mere existence of the pain...no matter how great, no matter how small--the pain is there nonetheless.

Pain is an isolating event. Nothing has ever left me feeling as alone in the world as painful, tragic events.

The whole reason that I sought out the boards and then the blogosphere is that I wanted to know that I wasn't alone. I wanted to belong to a community of others who have experienced the same kind of profound loss that I have. And you would think that in a community centered around a common bond, a common experience, a common loss of dreams, a common loss of hope, a common language of pain would be one of total understanding and acceptance. And for the most part, I believe that it is. But I have also found hurtful diminishing of feelings and others' experiences. I don't think that this is done on purpose and I know that it isn't done with malice, and let's face it, we are women, and women can be catty and petty at times. Not everyone "clicks" and "gets" each other. But what disturbs me is when another person's experience is belittled or diminished because they haven't won the gold medal in the Olympics of Pain.

Take for example the whole SIF vs PIF issue. When I first read Grrl's post on the subject I felt 3 things.....
1. Awe that a woman who is experiencing such gut wrenching pain right now can take a step outside herself and recognize another's pain, especially when they have something that she is finding elusive at this stage of her journey--SIFers already have a child.
2. Grateful and teary that she "got it", that she could even try and imagine what it is like.
3. Upset that Grrl has to champion the cause and convince others that an SIF's pain is real to. I was struck by so many responses that proved that there is a discrimination of sorts. In fact, I have even read other blogs and other people's comments on blogs that really are just shameful in the fact that there are women out there who think it is ok to belittle another person's pain. I once read a comment to an SIFer when someone came onto her blog and told her that she "should be grateful" for what she already has. And maybe worse is that I have read SIFer's comments themselves where they belittle their own pain. I can only guess one of 2 things when I read this, that the woman herself doesn't have the confidence or self respect to validate her own pain, or she is trying to ingratiate herself to a PIFer so that they will like her in spite of the fact that she has something that they don't have quite yet.

I guess am also struggling with is the nature of women themselves. I have always had an easier time getting along with men than women, for many reasons, but one of them being that I could never understand how women could hurt each other the way that they do. Often times, women turn on each other and sometimes hurt each other in the worst ways--the way only a woman would know how. Women have such capacity for love, nurturing, and understanding, but then they also have a knack for taking a fellow woman's weakness and turning it into a weapon to hurt her. As women we are nurturers, but yet we can be deconstructive and so damn catty too.

The thing is when comparing pain, contrasting pain, or competing for the pain gold medal, the only thing that you are accomplishing is distancing yourself from another person or persons, that might provide comfort and relief from that pain. When you tell someone that they just don't know your pain, what you are actually doing is keeping that person at arms length, not allowing them to share the burden, thus hindering healing (Cathy, I think of you as I write this). The only thing accomplished by the comparison of pain is that you hurt the person with whom you are comparing, by belittling their experience, and you put yourself at a greater distance from that person, making you feel more alone, and your pain magnifies and intensifies. So tell me, where is the benefit in that?

I read a discourse between blogger and commenter, where they were both agreeing that there is a pain scale of sorts, and that they chose to stay away from blogs that discussed SIF or bloggers that had the extreme fortune to find themselves pg. It made my stomach hurt. While it is my obligation to be understanding and respectful of their position, for which I truly am, I am not criticizing them for their feelings, but what I felt was sadness that they were creating a wall around themselves that might just preserve the pain, rather than alleviate it.

I also read some reaction to Patricia's post where women were afraid to score themselves or had a low score and were feeling sadness that their pain is considered less or insignificant because they have had only 1 m/c or they haven't had an IUI, let alone IVF. To those women, I send out a special hug tonight because it doesn't matter to me if you have had 1 m/c or 20...you have suffered one to many, and you will carry the loss with you for every day the rest of your life. Your pain is real.

