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Tag Archives: control-freakery

The Fun Never Ends Here in Mo’s Head

16 Nov

Somebody explain to me how I manage to equate a couple of stomach cramps, a lack of nausea, and two freaking brown spots to a miscarriage.

The lack of nausea? Probably due to the fact that I actually ate healthy today. I’m off carbs and on fruit and celery, so it would make sense that things seem lighter.

The spotting? Just a couple of measly brown spots! Nothing to worry about, right? Dr. Google says it’s totally normal.

And the cramping – well, considering that I’m growing a freaking human being in my uterus, some cramping would make sense.

But no, of course I’m freaking out. Of course I’m mad at myself that I made the appointment with the Russian for Monday and not like, NOW.

I had another session with my shrink today where I reflected on how the last year and half has basically robbed me of my identity. I’m tired of being on hold. I’m tired of waiting.

And right now I feel like I’m in the hardest wait so far.

Why does this seem so incredibly unreal to me? Why am I insisting on waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I’m sick of being on hold. I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me that everything will be fine.

Or even some more nausea would be a start. Maybe I’ll eat a donut and see if I can’t get my pukiness on.

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I Have No Will Power. I Don’t Care.

6 Nov

So one of the few consistent symptoms I’ve been having is really vivid dreams.

Last night, I dreamt that a friend of mine was giving her kid a really outrageous 1st birthday party that somehow included Am.y Wine.house jumping over a row of babies, monster-truck style. At the party, I was surrounded by preggos and kids, and somewhere in the middle of all of that I was supposed to leave the party early to get an ultrasound.

The ultrasound was supposed to take place in this really big dystopian facility, and the woman who was supposed to give it to me went home and forgot about me, which meant I had to stay the night and wait for her to come back. Needless to say, dream me was NOT happy. There was definitely some screaming, crying, and pounding on glass windows of dream receptionists to try to force them to call the dream ultrasound woman back.

Today I left a message at the Russian’s clinic asking to reschedule for the 9th.

Because even dream me is starting to go a little batshit.

I was talking to Elphie today and she rightly pointed out that I will eventually need to get my anxiety under control, and better sooner rather than later.

She’s totally right. I know she is.

But first I need to see a heartbeat. Then I’ll work on getting zen. Until things steer in a different direction from where they’ve gone in the past, I will always assume the worst. And the only way to steer away from the past experiences is to see a freaking heartbeat.

Until I see a little flicker on that screen, I reserve the right to remain hysterical.

If all goes well this Wed. and we see that little flicker, I humbly request that all of you start bitch-slapping me into being more zen.

I just hope that now that I left that message I won’t be having any more weird ultrasound dreams. Especially involving A.my Wi.nehouse.

A List of Crazy Stuff I’ve Done in the Last Week

3 Nov
  • Pressed my hand against my lower abdomen, until I was convinced I felt a heartbeat, then realized it was my own freaking heartbeat.
  • Spent a good 10 minutes standing in front of a mirror examining my boobs and wondering just how much bigger they are.
  • Asked the Harley Hottie if he could sense a heartbeat using his acupuncture voodoo. Alas, it’s not in his repertoire.
  • Googled “lower abdominal pain in early pregnancy” oh, say, 1000 times or so…
  • Was utterly disappointed each time I felt a bit pukey yet no puke came.
  • Thought to myself that feeling pukey once every other day or so is seriously not pukey enough.
  • Considered dropping 200 bucks to see Dr. Twofer just so he could hit me up with an ultrasound early (what the Russian doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right? But we can’t afford it so- urgh).
  • Stuck purple sparkly butterfly window stickers on the mirror in the empty room. Jinxing be damned.
  • Made Shmerson have several serious conversations with the Shmembryo convincing it to stick around.
  • Made my mother have several serious conversations with the Shmembryo bribing it with food and toys.
  • Had several conversations with the Shmembryo bribing it with food and toys.
  • Installed the “What to Expect” app on my iPhone for the 3rd time. Shmembryo is apparently the size of a blueberry. Utterly disappointed to find that out, since a blueberry’s heartbeat is way too small to feel through my many layers of pudge. Plus, I don’t think blueberries have heartbeats. Hopefully Shmembryos do.
  • Found myself insanely jealous of a bunch of my fellow bloggy buddies who got a 6 week scan and saw a heartbeat. Happy for them, yes. But jealous. Soooo jealous!
  • Fallen in love. Darn it.
T minus ten (and a half) days. 7 weeks preggo tomorrow.

By the Numbers

1 Nov

Time elapsed since first BFP: 17 months

Total time spent pregnant in those 17 months: 6 and a half months

Number of pregnancies: 4

Number of take-home babies so far: 0

Number of times a sac has been viewed: 2

Number of times a heartbeat has been detected: 0

Number of anxiety attacks in the last 8 months: 1

Number of anxiety attacks in the last 24 hours: 1

Number of text messages sent to the Russian asking him to please let me come in earlier: 2

Number of times the Russian said yes: 0 (he did say no nicely though)

Number of days until the scan that will either show us a heartbeat or make me lose my shit: 14

I thought that time was supposed to fly when you’re doing big things like moving and remodeling a house. Apparently being in the early throes of a pregnancy for an RPLer negates that notion completely. Urgh.

Oh, and thank you everyone for your awesome comments yesterday. I love you guys, seriously.

Here’s a bunny, because Cookie gave me permission and I need to feel better:

Let the Great Toilet Paper Dance Begin

13 Oct

First off, thank you all for your awesome comments yesterday. They made me feel so incredibly loved. Seriously. You are all awesome.

