Tag Archives: Wedded bliss

TTC – The Ultimate Aphrodesiac

22 Mar

When I first started this blog, Shmerson and I set down some very clear ground rules about what he was and wasn’t comfortable with, in terms of my blogging.

With his permission, I am breaking one of these ground rules. And just in time for ICLW! (welcome, newcomers!)

Shmerson has embraced the openness of this blog, so with his permission, and without further ado:

Sorry, I couldn’t help myself! Yay musical intros!

Look, a lot of us don’t talk about it openly, but after a few emails and chats with some of my fellow bloggers, I figured it was time to break this taboo.
Especially in light of some interesting revelations I’ve had in the last couple of weeks.

So, to start, let me give you guys some of my history. I’ll say it bluntly: I was a slut in high school. It was for all the wrong reasons. In hindsight, it was a defense mechanism to over compensate after surviving date rape. But I convinced myself that I loved sex. Even though I secretly hated it.
Around the time I turned 20, I kind of went in the opposite direction. I very rarely had casual sex, and even my more serious relationships were rocky when it came to sex.
This was not only because of trauma, but also about my (then) newly diagnosed “friend”, PCOS. I honestly think that this messed up my sex drive on a lot of levels.

Which brings me back to Shmerson. In the first 6 months of our relationship, when I was still taking BCP (before I realized they were evil evil things) we did it like rabbits. This is the nature of new relationships.
Then, like in every relationship, things tapered down a bit. Then they kind of went to hell. I think this has a bit to do with the fact that I stopped the evil BCP’s and also gained some weight, so my confidence was low, which of course means that my sex drive was low.
Me not feeling good about myself seriously messed up our sex life. And that made me feel even worse. Like I was a bad partner. How could I not have a sex drive? I love Shmerson, and he’s hot. What’s up with me?

I can’t even imagine the insecurities my poor man was feeling. I felt like shit about it for a long time.

Then we got married, and lost the birth control completely. All of the sudden, I wanted to do it, ALL THE TIME.
At the time I thought it was because I felt safe and better about myself now that we were married.
Boy – was that wrong.
Of course, after doing it like rabbits I got preggo REALLY FAST. And just like that –  my sex drive was gone again.
Then the Blighted Ovum happened and everything got shot to hell.
I didn’t feel sexy. I barely felt like a woman.
And guess when my sex drive made a comeback?
Two weeks after my first post D&C AF. Right when I got that positive OPK. For three days I was a sex machine.
Then I got preggo again. And miscarried again.
And what was bad before became much much worse.
I had a meltdown, and Shmerson felt completely insecure. He felt like I was no longer attracted to him, and he was afraid that our marriage was nothing more than a way for me to get a baby (he finally confessed this to me about a month ago. I felt like shit when he told me that, because I love him and it was the furthest thing from the truth).
But who could blame the poor guy for feeling like this? His wife had absolutely no sexual desire whatsoever.

And as bad as he felt, I felt even worse. I felt inadequate. As if something was truly seriously wrong with me. I WANTED to want to make love to him. I hated myself for not wanting to.

We’d spent the last few months talking openly about this (something which makes me eternally grateful for having such an amazing husband and having such an open and honest relationship with him). But things only got marginally better. Though I was feeling a bit better about myself, my sex drive was still in neutral.

I figured it was residual insecurities from the MC’s combined with Zoloft, which apparently is not good for the sex drive.

But truly – I had no clue what was going on.

I started talking to a few of my fellow MC bloggers in private about this, and I started seeing a pattern. They all felt the same way, and their sex lives were very similar to me and Shmerson’s. Positive OPK’s + TTC = renewed sex drive. The rest of the time – nada.
(don’t worry ladies, I won’t name names! This is strictly my TMI, though feel free to share in the comments).

Then a few different things happened all at once which finally made me make sense of all of this supposed sexual dysfunction. I’ll list them (because I love making lists!) and then tie them all together. So bare with me.

  1. Shmerson and I decided not to decide. In other words, we decided it was time to lose the condoms, but that I would not be taking any OPKs or charting. We decided to just take it easy for a few months and see what happens (for those of you who are new to this blog – my problem is recurrent M/C. Fortunately, conception has not been much of an issue for me. For the record, I am immensely thankful for this).
  2. Courtney posted this very interesting observation on her blog. Basically, she pointed out how science sucks because women only have a limited amount of eggs, whereas men generate new sperm all the time.
  3. AF showed up, and immediately after the red lady went away, I all of the sudden wanted to have sex ALL OF THE TIME.
  4. Yesterday Shmerson pointed something out – kind of a continuation of what Courtney was posting about. He pointed out how oftentimes in nature, females seek out the strongest partner to mate with, whereas the males are less picky.

It all comes down to this: us women want to procreate, and there are only a few fertile days for us each month, so we choose our sexy times more carefully, and our brain is basically our biggest sex organ. Men are fertile all the time so they want to procreate all the time.

I think you guys can basically do the math here. Women with fertility issues are even more eager to procreate, but also have the insecurities that come along with said fertility issues. So of course we only truly have a sex drive when we’re trying to make babies! It’s in our nature!

Which is why I am SO FREAKING HAPPY  that I’m not charting this month. There’s no stupid science in the way. Who knows when the heck I’ll ovulate? So of course, I want to have sex with Shmerson ALL THE TIME. And I feel sexy all the time. Because I could be ovulating right now. I could ovulate tomorrow, or the day after. Or a week from now. And goshdarn it, I WANT TO MAKE A BABY! I am taking no chances.

It’s doing wonders for our sex life, not to mention our relationship in general. It’s like we’re falling in love all over again.

And the beauty of all of this? Shmerson gets it. He’s embracing it. He understands after our many talks, that my lack of sex drive had nothing to do with him, or my attraction to him.

It was the perfect storm of psychology and biology.

Just like our recent resurgence is the same – only with opposite results.

So – I don’t think I’m ever charting again. Seriously. If we’re having sex every 48 hours or so anyway, we’re bound to hit ovulation eventually in the next few months.

The only way this will change is under doctor’s orders. For now – letting go of that little bit of control is doing wonders for my self esteem, my marriage, and me and Shmerson’s sex life.

And please don’t take this as a “relax and it’ll happen” post. That’s not my point. My point is that I realized that science can sometimes get in the way of nature. And for those of us lucky enough to be able to rely on nature to conceive, I say – screw science!

For those of you out there who don’t need to chart for medical reasons, and are feeling that your sex lives are in a bit of a slump – try it. I really hope it does the same for you. Because trust me, this is awesome. I’m having some of the best sex of my life right now. (I’m sure Shmerson is doing the happy dance while reading this. Hemmo Shmerson! You is my love!)