I get that there are varying levels of pain, that I am not disputing. But you know what? No matter what event or events in your life that have happened to cause the pain, you can ALWAYS find someone who has endured "more" pain than you. There is always a more tragic, gut wrenching story out there that is worse than one's own. I find it hard to imagine what would be at the pinnacle of pain and who would win the gold medal because there are realities of pain that exist out there that are just beyond my fathoming, that don't touch the reality that I live in. And besides, who wants to be the one that wins that medal anyway?? Who wants to be the one everyone pities and is thankful that they are not you? And really, I think if you have the time and the inclination to compare, then you obviously aren't in the running to win, because the person with the most pain is in too immersed in it, trying to cope and heal, rather than evaluating and scoring it.

What I hope for and what I want to surround myself with is women who don't bother comparing pain but rather come together to share it, understand it, learn from it, and carry on despite it. I don't care how much pain that you have endured, it doesn't matter to me. The amount of pain, the duration of pain, and the intensity of pain does not matter one bit in my book. I for one, don't want to isolate myself further and hold onto my pain tightly by associating myself with people based only upon pain points and status. I choose rather to to acknowledge and validate others' pain. For in that action, I give acknowledgement and validation to my own pain, which leaves me free to not treat my pain as a life preserver, clinging to it for identity; but rather accept it, integrate it and live with it. I don't want to be defined by my pain, but rather I want to be defined by the way in which I cope with that pain. It is the choice between a life of lightness of being, rather than a life of darkness and despair.

My pain is real. Your pain is real. Our pain is real. And wouldn't our time be more well spent comforting one another, helping each other cope rather than sitting around in a giant pissing contest over who has the largest piece of pain pie? I chose to concentrate my energies on moving through the pain and further down the road to my goal of increasing the number in my family. What do you choose?

It is the "little" things that bring me to tears

2004-08-26T21:58:00.000-10:00

This "cycle" has been a pretty darn good one. I am quite proud of myself that the stress level is lower, the expectations are gone, and the self loathing seems to be dormant for the time being. I was patting myself on the back today about how I seem to be doing a good imitation of "relaxing", "letting go", and "not stressing". What have we learned about hubris?

I haven't been to the mall in ages, as I tend to limit my public outings where I will see too many newborn babies and families with 2 or more kids in tow. It is bad enough that there seems to be an insurgence of 5 year old birthday parties lately, which requires many visits to ToysRUs, where you have to pass the baby section to get to the registers.

Since this cycle seems to be passing with very minimal angst, I was foolish enough to tackle the mall for an afternoon outing with Makena.

Immediately upon entering the mall, I see a grandfather pushing one of those double decker stroller thingys with two, less than 4 mos old, angelic, sleeping twin boys.

Within seconds I see a youngish looking couple with 4 kids: an infant in a baby bjorn, a toddler in a stroller, and two more walking alongside, both under the age of 6.

Then Makena wants to go into her favorite clothing store Gymbor-pee to check out the latest duds and the TV that plays some Raffi wannabe endlessly. To get to her "all grown up, kindergarten section", I had to pass the infant section. All those little ruffle butt dresses, the miniature cardigans, the overalls...I felt a serious pinch in my heart. Not a pain mind you, just an annoying pinch.

So then we head on over to Dizzney Store. They had all the Halloween costumes out. Makena oood and awed and went to each one squealing with increasing excitement: "Oh, I want to be Cinderella this year." "No wait, look at Sleeping Beauty, I wanna be her!" "Oh my, how beautiful, I wanna be Mulan this time!" Then she skipped off happily to the back of the store where the wall of stuffed animals are and the big jumbo screen that plays Dizzney propaganda.

I wandered around, looking at the t-shirts, looking at the toys, playing with the big Bruce hand puppet...when I turned around and saw the teeny tiny little baby costumes. My eye immediately came upon the one of Winnie the Pooh, with a big padded belly. I was drawn to the costume, couldn't resist touching it. It was at that moment, this one thought ran through my head:

I would have had a little cooing burping thing that would have been 4 mos
and able to wear this costume.