Oh! And the FRERy godmother came through and courtesy of JM I got to pee on a Rolls Royce this morning! Yay! It was fun seeing that second line.

But tonight – I kind of started to freak out.

And for the most messed up reasons ever.

I’m kind of freaking out because I’m feeling good. I know, that’s weird.

It’s sooo early. But my gut has been telling me that everything is going to be fine. I felt it the moment that the Shmembryo* was created. I had this overwhelming sense of peace and joy, and I looked at Shmerson and said: “We just made a baby, and it’s going to be fine this time”.

Now I’m scared. Because there’s still a chance it isn’t. There’s still a chance that the stabby pains in my back mean the Shmembryo is digging into the wrong place. There’s still a chance that this will be a chemical because it’s so freaking early. There are so many things that can go wrong.

Yesterday I walked around in a state of bliss. Today I’ve been feeling every twinge and going to the bathroom way too often to make sure I’m not bleeding.

I want to enjoy this so much. I keep telling myself that there’s no point in worrying, because if something is wrong, it’s already wrong and there’s nothing I can do to change that. And if all is well, I need to enjoy this, because I will regret not enjoying this pregnancy if all is well.

I need to enjoy this. I want to be joyful. I honestly love love love being pregnant. My first pregnancy, until I found out about the blighted ovum, with all the hormonal craziness, was awesome. I think pregnancy suits me. I thrive when I’m knocked up.  Or at least the first time. And I really want that again. Without all of this stupid anxiety.

Dear Shmembryo, please dig in. In your mommy’s uterus, not her tube, thankyouverymuch. I promise to feed you lots of yummy stuff and sing you silly songs and love you like crazy once you come out (and before that too). Ok?

*Shmembryo is courtesy of Cookie. I personally think it’s the best. Nickname. Ever. Thanks Cookie! You funny me, and i have officially stolen your funny.

I Didn’t Pee!

10 Oct

Yep – I didn’t do it. Not even on a popsicle stick, as was suggested in the comments a couple of posts back. 🙂

7 DPO and I didn’t pee. Yay!!

Now, the question is – will I pee tomorrow?

Here’s the thing: I’ve been nauseous all day, and experiencing some major stabby pains up in my lady parts. I’m seriously hoping it’s a little one burrowing in where it’s supposed to. I’ve been feeling like crap all day, and I seriously think that apart from “the feeling” it’s the beginning of a pregnancy. So yeah – I’m tempted as hell to pee like there’s no tomorrow. But I don’t have any Rolls Royces  FRERs, and I know that I have some on the way courtesy of the lovely and amazing JM.

So yeah, I think I may hold off until they get here.

Let’s just hope they get here soon! No point in peeing on a VW bug when you can pee on a Rolls Royce, right?

But I’ll make one thing clear: If I see an implantation dip on my BBT chart tomorrow I’m totally going for it!

We shall see.

Bloggity Blah

7 Oct

I know, I know, I didn’t post anything for Group Therapy Thursday yesterday. I’m sorry. But, alas, in my defense, it would have been a two question post. So you know, get on it if you want one next week. Maybe I should stop doing them? I don’t know, everything has been kind of making me feel down lately, and I’m wondering whether doing one once a week (or even at all) may not be interesting. I don’t mean to guilt you guys. But I’m wondering if I should keep it going…

Yeah, things are kind of blah. I’m so tired. Ori’s funeral was yesterday, and it was a beautiful ceremony, but it just felt so surreal. I went with Squish, and it was one of those situations where you can’t quite imagine you’re actually going through this. Standing there, watching one of your closest friends read a poem over her partner’s grave. Not technically a widow because they weren’t married, but a widow nonetheless. It was a mind fuck.

This was the second time in my life I was at a funeral of a musician who had died too young. The funeral brought me back to one I attended almost ten years ago. Standing there I felt overwhelmed, and tired. And old. Not like, senior citizen old, but my age old.

My friend – a widow.

And Steve Jobs died. And that made me sad too. I’ve been an apple freak since I first got a grape colored imac my sophomore year of college. The world lost some amazing people in the last few days, and that has left me feeling pretty heavy.

It also got me thinking about how the circle of life works, and about my unending need to be a mother. I guess the urgency of loss brought it back to the surface with a vengeance. I spent 3 hours in traffic on the way home from the funeral, and I spent some of that time talking to a potentially growing embryo in my body. I had an out-loud talk, telling it to find it’s way, to dig in in the right place. To grow strong so that it can see the home I’ve been working so hard to make for it. I felt like a crazy woman.

Even more than usual.

I’ve been feeling so stuck lately. Not depressed, just on hold. And I feel like the only thing that will unstick me is a baby. i hate that feeling. As much as I’ve embraced it in the last couple of months, it doesn’t make the stuck-ness any less sucky. Steve Jobs’ Stanford speech has been popping up everywhere, and since I first saw it a couple of years back, with every viewing I think to myself how I need to do what I love. So what do you do when the one thing in the world that you think you’ll love more than anything is so elusive?

At my therapists’ on Wed. she reminded me once again that there’s a whole full world of Mo outside of the mommy thing. That I shouldn’t ignore my ambitions and desires while waiting to be a mother. But my desire clouds everything else. To the point where I don’t truly know what I want, apart from this. And that frustrates me.

I’m 5 DPO, I’m going to hold off at least until 8 DPO to test (yes! the poll kinda worked!) but I so want this to be the month, and I’m scared that if it isn’t I’ll be upset.

I’m also scared that I get a positive. There’s a part of me that has become convinced that this next pregnancy is going to stick. But what if it doesn’t? I’ve been pushing that thought out of my mind lately, but the last few days it’s been creeping back in.