In the context of the ALI community, I can’t believe I’m writing these next words, but, what the heck:

Yay biology!!! Screw you, modern science and pee-sticks!!


Mo Can’t Come to the Blog Right Now

16 Mar

Shmerson’s back!


I’m sure he will be collapsing shortly after the amazing dinner I’m currently cooking for him. (Baked Salmon, Scalloped Potatoes, and Scorched Green Beans with Garlic) So maybe I’ll post later.


Oh – did I mention?


Nicotine Monster Rears its Ugly Head?

13 Mar

Don’t worry! No relapse!

But yeah – today sucked.

So the last couple of days I’ve been waking up and kind of giving it a long hard think before applying the patch. Waking up has been easy and the patch has made me kinda nauseous, not to mention that it’s been leaving red blotchy marks everywhere I applied it.

Today I woke up – and looked at that box of patches. I said to myself – nope. You’re done with this poison.

Of course, a few minutes of googling confirmed that I was in the clear. I’ve already broken the habit for the most part – now all I had to do was get through the nicotine withdrawal.  Piece of cake! (at least according to alan carr).

Well. Alan Carr LIED.

Ok. I admit – I’m actually not sure this was all due to lack of nicotine.

In fact – most of the day was spent in a pretty laid back way. Yes I had a few more craving than the previous days – but all was well.

Then – out of the blue –  I transformed into an evil monster.

Context: Shmerson is leaving for reserve duty in about four hours. He’ll be gone till Wed. Like I do each time he goes away for this (it happens usually about twice a year) I cooked him a yummy dinner, complete with a yummy dessert. All was well.

Until he asked me a question about something (after dinner) and I didn’t know the answer. And he made kind of an off-hand cynical comment.

Which in turn – made me turn into a shrew for the next hour or so. Yelling, saying really mean things, just plain bitchy. I was being terrible. And to make matters worse I knew I was being terrible. And I started hitting shmerson with lovely lines like “See? You knew I was going through nicotine withdrawal why did you have to act that way? it’s all your fault!”

And when he actually tried to apologize, well of course, I yelled at him some more.

About two seconds before he went to bed I stopped him and finally said I’m sorry I’ve been to terrible. I don’t want you to leave like this. I’m sorry I was such a bitch. It’s because I stopped the patch.

Then he said “no – actually. You always pick a fight with me when I leave for reserve duty.”

“I do?”


“Oh. Why didn’t you mention that an hour ago! Then maybe I wouldn’t have wanted a cigarette so badly!”

“would you have listened?”

No comment.

Yeah – so apparently I get so worried about shmerson when he’s gone I try to pick a fight with him so I will miss him less. Aren’t I healthy?

I guess the nicotine withdrawal just aggravated the situation.

Let’s just hope I’m past the worst of it, because I hate it when shmerson’s away, so the next few days are gonna suck.

Ahh well.

Ray of Light

6 Mar

Something really weird happened today. But like – weird in a really good way.

Ok – so here’s how it started. As I’ve said many times before – we have a pre-TTC checklist – which will officially be done on Monday.

Also – Shmerson and I have decided to not actively TTC, but rather lose the condom as soon as I quit smoking, provided that I stop taking temps and avoid POAS. So yes – free of pressure.

Now that I’ve got that covered I’ll go into today’s events. Shmerson’s best friend and his new wife came to visit today, and it was the first time we’d really had a chance to talk as “married couples”. The new wife didn’t really know about our history, so we spent the better part of half an hour going through our whole spiel.

It was weird – because both of us were talking about it really positively. It was nice. And the newlyweds were appreciating that we were sharing our story without scaring them. (always good).

Then a friend called who I hadn’t talked to in a couple of weeks. I updated him about everything that’s been going on. The teaching, the movie proposal I turned in. How work’s been great. It was amazing. No drama. Everything’s good. a bit nervous about quitting smoking on monday – that’s it.

Then I cooked some shrimp fajitas (using leftover fixins from the oscar party – it was yummy!), and decided to zone out for a bit.

I don’t know why – but for the first time in about a month I went back to 16 and pregnant. Now I know what you regular readers are saying to yourselves right now: Mo! Why do you keep doing that to yourself!?! You’re driving yourself nuts! What’s the point?

Well, dear grasshoppers (or whatever), two minutes into the episode I had a lightbulb moment.

I was watching this girl – and I wasn’t mad at her. I wasn’t jealous of her.

I was excited. FOR ME.

I stopped the show and immediately bombarded Shmerson.

I’m quitting smoking on monday! You know what this means? This means we’re going to try for a baby again!

Shmerson made a face.

I promise! I won’t pee on sticks or anything! But isn’t this exciting? We get to try again! We got our entire checklist done! Can you believe it? It only took us 5 months to do the checklist!

I felt a huge sense of joy, accomplishment and hope – all combined into that one little sentence. We got our entire checklist done. We’re ready.

I’m ready.

I’m ready to face trying again. With all of the fear and heartache it may entail (and now – control-freakery free!).

I can’t say I’ve completely healed. All I can say is that I feel like I came full circle this week. It’s time to move forward. To look forward.

And it’s the first true, clear ray of light I’ve seen in a very long time.

Shmerson Making His Debut Blog Post

27 Feb

Inspired by Cookie’s blog, and considering that I’m slammed with work, I asked Shmerson if he would take over blogging duties for me tonight. So without further ado, here is my dear hubby:

Hi everyone!

Good News: Mo is currently working on watching all of the movies that are nominated for the Oscars AND writing another synopsis AND planning the Oscar night food. Bad News: instead of a post by her you’re getting a post by me- Shmerson.

Actually, calling my wife “Mo” is weird for me, so I’ll just call her Shmerson. If it confuses you, there is a simple way of telling who Shmerson is: If Shmerson is writing a post, then Shmerson means me, Shmerson. And if I, AKA Shmerson, am writing a post, then Shmerson means Shmerson. See how simple it is?

What I want to write about is the male point of view, at least mine. After the first MC, I noticed that my first concern was Shmerson. Don’t get me wrong, I was very sad that we weren’t going to have a baby when we thought. But somehow I was worried about Shmerson’s health, mentally and physically, more than  being sad about the thing itself- losing a baby.