Would have.....but don't

I usually don't allow myself those thoughts, I rarely think them, I know that there is no benefit of those types of thoughts. And frankly, I tend to think them mellow-dramatic and trite (I am not so hard on others, lest you think I am a heartless bitch). But for some reason today was different. I started out the day with a lightness of being, then went to a pinch that graduated to a choke of the heart, and ended up with me crying in the middle of the Dizzney Store while fondling a Winnie the Pooh baby costume.
I went straight over to Makena and gave her a hug, smoothed the hair back from her face and asked her if she knew just how much mommy is grateful for her.
To which she replied...."well mommy, since you love me so much, how about if you buy me a princess dolly?"
God that kid is a master mind

Why I have no time for a meaningful post

2004-08-23T22:55:00.000-10:00

Because I spent the whole damn weekend scouring every single infertility blog to find out just which blog started this fire! I obviously have a short attention span, am a really bad researcher, or am looking at wrong blogs because I had no luck in figuring out the inflammatory blog(s).

I gotta say, that I am not immune to that weird sickness that takes over some humans. You know, the weird compulsion to rubberneck at an accident, hoping that you made it before the ambulance so you can see some blood and misplaced appendages. Eeek, you mean that I am the only one who has that sick fascination? Well, it must be that sickness that is compelling me to find the offensive blog(s). I am a woman obsessed, but I just can't seem to be clever enough to find it. *sigh* Maybe a fellow twisted will throw a girl a bone and point me in the right direction? If you don't want to put it in the comments, I would be more than happy to receive an email!! *pant, pant* Really, I would!!!!

No besides the curiosity of what words could someone use that could really ignite the infertile blogging community, the whole situation has really got me thinking, along with every other hormonal Harriet, as evident by the tons of blogs that are reacting.

Why do I blog and do I have a responsibility to my audience?

Well, the answer is really simple...I blog because my therapy bills were getting way too high! And my only responsibility is to myself. The fact that I have readers is amazing to me. I still wonder how in the hell I was discovered, and so soon into my career. I always figured that no one would read my blog, and when a few sistas discovered me, I figured that only they would read me. I mean really, I don't think my entertainment value is very high, I am not as good a writer as I would like to be, I am a total pussy, I am extremely immature, I have no common sense....uh oh, super therapist J's low self esteem siren is going off....

But really, if you have found my blog and you are a return reader, then cool, I am a pretty honest, open book on here. What you read is almost really what you get in real life, the only difference in real life is that I am shy, more guarded, and no one appreciates my sense of humor besides my mother, my daughter, and my therapist. The latter one is payed to blow smoke up my ass, so I guess you shouldn't take her word that I am funny.

Anyway, I am what I am, and if you read me then cool, if you are offended by me, well, then I don't want to know, and please move along to the next blog because the rejection just might put me back on prozac at this point. I don't think that I will ever get political, meaningful, or profound, I am just plain, immature, self-absorbed me. I do in fact have a couple of skeletons in my closet that I haven't shared here yet, but it is because I don't know if I am ready to release the pain and embarrassment of those occurrences yet, but when I do, I will be sure to post a disclaimer to warn you all away.

The only thing that I am really still stuck on is the whole issue of privacy, blog etiquette and blog standards of practice. I tried to solicit the aid of one of the blog gurus, but I guess I am just too geeky to warrant a response, so I will just come out and ask you readers what you think. Please give me your input...whether you are a loyal reader, a lurker, or just a passerby on your way to the next, more interesting blog....please provide opinions on the following:

Privacy: As most of you know, my husband does not know about my blog. Only 3 real life friends do, and I don't think they read too much of it anyway, because I think this is just a little bit too much for them to understand. None of them have been touched by infertility in any way, shape or form, and I really don't think that I am doing a good job of educating them, and frankly, I don't think they want to share in this aspect(painful) part of my life-hell, my husband doesn't even want to share it! But I digress...
I have questions such as this: is it unfair of me to post the real names of my family? Am I not protecting their privacy as I should? Why do some people use fake names or initials? Also, would posting of pics be wrong? Would it open my family to stalkers and freaks?

I pride the fact that I am so honest here on my blog/journal, but am I being really naive about this? I want to share pics, to give my return readers and cyber friends more of an idea of who and what they are reading about...but in the age of scary internet perverts, should I be more protective of my family's privacy? You may think I am a total idiot, but I am new to this, and really, I just don't know....I am a freshman to blogging.

