Your aura is pulsating dear...

I made an appointment with a psychic. Saturday, 7PM.

This is the e-mail I wrote to my sister- she has seen the guy before, so she would be in a position to tell me what's what.
_________

Um, how specific is this guy? I am assuming that he’s a lot more accurate than, say, a Magic 8-ball.

So if I ask, “Am I ever going to be someone’s biological parent?” And the answer is an affirmative, would it be

1. Spookily accurate. “Yes, you will have two boys and three girls, but you will have to use IVF and they will be quintuplets. Oh, and they will all be like your dad and your Mother-In Law, and you will end up in a mental institution.”
   
2. Fairly accurate: “You will have kids by the time you are 40. I think I see three.”
3. Reply hazy: Um, yeah. Definitely!
4. Total crap: “You already have spiritual children, I can see them waiting for you in the beyond!”

Ok, I just wrote C. and D. to round it out. Don’t hate on me.

_________________________________

Her reply was that he is somewhere between A and B, which is good enough for me.

I am feeling hopeful, yet, also extremely skeptical. I am supposed to write down questions to ask, but my sister said he answered everything she wanted to know as soon as she walked in, she never even got a chance to ask.

I am supposed to bring a list of questions, a blank tape, pictures (?!) and of course, cold hard cash.

So. If you were going to a psychic...what would you ask?

Eau de....something.

I believe I am crawling out from beneath the mountain of funk. This may have something to do with the fact that I am approaching launch for AF Day one (Ugh, on Halloween!) and also because my punchiness is, admittedly, kind of funny all by itself.

Last night, The Man and I were trying to watch TV...specifically, Comedy Central.

Judging by the commercials, the only people watching Comedy Central at midnight are horny teenage boys or older men who still have the horniness, but not the ability. (Vivaaaaaaa.....Viagra!)

The later it got, the more obnoxious everything became.

We were going to switch things off and go to bed, but then this commercial came on.

We both started giggling, kind of pointlessly. It should be noted that smelling like "man" is not necessarily a good thing, because, at least in our house, it's likely to be prefaced with, "Please, go take a shower. You smell like....MAN."

The Man: "Why is this so funny?"

Me: If someone asked you what cologne you were wearing? You would have to say, "I'm wearing....MAN." It just sounds wrong.

The Man: "Wasn't there some spoof on SNL of the Calvin Klein ads?"

Me: You mean "Canis- Cologne For Dogs?"

The Man: Maybe.

Crankypants

There. I said it.

I have been in an evil mood for the last couple of days, which I am attributing to some kind of hormonal hangover after the last six months of non-stop meds.

I have also been a little blue....a very pale shade of that color. Maybe a better term is funk. I am in a FUNK. How I am to get out of it, I am really not sure, but it is official.

The first major sign is not wanting to put up the Halloween decorations. They are usually up at the crack of October 1st, because Halloween is my favorite holiday. So far, I have one lonely bat sticking out of my planter box. Skeletons hanging from the trees? Negative. Graveyard set up, complete with fog and black lights? Negative. Spider webs set up on the front porch? Negative.

Our usual Halloween party hookup isn't happening this year (they're 6-7 months pregnant, of course) so it's looking like a quiet night. A big part of me wants to not even buy candy and turn off the porch light, like some kind of Halloween grinch.

What with us not celebrating Thanksgiving with the fam, it's looking like The Man and I are going to make the holidays a wash this year. Maybe we'll have our acts together by Christmas.

I have been spending most of my time knitting obsessively and uploading stuff to Ravelry, because my crankiness makes me wary of human contact. By the way, if you are a knitter with a Ravelry account, stop by and see me! There is even a group for knitters dealing with IF, called the Infertile Myrtles.

The one bright spot in my week was yesterday. Maybe you had to be there, but oh, man, it was hilarious.

S. and I went to Jo-Ann's, because we wanted more yarn. We stopped at an innocent display of plush turkeys.

S: "Look! They're so cuuuute!"

Me: *rolls eyes*

S: "You seriously need to snap out of it. See....oh, they're handpuppets!"

She seized a turkey and thrust her hand into it.

Turkey: GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE!!!!

S. shrieked at the top of her lungs and jumped into the air like she had been electrocuted, bowling the turkey down the aisle. She had whipped her hand out so fast, she actually yanked out the noisemaker, which skittered down the aisle in the opposite direction, still gobbling.

I was rooted to the spot, doubled over, and laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe.

I know, I am evil, but the look on her face was so.damn.funny that it look me at least 10 minutes to collect myself.

Holy Crap

I was just talking to a friend on the phone, and I mentioned my SIL's "I saw you" comment that kind of freaked me out.