Urgh.

Yeah – this post has been a rambling downer. Sorry guys.

Broken Until Proven Otherwise

30 Aug

Today was a wonderful day. Nothing big happened. I went out, washed the car, bought myself a summer dress on sale. In the evening, Shmerson suggested we take Luna out for a long walk. We’ve been trying to take walks lately – it’s good for health-type-stuff, so I hear.

The walk started a two hour conversation. I love it when Shmerson and I talk openly and honestly about our relationship. We do it often, but each time we do, it’s proof once again that I have married the right man.

I haven’t been doing well lately. I’m trying, but it’s hard to push forward and put on a happy face. I want to “live my life” but I can’t. This last year has been holding me back – keeping me trapped.

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to figure out why this is. Why I can’t break free from this and just LIVE until we get our baby. I’ve realized that it’s something that’s ingrained in me. You see – I have this thing about me, which in the past I’ve viewed as an asset, but is now a liability. When I get my mind and heart set on something I go for it like a guided missile and don’t give up until I reach my goal. I’ve always been this way. For example, both my graduate and undergraduate thesis films were deemed “impossible to pull off” by my professors, because they were too ambitious. And in each case I gave said professors the finger and made them happen. This is who I am. When I want something, it consumes me completely until I achieve it. Nothing else exists. It’s not something I can control. It’s just how I do things.

So the missile that was let out of the gate three miscarriages ago is still flying, seeking its target. And it won’t stop until it gets there. Everything else be damned. No matter how hard I try to fight it. I’ve come to realize that there’s no point in fighting it, because it just makes me feel like a failure. So instead, I’ve started to embrace it.

In our talk tonight, Shmerson and I were discussing this very clearly. I wanted to share a part of this conversation with you, despite its intimacy. I share this with his permission. I share this because this is the part that no one talks about, and it needs to be talked about. This is the part where things get really ugly and complicated. I talk of course of physical intimacy. Also known in some circles as “Sex” (any real life friends reading this – feel free to skip the rest of the post if it makes you uncomfortable).

Our sex life hasn’t exactly been fireworks lately. It’s not Shmerson’s fault. I mean, seriously – he’s a hottie. It’s all about me. Every time we make love I see my physical scars. Every time I feel the weight of my losses. I feel broken.

So I don’t initiate unless I get a positive OPK. I’m scared to. It just makes my insecurities bubble up to the surface.

But of course not having enough intimacy makes me feel just as bad. Because I love my husband. I want to want to be intimate with him. I don’t want him to feel like our sex life is only about making a baby. It shouldn’t be.

Tonight I put my cards out on the table. In embracing my status as a missile I very plainly told him: I know this is a problem. I hate that this is how things are right now. I also hate the fact that there is only one thing that will fix this: A baby.

To say anything else would be a lie. I could be a hypocrite and say that it’s wrong to put all of this on a baby. A baby won’t make things better. It won’t solve problems. It’s unfair to put so much strain on a child. It’s bad parenting.

But in this case – this would be a lie. The fact is, that I feel broken. I feel like my body has failed me. And until my body proves otherwise by carrying a baby to term, I’m going to continue to feel this way. That has nothing to do with a baby and everything to do with me.

I know what I’m saying here may seem controversial, or TMI, or whatever. But it’s my truth. My body is broken until proven otherwise. There is nothing I can do to control that. I know that the only solution in sight is a successful pregnancy. Maybe there are others. But the missile won’t let me look anywhere but there for the time being.

There’s no use in fighting it. I’ve tried to do that for over a year now. It is what it is. So for now – I’m giving in. I’m surrendering to it. I feel broken. I am broken until proven otherwise. So I’d like to prove otherwise as soon as possible.

Saying this so bluntly to my amazing husband scared me. I was afraid he was going to tell me that I shouldn’t feel this way and we should stop trying until I feel differently. But he got it. He understood. He knows that this is the situation until we reach a healthy pregnancy. And he’s ok with it. He’s not bitter. He’s not angry. He understands.

And boy – do I love him all the more for it.

I can be an asshole of the grandest kind 
I can withhold like it’s going out of style 
I can be the moodiest baby and you’ve never met anyone 
who is as negative as I am sometimes

I am the wisest woman you’ve ever met. 
I am the kindest soul with whom you’ve connected. 
I have the bravest heart that you’ve ever seen 
And you’ve never met anyone 
Who’s as positive as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part 
You see all my light and you love my dark 
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed 
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate 
And you’re still here 

I blame everyone else, not my own partaking 
My passive-aggressiveness can be devastating 
I’m terrified and mistrusting 
And you’ve never met anyone as, 
As closed down as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part 
You see all my light and you love my dark 
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed 
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate 
And you’re still here 

What I resist, persists, and speaks louder than I know 
What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go 

I’m the funniest woman you’ve ever known. 
I am the dullest woman you’ve ever known. 
I’m the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever known 
And you’ve never met anyone as, as everything as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part 
You see all my light and you love my dark 
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed 
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate 
And you’re still here 

And you’re still here 
And you’re still here...

Tomorrow…. We Wear Pants! (and other musings about what’s next)

8 Aug

Well, I’m going a bit stir crazy. On one hand, I really feel like getting up and doing things. On the other, I just want to sleep. I’m not in much pain anymore. Mostly the tic-tac-toe game on my abdomen itches like crazy, and I get a periodic stabby-type pain every once in a while. But since I’m used to stabby pains, it’s not really a big deal.