Also I am curious about boring, blog issues of etiquette such as...
When you start reading someones blog that you really get, how do you engage in commenting? Is everyone like me, who is just tickled pink that someone would wander by and be so interested, touched, or identify with me that they are moved to post and extend their readership to me? Or do some people feel invaded by a stranger posting to their blog? And about linking to other blogs....I have chosen the route that I have the standard, famous blogs that EVERYONE links to. I don't know them, nor do I claim to.

Then I have a heading for people that I either know and love, or have let themselves be known to me on my blog, so I feel comfortable linking to them.

However, I have a long list of other blogs that I frequent on an almost daily basis, but am afraid to link to on my blog because I am not sure if they would see it as an invasion, or if they would see it as flattering that their words are so meaningful to me, that I read them daily. I mean frankly, the infertile blog world sometimes smacks as being cliqueish. You can tell the people out there that are out there extending their hand in friendship to most blogs, bathing in the sense of community. But then there are also a lot of bloggers that seem very reserved and don't respond to newcomers to their blogs and don't seem very interested in venturing out to new blogs.
I don't know, maybe it is because there seems to be so many of them out there these days, maybe it is overwhelming.

Also, it seems that due to status of infertility, there seems to be a division among some of PIF vs SIF. Which leads me to a whole can of worms that I just haven't found my position on, and should save for a later post. I have the opinion that we are all sharing pretty much the same journey, situations and outcomes are different, but we can ALL understand on some level what each of us is going through. But I guess it is easy for me to say, since I have had the amazing fortune to have at least one successful pg, I do not know how I would feel if I didn't have Makena.

Anyway, I am functioning on way too little sleep to continue and try and pretend to have any clarity at this point--let alone proper organization of thoughts and writing. Please forgive the sloppiness of my homework Mrs Reader. I didn't have much time to form coherent thoughts let alone concise writing, but I wanted to throw this out there before it lands in the pile of forgotten blog entries, as I am really dying to hear your input on the matter.

Also, seriously, if you can help me out and end my obsessive searching for the infamous blog entries of contention, please pass me a note and spill the beans....inquiring minds want to know!!!!

Analyze that!

2004-08-20T06:35:00.004-10:00

I haven't really been dreaming much the past few months, at least that I remember. I think it is my mind's way of protecting myself because the last dreams that I had, and remember, where in June during the 2ww, in which I dreamt that I POAS and it was +. The dreams were so vivid, technicolor really, down to the pretty dark salmon hue of those double lines, that I woke up thinking they were true. Then when I realized I was dreaming, I figured the dreams were of a foretelling nature....NOT!

So imagine my surprise when I had the most vivid, crazy, mixed-up dream last night. It was so intense that it woke me up with a jolt, trying to catch my breath. I was scared!

The dream starts out innocently enough, it is one of those 3rd person format dreams, where my eyes are like the eyes of the movie camera, I am not in the dream other than to be an observer.

The dream was about the 2 daughters of Elvis. It really was about mundane boring life. Priscilla was getting the two girls ready for a road trip in the convertible Cadillac, blue, with fintail lights. She was griping and moaning at Elvis that he was on tour for much too long "and you need to spend more time with the girls, they are growing up so fast and they miss their daddy". Elvis was yeah, yeah, yeahing her, really had his mind on other things, and was feeling a little bit pressured--he obviously didn't want to spend time with the girls today. I got the impression that it was moments like this that started him on his path to pill popping.

The girls were already in the car. Lisa in the front seat, looking to be about 4-5 years old at this time. The younger little girl was in the back seat (I don't know what her name was). Both girls were looking as adorable as ever, wearing pretty white dresses, with eyelet lace overlays, and pretty pink satin ribbons tying back their hair from their face.

The car was parked out in the drive, parallel to the open garage. Elvis was in the garage gathering blankets, some soccer balls, and other various picnic in the park accoutrements. He would bring loads to the car and look at his girls with love in his eyes, but with other things on his mind. The girls of course just looked at their father with love and hunger for the adoration of their daddy. They were trying to be quiet, not whine or be too loud, as to not disturb or ruin this special, rare occasion--an outing with the King of Rock and Roll, Daddy.