There was a long pause, and then my friend said, "I saw it too. I didn't want to say anything because I thought it would freak you out. But when you told me you were moving, I envisioned you walking uphill on a sidewalk, with a baby in a sling across your chest. You were carrying flowers and a bag of groceries, swinging the bag, and laughing with someone. It was weird, like a clip from a movie playing inside my head."

Then I read Mel's blog and this entry over at Jenna's.

Maybe I should see a psychic when I am in SF. I know my sister (The Queen of Granola) would totally go for it, and The Man would think it was a load of you know what. What do you guys think?

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Infertility does have a positive side.

Most of the time you have to look really really hard to see it, but it's there...waiting, disguised, for you to uncover it. Often, it's obscured by the multitudes of unhappy outcomes and disappointments, but it's always there, waiting to be discovered.

When I really sat down and thought about it, I was surprised at what came up.

Infertility is the reason I went to Paris. It was one of those weird moments where you're slogging along in temp charting and you have made yourself damn near crazy over the why's and wherefore's of what isn't happening, and why isn't it?

And suddenly, someone kind of laughs and says, "You should plan a vacation....we could go to Paris! The way fate works, you'll be too far along to fly when the trip rolls around.
Well, and if not...."

"We'll always have Paris?" I interjected, helpfully.

"Well, exactly."

"Hell, when you out it that way....let's go!"

I had never been off the North American continent before. My high school French was really rusty, and it took awhile to kick in, but it was so worth it. And then I came home and had like, a 53 day anovulatory cycle. But still worth it! If you'd like, you can read about some of our adventures here and here.

I quit my horrible job because of infertility.

I was stuck in the worst way imaginable, at a company that simply did not want me to be able to move up through the ranks, and I was refusing to give up. I was such a mess at the end of every single day, but The Man's pleas with me to quit and just find something else fell on deaf ears. I was going to make it work, if it killed me.

My boss was someone who socially, must have been a kick in the pants. In an office, she was a nightmare. She was never at her desk. If she was, she would invite the men in our office into her office, and they would shut the door and laugh and joke and flirt while the women I worked with looked at each other and seethed. I would go in for meetings, and she would tell me horrible, confidential things about my co-workers. I had to come up with fictions about my IF appointments, or the whole office would have known about them by the end of the day.

She would come by on my lunch hour with random objects, and place them on my desk with a post-it saying "Fix this!" and no other directives. In one case, it was a plaque that she needed for an awards ceremony in an hour. It had the wrong name on it. No directive on what she expected me to do, and no name mentioned to replace the name on the plaque. Did she want me to pull an engraving machine and brass plates out of a convenient orifice? Creative use of White-out and Sharpie? I still don't know. I ended up getting the art department to mock something up at the 11th hour. Thank God for Photoshop!

My office buddies had a little joke about her management style-
If you have seen Overboard, you'll get this:

"Jennnnnnnaaaaaa, I seem to have lost my earrings between...emmmmmm....43rd and 48th Street. Fiiiiiiiiiiind them!" Then we would waft our hands helplessly through the air.

She never answered phone calls, and it got so bad that I had regional v.p.'s calling and asking for me, because they knew she wouldn't take care of it, but I would usually McGyver some way of getting it handled. Dangerous practice, when you consider that you're working for someone who gives you zero recognition for saving the day, but if you made a mistake, she would sell you out in a heartbeat. I had to make sure that everything was documented via e-mail, so I could cover my ass. Looking back on it, I was as safe as houses, because essentially, I was doing 90 % of her job for her, while getting an eighth of her paycheck or less. D'oh!

My calls to HR were never returned. I appealed to my former boss, and he basically said, "She's been here for 17 years. Get used to it, or get out." I attempted to transfer to another department, and while they let me interview, I know that I got retained by my department because I was "necessary to the well-being of the department." (It pays to have friends in IT.)

As time went on, I would awaken in the mornings feeling sick. Not morning sickness, (ha!) more like existential despair. The Man finally cornered me one night and said, "I want my wife back. The stress is hurting our marriage, and if you want to have a baby, I think this is the last place you should be. It's making you crazy. Take a few months off and think about what you want to do." I put in my notice the next day, and she was demoted within six months.

I found a wonderful job because I quit that job.

When I saw the ad in the paper, I thought it was going to be a scam, like selling perfume door-to-door or CutCo or something. But I had worked with kids before, in volunteer positions in high school. I had always been great at science, and I have, as we say, a flair for the dramatic.
It was part-time, and you could make your own hours, so I could schedule dr. appointments with abandon. It was perfect. And they hired me.

And now I make slime dressed in a lab coat and talk about polymers and molecules and volcanoes with kids all day long. Writing down "M.ad Sci.ent.ist " under my occupation on forms has ceased to be embarrassing, and has actually sparked several hilarious conversations among my new co-workers, and medical office staff, as well as the guy who filled out our mortgage paperwork at the bank.