I haven’t worn pants since leaving the hospital on Friday morning. That’s right people! No pants! I’ve also seen every single stupid reality TV show on the planet, played way too much Angry Birds, and watched some pretty good movies (Source Code – thumbs up!), along with a couple of absolutely horrible ones (note to everyone: the Red Riding Hood revamp is a piece of crap).

But with all the stir-craziness, I can’t seem to bring myself to function. There’s a lot of real world stuff that needs to be done, but I’m not ready for it yet. I think I’ll give myself one more day. I think that’s ok.

Here’s the thing: The last couple of days a certain unease has set in. I get that Lefty was non-functional, and I’m glad he’s gone. But I have spent the last 6 months CONVINCED that something is up with my right side. The doc who performed the lap observed that one part of the tube is “slightly thickened” and removed a couple of adhesions around it, but that’s basically it.

And I’m not appeased. I’m not calm. I still have a sinking feeling that something is wrong and I’ll have another ectopic.

This is the sucky thing about all of this: I know exactly what happens next. We go back to Twofer, and he tells us to try again. That’s it. Try again and cross our fingers.

And when we are ready to try again – I’m afraid this whole cycle of fear will start all over again. I honestly kind of wish they had taken Righty too and we could have gone straight to IVF. I know that’s kind of a crazy thought, but considering that IVF is virtually free here, I would much rather just bypass the tubes altogether. Just get a good looking embryo in my uterus, even if it comes with the price of injections, more general anesthesia, and hormonal hell. I’ll take that over another loss any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

But I know we would never get approved for such a thing. For now, I’m 100% sure we’ll just be told to “try again.”

And I’m not happy about that. I’m not ready to deal with that.

But tomorrow, I’ll start by putting on a pair of pants.

This is the Part Where I Get Angry

3 Aug

I think everything kind of crashed down on me today. Anticipating tomorrow, and whatever prognosis it will bring, I’ve had a swelling of anxiety, but today at my shrink’s we got to the heart of the matter.

I’m pissed. I’m pissed because just over a year ago today, I had a botched D&C, and I know that’s what started all of this. One doctor, which I trusted, which came highly recommended, who didn’t think to prescribe antibiotics, or make sure that my uterus was left unscarred, caused all of this mess. A 5 minute procedure that has irrevocably altered my life.

I can’t sue him. There’s no way to prove that this was the cause. But I know it is. I know that I had a healthy uterus before this. Healthy enough to hold on to a sac for 8 weeks. An empty sac, but a sac nonetheless.

So I’m scarred. I’m scarred not only physically from those 5 minutes a year ago. I’m scarred mentally, emotionally. This was a doctor I trusted. He came “highly recommended”. He was “the best” in the area.

He fucking messed up my body. And here I am, one year and two additional miscarriages later, about to go under the knife of yet another doctor, who is “the best”, who comes “highly recommended.” Who’s to say everything will go as planned? The last time certainly didn’t. How am I supposed to be calm when the last time I was put under sedation my body was permanently damaged, and my life path was altered forever?

I was supposed to have a baby in my arms by now. Instead, by this time tomorrow, I may have no fallopian tubes. I may have internal organs REMOVED because one fucking doctor didn’t do his job properly. How can I trust that this one will? How can I be calm?

People keep telling me it’s a minimally invasive procedure. So is a D&C, and look where that has brought me.

So I’m pissed. I’m pissed and I’m scared. And I can’t be grateful for “the path” or “answers” right now. All I can do is be bitter and angry at the fact that one incompetent doctor screwed up my body forever. And hope that this doctor will fix the damage, as much as it can be fixed, and not do any more.

This fucking sucks. And I’m fucking pissed off.

I want to make sure this one does the job properly. I want to come out of this with at least part of my fertility intact. And I feel helpless to do anything about it.

Dear readers, you have been so amazing and supportive through all of this. I need you to come through for me one more time. I need your comments, your love, and yes, even prayers. Even as a heathen, I know they can’t hurt. And tell me if I’m forgetting anything. If I should insist on anything being done. If there’s anything I should be asking for to at least try to make sure that no more damage is done.

I go in for the lap in 23 hours. I probably won’t post again before it. If I’m conscious enough after I promise I will, and if not, I may just have Shmerson do it for me.

Thanks. Love you all.

Virtual Treasure and Angry Birds

1 Aug

Me: Ahhhhhhh!!!!!

Me: Stop it.

Me: No! I’m freaking out!

Me: Stop it.

Me: Poof! I stopped it.

Me: Good.

Me: Dude, I didn’t really. Come on, you should know better. Can I go back to screaming now?

Me: No. Tell me what’s wrong.

Me: You know very well. We’re going in for surgery on Thursday. SURGERY!

Me: Thousands of people do it every day.

Me: Don’t care.

Me: It’s perfectly safe. You’ll be asleep the entire time.

Me: With a tube stuck down my throat! That’s not sleep. That’s torture!

Me: You won’t even know it’s there!

Me: Ahhhhhh!!!!!

Me: What now?

Me: I won’t even know it’s there! No control! Can we run away? Please?

Me: No. We’ve got to do this.

Me: Why?

Me: You know what we’ve been doing the last few days?

Me: Watching too much reality TV and feeling useless?

Me: Yes, that.

Me: What about it?

Me: We do that when we’re depressed or anxious.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Me: Now what has been the primary cause of this depression and anxiety?

Me: You being a pain in my ass?

Me: No. Try again.

Me: Me being a pain in your ass?

Me: That too. But dig deeper.

Me: The baby thing?

Me: Yes. The baby thing.

Me: What does that have to do with us getting cut open and being completely in other people’s control for HOURS? HOURS!!!!