Elvis then went around the side of the house to take out some trash or something, and just happened to look over into the neighbors garage, which was also open. Their were two men in the garage, he was not quite sure if they were neighbors or not, as he never paid attention to those things. I recognized one of the men to be a character in real life that lives here in Hawaii, a bounty hunter named Mad Dog something or other. The other gentleman looked like the evil rich guy antagonist from the movie Road House, with Patrick Swayze, circa early 1990's I think.

The gentlemen in the garage must of been up to some kind of illegal transaction or something, because they seemed very disturbed when they noticed that Elvis saw then in mid-transaction. Elvis didn't think anything of it, he just went about his way, preparing for the outing.

The next thing that happens, is where it gets truly disturbing....

So Mad Dog whatever his name is, is seen next wearing a Batman costume, and cutting across Elvis' drive, straight toward the convertible blue caddy, with the girls inside. The girls see Batman coming and get kind of excited that they are being paid a visit by one of their favorite super hero's. But then, Mad Dog, pulls out a really big revolver and shoots at the girls.

At first, I thought in my dream, it will be ok, he missed, there is no way that he would shoot innocent, beautiful, angelic looking girls. But then I saw Lisa's face. She was not shot, but she had the blood of her little sister all over her face. It was the look on her face that was the most disturbing. It was the look of innocence lost, fear, terror, and pain, the kind of look that you know will eventually break a person and lead to detachment. The look broke my heart and made me want to scream. Then I took a closer look, and realized that the face with blood spattered all over it wasn't a young Lisa Marie Presley, but it was Makena!

I shot straight up in bed, breathing hard, heart racing.

What the hell did that dream mean???? Any takers?

Oh, and I did end up going back to sleep, and when Keith woke me up to say good bye as he was leaving for work, I told him that I had a bad dream, and asked if he would please give me a quickie, and throw me a bone to get this dream off my mind. He said "no, because I don't have time to shower again afterwards, and my balls are on FIRE from yesterday!" *SIGH*

The one with all the feminine itching and CP2 makes an appearance

2004-08-18T20:32:00.000-10:00

So someday I will post about my sexual hang-ups because I can't seem to embarrass myself enough on my blog, but I will save the meat and potatoes for another day, rather, lets begin with a tale that skirts around the issue of sexual dysfunction--and don't worry, it is embarrassing too!

I can't remember how long this has been going on, for years, not sure exactly how many, but years nonetheless, I have had problems with feminine itching. It is usually around the time that I get af, and it will start with itching and irritation, then will progress to a horrible rash, complete with bumps and burning. I always just dealt with it with shame and embarrassment, because as my urologist grandfather used to love telling me, "that UI's and other problems down in the crotch area are the result of sexual promiscuity".

I digress into a little story....
Quite a few years back, after Keith and I had been living together for some years, but before Makena was born, I had another bout with the ol fire crotch. So I did what most women do, and I headed to the feminine product isle at the local market. I picked up a tube of Vagisil, and slathered it on without abandon. At first it was a great relief, but a few hours later, the itching became worse, the burning turned up to a five alarm fire and the bumps became more raised and exaggerated. What did I do? Well, I slathered on more product of course.
The next morning I woke up and felt horrible stinging and a 6 alarm fire going on down below, so I squatted on a hand mirror to fully inspect what was happening down in the bush. What I saw frightened me: a mine field of blisters...some of them already burst and open, some of them ripe and ready to burst at any moment.
Since I didn't have a lot of time that day, a full load of classes, I decided that I couldn't go see my regular ob, so I headed down to the clinic on campus. Well, I saw the dr on staff, who was a woman, and she took one look at me and told me that I had HERPES!!!!! What the Fuck?!?!?!? Since when? She asked me if I was in a monogamous relationship, and I told her damn straight, and I have been for years now. She said to me: "well, then I think you need to have a discussion with your partner, because he obviously isn't being faithful". OH NO SHE DIDUNT!!!!!