Because of this job, I know that I want to be a teacher when I "grow up." I am going back to get my credential as soon as The Man is done with his college. We may postpone it a bit, because of the move to SF~ we'll see.

This and That

Thanks guys, your comments really keep me going.

I am going to lighten up again, with an account of my somewhat humdrum (but occasionally entertaining) life.
_________________

I fell asleep again, right before Dancing With The Stars. D'oh!

I can't even blame the progesterone. Ok, body, what gives?

I woke up and had one cat (Mr. Crankypants) on my chest, and the little one snuggled up behind my head. Freaks. They're like little heat vampires. Maybe that's it, they are sucking the energy right out of my body. I totally would not put it past them.

By the way, Play-Skool? Thanks for twisting the knife repeatedly, every commercial break, you LINT LICKERS.
________________

I had a pretty good day today, Play-Skool nowithstanding. I had a free day (and potentially, another one tomorrow. Yay!) I have been working on going through our cabinets, and I have gradually been using up stuff in the freezer and making room for my fall accumulation of Ziplocs full of frozen soup. I like to pile them up in the freezer like gold ingots.

I also made some breakfast bars as kind of an experiment. I need to tweak the ratios, but they're really pretty good, but a little too crumbly. As a hand-held snack they're not perfect, but thrown into some yogurt, and I am a happy camper. Hooray for domesticity!
_________________

The Man: "I don't feel very well."

Internal Me: "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

External Me: "Like how? Like the flu, or like a cold?"

The Man: "Like.....like...."

This is the part where he turned green before my eyes and ran for the bathroom. I could hear the retching all the way through the house, and it was possibly the most awful thing I have ever heard. My tummy twinged in sympathy.

I am a crappy nurse, especially when barf is involved. After we repeated the drama a second time, I asked, "It's not the flu, is it?"

He's military, and they all get flu shots, no question. Ok, so food poisoning? But....

Me: "Well, it can't have been dinner...because I made that, and the energy bar you had when you got home. And you said you hadn't eaten all day. Maybe you're sick?

The Man: "Chicken..........BURRITO." He hung his head and looked clammy.

Me: "What chicken burrito?"

As it transpired, he made a burrito for breakfast this morning, and left it in the car and then ate it for lunch.

That thing must have seriously been toxic, because I just now hear him getting up for his sixth round of retching, poor guy.

I have made ginger tea, and put a big bowl and a glass of water next to the bed. I have a feeling that I may be heading out to Walgreens shortly for some Pedialyte. That's about ll I can do, besides patting him gingerly on the back between sessions, otherwise we will be puking in tandem.
_____________________________

I got two e-mails this week. One from my sister, inviting me to visit her for a weekend in SF. It will hopefully be the first weekend in November. YAY!
______________________________

The One Where I Say A Bunch of Stuff that Unintentionally Came Spewing Out and Might Get Deleted In The Morning.

The other one was from a friend whom I miss desperately. She was the first person I ever knew who was infertile IRL, and the Clomid worked for her right out of the gate. We would talk for hours. She lives out of state now.

But I can't e-mail her back. And the reason why is a tragedy unto itself. It doesn't help that she has four-year-old twins, and she always seems to put them on the phone, but the biggest reason is that I went to visit her when she still lived in Cali.

Her husband made a pass at me on the third night of a five night stay. While I was on the couch, and his mother-in-law was in the guest room, and the babies were about a year old. He had just come home after being out of town for a month.

We had all gone out that night to celebrate, and had a lot to drink. I was sleeping on the couch downstairs. While I blame part of it on the fact that there was alcohol involved, in retrospect, I can recall that he bought quite a few of the rounds, and his wife drank so much that we had to help her up the stairs.

I have the sick feeling that this was brewing for awhile, and I was just in denial about it.

I woke up to the feel of big hands stroking my legs and feet, and someone murmuring that I was beautiful. It took a minute to register that while I had been dreaming about my husband, this wasn't him. All I could think of at the time was that he was risking so much, and why? I was pretty out of it at the time. I told him to go upstairs to his wife, and he went.

My friend and I went out to get Starbucks the next morning, and I thought, "This is it. This is my chance to tell her. Oh God. How can I bring this up? Is she going to blame me?"

That's when she started telling me about how uh, energetic he was with her last night. And how happy she was that he was home. How she had missed him, and how she loved having her family back together again.

And all I could think of were those beautiful babies. If I had that, would I want to know? It's not like anything actually happened.

I chickened out. Her Mom left that night, and I moved to the guest room and locked my door. I spent the rest of the trip avoiding the drinks he tried to give me.

I can't stand to think of it, and I feel so guilty and awful every time I try.

And I have never been able to relax around any of my friends husbands after that.