I think it’s because there are aspects of pregnancy (and therefore aspects of MC) that I will never understand in the same way as Shmerson understands them, or as women in general understand them. I can say things like “we are pregnant” as much as I want, but that is not true. Shmerson knew she was pregnant several hours after conception, I didn’t (I thought that was new age BS). Shmerson’s body and mind were reacting to the pregnancy. As for me, only my mind was reacting to it, indirectly, and in a different way; something like “I need to take care of my pregnant wife for the next 9 months, and then be a good dad”, which is different than Shmerson’s “I have a little Mini-Shmerson growing inside of me”.

I’m going to say something weird, so here goes: Freud thought some women are envious of men for their penises. I think he was an effed-up pervert in many, many ways, but here’s my take on the subject. When it comes to pregnancies, I think it’s the other way around. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to have a sex change operation anytime soon, and there will NOT be any jokes about wanting to have my own boobs to play with in my spare time (Oops, too late). What I mean is all of us, both male and female, were embryos once. Being pregnant and having a baby makes it a full circle. Women get to experience once again the symbiosis between mother and child, only now as the mother. That is beautiful beyond words.

And I can’t be a part of that in the same sense. I could talk to the baby, put my hand on Shmerson’s belly to feel it kick, but that is not even close. I will be the baby’s parent, of course, but so will Shmerson. And, of course, I will have a part in the making of our baby, but can you really compare carrying a baby for nine months with just having an orgasm? I can do that with both hands handcuffed to the bed.

And just as I can’t really understand pregnancy and feel it in the same way Shmerson does, I can’t really understand MC in the same way that she does. To me, it changed from “I need to take care of my pregnant wife for the next 9 months, and then be a good dad” to “I need to take care of my heart-broken wife, and it turns out I’m not going to be a dad anytime soon”.

For several months I was so into taking care of her, helping her with her grief, I forgot that I have my own grief (-you didn’t “forget”, you supressed. -shut up, Sigmund, you sick bastard). I thought I had to be there for her, be strong for her, and leave my grief aside for now, because hers was so much stronger. This is, of course, a very bad attitude. Luckily, I have an amazing wife who noticed what I was doing, even through everything that she was going through, and called my bluff. That is, perhaps, a subject for another post (which will come soon, I’m enjoying this more than I expected).

I used to be very sad about the whole thing, but Shmerson’s progress, along with this blog, have helped me see the silver lining. Now, I believe everything will be great. I also kinda believe everything that happened was for the best. I can’t really explain why, but I know I’ll be a better dad for everything that happened. (When I understand what I mean by that, I will write another guest-post, promise).

That’s all for tonight, but before we leave- a word from our sponsors:

“Not expecting much from James Franco and Anne Hathaway’s hosting of the Oscars? Only on Mo’s blog we will bring you the funniest sarcastic remarks on red carpet dresses, cynical commentary about annoying starlets, more booing of those worthy of booing, and some home-made Mexican Food*! Join us tomorrow night for the Oscar live blog- hosted by Mommyodyssey! With special guest- Squish! And, me –  Shmerson! Tomorrow! Oscars! Mo! Mexican food! Squish! Shmerson! Join!”

* Blog does not include Mexican food.

Cesi N’est Pas Une Spoon

16 Feb

I had this sort of serious post written up and all ready to publish.

But it’s a little past 2am, and I’m a “spoon”.

Ahhh – what is a spoon, you ask?

No – not the utensil you eat ice cream and cereal with.

There’s a saying in hebrew, which, literally translated means “I’m in a spoon state”

Or in other words – I’m feeling rather silly.

Now, don’t ask me how the heck us Israeli folk connected spoons with feeling silly.

Perhaps it has something to do with putting spoons on noses:

No I don't know this kid.

But in Israel, when you say in Hebrew “I’m in a spoon state” everyone pretty much gets what you’re talking about.

So I have decided to take this opportunity to reveal a bit of crazy that I have so far kept from the blogosphere.

My friends who read this will find this post repetitive, because, well, they live with it every day.

But for those of you who have not had the pleasure of spending half an hour in me and Shmerson’s company, allow me to introduce you to… Drumroll…. Englishing.

As in – “Look at us we is Englishing about!”

Or – “Shmerson, your Englishing is many wrong.”

It all started very innocently. You see, Israelis have a way of kind of warping the english language. Plus, Israelis speak with funny accents when they speak english.

(BTW – I actually have a perfect american accent due to the fact that I spent almost half my life in the states, but I can also speak hebrew with an american accent and english with an Israeli accent. I’ve always had this crazy fantasy that if I ever win an oscar for “best foreign language film” I’d get up on stage, and start speaking slowly with a heavy Israeli accent, and then, ten seconds in, break back into my usual valley girl and say “nah, just kidding.” Trust me, in my head, it’s hilarious).

So – back to englishing. It all started simply enough. Shmerson and I developed this tendancy to baby talk to each other in english, but with a heavy israeli accent.

It started with simple things like saying “many good” instead of “very good” or “I is cooking about” instead of “I’m cooking”.

However, about two months into our relationship, the whole thing ballooned and started evolving into a completely separate linguistic entity.

And it all started with one single word: “Hemmo”

Now, you may be asking yourself, what exactly is “Hemmo”?

Good question.

Well, it all started with this little tidbit from the Simpsons:

Early on in the relationship, Shmerson and I discovered our mutual love of the show. We then started a tradition. Whenever we were driving and hit a particularly curvy part of the road, shmerson would yell “Wheeee!!!!” and I would promptly answer “Must Kill Moe”.

Then one day we were driving down a curvy stretch of road and I was in a spoon state. For some reason, I had a line from yet another show stuck in my head.

So for a several minutes, shmerson and I were in a quoting duel.

He said: Wheeee!!!!

I answered: Hellooooo!!!

He looked at me sternly, and tried again: Wheeee!!!!

Me: Hellloooo!!!!

Then I brilliantly found a compromise. At about the tenth attempt, when Shmerson was putting on his best annoyed face, he gave it one last shot: Wheee!!!

And I decided to compromise: He-Moe!

That is how our first original Englishing word was born. From that point on, we no longer said “hello” or “hi”. It was always “Hemmmoooo!!!”

From there – well, it was all downhill.

First came our new version of goodbye, which was, of course, “de-hemmo”

Then, I was the best man at a friend’s wedding, and at the time, I was calling the title “best dude”. Shmerson argued that it should be “best person” and then, in a heavy israeli accent I asked:

“Is I your best person?”

And Shmerson answered

“Of course you is!”

I in turn replied:

“you is my person”

and for the better part of our first two years together, our pet name for each other was not “babe” or “honey” or “sweetie”.

It was “person”. We were the “persons”. He was Person and I was “Personette”

But notice how I don’t call him that on this blog.

No, of course, with time, things started getting even more out of hand.