I pulled up my pants and rushed out of there down to Keith's work. Called him down to the car, where I proceeded to scream at him "just where in the hell have you been sticking you dick?" "what is the name of the bitch, or should I say bitches?", "are ya happy now? You gave me an STD so I will have to marry you cuz no other guy will want to touch me with a 10 foot pole!"

When I ran out of verbal gas, he looked at me long and hard---and then he laughed! He laughed so hard, I believe that he even slapped his knee! He asked me to explain where this tirade and accusation session came from. After I told him my adventures at the University Student Health Center, he told me that he thought the doc was a quack, told me to make an appointment with my real doc, kissed me and said "no, I am definitely not cheating on you, nor have I ever. I love you, and have fun with the itching", then he merrily went off back to work.

All is I can say, is that man is the ying to my yang. Nothing I ever do seems to phase him--thank god for me!

I went to see my real OB/GYN, he swabbed the blisters, but told me that they definitely didn't look like Herpes. We went over all the details of what happened; he wasn't sure what started the itching, but he believed that I had an allergic reaction to Vagisil.

Outcome: herpes culture came back negative and I am forever cursed with having to wear a wristband when I have surgery (i.e. D&C's) that says one of my two allergies is to Vagisil, which always gets me questions as to how I figured that one out, followed by snickers.

Recently I have been having a resurgence of the itching. I even had an episode in January when I was 10dpo, went to see my OB/Gyn, who ran a Beta, and when it was negative prescribed Diflucan and some cream as she determined that the itching was due to a yeast infection. I took the diflucan and will never know for sure if that is reason for the blighted ovum as it turned out the Beta was wrong, I was indeed pg at the time I took the meds.

Regardless, it should go without saying that this terminal case of the feminine itches is a real party pooper for me.

It flared up again when Keith and I went to see CP2 (Cutie Pie 2, otherwise known as my RE) for the first consult and he prescribed the standard course of antibiotics. And what usually ensues when a girl takes a lengthy, strong dose of antibiotics? I'll take Yeast Infections for $500 Alex. This time the flare up came with a new twist--it spread to my loving hubby and he ended up with GREAT BALLS of FIRE.

It happened again last cycle during 'o' time, which of course had me obsessing that this chronic, underlying yeast problem is the cause of our current infertility, but when I asked CP2, he did his best to convince met that yeast should have no effect upon our fertility.

So this cycle starts off with yet another round of the itchies. And of course, since I decide to take a break from TTC'ing, Keith of course is hornier than Gene Simmons from Kiss, and has been chasing me around relentlessly. What does he get for his troubles? You guessed it, another case of GREAT BALLS OF FIRE! For which he decides that he is too itchy to let me near his stick shift and fuzzy dice, which is a real tragedy because now I am as horny as Gene Simmons from Kiss!

So I break down and call CP2 to ask him what can be done and get his reassurance once more that the dreaded yeast is not to blame for our lack of conception abilities. And really, it was just a good excuse to hear CP2's voice, as like every good vagina junkie, I am having Dildo Cam withdrawals, and miss CP2's sensual touch.

CP2 agrees that this condition of mine is occurring way too often, that it isn't normal, and that I should come in on cd1 and get some radioactive yeast killing medication for both me and dh. The real hard part of the conversation was that I had to admit that I was cheating on CP2 and his dildo cam by having sex with my husband, and not procreative sex, but REAL, just for the fun of it sex. His suggestion to alleviate our problem was that Keith needs to wash his gentle parts (Makena's term for genitals) after fornication to rid himself of my toxic, acidic, battery acid cm. He also informed me that we need to change to non-allergenic laundry soap and shower soap.

