Another year

Yesterday was my birthday.

All in all, it was sort of underwhelming. 36 is hard, harder than 35 for whatever reason. I just sort of went about my business as usual, and then The Man and I went out to a nice dinner. He did get me a nice gift this year, which was much appreciated :)

I did get a little teary at one point. It's hard not to think about what you wanted to have accomplished by now when your birthday rolls around. I was "supposed" to have a few kids by now. I just console myself with the knowledge that I am working on it, that we're in a much better place to raise children, and that I will be a better parent because of what I have been through.

Thanksgiving is also stressful: due to my dietary restrictions, I suspect that staying with my family is going to be a test of my patience, as usual. Last weekend, The Man and I stayed with Mom and Dad. Dad went out "to pick up something for breakfast" and came back with croissants and bagels. And yes, he knows I have a wheat allergy. There's no kind explanation, really! I keep wondering if they will buy a birthday cake for me, and then eat it in front of me. ;) I may have to make a gluten-free version for myself.

Warm The Mansion seems to be working. The acupuncturist is very pleased with my progress, and has asked me to get an ovulation predictor kit, so we can verify that my charts are accurate.

The other thing that is going on: I have started CrossFit, which is literally kicking my butt. I can't complain too much though, because I LOVE it, and also because HOLY MUSCLE DEFINITION BATMAN! The man patted me on the leg last night and then gave my leg an experimental squeeze and said, "That's impressive." I am also noticing that my jeans are beginning to feel roomy, which is something to be thrilled about.

The once-a-month blog

I thought I would stick my head in and say hi. :)


So....Mother's Day.

I admit to feeling a little sensitive about it, still. The commercials still give me a pang, and I am putting off looking for my card for Mom until the last minute.

I am not sure if it's the fact that I am no longer injecting enough hormones into my abdomen to kill a goat, or the fact that I have transitioned. But something happened to me today that would have sent me over the edge a few months ago.

I walked into a class of second-grade kids, and the teacher was, obviously, expecting. Par for the course so far.

As I set up, the kids were putting the final touches on their Mother's Day presents- cute collages of drawings and photos, and the stray thought crossed my mind, "I wonder if I will ever get one of those."

I have learned to nip thoughts like that in the bud. That way lies madness.

The class was actually really fun- second grade is just the best age ever! We did our experiments, and talked about what we learned, and I asked for questions.

A little girl raised her hand and asked if I was pregnant. At this point, I started wondering if someone had it in for me, because...hello?

Ironically, nobody has ever, EVER asked if I was prego before. Thank God!

The logical part of my mind was still working overtime, and inspired by the look of horror on the teacher's face, I just laughed. I know it was a combo of factors- the teachers' pregnancy, plus my lab coat is freaking huge on me now. Operation Hot Momma is still going strong. Thanks to thirty pounds lost, I need to put some darts in the front of my coat! (This incident may inspire me to actually do it.)

The fact is, I have never ever even had a positive pregnancy test. The idea that it may happen is getting to the point where it is laughable- and that was my reaction!
I just flattened my baggy coat against my tummy, and said, "No, sweetie. My coat is just too big for me. But it would be cool if I had a little Mad Scientist in here, wouldn't it?" The kids (of course) thought that was hilarious, and we moved on.

It wasn't until I got out to the car that I realized how devastated I would have been a few months ago. And I have to admit, it stings a little, but surprisingly, I am OK.

That's just surreal. I am OK.

Finding your joy

I have been reading a lot.

Specifically, a lot of books about the emotional side of eating, which is something that I have a problem with.

I know what I need to do to lose weight- let's face it, we all do, because we hear about the obesity epidemic every stinking day. Eat right and exercise. And if it was easy, we'd all just do it to shut THEM up.

So in retrospect, the link between the cookies and the progesterone suppositories (back in the day) was simply that my body was saying, "I feel like crap. Give me something to fix it." Well, plus, who doesn't like cookies? Voila! Chocolate and sugar. Problem solved, for now.