If it happens, it happens.

The Man and I bought groceries and went out to dinner tonight.

On our way home, I asked him, "So, now what?"

We are still waiting on an answer re: IVF. And for some reason, waiting around has given me some time to become- well, if not ambivalent, rather detached from the subject.

I still occasionally well up with tears when I see parents and children together. The thought that I may never have children of my own is still raw, and it just seems...well, wrong somehow. We are meant to have kids somehow, some way, I know that. Maybe now is just not the right time. Maybe our kids will be born to someone else, and find their way to us eventually.

It's hard to be philosophical about it, but there it is. It's hard to wrap my head around paying $15,000 for something that only has a 38.2% chance of working (at least, at our clinic). Especially when it's not our money.

Is it worth that? To see my big blue eyes and widow's peak and his wavy hair and generous mouth on someone new that my husband and I have created together? To be able to use the names we chose together? To be able to ooh and ahh over silly hand-knit hats and baby blankets and decorate the room in the rainforest theme that I decided I wanted- oh, back in 2001?

We planned to buy a camcorder and record for posterity the first wobbling steps, the first giggles and words, learning the alphabet, reading bedtime stories, the pictures with Santa and on the pony. The Christmas pageant, the Halloween costumes, the soccer team, the graduations. The big wedding, and the grandchildren.

Now that I have it down in print, it seems silly to wonder if it's worth it. All those things, are, like the Mastercard commercials like to point out, priceless.

But I am still left wondering, am I being selfish, to feel that I am being denied so much? If we decide not to go through with it, or are forced by circumstance to abandon it...when will the diaper bags and the baby slings stop tormenting me? How long will it take before I can see a little girl in the checkout line, happily eating an ice cream with her mom, and recognize those long lashes and dark ringlets and pink Converse sneakers as anything other than a personal failure on my part?

Tonight, my sister-in-law called me. Her marriage is falling apart. We had a long discussion about how she has done everything she can, that her husband (my husband's brother) has evidently turned into a vampire- happily sucking up all of the love, effort, and money, and giving nothing back in return. We talked a lot about what she should do.

In trying to describe my SIL to friends, I have said that she's kind of like Luna Lovegood. She doesn't look like her, and her mannerisms are totally different, she's got this absolute honesty that's airy-fairy and blunt at the same time. Uncomfortable truths come bubbling from her lips at inopportune moments, all the time, but it's not mean-spirited, just stream of consciousness. It just skewers you because you are totally not expecting it.

She basically told me how lucky I was, vis-a-vis The Man, and said, "You and The Man are going to be parents. You were meant to be a mom. A cool, San Francisco Mom. And I know it is going to happen for you." She paused, and then said, "I saw it. I saw you walking down the street."

I didn't realize what she had said until I had gotten off the phone. (I was trying to keep it together after the whole, "cool SF mom" thing. ) Is it me, or is the phrasing really kind of eerie and weird?

Maybe I am going crazy.

Retread

This is not a new post. This is something that I posted on my other blog, almost exactly a year ago. (Wow! I can't believe it's been a year!) I wasn't really out of the closet re: the whole IF thing, so it's a little vague.

However, since I have been trying to find an acupuncturist in my area, and since we're talking about moving to SF, it's pretty relevant. And kind of informative, and as I read back over it, I got a few giggles out of it, so I decided to resurrect it.
__________________________________________________________________
October 23, 2006



Every two weeks, I go to San Francisco for acupuncture.

Yes, it has something to do with the whole baby issue. And evidently, it is working....to the point that people who hardly know me are saying things like, "You're so much calmer!"

The people who DO know me well have hatched a conspiracy theory which involves my unknowingly having taken some kind of Chinese lithium. (For the record, that one was Secret Squirrel, who watches way too much CSI.) But The Man has noticed. My family have noticed. And while it's great that it's working, there's some part of me that is resentful. (Ack! Was I so horrible before?!!!!)

I know they won't answer this honestly, for fear that I will suffer a relapse and attack them with a Salad Shooter. But still...! I am fully awarethat some things which would have rendered me apoplectic with rage at one time now are just sort of irritating, but nothing to get worked up over. Recognizing this while it's happening is sort of surreal.

Anyway. My regimen involves the needles, and an everchanging formulation of Chinese herbs that has come to be known simply as "Ass Tea." (Rhymes with NASS-TY!) The nearest way I can describe the taste? Murky. If you need more detail? It's like top ramen flavor packets with the salt removed. Yep. Taste sensation! I usually throw in some Crystal Lite, which is probably not condoned by ancient Chinese medicine, but does manage to camouflage the ass to some degree.



So, San Francisco. Secret Squirrel tagged along, and we had many strange and hilarious conversations. One that came up was the sad, strange take of Lorena Bobbit. Yes, guys, women talk about this all the time...and we laugh.