Me: Breathe. Remember last month when we were TTC and sitting at home depressed because we were scared of another ectopic?

Me: Yeah. That sucked. But that How I Met Your Mother marathon was nice.

Me: Yes, that was nice. But you also spent a few too many hours hunting for virtual treasure on FB.

Me: That was fun!

Me: No it’s dumb. It’s a waste of our time and… Well, I would say energy but it mostly involves clicking.

Me: Ok. I’ll give you that.

Me: And the fact that we got three stars on all the levels of Angry Birds Seasons?

Me: It was awesome!

Me: No. It was unsatisfying. It was us being depressed.

Me: But the birds! And the piggies! And the golden eggs!

Me: You’re deluding yourself.

Me: So? What’s your point?

Me: My point is – get through this week. Make it to the lap. Get through it.

Me: But I don’t wanna!

Me: Do you want babies?

Me: Babies?

Me: Yes, babies.

Me: Babies! Babies! Babies! Babies!

Me: See now I’ve got your attention.

Me: Babies! Babies! Babies… huh?

Me: This will help us get the babies.

Me: Are you sure?

Me: No. But it’s a place to start.

Me: You promise we’ll be OK?

Me: I promise.

Me: And can we at least spend some of this week trying to get 3 stars on Angry Birds Rio?

Me: Yes. I’ll even let you hunt for some virtual treasure. But after that – to the lap we go!

Me: Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Me: This is a lost cause….

Climbing

30 Jul

Have you guys ever been to a point where you are so overwhelmed that your head no longer holds thoughts- just a continuous buzzing?  Yeah, that’s where I’m at. Heady-explode-y.

So much stuff has been happening, I don’t even know where to start. On the same day we went in for the lap consult, we got an offer on our current apartment, which means we’re one step closer to moving into our shiny new place and I can start getting my nesting on. My lap is scheduled for this Thursday, and I’m spending the next few days running around doing all sorts of paperwork and pre-op blood work and doctor’s appointments. Things are insane.

On our way to the lap consult, Shmerson told me something that’s kind of been echoing in his mind. He says he feels like a 15 year old impersonating an adult. We’re buying and selling real-estate, we’re applying for mortgages, we’re going into doctors’ offices with binders full of my medical history. He’s writing emails to his professors asking for extensions because “his wife is going in for surgery”.

Freaky.

I feel the same way. I feel like a total impostor sometimes. I really do. How the heck can I act like an adult when I basically barely have any clue who I am? There are days that I just want to say “fuck it all” and just party. Or something. Ok. I’m not much of a party animal. But sometimes it’s just too much. I just want to hang out and have someone else worry about my tubes for a change.

But things only get stranger from here. With all of this going on,  I’m actually relatively CALM. I’m not in a hurry so much any more with the getting knocked up. Not because I want it any less. But just because I’m starting to realize that before I get knocked up things need to calm the frak down. We need to move. I need to get through this lap. I need to find a new job. Shmerson needs to get through his exams and find a new job. There’s so much to do. We need to get our stability on.

Today, Shmerson and I were talking. He told me that he wishes all of this sucky stuff hadn’t happened during our first year of marriage. He said: “Why couldn’t we have had like, 5 years of ignorant wedded bliss before all this crap happened?”

I answered in a particularly zen way: “If we had 5 years of ignorance, then we probably wouldn’t have appreciated them.”

The thing is – we keep on talking about wanting things to get “better” already. What is “better” anyway?

I don’t think there’s ever a place of perfection. And you know what? I’m not so much of a fan of the “Happy Ending.” Because then things end. I like this whole living thing, thank you very much.

So no happy endings for me. Happy being. Happy living. Not even that. Contentment. I think that’s what I’m striving for now. Calm.

Heck  – I’ll take a week without depression. A baby would be nice too. But there’s stuff to be done first.

Ok I’m rambling. This is going to be one of those long rambling posts so you guys may as well grab a cup of tea and settle in.

….

Are you back? Ok then.

I went to visit PM last week.  I held her little one in my arms for close to half an hour. Half an hour of complete calm and peace that proved to me that this is completely what I want.

And yet

PM is overwhelmed. She’s going through some serious crap. She looked at me with this terribly sad face and said “I’m not the same person any more”.

I’ve known her for 15 years. I knew she was serious. This isn’t the postpartum depression talking. Being a mom changes you. It’s a huge transition.

I’ve always known that but this is the first time I saw the “downside” of it. The intimate and dark part. The part no one really likes to talk about. Looking at her, and her amazing baby, I realized that it’s ok if we take some time to get our life in order.

I don’t want you to misunderstand me. PM is so happy to have the little one here. She loves him. But she’s mourning a part of her that is gone. The 15 year old that’s playing the adult. Now there’s no play. There’s just adult. That’s  a scary proposition.

***

Shmerson and I have both been guilty of trying to get too much done at once. There’s always a list. One hundred things that would make us better, happier, whatever.

But we both make the same fatal mistake over and over: We try to do it all at once, fail miserably, and then feel bad about ourselves.

What is “better” and how do we get there?

Well – you certainly can’t get there when you’re running around like a crazy person trying to do it all. No one is super human. There’s only so much you can do.

When Shmerson and I started talking about taking a break from TTC a couple of weeks back, I once again started a list. Lose weight, quit smoking (again), find a new job, exercise more, try to get a film off the ground (again), bla bla bla bla bla.

Up until now, I would have tried to tackle all of this. All at once. Now.

But here’s what PM taught me: Slow. The Fuck. Down.

At my shrink’s on Wednesday she told me something very simple: “Let’s just start with a job.”

Yeah, let’s. Let’s get through this lap and start with a job. One thing at a time.