For example, we started replacing all of our nouns (and sometimes verbs) with “thing” or “bunny” or “zone”.

So “pass the salt” could easily be turned into: “Person, can you bunny the thing?”

And yes, I would understand that. It’s all about context.

Then “hemmo” became more than just a greeting. It was also an adjective. So “That dinner was like, hemmo” could be referring either to a yummy dinner, a boring dinner, or a gross dinner, all depending on the intonation.

Then eventually, it devolved even further. We started adding “Shm” to the beginning of words.

So “thing” became “Shming” bunny became “Shmunny” and of course, “person” became “Shmerson”.

Oh, and somewhere in all of that we started pronouncing sleep “slype”, Night “nigget” and then also adding “igget” to the end of words.

Now mind you, what I am sharing here is just the tip of the iceberg. We have come to the point where we talk to each other in such a complex code, that only three or four people around us manage to understand us. And even then, they have to figure it out. But for some reason, we understand each other completely.

So tonight, I told shmerson: “Shmerson! I haz spooning about!”

He answered: “Spoon about”

Me: “But I is a spoon! don’t be a shmigget! Spoon about with me!”

Shmerson: “But I haz going to Shmower and Shmype”

Me: “Oh-shmay. But, fligget?”

Shmerson: “yes, bunny?”

Me: “Is I your Shmove?”

Shmerson: “Of course you is”.

Me: “Oh-shmay. De-nigget my fligget.”

Shmerson: “Shme-hedo. You is a flichtzen.”

In case you didn’t follow that, the loose translation would be:

I’m feeling goofy.

awesome! good for you!

But I’m goofy! be goofy with me!

But I’m tired so I’m going to take a shower and go to sleep.

Ok. fine then. Do you love me even though I’m goofy?

Duh. Of course I do.

Ok. Good night, my love

Good night. I love you too.

Um, yeah. And for some reason people still count me as sane.

I feel sorry for our future kids. I can imagine our child walking into the first day of kindergarten and looking around smiling at everyone, and enthusiastically saying “Hemmooo!!!”

and then everyone would stare at him/her and the poor kid would realize that his/her parents are –  um – unique.

I guess this post explains this picture a little better. Yeah. We're like this pretty much all the time.

Two seconds before we took this picture on our wedding day, Shmerson whispered in my ear: “you is my pretty pretty” and I answered “Shmank you, future hus-bunny!”

I sincerely hope this post doesn’t make you respect me any less. What can I do? I haz a spoon.

For My Shmerson

14 Feb

Dear Shmerson,

This will be the fourth Valentines Day that we have spent together, and our first as a married couple. Tonight, instead of going out to someplace fancy, you will be working and I will be at a yoga class, or sitting at home, watching something silly on TV.

Last year on this day we were eating dinner at a way-too-expensive restaurant, and deciding on a DJ for the big day.

Last year, on the outside we were perfect.

This year, on the outside, we are not.

I am so happy to say that. You know why?

We could afford the fancy restaurant, but I hated my job and spent most of my days depressed and anxious.

You were lost  – completely unsure of what you wanted (except of course, for marrying me).

This year you have to work so that we can make ends meet. But this is because you are more sure of your own future than you ever have been before, and I am slowly finding ways to make a living which I can truly enjoy.

This year, I will be sitting at home, or at a yoga class, more full and happy with myself than I have been in years.

So far, our marriage has been nothing like what I had expected it to be. In the year since that fancy restaurant, we had both the happiest day of both of our lives, and two of the saddest, when we lost our two babies.

And we came out of it. We are on the other side. Together. And today I can say that I love you more and more every day.

Every day that you’ve stepped up and taken care of me when I’ve felt broken.

Every day that you were broken yourself.

Every big decision we have had to make in the last year.

Every time we talked things through, figured things out, and worked on our relationship.

Every hurdle we took on together. Every challenge that we had to face.

We got it done. We did it together.

Tonight, on the outside, we will not look like a perfect couple – the wife at a yoga class and the husband working late.

But when you come home from your shift, sweaty, exhausted, and most likely carrying a couple of sandwiches for us to share while watching something silly on TV, I will hug you, kiss you, snuggle up on the the couch, and know that it doesn’t matter what it looks like from the outside.

We are stronger than ever.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my wonderful husband. I hope that we continue to grow together for decades to come.


Your Shmerson


**Ps: Marie and Elphie gave everyone the idea of posting wedding/couple pics today. If you want to see a full list click on over to Elphie’s post here.

Three Weeks! Get Off Your Freakin’ Butt!

8 Feb

Ok – a conversation with myself is coming up, but first, two non-related things that I wanted to share with you and don’t justify a whole separate post.

1) I made an appointment today with a tattoo artist for March 1st. I’m really excited about it, actually. It really feels right to do this. Though the poor guy answering the phone was a bit freaked out by how adamant I was to get this precise date. Ahh well, I guess they don’t get many recurrent miscarriers wanting to memorialize their lost babies on their intended due date.

Aaaand moving on to a lighter note:

2) warning – this is a cute story but a: it’s most likely NSFW, so read fast b: if you are a guy who is reading this, well, skip over this next part because it is TMI (I’m talking to you, big brother o’mine! Me0me, rolig, you can probably handle it).

So inspired by a post Elphaba put up a while ago I am using sanitary pads now in lieu of tampons. Just so you understand this in context – I even used to sleep with tampons. This is how much I hated pads. But when Aunt Flo showed up this week I decided to give the napkins a whirl. It’s been a bit awkward to say the least.

So I get out of the shower and realize I didn’t bring underwear with me. I ask shmerson to bring me a pair so that I can put on a pad and not “drip all over the floor”.

He answers: Gross.

I answer: Listen – that stuff coming out of my hooch is the same stuff your child will be made in, so you better learn to love it.

After nearly choking on his apple juice, he mentions that it was rather remarkable that I can say that to him without feeling embarrassed (as in – hey we’re a pretty cool couple to be that open with each other). I said – ha! I’ll go even better! I’ll post it on my blog! I believe he was skeptical that I was actually going to do it. (thank goodness this thing is anonymous).

Not sure how much he’s going to like reading about this in the morning. (Shmerson I love you, you love me – now learn to love my many discharges).

Ok big bro – you can start reading from here.

Now on to the main event…..

Me: You do realize that you have three weeks to go before that big development grant deadline?

Me: mmmhmmm.

Me: hey! Listen up!

Me: mmmm what? Oh, sorry I had a long day and I was watching scrubs. What were you saying?

Me: urgh. I was saying that there are three weeks to go before we have to turn in a five page synopsis, and you promised me that we would spend the weekend watching “Go”, “Rashomon” and “The Usual Suspects” for some inspiration on story structure.