Me: "Whatever happened to Lorena, anyway?"

SS: "Well, she went to jail. I mean, she chopped it off."

Me: "I never understood that. Wouldn't he be pretty wiggly? He must have woken up.
Did she use anaesthetic? A machete? How is that logistically possible?"

SS: "Um, I think he was pretty drunk, but he woke up in the middle of it."

Me: "Welll...ouch."

SS: "I was always surprised there were no copycat crimes afterwards."

Me: "Well...I think men were probably much more zealous in guarding the junk after that. They were pretty traumatized, as I recall. Didn't they find it and sew it back on, and then he did porn or something?"

SS: Welll- I mean, she chopped it off, then ran off and threw it in a field. THEN they sewed it back on."

Me: "Thanks for the timeline."

SS: "Well, it couldn't have been out there too long. He's lucky. I mean, it could have been eaten by wild dogs."

(pause)
Me: A dingo ate my penis!!!!!!BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA......

Yeah, that's pretty much how the whole weekend went. We talked and laughed a lot, bought some yarn (aka crack) from Artfibers, met up with my sister for drinks, and ate some meals that were completely insane, but totally worth it.

On the way home, we hit the Bridge School Benefit, which was fantastic. It was worth it for the Foo Fighter's acoustic set alone.

Ob la di, ob la da, life goes on....

I had a "throwaway day" today.

I seriously cannot tell you want I did. I got some stuff out of the way before noon, returned a few phone calls, and alternately read and slept the rest of the day away.

The Man got home, and we discussed what all of this is going to mean.

There's going to be a 14-month initiation period. The Man will be heading to SF on his days off for the first six months to train, then for the next 6 months as an employee. At the beginning of 2009, he will officially take over the business.

My agreement to moving was conditional. We will not be able to afford a place in the Bay Area, at least not right away, and I don't want to give up being a homeowner. A huge plus is that we will have a place to live, rent-free, as one of the perks of the job. So we are looking at "renting" the house to The Man's sister and her fiance, and discounting the rent in exchange for them taking care of the place, and maybe maintaining one of three bedrooms so we could stay here occasionally. The Man has to fulfill a few more years of military service as a weekender, so he will be in town one weekend a month.

It would also give us a chance to make sure we want to settle in the Bay Area before we take the big leap and buy property there.

Of course, my brain finally started working. I will be in San Francisco. Where there are plenty of doctors who are potentially not jerks like Dr. Combover. Where my sister lives, where there are practically acupuncture clinics on every corner, where I can walk down the street to get my groceries, where we can go out dancing every night if we want. Where any money I bank from my job can be devoted exclusively to travel or IF, as I see fit, depending on what happens.

I'm totally overwhelmed. I'm excited. And I am trying not to think about the drawbacks, of which there are several. Leaving my current employers is a big one. I love my job, and I want him to feel the same way about his. I am in the fortunate position to be able to do what I do just about anywhere. Living in a big city is going to make things more complicated, and I will have to get used to new people, but I think I can pull it off.

My favorite part of it is seeing The Man get so excited. He's been a military guy for 12 years now, and I think he loved it until we got married and he did that stint overseas and was so miserable the whole time. We have both been so afraid that he would get deployed again. I wanted to make sure he wasn't just taking this job as a way out.

When I questioned him, he said, "You know, I thought about it...I never went away to school, like you did. I've lived in this town since I can remember. I've been in my current job, with a few changes, since I was 18. It's time to switch things up. I have the opportunity to build a business, to be my own boss, to live in a big city. Why wouldn't I take it? "

When he puts it like that, the negatives seem very, very small.

Hard decisions aka brain dump

There's a lot going on right now, and I can't really talk about most of it.

Operation Ten Percent is starting this week. I spent last night making soups to freeze, and plotting out my exercise schedule. I want to be as healthy as possible come January. Whether we will be getting ready for IVF or planning the eventual trip to Europe as a two-some is still up in the air, which is kind of...I don't know. I feel like I am waiting for the axe to fall. I have been considering other options in the meantime, and they haven't even been discussed with The Man yet.

Mom called the other night, and in the course of conversation, asked "When do you need to know by?" and I said, "Well, the appointment with the doctor is on November 9th," and she said, "OK! So, November."

It's gonna be a long wait.

In the meantime, I spent the weekend in Carmel with my bestest friend, S.S. We both were sort of semi-hysterical the entire time...she's trying to figure out if her current boyfriend of three months (who has suddenly been transferred to the East Coast for work) loves her enough to pursue a long distance relationship. Her analysis of the situation fluctuated a lot based on how deep into PMS she was, or how much wine she had.