CP2 then asked me why I hadn't come in for clomid this cycle (ahhhh, he misses me too!). I told him that I was under the impression that he wouldn't do more than 3 cycles of the class "c"razy drug. He said "oh no, we can take it out to 6 cycles if necessary". I explained to him that I was giving myself a self-imposed hiatus for a cycle or two as the "c"razy drug was really getting to me, but maybe I will take him up on his offer later. Continuing on with our torrid dildo cam love affair might just outweigh the clomid induced insanity that I am sure to go through. He reminded me however, that "I will be on vacation in October. We are going to be gone for 2 weeks". You can imagine how I broke into pieces of his use of the word "we"....my CP2 belongs to another! My fantasies went *poof* just like a cat fart. *sigh*

Oh well, we will always have our time with the dildo cam. *sigh*

Love and Marriage, the great lie

2004-08-16T22:42:00.000-10:00

Marriage.....

first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage....
Well, not exactly in that order for some of us.....

This post has been running around in my head for quite some time. I could never seem to sit down and write it because I just don't think I can really do the topic justice. Besides, my marriage and my views on marriage are a constantly evolving, fluid thing. And there are some days when I really don't know what the fuck I am doing because someone like me has no business in a relationship anyway. I don't think there will come a time when I have this thing figured out, so I guess I have to just start writing about it, with the hopes that understanding and growth will follow. I think it will be a long process before I come anywhere close to having a grip on this subject, but you have to start with one foot in front of the other, so here goes....

First it is important to note the working models of marriage that I have been forced to observe. Let's begin with my mom and my birth father. My mom was a juvenile delinquent who was at complete odds with my strict, conservative grandparents. Relations between them got so bad during her teenage years, that her therapist intervened and recommended that she become a ward of the state and enter a group home. Well she did enter a group home, which is where she met my father all at the tender age of 16 (yes, I was born to hippie, teenage losers, thank you very much). So by the time my mom was 18, she had a baby and a husband that was soon to be her ex. I have no memories of my father while they were married, only after they divorced and child support became an issue, for which my father responded by going into hiding and not resurfacing until I was 13 (the damage and fallout in concern to my relationships with men are obvious, but we shall save all of that for a different day)

Anyhoo, my mom then proceeded to date and marry any guy that remotely seemed like a stable choice, but alas no luck. And now here she is, almost 50 and the ink is just drying on divorce #4.

Well, then we can look at my aunt and uncle, with whom I lived for some very formative years. The seemed to be the perfect couple and a great example on which to model my own relationships after. The were best friends, they had fun, they laughed, they partied, they respected the hell out of each other, and they were very kind to one another. All up until my uncle started going away on lots of business trips, began to get suspicious of all the hangups when he answered the phone when he was home, hired a PI to tap the phones, and caught my aunt cheating on him with her tennis partner, who just so happened to be a woman! OHHHH the delicious drama!

So then there are my grandparents. They managed to stay married up until my grandfather died a little over a year ago, but they made sure that everyone around them, including each other, knew how miserable the other made them. My grandfather was the nice passive type, while my grandmother constantly berated, chastised, and cussed at my grandpa. My grandma made sure to tell everyone when she had too much to drink that the day grandpa retired from his medical practice was the day his dick went limp and she moved to the spare bedroom. Yes, my friends, grandma would yell about how my grandpa hadn't effed her in 20 years!!!! Imagine what holidays were like in that house!

So then we come to me....
I have had many a relationship....most of them with total idiots, and the ones that seemed decent, I found a reason to dump because there normalcy and decent treatment of me scared the shit out of me! Then came my husband.

We had known each other for a few years, as I have said before. I think that we both had a mutual attraction from the first time we met (we both worked at the same company), but once we started to get to know each other...we didn't like what we knew. He actually was living with a friend of mine from the same company, and it turns out that she would regale him with stories of how bad my life was fucked up and what a slut I was (all true), and she would tell me stories about how insensitive he was and that he didn't like me because he thought I was a tramp. So we proceeded to ignore each other and experience a mutual dislike for about 3 years.

In one simple day, all of that changed....

He broke up with "friend" and ended up over at my house the same night. My best guy pal, who was my roommate, was a good friend of his, and so when the break-up happened, Keith found himself hanging out with us for lack of something better to do. It took about a week of hanging out, for us to realize that there was a spark, so we did what all intelligent, mature people do, and we slept together. Honestly, I figured it would be a one night stand...but it ended up that we pretty much never spent a night apart from that point on...and here we are 10 years later.