Me; yeah, so? we’ve seen them already. Me tired. Me want to watch Zach Braff making silly faces.

Me: We watched them ages ago, and we need to watch them in context. And we need to get this thing written! Come on – we actually have a good shot at this grant if we get this done. It’s for a movie AIMED AT TEENAGERS. This is what we do, remember? It’s our thing. Now get off your scrubs kick and go watch some Kirosawa!

Me: But it’s Japanese and black and white. Bo-ring!

Me: It’s a masterpiece. you know that. What’s your deal?

Me: *whiny* I don’t wanna write!

Me: You’re writing right now.

Me: yeah, but this doesn’t count. This isn’t my career.

Me: ahh – I get it.

Me: What – the joke Zach Braff just said? of course you do – it’s kind of easy. he’s imagining chocolate land, and turk is there, so he breaks off turk’s hand and eats it….

Me: Yo! stop changing the subject! You are terrified aren’t you?

Me: Of Zach Braff? Nahh he’s pretty cute.

Me: No – you are terrified of getting back to writing real stuff. Movies. You know – those things they screen  in public, and they have your name on them right where it says “written and directed by..”

Me: Oh, yeah. That.

Me: come on, admit it. You’re scared.

Me: ok. fine. I’m close to peeing my pants here.

Me: Well get over it!

Me: Easier said than done, homeskillet.

Me: We can’t pull that nickname off.

Me: Ok fine. Stil….

Me: let’s just admit we’re terrified and take it one step at a time. Will you agree to watch Rashomon tomorrow?

Me: no. Black and white. Subtitles. Blech.

Me: Ok fine. Let’s start small. “Go” has drugs and partying. Light an fluffy. No subtitles. Can we start with that? No writing. Just research. And I’ll even let you eat some oreos.

Me: with milk?

Me: yes.

Me: Ok. Deal.

PS – I just noticed that this is my hundredth post! Woohoo! yay me!! 🙂

The Upside of 2 Miscarriages

7 Feb

Yes – your eyes are not deceiving you. I’m four months after the 2nd MC, and less than a month away from my first due date. There’s been a lot of bitching, yearning, wishing, and moaning on this blog, but I think it’s time to look at the upside. I’m not a “glass half full” person usually, but since I’m making a huge effort to improve my life, I want to see what this half full thing is all about for a change. So here we go – the upside of having 2 miscarriages:

1) Anesthesia Shmanesthesia!

My first pregnancy was a blighted ovum, and I needed a D&C under general anesthesia. I had never had to have that in my life, and it scared the crap out of me. Now that I’ve been through it once, I know that I’ll feel better about it if I have to go through it again.

2) From on the fence to all aboard

Shmerson and I decided to TTC together, but when I got my first BFP, he seemed a bit apprehensive and unsure about it all. After the first MC, he realized how much he really wanted to, and was ready to be, a father.

3) Love Thy Body

I never really took good care of myself. Smoking, caffeine, not exercising enough, yo-yo weight loss and gain. I was never really “connected” to my body. Even before getting pregnant for the first time, it was an issue I was contending with. Going through this has made me take a serious look at how I treat my body, and has made me work on treating it better. So far, I’ve cut my caffeine intake in half, I go to yoga 2-3 times a week, and I have a plan in place to quit smoking for good. I’ve had blood tests done for the first time in about a decade, and I’m very aware of every message my body sends me. It means I spend just a bit too much time on Dr. Go Ogle, but I am treating my body with respect for the first time in my life, more or less.

4) De-nile is once again only a river in Egypt (current political situation notwithstanding)

Hitting the inevitable wall of my existential crisis has made me deal with my mental health issues properly for the first time. I’m more aware of my mood swings, I’m taking care of what I can from a happy-pill perspective, but more importantly, I am, for the first time examining what lies beneath my anxiety and depression.

5) Hi life, nice to meet you!

I have learned that quick decisions will most likely lead to heartbreak and regret, and I understand the importance of thinking small. Not every decision has to be one that changes my life, and not every decision has to come from a place of pure practicality or pure fantasy. In short – I’m finally living my own life, rather than imagining another one while living something that is making me unhappy.

Even more importantly, I have stopped denying myself the pleasure that is spending time with the people I love. My family, and my amazing friends who have stuck by me through all of this (I know you’re reading this – I love you guys!)

6) Scenes from a Marriage

I have not been a picnic during these last 7 months. And shmerson and I have only been married for 8. This basically means that most of the first year of our marriage will always be remembered as one of the most difficult times in my life, and his as well, I’m sure. However, the fact that we’re still together, we’re still honest with each other, we still take care of each other, and we still love each other proves that we can get through almost anything and make it to the other side together.

7) Me, meet Me. It’s time you got to know each other.

Me: remember when we used to be completely detached from our feelings?

Me: yeah, that kinda sucked for us.

Me: yep. it did.

Me: it still kind of sucks because sometimes I’m not sure if we’re making decisions for ourselves or for the approval of the people around us.

Me: That’s true. But at least now we’re looking into it. That’s progress.

Me: Good point.

Me: Hey! look at that! We finally agree on something!

Me: *sneaks off to watch “16 and pregnant”*

Me: hey – come back here! We’re not done blogging yet.

Me: right. Ok.

8 ) Embracing the Process, Finding Perspective

I’m in a battle every day. For my sanity, for my identity, for my future, and for my family. I’m fighting to regain myself. I’m fighting to re-build myself, brick by brick. It’s a battle, but within that I have a new sense of perspective. I have always been a drama queen. Now that I know what real drama is, my imaginary dramas very rarely take over my life. It’s a battle I’m embracing. It’s a battle I’m celebrating. I’ve discovered strength I never believed I had, and I am beginning to accept and forgive my weaknesses.

9) This Blog O’mine, These Ladies O’mine

As a person who has been introducing herself as a writer/director for the last decade or so, I admit, I’ve done very little writing in the last few years. I lost my passion for it. This blog, which was started from a place of darkness and despair, has now rekindled my passion for writing. I look forward to every word I write and publish here. I have small moments of victory when I know I’ve come up with something funny or profound. But more importantly, I am teaching myself to create without judgement. I publish my crappy posts. I publish my good posts. I don’t judge myself, I just write.

About two weeks into this blog, when I thought I was only writing for myself and a tiny handful of friends, SLC from Holy Crap! commented on one of my posts. I thought to myself “who is this chick and how the heck did she find me?”, and then I thought “thank goodness that she did.” She was my doorway into the amazing community and support that I have found here. She was my first shoulder, my first light at the end of the tunnel, and the first person in the world I found who just “got it.” I will always be grateful to her for this, and I am so happy to say that beyond this blog, I have found her as a true friend for life. (sorry lady, you’re stuck with me and you know it!)