Meanwhile, I was wrangling with...well, everything we are dealing with. We decided the best way to handle it was eat ridiculous foodstuffs, sip champagne, knit, and watch Joy Luck Club with the Kleenex handy so we could cry it out. At several points, S.S. and I looked at each other with tears on our faces, and the sheer ridiculousness of it all sent us both into hysterical laughter.

Yeah, that is why she's my best friend.

Neither of us wanted to leave, but I had a Sunday night meeting for work and she was leaving for Arizona early in the AM on Monday.

I felt so wonderful and refreshed when I got home.

S.S. and I talked about a lot of things, and she mentioned that she doesn't want to stay in Fresno for much longer. Granted, at the time she was considering moving back East if the relationship works out.

Some background info:
The Man has been offered a job. He has not accepted yet. We would have to move (him immediately, me eventually) to San Francisco. There are a ton of positives and negatives, and I am not sure how I feel about the idea. The cost of living there is astronomical. I am worried that he wouldn't like the job, and is only considering it because of how much he hates his current situation.

A huge part of the reason I didn't want to go is that I love my job here. I love being homeowners, and that is something that we would have to give up, unless we rent the place out.

My parents are here. I grew up here. But when my best friend talked about leaving, I realized that the biggest reason I didn't want to leave was simply that my friends are here.

Anyway, we were in the car, and S.S. was talking about leaving town, and I had a horrible epiphany. if she didn't stay, I really had no reason to stay, either. The most persuasive reason to stay would be for my parents. And in this weird moment of realization, I suddenly "got it."

My parents love me for being their kid, but I am never going to measure up to what they want. They want my sister, the lawyer, or my brother, who is some kind of real-estate wonderkind and has a wife who looks like Mandy Moore.

I have always been the fixer-upper. The underachiever. The one who had problems with her skin and needed to lose five pounds. I was smart, but didn't apply myself in school. I married a great guy, who didn't happen to be wealthy, and we struggle financially and they have to help us out when it comes to all the expensive IF stuff. I never did things the way they wanted. I frustrate the hell out of them, Dad especially. And while they do love me fiercely and worry about me constantly, and seem to have finally accepted who I am, I have not provided them with any grandchildren to spoil. I am not the one who they brag about to their friends.

Why the hell should I stay? And more importantly, I am kicking myself every day that I am left hanging because I have accepted their offer to help me out. I feel like there are going to be strings attached, like there are wth everything else.

I feel like I am poised on the edge of something. It could be great, or it could be horrible. And everyone is screaming at me to jump, and I am just left standing, frozen with terror and rage and confusion.

Edited to add

Well, The Man and I talked, and we are jumping. He's accepting this job. It's not actually immediate, which is good news...But there will be a 14 month period where he gets his feet wet, so we will have time to adjust, and I will be able to downsize and get used to the idea.

Give it away, give it away now!

Today as I left one of the schools I was working at, I saw a mom (actually someone I am familiar with) walking towards the minivan with two of her three kids. The two older ones were walking along obediently. The youngest girl, who is about four, was trailing along behind, and screaming like a scalded cat.

Everyone was looking to see where the noise was coming from. And Mom was alternately calling, "Olivia, come on honey, hurry up!" and "OLIVIA MAY! Get over here right NOW, young lady!"

Olivia evidently had gills, because I am not gonna lie- she never stopped for air once. The wailing was loud, unwavering, earsplitting, and unrelentless.

I was loading up my materials into my car, and mom turned to me, heaved a sigh of complete exasperation and exhaustion, and shrugged her shoulders at me weakly as the other kids climbed into her car.

I smiled. "I guess someone's having a bad day!"

"Not just HER..." said mom, darkly. "Seriously, I am at my wit's end. Do you want to take her home with you?"

Obviously, I know that this is a joke. However, this comment has been made to me so many times, by people who know I am childless...and I am just guessing that they think that my childlessness is a choice?

Because if they knew I was infertile, they'd realize how insensitive and callous such a joke would be. But they don't know. Because I am not wearing my big neon sign.

Usually, on days like today, I treat it like the joke it is, and I laugh.

The only time I haven't pulled it off is an occasion I still cringe to remember. We were at a big family gathering, it was late, everyone had had a lot to drink, and my cousins from out of state had just collected their two-year-old from a babysitter- we were all heading back to the hotel in a tram.

The little guy was fussing, and whining, and dumping over his mom's purse, and she turned to me and said, "That's it. Do you want a baby? He's going cheap. Actually, I might pay you to take him."

The Man was sitting next to me, and I swear, he totally stopped breathing. We both were so shellshocked, it was awkward, but I honestly couldn't think of anything that would be appropriate to say.

I could tell the next morning at breakfast that someone had clued my cousin and his wife in. They were both silent and uncomfortable in a way that bespoke something besides just being hung over.