You fall fast when you hit rock bottom. I hit rock bottom somewhere over the last couple of months. But the climb is slow. And it’s not always easy. But it has to be done to pull yourself out of the muck.

As much as Shmerson and I are overwhelmed right now, I recognize that we’re in the midst of a slow climb. A climb towards “better”, whatever that is. But we’re climbing. We’re not perfect. But we’re climbing. Hopefully, this time, one step at a time. And that’s as good a place to start as any.

To make up for this rather heady and rambly post- proof that I’m not the only one in the family with a bunny fetish:

Luna and one of her many stuffed bunny toys.

To Pee or Not to Pee, That is the Question

23 Jul

So as most of you know, we’re taking some time off of TTC until we get Ole’ Righty sorted out. Wed. is our consult with the Doc that Twofer recommended, and we’ll see whether we’re going straight to a lap, or do some things on the way.

Scary Funny anecdote: In his referral letter, Twofer accidentally wrote that my LEFT tube is partially blocked. Luckily I have the HSG films to prove otherwise, but I believe this little mix-up will force me to draw an arrow on my stomach with a magic marker pointing out the correct tube when the time comes. Gotta love paranoia.

But now I face an even bigger dilemma. Tomorrow I’ll be going to a pharmacy to pick up my monthly dose of extra strength vitamin D. I know that I will, like every pharmacy visit before it, stand in front of the OPK’s for several minutes, debating on whether to purchase a kit or not.

We’re not trying this month for sure. But I’m concerned because I ovulated so late in my last cycle (CD 22), and kind of feel like maybe I should keep track of things, just so I have all of the information. Plus, you know, I pee because I love.

So – what do you think? To pee or not to pee?

Here are a couple of cute bunnies to keep you company while you think about it:

 

Fallback Position

18 Jul

Me: I’m a little worried about our career.

Me: Baby! Baby! Baby!

Me: Stop it! I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!

Me: Baby! Baby! Baby! Leave me alone! I’m too busy imagining an inflated belly and shopping for baby clothes.

Me: But we have stuff to figure out. Money stuff, apartment stuff, future stuff.

Me: Nah – don’t think about that. Think about babies. Babies are cute!

Me: Dude, seriously – real life is calling. We have shit to do.

Me: Screw that. Can we watch some reality shows about preggos?

Me: No. We need to find a new job.

Me: I don’t wanna!

Me: We made a decision. It was a good decision. Now let’s get our shit together.

Me: No! Baby! Baby! Baby!

Me: I think I get it.

Me: You never get anything.

Me: No, seriously hear me out. Have you thought that perhaps you’re just so used to obsessing about a baby that you can’t fathom the idea that the next couple of months will be TTC-Frenzy free?

Me: *plugs ears* Lalalalalalalalala!!!!

Me: No more escaping from real life because of the baby thing! Come on! We can do this! It’s time to get a life.

Me: LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!

Me: I give up.

Me: *evil laugh*

Stop the Train, I Want to Get Off

16 Jul

So I’ve been away for a few days. I’ve had a lot going on, and I’ve had a lot of thinking to do. It started on Monday, when my reaction to those test results were so visceral, that Shmerson confronted me about it. He told me that we can’t go on this way, that we need a break from trying.

That got my head spinning. I immediately said “No way in Hell.”

Then on Wednesday my therapist pointed out that perhaps my career has stalled because I’ve made making a baby my career. Which is an awesome way to not deal with my real issues, because at least there, failure is not my fault. I’ve spent the last few months feeling like a failure. A failure in my career, a failure in my pursuit to be a mother, a failure as a person in general. And the only failures I’ve truly been acknowledging are in the mommyhood department.

And all of this kept on coming up with everyone I was talking to. Maybe I’m trying to do too much. To keep too many balls in the air. Why do I feel the need to run so fast anyway?

It’s like pushing down the gas peddle when the car’s in neutral. All it does is waste energy, and it gets you nowhere.

So I took some time. I talked it out. I thought it out. I’ve made some decisions.

Shmerson is right. We can’t have another month like this.

My therapist is right – I’m ignoring everything except the baby thing.

Shmerson is right again – our problems won’t magically go away when I give birth to a baby.

On Tuesday night, PM gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. The next day, I came to the labor ward to visit her. She was exhausted. Her husband brought the little one out. He was this little miracle. This beautiful baby boy. And she had made him. I started crying. Not because I was sad for me. It was because I was truly in awe. You see, PM is the first person who I’m close to who has given birth while I was around. I was out of the country when my nephew was born, and didn’t meet him until he was 6 months old. I was too young to appreciate it with other people in my life. And PM is my first friend to become a mother. My first close friend.  I was just plain in awe of that little thing who was less than twenty four hours old. Who I had felt in her stomach less than a week earlier. I held on to his little fingers and I saw a flash of the future, 17 years from now, at some random dinner, with her kids and mine, when I see that kid and jokingly tell him “I held your hand when you were 15 hours old”. I was filled with joy at this little miracle.

PM was surrounded by family, but we had this little bubble moment. You know – the kind that happen sometimes between old friends, when you’re surrounded by people but communicating between each other in codes. And one message came from PM to me loud and clear: she is terrified. Yes, she is happy. Yes, she is in love. But she is scared out of her wits.

This moment gave me a new sense of perspective. PM pretty much has her shit together. She’s got a decent job, her career is right where she wants it to be, she and her husband have already moved into the nice apartment, they’re pretty much set for the near future.

I have spent the last year letting all of my ambitions and dreams slip through my fingers all in the pursuit of a baby.