And she was just the first. She was my foot in the door.

From there came Elphaba (aka the funniest and one of the most profound writers I have ever had the pleasure of reading, not to mention an all-around awesome chick), Bodega Bliss (my sister from another mother), Marie (my voice of reason, who always gives the best advice ever), Hemlock (the “can you please stop writing everything that’s going on in my head?” lady), Kristin (my purple-haired, generous role model for supporting other women in our little community), Missohkay (my ray of hope in the face of  being not exactly IF) and so so so many other amazing women (it would take dozens of posts to mention  all of you, but know that you are loved, and man, is this feeling like an oscar speech or what? I’d like to thank the Academy while I’m at it). These women, you amazing women, who make me laugh, make me cry, and most of all, make me feel like I am not alone – to say that you are awesome, amazing, inspiring, and all-around spectacular is an understatement.

I never really believed that something as simple as a blog would make me discover a whole new community. Would make me feel so loved. You ladies will forever mean the world to me. Sorry I’m gushing. It happens on occasion. You all do it too sometimes so there. 🙂

10) When the day finally comes….

That I hold a baby in my arms, that will be mine, no matter what journey Shmerson and I take to get there, I will truly and fully appreciate the miracle. I will fully understand and acknowledge, and feel eternally grateful to hold that blessing in my arms.

I guess the glass is even a bit more than half full.

Weekly Obsession 4: Weddings!

26 Jan

I was never one of those girls who stuck a pillowcase on her head and pretended to walk down the aisle. In fact, before I met shmerson, I wasn’t even sure I ever wanted to get married. Then I knew I did, with him to be precise, but still – except some abstract planning I didn’t give it much thought until he proposed in October of 2009.

That’s when the obsession began. I spent hours upon hours planning everything. Months upon months.

This is the point where I need to explain something. Israeli weddings are far looser affairs than what most people are used to. There’s no bridal party, rarely there are formal speeches, and most ceremonies are relatively short.

Being a “Best Man” (yes really) at a wedding a couple of years ago in the states has made me appreciate this very much.

Here’s how your typical Israeli wedding goes:

Bride gets hair and make up done while groom gets car decorated, picks up the bouquet, and puts on his clothes (usually a simple suit – very rarely in the black tie range).

Our car - decked out in purple ribbons. Nope - no "just married sign" it's not how we roll. 🙂

Groom gets the ok to pick up bride. He comes to wherever the bride is getting ready and sees her for the first time (there is no superstition about the “before the ceremony” thing here). This is actually a really exciting moment.

Shmerson and I moments after he saw me for the first time. Happy finger dance!

Bride and Groom go off with the photographers to take pictures in some interesting looking location.

Artsy, ain't it? No, I have no idea what that structure is.

Bride and Groom arrive at wedding venue. Either they lock themselves up until after the cocktails or mingle and greet the guests as they arrive (which is what shmerson and I chose to do).

Squish and I during cocktails. I wasn't drunk. I swear!

Ceremony – Groom walks down to the huppah (sometimes with his parents), then bride walks down (sometimes with her parents). They meet under the huppah. Usually both sets of parents, the rabbi, and siblings of the couple stand behind them. While walking down the aisle no wedding march is played, but rather a song that the bride and groom have chosen. In me and shmerson’s case it was an amazing Israeli song called “Guitar and Violin” by Shmerson’s favorite singer.

It’s a beautiful song – even those who don’t understand the language may appreciate it.

Anyway – then comes the ceremony and at the end the groom stomps on a glass and breaks it to represent, well, stuff. Then the bride and groom kiss as the “glass breaking song” is played, usually something romantic and upbeat, chosen by the bride and groom, in our case, tonight tonight by the Smashing Pumpkins.

Then the bride and groom are mobbed on all sides and get hugged and kissed for seemingly hours before everybody heads away from the huppah.

No need to explain this one. 🙂

Then there’s dinner. Usually buffet style.

Then dessert, a heck of a lot of alcohol, and a heck of a lot of dancing.

Some people choose to serve dinner before the ceremony, because that way people aren’t starving during it (ceremony usually takes place somewhere between 7pm and 9pm, aka dinnertime).

Shmerson and I didn’t originally plan it this way, but due to a fluke with the rabbi being late we had to serve dinner first and it turned out great because then all the old farts went home early and we were left to let our freak flag fly and dance our asses off until about 2 in the morning.

Dancing my ass off - hour one. Nope, still not drunk.

Dancing our ass off hour three. Shmerson rocking out to some song or another. Yep, he is drunk.

Most Israeli weddings are huge. About 400 people average invited. There are no gift registries. People bring checks. Which is awesome in my opinion.

We chose to have a relatively small wedding. 220 invited, 190-ish showed up (yes, this is considered tiny).

And seriously – it was the best. Wedding. EVER!

I have no idea why I'm making that face. But let's call it my "trust me, it was" face.

Now mind you I know I’m not objective, but I have it from several other reliable sources. Some literally called it “the wedding of the decade”.

The music was amazing (rock&roll, man! The DJ was so good he managed to make my dad dance to “closer” by Nine Inch Nails. Luckily dad didn’t understand the words but it was a surreal image nonetheless).  Warning: NSFW!!!

The food was amazing. The alcohol was amazing. And it was all laid back and party like. We even put a photo booth at the entrance where people could take pictures of themselves (by the end of the night there were some raunchy results). No, I am not posting those!

Photo Booth, 2am. Drunk on life.

Here’s the thing  – I love-love-looooooved planning it. I really didn’t think I would, but during the six months between getting the rock and saying “I do” (which actually isn’t said in the jewish ceremony, but you get the picture), I became a walking wedding encyclopedia. And I loved every minute, every detail, every cost-cutting trick I found, every excel file, every tasting.

And now? Well, the obsession has not gone away. I love watching Bridezillas (yep, I just admitted that). I love going to other people’s weddings.

Even more – I love helping to plan other people’s weddings! I am the queen of unsolicited advice and hours of conversations at parties with prospective brides about the pros and cons of a banquet hall versus an open space, cost per person, varying qualities of DJ’s…. The list goes on and on.

I love it so much that there have been moments that I actually thought of saying screw it all and becoming a wedding planner. Then I realized that most Israeli weddings are a bit more gaudy than mine was and I’d have to deal with too many Israeli Snooki equivalents so I let that idea pass.