Having gone through this, I don't ever think I would make a joke to anyone like that. I say this in my position of a woman who has never had to be responsible for someone throwing a screaming fit on the Barbie aisle in WalMart, but having gone through such difficulties to have a child....it just seems unfathomable to me.

How are you guys doing this week?

Warm and fuzzy.

Wow....what a switch.

Infertility, and trying to figure out what, if anything, was wrong, has been a focus of my life for so long.

Taking a break has been amazing.

The Man and I have been a lot lovier with each other. Who knew that it's more fun to spend quality time together when it's not all about ovulating and shots and charting?

It's nice to know that sex can be fun and stress-free and spontaneous again. It's fantastic to feel like I have my body back again instead of feeling like a walking test tube.

It's also nice that it's coincided with actual fall-type weather, so there has been a lot of snuggling under down comforters.

When we started this journey, The Man and I decided that since we were working on getting pregnant, the bed should be as amazing as possible. So for Christmas, we asked for a down comforter and pillows. No dice.

We asked for three years in a row. Finally, last year it must have dawned on everyone that HEY! This was something we really wanted. So we got three comforter and pillow sets.

I ended up taking two sets back and replacing them with two sets of luxurious high-thread-count sheets, as well as a ton of oversized bath towels. I seriously believe that these things are the best purchases we ever made, and the best gifts we ever got.


So yeah. If you are already thinking about your Christmas lists for the year, or just a "no reason" nice thing to do for your spouse...get a down comforter and really nice sheets. And if you have a duvet, may I recommend these....and if you have a hard time keeping sheets and dust ruffles in place, these and these are invaluable.

The only drawback for us is that getting out of bed has now become impossible.

I guess now you know why I haven't posted for a couple of days!

Whooh! Okay.

I have decided that this week just needs to die. It's been a crappy week for so many people, both IRL and online, it just needs to go away. And hey, tomorrow's Sunday.

I find it impossible to be sad and listen to this song:



And THEN I saw this commercial, and I have to laugh every time I see it. Maybe it's because I work with kids, but I need to file some of these insults away for future reference.



Anyway. I know a lot of us are having rotten weeks, so I thought I would share.

Here's to next week being fantabulous!!!!!

Hanging

Today has been a seriously awful day.

I am fighting a wretched cold, and I am losing. BOTH my best friends have called in tears because their relationships both ended this week. Also general cramping and nastiness. Thank God for the weekend away next week!!!!

I had work scheduled from 9AM to 10 PM tonight, with a few hours in between to make furtive grabs for meals and my sanity and some fresh lipstick. And as mentioned in the post before this, to make some phone calls. I had a narrow margin between when my RE's office re-opens for lunch (2PM) and the start of my next class (2:30).

In my experience, they always come back late from lunch anyway, and today was no exception. I didn't get through until 2:16.

The good news: I can use the free meds towards an IVF cycle. They agree that it's time to stop with the IUI's, because we are getting nowhere.

So I put myself on the list for January. In order to have caught the IVF boat that leaves in November, I would need to complete my protocols by...well, by today. And start BCP tomorrow. Not happening, because as I have mentioned before, my parents are helping us with this, and I really don't want to make the commitment until I have let them know what's going on.

I have never discussed IVF with my father- it has always been mom. She knows the costs, the odds, everything, and has always said that if push came to shove, they would help us out. But she wasn't home when I called the house, so I talked to Dad, and found out (to my serious dismay) that she hasn't discussed any of this with him.

He freaked out. In his defense. The talk of test tubes and petri dishes and injections is something that he has studiously avoided, and he has referred to IUI as "The turkey baster option" consistently throughout. There was a lot of, "WHAT percentage? HOW much?!!!!!"

I was shocked that mom hadn't discussed this with him, and on top of everything else, it was just too much. I managed to get home and basically had a teary breakdown of epic proportions. The Man petted me and cuddled me, told me not to be an idiot when I wailed that I was "a millstone around his neck", and tried to get me to call in sick for my evening shift at work. When that failed, he made me mac and cheese while I iced my puffy face.

I made it through work. Mom called and I called back and we had a rational chat during my drive home. I feel a lot more hopeful about things.

Then I got home and The Man played me this.

And then THIS:



"It made me think of you," he said. "I know you probably think it's cheesy." (I am more of a rock and roll kind of girl.) It didn't matter to me though. I was still crying, but happy tears.

I may be sad, but boy am I lucky.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Thank you so much ladies. Your helpful words, virtual hugs, and occasional outbursts of profanity helped me more than mere words can express. AF is officially here, and since beta was supposed to be on Monday...yeah. So much for the progesterone!

After a horrible, teary, discussion/meltdown with The Man, we have made a few tentative decisions.

Step one: Cut a hole in the box.