Anyway. One book in particular talks about the joy you get from eating, and how if you get 95% of your joy from eating, but are unhappy with everything else in your life, it doesn't matter what diet you go on, or how many crunches you do. If you want to lose weight, you need to find alternate sources of joy before you start your journey. Otherwise, failure is pretty much a given.

It strikes me that this is applicable in so many different ways than just eating. I have a lot of different coping mechanisms- sarcasm, defensivess, humor. Joy isn't really my go-to emotion when things in one part of my life aren't going the way that I want, and I suspect it's that way for most people.

Another aspect of the whole weight thing is control. Losing weight for other people is something that I have tried before, either willingly or reluctantly. Oddly enough, the fact that it was also something that I wanted was nullified by the desires and intentions of others, somehow.

Let's face it, when you are 12, and it's your birthday, and someone you love dearly asks if you REALLY want to eat that scoop of ice cream...well. There's that part of you that says, "YES! I want to eat it! And I will eat TWO scoops of it, just to spite you."

Because you know, you're 12, and your eating is one of the few things that you have control over.

If you've ever tried to get a three year old to eat her peas- same basic principle, just in reverse. You can rationalize, you can bribe, you can threaten, punish, and plead, but short of child abuse, there isn't really any way to make her do what you want, and she knows it. She is in control, and that is probably the only situation in her life that she has control over.

If you read parenting blogs, you know that this is a common problem, and the kid learns that their parent is so desperate to keep them from getting scurvy that they'll try anything to get them to eat something besides peanut butter on Saltines.

But I digress.

My point (I do have one) is that Operation Hot Momma is my way of finding my joy, and my way of saying that I do have some measure of control over my body. Nobody suggested this, nobody said I had to do it or die of heart disease.

Feeling like I can control anything about my body after dealing with IF is a welcome change. I didn't feel like my body belonged to me for a long time. I threw vitamins and hormones into it, kept alcohol out of it, stuck it with needles, subjected it to blood tests, and at the end of thing, I just felt like my soul was chained to a big piece of meat that didn't have anything to do with me.

I don't feel like that anymore. Thank God!

I am slowly finding more things to be joyful about. My relationship with The Man. My ridiculous pets. My job, and the kids that I love. The adventure we are about to embark on in the Bay Area. Writing. Dancing. Driving the convertible with the top down.

I am also learning not to avoid the things that freak me out. I have wasted a lot of time doing that, and missed a lot of opportunites because of it. I try to ask myself why something is bothering me so much, and sometimes, the answer is so ridiculous or shocking that it just ceases to be a problem.

A month ago, my whole family got together (for the first time since the Thanksgiving debacle) and I was...well, on edge. Predictably, it didn't go well. I will spare you the gory details, but the worst of it was that a couple my parents were friends with came up, got introduced to all of us, and proceeded to gush about how they now had three grandchildren, who were just the best thing ever. And I felt everyone's eyes on me, and predictably, I felt like a huge disappointment.

Then I thought about it later, and the reason I felt so awful wasn't really because of IF. It was that I felt like I was disappointing my parents(again). It was totally about keeping up with the Joneses (or whatever their names were, I can't remember.) It was also about how everyone was looking at me like I was a time bomb ready to go off, and ohmigod, they must think that I am crazy.

So I wasn't worried so much about the actual baby thing. Just my parent's potential involvement in the Grandparent Olympics and what other people were thinking about me, neither of which I have any control over. Phew!

Clarity is strange. Wonderful, but also kind of scary.

Vortex

Crazy couple of weeks- including finding out that I was going to need to host Christmas morning this year- 24 hours in advance. AIIIGH! I did pull it off, which unfortunately means that we may be doing it every year from now on. Oops!

It's funny- I haven't been posting a lot, mainly because I stepped off the IF rollercoaster. Without all the blood draws, injections, meds, ultrasounds, etc, it just feels like I don't have a lot to contribute lately.