But when a friend, or a friend of a friend, or a friend of a friend of a friend, or a complete stranger who is non-snooki-ish tells me that they’re planning a wedding, I light up, and volunteer myself to do anything and everything.

An amazing gay couple I know was looking into wedding costs, and I literally begged them to let me find a venue for them.

Last week at a party I gave a bride-to-be three names of photographers, 2 wedding dress designers, and of course, my phone number. 🙂

I know at least some of you out there are anti-wedding. If you are, and are thinking of getting married, please let me plan your wedding. Pretty please?


What a Difference a Dress Makes

15 Jan

Aaaand…. We’re back!

Just got back from a lovely and much needed 72 hours with the hubby (that were also internet-free). What I’m posting now is something I wrote thursday night. Happy reading!


I’m writing this on Thursday night, 1am. I have resorted to a word document because there is no internet here, but I am so full I just have to empty some of it out in words.

First of all – Thank you, Marie!

A couple of weeks back, I talked about not feeling like a woman. Marie suggested then in the comments that I put on a pretty dress and have my husband buy me dinner.

Shmerson and I took it a step further. Tonight, one of shmerson’s best friends got married. The wedding was in Jerusalem – a two hour drive from our home, so we decided to get a room at a nice bed and breakfast nearby and make a weekend of it.

Our room had a huge Jacuzzi and I came in a woman with a plan. We got to the place at 4pm. I took over the Jacuzzi with my last bath bomb from lush, which I’ve been hoarding jealously for way too long. I brought along the glitter soap that squish bought me ages ago and I hardly use. I brought along every bit of make up I had, a bunch of jewelry, a dress I love, and high heels.

I took an hour long bath. I did my hair – sparkly hair band and all. I spent half an hour on my make up. I put on my huge earring, my favorite perfume, and when I was done – I felt beautiful.

The evening started out a little iffy. Daddy’s company strikes again and I was a bit distracted by work.

I barely knew anyone there except the happy couple and a few of shmerson’s friends, but we had both decided that we would do our best to make the bride and groom feel loved, because we saw how much it meant to us at our own wedding.

While still distracted by work, the evening started out with cocktails, where shmerson and I sat with an acquaintance of his. Immediately the subject of children came up, as he is also recently married, and he was pretty open about them having trouble conceiving.

I immediately told him about our miscarriages. Openly. It was a pretty great conversation.

Then something magic slowly started happening. As the evening went on, I found myself surrounded by a bunch of women, some I knew, some not, and we all started talking. I opened up about my journey and they shared theirs. I felt like my old self again. I intuitively picked up their signs of unhappiness and after they listened, I listened as well.

One women commented on how I may as well be a mind reader.

Another just called me beautiful.

Then I made good on shmerson’s and my promise. I danced until my feet practically fell off, and when they did, I became the bride and groom’s water boy. If I couldn’t dance – at least I could keep them hydrated. I felt connected. I felt happy.

I noticed that the groom was unhappy with the DJ. I stepped in and fixed it. It was like I was completely intuitive about everything. It was the same old me – only magnified by everything that makes me good and happy. Everything that makes me feel special.  Everything about myself that I thought I had lost or had been gone so long that I forgot about it completely.

My intuitiveness, my motherly instinct. My uncanny talent of reading and understanding people. My charm. My beauty. My ability to be open for and to open up to others.

On the dance floor the groom came up to me and thanked me for being so sensitive to the couple’s needs and taking such good care of him. I smiled and said that I loved them and I just wanted to make them happy. He said he loved me too.

Shmerson told me later that one of his friends, that had never met me before, came up to him and told him that he thought I was really nice, and really beautiful. Wow.

At the end of the night, with the place nearly empty, I took a seat and looked at the bride and groom, and my husband bouncing up and down beside them.

Then I thought to myself “I made friends today.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, because I knew it was the truth, and it had been so long since I opened myself up to the world in such a way.

With the evening over, Shemrson and I sat in the car. I was overflowing with joy, as was he.

I told him that I feel that we’re slowly tiptoeing away from tragedy and toward happiness.

I told him “it’s two steps forward, and one step back, but I think we’ll make it.”

And he answered: “Well, that makes it a dance.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I started bawling.

Shmerson looked at me and said that he was happy to see me crying tears of joy for a change.

So was I.

Self Control

25 Dec

So today was a pretty good day. Mostly lounging around the house with the hubby, watching some movies, and I baked brioche (yum!).

There were very few flashes of anxiety (which the xanax pretty much took care of), and a general, overall feeling on contentment.

And what was I thinking about all day? Come on, guess. You know you want to (even though it’s a futile exercise since all you really need to do is look down to the next line).

All I was thinking about was how much I wish I was pregnant again.

Seriously – I need to stop that.

One step at a time, right?

Blood tests tomorrow morning. Here’s hoping for some easy answers.

You are what you watch

24 Dec

I feel like I’ve been rather whiny lately. I mean, supposedly it’s understandable but I’m not usually a whiny person so this whole “daily post about crappy stuff and revelations” thing is getting a bit tiring. So I’m going with a ranty analysis today.

I’ve been sharing this blog with friends. Not everyone, but people who are important to me, and some that I haven’t been in touch with for a while.

And the responses I’ve been getting are amazing.

Here’s the thing: I am very lucky. I have a lot of friends. Most of them I’ve known for years. Sometimes we lose touch for long periods of time, but they are those sorts of friendships that you know are always going to be there.

So the reactions I’ve been getting have been incredibly loving and supportive, but more surprisingly, a lot of them have been telling me that even though they aren’t going exactly through what I’ve been going through, they can relate to my struggle.

It’s funny – they almost feel guilty about saying that. As in – “I know what I’ve been through isn’t as hard as what you’re going through…”

But they really shouldn’t. Just the fact that they relate actually makes me feel a bit more, well, I guess normal is the word.

Most of the people who are saying this are people my age – as in – 30. I read somewhere about people these days having a “quarter life crisis”. perhaps this is it.

The one thing that keeps coming up – especially with my female friends is this careerist vs family struggle.

I’m actually only the second of my close girl friends to be married. I have more single friends than I do married friends, and none of my close friends have children.

20 years ago this would be unthinkable. Today, I really and truly think this is becoming a cause for turmoil and confusion for a lot of women.

I spent most of my 20’s living by a fairly feminist doctrine. Marriage was barely on my radar – let alone kids. It always seemed like a possibility in the distant future, but nothing even close to a realistic option until I met and fell in love with Schmerson.