And by doing that, I have given myself more reasons to be terrified. Having a kid is scary enough. Do I really need to be scared of all of this other stuff too?

So I sat down with Squish and talked. I sat down with Shmerson and talked. I sat down with Marie and talked. And with a bunch of other people who I love and trust.

And then I did some thinking.

During our talk last night Squish asked me why the hell I was in such a hurry. She was the fourth person to ask me that in a week. It wasn’t the “just relax” bullshit. It was genuine concern. Because my hurry and my stress is doing bad things to my well-being. Why does there have to be a time table for this baby to come? Since when is this a race?

And if PM- this very together woman who has far fewer hard decisions to make right now- is terrified, how terrified will I be when my baby comes if I haven’t dealt with the rest of my issues?

The answer is – at this rate it will be heart attack levels.

So it’s time to get off the freaking race track.

I have decided that we will be taking a break. We will use that break to either remove or permanently block Ole’ Righty, so that when we go back to trying, there will not be that extra question mark. I will use that break to start making some decisions about where I’m going, and what I’m doing. For myself, not for our future baby. Because I matter too. That decision, as hard as it was to make, as much as it has made me mourn the fact that I probably won’t be pregnant in the next few months, has also made me feel an incredible sense of relief.

And when we jump back in, hopefully we’ll have one question mark down in terms of my body, and several question marks down in terms of my future, my goals, and my ambitions.

Then when the baby comes, I’ll be terrified, but hopefully only about the baby. Because really, that’s enough to be scared about, don’t you think?

****

On a completely unrelated and far less heavy note – I was away from the blogoverse, but not away from writing in general. If you’re a Harry Potter fan, go check out my full series on the first 7 films on keypulp. They are filled with snark, bitter, lists and photoshop (in other words, all of my favorite things). Hope you enjoy!

Head Games

11 Jul

Today I’m 14DPO, CD35. Aunt Flo hasn’t arrived (I assume because of the progesterone), and I have been spending the last five  hours refreshing the same window on my browser. The one that will, sometime tonight, show me this morning’s beta results. Usually the blood tests show up on the site at 6pm. Once they didn’t show up until midnight. It’s now 9:30pm and nada. There are butterflies in my stomach and my head hurts. I keep on running to the bathroom, doing the TP dance, looking for spotting.

I haven’t POAS in three days. I was all out of them at the house, and I didn’t buy anymore, convinced, that this was it. This month is a bust.

On Saturday night I had a freak-out moment. I don’t even know what triggered it. I was kissing Shmerson, and all of the sudden I felt like a fat useless blob. Like nothing. I had a panic attack. For the first time in a long time. In the bathroom, choking and gagging over the sink, I told Shmerson that I was done. I want my right tube gone. I can’t handle another month like this. This is hard enough as it is, so the less question marks the better.

Then Sunday rolled around and I decided to wait one more day for the beta. I saw a tiny bit of brown spotting in the middle of the day. Then the real head games started. Maybe that’s implantation bleeding? I’m still feeling nauseous. Maybe I’m pregnant after all?

So off I went this morning to the lab to get my betas taken again. After that was done I picked up a pee stick at the pharmacy and ran to the bathroom in the building. BFN. But this isn’t an early detection test. This isn’t FMU. There’s still a chance. Please let there be a chance.

Even though I know there’s really not much of a chance at all. Even though I know I’m just going through the motions and getting my hopes up for nothing. Even though I know that in a week or two, once AF has come and gone, I’ll be in Dr. Twofer’s office begging him to remove my tube, because I’d rather have one working tube than have two and risk another ectopic. One less question mark. One less head game to mess with me.

As I write this I keep on going back to that webpage and hitting refresh. Butterflies in my stomach each time I do. Knowing that it’s most likely going to be negative. Trying to ready myself for the blow, but knowing that when I see that negative test result, I’ll be crushed for the second time in 4 days. Because somehow I managed to get my hopes up again. Apparently I have a tendency toward masochism.

I’m afraid to hit “publish” on this post. It seems so final. What if I hit refresh one more time, and the results will be there, and they’ll be positive, and then I can erase this whole post and start again, announcing a pregnancy. Starting a whole new round of head games and anxiety.

But I have nothing else to write. So I’ll publish. But first I’ll hit refresh one more time.

***UPDATE: Half an hour later, and the results are in. I am, indeed, a masochist.

I Dream of Pee Sticks

7 Jul

I think the only part I really like about the TWW is the pee sticks. I know they’re a money pit, but I find them strangely addictive. Especially when I get a second line. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love it when my pee is magic! I mean, I’m only 9 DPO, and the chances of me getting that elusive second line even if Little Lefty made it are slim to none. Still I pee. I pee because I love.

Since 6DPO, when I first broke down and pulled out the HPT’s, I’ve been having some strange sleeping patterns, and some even stranger dreams. I’m attributing them to those lovely Progesterone Suppositories. Here’s what my mornings look like:

8am – wake up – look at the clock, see it’s way too early since I’d been up writing until 3am. I need to pee, but I hold off, knowing that I want as full a bladder as possible for the HPT. I grab a progesterone pill, stick it up my hoo-ha, and go back to sleep.

Then I dream about pee sticks. Seriously. This has happened every morning since I started testing.

Dream day one: For some reason, all I remember is that the HPT looked like a panty liner, and that the second elusive line appeared, and then disappeared.

Dream day two: Same as day one, weirdly enough.

Dream day three: HPT still looks like a panty liner. This time the second line sticks. Needless to say that when I woke up, I was utterly disappointed when I finally emptied my bladder on a pee stick and got yet another BFN.