Sorry, wrong plan.

Plan A:
Call clinic tomorrow AM, and demand to speak to someone who is not mentally constipated and/or a beeyotch. My odds here are about 50/50.

Step two: Ascertain whether my free cycle of meds is usable for an IVF cycle, or if they want to switch me to something else. Which I am guessing they will, because last cycle my follicles pretty much laughed at the two tons of Gonal-f that I took and then gave me the finger.

If No, proceed with Plan B. Ask for a no-holds barred opinion of whether or not I should even bother with another IUI.

If they have a genuinely convincing pro-IUI argument, I might be swayed. In which case, I will order meds for Saturday delivery, and attempt to make my day three appointment within the two hour window I have free next Monday. Or, I might take a month off.

(The Man is pushing for time off, which is a switch, but what he said was, "Sweetie, you are way too wound up about this. Maybe you need to back off a little."
My response was such that I am ashamed to answer it here, but it involved lots of snarfling and murderous pillow thumping.)

If they say "Uhhhhhhhh....", see if I can get the meds anyway, in order to donate them to someone for whom they might actually work.

If yes, continue with Plan A. Call an acupuncturist. Get put on the list for the next "IVF Boat" which is leaving in January. Look at the wait time as an investment in getting as healthy as possible. Actually go to the gym and do the fertility yoga DVD (which I unwrapped this last month, but admittedly, did not actually use.)

Make a contingency plan to get through the holidays. My 33rd birthday is on Thanksgiving this year, which is going to make nosy relatives difficult to avoid. I am thinking a small vacation may be in order. My sister will just have to figure out how to make the effing pumpkin pie.

Plan C: eat cookies. Yeah, I caved. Oh, and look forward to Girls Weekend, which is coming up. At least I will be able to have martinis!

Mighty Casey has Struck Out.

Well, crap.

I'm spotting. And it's still disappointing, even though I expected it.

And that's really all there is to say about it.

I guess we're going to need to make some decisions, because going through another IUI cycle just seems like an exercise in futility.

Somebody's watching meeeeeeeeee....

I have a stalker.

I am sure you guys remember the post about Tiramisu, aka "Big Fat Fatty" (Other aliases include "The Woodchuck", "Lunchbox", and "Chunk LaFunk")

I am sorry the picture quality sucks, but his curmudgeonly qualities are such that this is the only photo of him with his eyes open.

Anyway, 'Su has gotten increasingly weird about me. Either we were right about the progesterone or the injections messing with my body chemistry, or I have mysteriously (and undetectably, because I checked to alleviate the paranoia) begun to smell like Li'l Friskies.

When I came home tonight, I did the first thing I usually do in the second half of the 2ww, which is to rip off my bra, because it is cutting off my circulation.

I went into the kitchen to start dinner, and the next thing I know, The Man comes in, bra dangling.

The Man: I just saw something...uh, disturbing.

Me: Let's hear it.

The Man: The cat was uh...making out with your bra. Please put it away.

Me: What the little one? She plays with everything.....

The Man: NO- It was 'SU! He was rubbing all over it and rolling around on it like a porn star. And purring.

?????!!!!!!!!!!

At night, the cats are shut in the office, because the little one creates mayhem and ricochets around all night long. 'Su gets shut in too, because that's where the food and water and kitty "facilities" are.

The other night, we couldn't find him. We finally gave up, shut the bedroom door, and went to bed. At around 6AM, I awoke to feel a solid weight snuggled behind my knees. 'Su had evidently hidden under the bed and waited for us to fall asleep. The Man banished him at some point, and he stayed right outside the door, yowling, until we took pity on ourselves and let him back in.

He's also following me around from room to room, and tonight I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to find him draped across my midsection and lovingly grooming my arm, which is something he has never done. In fact, that is probably why I woke up, since he is a 20 pounder and was probably reducing my lung capacity, not to mention putting out heat like a furry bonfire.

This is seriously freaking me out.

I know I haven't been around- I am working crazy hours, which is great money-wise, but not so hot energy-level-wise or sanity-wise. I need to slow down and schedule some time off to take care of me. Because I am falling asleep during Dancing With The Stars, and that ain't right. (And oh! I am so pissed that Albert went home! He was so sweet and goofy! Aiiiiigh! But then, I didn't vote, so it is all my fault.)

In other news, the second week of the 2ww has begun. I am exhausted (thanks, progesterone!) and for some reason, I cannot eat peanuts without feeling ill afterwards. Could that also have something to do with the progesterone? I seem to recall something about "Do not take this medication if you have a peanut allergy." But I don't have a peanut allergy.

Also, stop the presses! I am tired. And hungry. And bloated, and weepy. And signing off, because you guys seriously don't need to hear about all that, since you're more or less all experiencing it yourselves.