I have been doing some research though. I bought the Newsweek that talks about "Fertility and Diet". Of course, they are very careful to state that it's "anovulatory infertility" that they are talking about, but still an interesting read.

In other news, I got contacted by someone regarding the new book coming out on Jan 2. by Cindy Margolis: HAVING A BABY…WHEN THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY ISN’T WORKING: Hope and Help for Everyone Facing Infertility.

I agreed to review it, and they offered at least one extra copy to give away on my blog! I haven't been keeping up with blogs, so you all might be reviewing too! ;) But so far, it is a good read, and I have a lot to say about it.

In the meantime, I hope you guys are having a wonderful holiday season. I have to say that Christmas was seriously better than Thanksgiving. Of course, it could hardly have been worse! Christmas was epic in comparison, actually. And no, I never did send out cards. Hopefully, we'll have something to announce next Christmas to make sending them worthwhile!

We're both still going to the gym. I have lost around 5 lbs, and The Man has lost his double chin. Operation Hot Mama is still going strong.

We're trying to figure out more ways to have fun and exercise and be active- two or three activities involve our dogs, which means there is a new project ahead.

Here's a pic of both the little hellions:



The blonde is Bear, and the black shaggy guy is Bosco. Bear actually used to be a "problem dog"- acting out, pooping in the house, jumping the fence (ok, the last one hasn't been addressed yet) and then some kind angel lent us the book by Cesar Milan, otherwise known as "The Dog Whisperer."

As it turns out, we weren't the owners of a "problem dog". We were the problem. It's worked like magic. Tonight, The Man told Bear, "Get in the tub, Bear!" so we could give him a bath. And he very meekly did. And this is the same dog that would have to be wrestled in every time before this. It's like crazy doggie voodoo.

The Man and I are heading for the coast tomorrow- with dogs in tow, to try to socialize them, and treat them to a ride in the car and maybe some good frolicking time at the beach. They haven't gotten to hang out much with other dogs, so we want to get them used to it- plans to visit the dog park are imminent, but have been postponed several times because our guys can be pretty wild. We plan to take pictures, and will hopefully escape with our lives.

Operation Hot Mama

The Man and I have joined a gym. (If you want specifics, you can read more here.)

It wasn't something I was specifically looking to do. I am in fact already a member of a women's gym across town. But I am bad about going....and now a new gym just opened up around the corner from us. It has a pool. The Man has been wanting to train for an officer position, which requires him to be in fantastic shape, with the ability to swim 1500 meters.

He told me this, and while I managed to successfully contain my laughter, this is a man who has never set foot in a gym EVER, and who tends to consider a lengthy afternoon of computer web surfing strenuous activity.

However, I am nothing if not supportive.

So we signed on the dotted line. My reasoning is, I have spent the last couple of years TRYING so hard to get pregnant, and nothing has worked. Maybe switching the focus towards "getting healthy" will be helpful, and maybe my body will figure out what to do on its own. Or not. But as The Man put it, "We may not be parents, but we will be HAWT! At least, this is kind of a guaranteed thing."

Thanks babe.

The added bonus is that I suddenly have a whole lot of time with him, and we are seeing new sides of each other, which you tend to do when you're up at 4:30 AM and struggling bleary-eyed into spandex pants.

Me: This time of day needs a name.

The Man: "The Time of Day That Shall Not Be Named"?

Me: I was thinking more like, "Satan's Buttcrack".

Guess which one we chose?

I have also accomplished a staggering amount by 8AM- Gone to the gym, gotten back, made breakfast and packed lunches for both of us, found a recipe for Peanut Chicken online and threw the ingredients in the crockpot, started cleaning out the fridge.

It's insane. Of course, the downside is, we will be exhausted and ready for bed around 7PM.

Now I have to call FedEx because those arsebrains seem to have lost The Man's Christmas gift. Which shows as "delivered", but never was. %^&*!