Keith asked me to marry him after we had only been together a few weeks. I said yes of course, because being the true drama queen that I was, I got swept away in the moment. But honestly, there was a little voice in my head that said "that will never happen, you will screw this up somehow, he will realize the mistake he has made and come to his senses and all of this will be over." So I accepted his ring, never thinking that it would get any further than that.

And honestly, I don't really know how it got farther than that. I was, and still am, one sick puppy. I have some serious emotional scars and hangups. I have issues galore, I am a buffet of issues, I am a cornucopia of issues, my issues are bountiful and plenty, I am FERTILE with issues. I have done anything and everything to bring about the demise of my relationship with Keith, but for some reason he never left. And then the mere fact that he never left made me question his mental health and why was he so sick to stay and put up with my crap.

But we, for some unknown reason, have perservered and found ourselves bonded in spite of my best sabotage efforts. Then came the surprise that I was pregnant, which drove my need to sabotage to a whole new level. I didn't want to repeat my mom's life, and I didn't want to get married just because I went and got knocked up. I tried really hard to push him away, figured that if I was gunna end up being a single parent, I should start as soon as possible. The last thing I wanted to do was feel that I "trapped" a man into marriage. Keith's response was always to ignore me and my insecurities. He could never understand why my pregnancy made me more opposed to the idea of marrying him than before.

Eventually, after I was sure that Keith wasn't going to ditch at the soonest available opportunity, I realized that I wasn't willing to marry him for one reason only....FEAR. Fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of disappointment. Well, as most of us know, fear doesn't change the outcome, and it doesn't protect or prepare us for possible hurt, so I decided to grow some balls and take the plunge. So, after 7 years of living in sin, a 2 year old daughter, we made it official.

I wish I could say that we lived happily ever after, but if that were true, I wouldn't be pouring my heart out on a damn blog, and searching for enlightenment, answers, and relief from the craziness of my thoughts and perceptions.

There are days when I think that I am very lucky and I have a good marriage.

Then there are days when I am painfully aware at how bad I suck at being a wife. How I don't greet my man with a kiss every day after work. How I don't give him my undivided attention and support and stand behind his every decision. How I don't always treat him with kindness and respect. How selfish and self centered I can be. How distant I can be. How detached I can be.

I mean honestly, more often than not, I wonder why the hell he married me, why the hell he stays married to me, and why he doesn't think I am a total crazy, hormonal, fucked up bitch. I asked him today why he stays, and his response was a snort, a little laugh and then "I dunno" which he thinks is very funny, and a great way to tease me, but I am painfully aware of the reality of the situation.

I always think of that stupid, trite, patronizing saying..."you have to love yourself before you can love and be loved."
Well, I am here to tell ya that if I waited for that, I would be waiting forever. But maybe someday I will get there...I know I have come a long way from where I used to be, so maybe one day I will be in that nevernever land of self love, generous nature, selflessness. Ahhhhh, a girl can dream.....

In the meantime, I guess I should just be grateful that I have come this far and am capable of having a relationship that has lasted as long as it has. I am proud of that....and it aint all bad, I know that I am glad I married him (most days), but now what I gotta work on, is being the kind of person that he is glad he married.

When it comes down to it, marriage is a big fucking mystery to me, I don't know how in the hell I ended up in one, but I am really glad that I am in one. I really love my husband...as much as my raisin sized, selfish Grinch heart can.

Well, that was way too long and pointless, and more of an entry for me than for you dear reader. Actually, you are either snoring right now or have moved on to the next blog. And I wish this was more coherent or I had an answer or an epiphany to share with you...but this is too much of a process, I have too much to learn, too much growing up to do--but keep your fingers crossed that I grow up soon, at least before my daughter--that would be nice.

Sunday morning tickle

2004-08-15T08:55:00.000-10:00

So maybe the novelty of search engine fodder will wear off soon, but not this morning....

Just wanted to share this with you, and especially note the other sites that came up when you search for this

I feel so special to be among the ranks of amateur porn! But it was bound to happen some day with my potty mouth and explicit detail of my anatomy. And come to think of it, today I have a very spunk filled uterus!

Happy googling to all!