Women in their late 20’s and early thirties – or at least my friends – who I admit come usually from well-to-do, highly educated families – are – in my opinion – getting smacked upside their heads by their biological clocks.

We were raised in a post-feminist generation. Ally McBeal, Buffy Summers, Veronica Mars, Elle Woods, and Rory Gilmore were our role models. Yes, sometimes those chicks got the guy. But you never saw Buffy thinking about a wedding. She was too busy kicking vampire ass. Veronica Mars in a wedding dress? I think not. Heck, going even further back, even Kelly Taylor told Dylan and Brandon “I choose me” back in the day.

I could spend hours making pop-culture reference upon pop-culture reference. Lord knows I love that. But I’ll spare you all and try (somehow!) to get to a point here.

I honestly do believe we are – on a lot of levels- a product of the pop culture that we consume.

Our fantasies are based on the ideals fed to us by the flickering images we watched on screens.

Just like every woman fantasized about being Donna Reed in the 50’s, I’m sure that the over achieving Rory Gilmores, Joey Potters, and yes, even Cher Horowitzes I saw flickering on screens for so many years made an impression on me.

To make matters “worse” – I minored in women’s studies in college.

And just in case not enough fuel was added to the fire, like a lot of my friends, my mother was – most of the time – a housewife.

So I rebelled – all of my 20’s were spent chasing a career. I in particular chose film – which is basically one of the hardest “careers” to actually achieve statistically. But I was invincible! I was unstoppable! I was going to conquer the world!

For two years during my first degree I researched female film directors – or lack thereof.

You would find me saying – at least twice a week – “do you realize that only two female directors have ever been nominated for an oscar?” “Do you know that only 4% of all working directors in Hollywood are women?”

Yes, Kathryn Bigelow finally broke the so-called “glass ceiling” this year with her win for hurt locker. But let’s be honest – this does not mean that things have changed much.

But I’m getting away from myself. I’ve spent the last two years having an interior battle with myself. I believe that this battle has been in large part responsible for the general feeling of “being stuck”. I’m torn. Is there really a way to have it all?

I’d always had this fantasy that the man I would marry would be a “house-husband.” I would bring home the bacon, he would take care of the kids. All would be well.

But it turns out the “who brings home the bacon” issue isn’t really the problem.

From the moment I realized that I wanted to be a mommy – I knew I wanted to be a “present” mommy.

I remember as a kid – my dad was never ever home. He barely had a hand in raising me until about the age of 14. The result is – inevitably – that I am far closer and more attached to the parent that was “present” – my mother. I love her more than anything – I would do anything for her.

I honestly can’t say the same about my father. I would never confide in him the way I do in her. I don’t feel as safe with him as I do with her.

I don’t want to be my dad (hell to the no! but that’s a different post altogether). I want to be a present parent. an active parent. I may want to work – but how in the heck can I “be a mega-superstar-film-director” and be a mommy?

Directors don’t sleep. They’re sometimes gone on shoots for months at a time. They’re shut away in editing bays and sound stages.

This was the ton of bricks that dropped on me about two years ago. Just as i was realizing that I wanted to marry Schmerson. And just as a feature I was working on was starting to come together.

Immediately the film project fell apart. And i haven’t been able to get it together since (get it together in the broad sense – not just that particular project).

It’s only now that I’m starting to realize the connection between these two events.

I kept on telling myself “I’m going to be a director” but I kept on feeling “I’m going to be a mommy”. For the last two years – those two thoughts have been basically canceling each other out.

Yes, there have been other factors – a sudden loss of confidence in my abilities amongst them – but at the end of the day I can’t ignore the coincidence here. The timing is just a bit too perfect.

You know, I have a tendency to end these posts lately with some sort of conclusion or revelation.

I don’t have one here. I honestly don’t. I think this is going to be part of my struggle. I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want to be my father.  (oh! any psychology majors currently reading this are probably having a field day!)

I want a fulfilling career, and I want to be a mother that is always around and can be counted on. I’m going to have to figure out how to navigate that one.

Any suggestions will be happily accepted, then I’m sure – eventually forgotten somewhere between a sound mix and diaper change.

The husband

21 Dec

My husband reads this blog, so on some level I feel a bit weird writing about this. but it’s something that isn’t really talked about much so here goes:

I’ve been going through a rough time (duh), but I really feel for my hubby right about now.

I mean, not only does he have to deal with me and this ongoing turmoil – he has also suffered a loss.

We had a long talk today and I finally pushed him to share his feelings with me. He admitted that he feels terrible for a few reasons.

First – he knows I’m the one who went through the loss and he can’t imagine the pain I’m in, which makes him feel the need to suppress his own pain.

Second – with each miscarriage, he realizes more and more just how much he wants to be a daddy, but on the other hand, he is deathly afraid of us miscarrying again and the damage that this would do to me both physically and emotionally.

Third – he just doesn’t know how to handle me through this rough patch.

I have this weird quality about me. When I see another person in pain I desperately want to fix it and make it better.

This is ironic, but him sharing what he feels with me makes me feel a bit less sorry for myself, and makes me want to be strong and move on for him.

So Schmerson* – keep sharing your pain. I love you.

*Schmerson is one of our many weird pet names for each other. deal with it. 🙂

Chapter One: from feminist to stereotypical bride

16 Dec

I really do think it’s important that I tell all of this. So hang in there with me, ok?

I met my future husband in January of 2008. I was 28. I had never really thought of marriage and kids. I mean, I did – but never in a real and urgent sense.

Something about him though – well, he made me become very domestic. I started really enjoying doing things like baking cookies.

Now mind you, before that, I was pretty much a careerist biyatch. No judging, it’s just what I was.

he moved in rather quickly and in October of 2009 in a very cutely romantic way he proposed.

At that point, I admit, I was already going through the baby-crazies. He was a bit more timid about it – but hey – who asks guys about this stuff anyway?

I spent six month carefully planning out our wedding, which was a casual, fun and really – amazing night. Best night of my life. On May 27th, 2010 I became Mrs. XXX XXX. Something I admit is still kind of weird. the feminist taking on her husband’s last name. Go figure.

A month earlier we had decided to officially lose the birth control, and on our lovely 10 day honeymoon – well – we worked hard at making babies.

On day 4 of our honeymoon, a rather lovely food laden cruise, I woke up feeling kind of weird. We disembarked at Valletta, Malta – and the first thing I did was drag my brand spanking new husband to a pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. I felt pregnant. I just did.

So we bought one, and after a lovely day in Malta I peed on the stick. Negative. Ahh well. At that point I told my husband that there will be no more peeing on sticks without evidence of a late period! (that statement would soon be broken on a gargantuan level).

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