Dream day four: Well, this one was interesting. The HPT actually looked like an HPT. I pee on the stick, but it’s not working. Somebody tells me I need to run the stick under a stream of water to make the test work. I do, and I get a BFP. For some reason I’m skeptical, though I know the water can’t be pregnant.

Once again, I wake up from this dream, hopeful that I have me some mad psychic skillz. Alas, I am shot down with another BFN.

Look, I’m pretty sure this cycle is a bust. I go in tomorrow morning for a Beta at 10 DPO, and if it’s still negative I’ll probably go again on Sunday just to be sure before I stop the progesterone. But I didn’t get the “feeling” this month, so I’m pretty sure I’m getting the blood drawn for nothing. Still, I want to be sure before I give AF the green light to grace me with her presence. And also, each time I’ve had the “feeling” it’s ended in miscarriage – so maybe I don’t really want those mad psychic skillz after all. Watch this space, I’ll keep you posted about the results!

And yes, in the meantime I will continue with the pee sticks. What can I say? It’s a passion of mine, and I fully intend to continue to pursue it!

Oh – and before I go, a shameless plug: have you seen my ongoing series on the harry potter films over on keypulp? You haven’t? Well, you should go check the first one out! The second should be up a bit later today, and I’ll be publishing one a day until the 8th movie is released next week. They are proof positive that I can be snarky about things other than my tubes for a change! Yay snark and Harry Potter geekdom!

Of Course I Did

4 Jul

Yep. I’m 7 DPO and I’ve already used up 2 of my pee sticks. Both BFN’s, of course. I mean, seriously, what am I thinking? I think the thing is I’ve always had BFP’s at around 10-11 DPO, but the only times I’ve tracked have been ectopics. So maybe it’s just wishful thinking, that if I’m knocked up and it’s a proper pregnancy, I’ll know sooner. Ahh well. Three more pee-stick mornings followed by a Beta blood test on Thursday, and then we’ll know for sure.

We interrupt this blog post for a message from our sponsor:

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Warning: progesterone suppositories do not in any way guarantee a pregnancy, nor do they guarantee carrying a baby to term. Sanity not included. 

Ehem. Right. Where was I?

Thanks to everyone for the reassuring comments on my last post. Good to know I’m not alone in the cramping department. I just hope some of them are implantation cramps. I want a BFP so badly this month. Just so if I have another loss I can get it over with already. Does that make any sense?

I know I’m being paranoid. I guess it’s because my “answers” aren’t really clear cut. I mean, there’s no proof that the second pregnancy was ectopic, so of course I’m still paranoid that I have a yet-undiagnosed condition and we have a long road still ahead. I guess we’ll know soon enough…

Not much else to report really, except that tomorrow Shmerson will be coming home! Finally! I’ll be spending the day being the happy housewife, finishing up the cleaning, and planning something yummy for dinner. Fun and happy times all around, 50’s style!

Hope all of you US-Americans had a happy 4th!

The Seven Hormonal IFer Dwarves

30 Jun

Yes folks! I’m resorting to stupid fairy tale puns!

I have entered the wonderful world of progesterone suppositories. I will spare you the graphic details, but basically,  this means there will be no scavenger hunts this time around, because of course, the extra hormones are making every day feel like preggo day, even though I’m sure I haven’t implanted yet (that’s assuming fertilization even happened, and Ole’ Lefty did her job – two very unproven assumptions).

So, instead of playing my usual round of “am I or aren’t I?” I have officially become the 7 hormonal IFer Dwarves:

Itchy

Angry

Crampy

Bloaty

Sleepy

Leaky

And of course…

(Self-Proclaimed Google) Doc

So since I can’t dwell on the hunt it’s time to once again place your bets dear readers (because I still need to keep myself amused)!

I am now officially 4 DPO.

When will I break down and POAS? Will I be strong and wait till 10 or 11 or even – gasp! 12 DPO? Will I show my usual weak will and break down at seven?

Go on, have a guess, you know you want to! If for no other reason than to keep me entertained (and we all know how important that is)!

My Shmerson is the Bestest!

26 Jun

Quick one today because I’m exhausted!

So – Shmerson is still away at reserve duty. And here’s the kicker – tomorrow I was supposed to go in and make the deposit and sign the contract on the apartment we are going to buy. Alone. 😦

I had a crappy stressful day today (I won’t go into detail now – too exhausted) and then to top things off – I got a + OPK this afternoon.

I literally broke down. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Shmerson couldn’t be there with me tomorrow morning, there’s no way that even his krypton-born swimmers would survive 5 days. So I knew that this cycle was a complete bust.

I called Shmerson up BAWLING. He managed to calm me down, a little, but not much.

Then 5 minutes after I hung up with him he called me back – he told his commander the situation and… Drumroll…

He’s coming home tomorrow at precisely 8am for about 5 hours – we will sign the contract and make the deposit TOGETHER and hopefully lil lefty will hang on just a little before she pops and we may get a chance this cycle after all!

Making a baby right after putting a deposit down on our new home – wouldn’t that be just perfect?

Cross your fingers guys! Let’s all send restraining energies to little lefty! You’re already a couple of days late. You already waited till CD 20. Please just hang on till CD 21 ok? Be a good little eggie. I promise you’ll get enough progesterone courtesy of the lovely little pills waiting in the bathroom cupboard. So take your time, k?

(wow that was just a bit too cutesy. sorry about that)

Everybody! Think restraint! Hang on there little one!

Isn’t my husband the bestest husband ever?

PS – once the contract is signed and the deposit is made I promise I will give more details on the place. For now, the atheist continues to be superstitious and I don’t want to jinx it!

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