Susan's Actively Trying to Stay Sane

Chompers

2011-10-24T10:46:00.000-07:00

E has had some adorable bottom teeth for months now. Can you spot them in there??

They're cute as a button and although teething wasn't exactly a walk in the park, it was nothing compared to 3 months of colic. I considered us pretty lucky. That was, until last week. Last week I noticed E was sprouting some fangs-- little dangle teeth on top without teeth in between. I thought that was cute and appropriate for the season. Visions of vampires and bats and other funny Halloween costumes starting floating through my head.

And then ... the top middle teeth made an appearance. I began to have dreams of a different sort... ones involving self-committed mental institutionalization. Those top two puppies are MURDER!! She's a crying, cranky, emotional wreck. She's sleeping in small bursts, refusing to nap and is drooling buckets. Forget stem cells, scientists need to figure out how to cure diseases with baby drool. I'm pretty sure Miss E could single handedly produce enough slobber to rid the world of cancer.

They've finally broken through and the torture has eased a little, but the poor munchkin is still feeling some pain. We've tried frozen wash cloths, frozen teethers, Tylenol, warm baths and anything else we can get our hands on. However, the most effective product to date in my very official scientific double blind taste-test....er....I mean survey, has been Teething Tablets. I know, I know, they were pulled from the shelves for a while because there was rumor that contained trace amounts of heroin or something, but they're BACK! (I'm kidding, it wasn't heroin, but it was something equally as bad I think.... if you're really nervous, Google it). I understand that they're unresearched and probably no more than an overly hyped sugar pill (with trace amounts of narcotic), but whatever the case, I popped one of those babies under E's tongue and she was out before her head hit the mattress. It was GLORIOUS! GLORIOUS! I'm not advocating drugging up your kiddos, I'm not even saying you should try teething tablets, all I'm saying is that before teething tablets I was considering shaving my head and living out my life in seclusion and after teething tablets I'm dancing through the tulips with rainbows and unicorns. Of course that could just be the teething tablets talking.

So....

2011-10-20T11:57:00.000-07:00

The following things have happened:

1. I got a new job. At said job I'm paid to mostly twitter and facebook and chat all day -- I'm the marketing director. It's, in a nutshell, amazing. Except for the part where my boss doesn't really talk to me. That part is less than amazing.

2. Eleanor has teeth. She walks and says mama and dada -- correction, she cries Mama and says Dada. She also says Bob. I don't know who this Bob is, but judging from her tone, he's pretty obnoxious. Bob? Bob! Bob! Bob? I kid you not, he's a pest.

3. Our landlord lost her ever loving mind. She wrote us a three page hate letter because, from what I can gather, we didn't hose off the bottom of the house after we mowed?? I'm not sure... I didn't even know that was a thing people did. Anyway, she lost it and then I lost it and then I miiiighhhttt have called over the neighbor just to get him in the middle of it. And there were tears and yelling and a possible unrelated bloody nose that landed someone in the hospital. The details are ugly... let's skip to number 4.

4. We bought a house!!!! WOOOO raddly HOOOOOO!!!! We found a house online and fell in love. Then we went to check it out and fell through the floor. Not literally, but pretty close. It was a disaster. Whoever took the pictures that appeared on the website could make Richard Simmons look like a beef-cake. It was awful. But we didn't give up. We looked at another house and another and another until finally we had looked at all the houses in Pittsburg and settled on the second house we saw. It's adorable. Actually, we're considering it an investment property. We have a master plan to pay it off in 10 years and fix it up a little and then rent it out after we buy our DREAM HOUSE! So I'm calling this one the Doorway Dream House because that's what it is, a doorway to our perfect perfect perfect house.

5. Eleanor's eating everything in site. Bananas, crackers, carrots, random non-food objects (ok, she hasn't actually eaten anything like that yet, but she's freakishly fast at getting stuff to her mouth). However one of her FAVORITE things to eat is pears. This leads us to the best most amazing point of all........

6. The new house has a working pear tree! We have pears. Glorious, juicy, beautiful, delicious PEARS! Eleanor's in heaven and so am I! Technically they're not my pears until on or before November 30, but still... PEARS!

Well, I think you're caught up. Expect this blog to morph into house making / disaster projects / toddler spills and pear recipes. You can probably also expect me to fall off the planet again sometime, but know that I'll be back someday!

Dial it down

2011-04-08T07:41:00.001-07:00

Since I began staying at home, my darling Eleanor has been getting lots more attention. I think she loves it, but I'm worried I might be a tad stifling. I snapped the following picture of a recent play time:

Do you think she could be overstimulated? If you break it down, there really aren't that many toys. Lola chucked her mutilated dinosaur into the picture right before I clicked the shutter, so that shouldn't count. And there's a book in there. Books can't possibly be overstimulating -- they're BOOKS!

Yeah, I might need to cut back just a bit.

Before I completely reevaluate my approach to parenting can we take a second to zoom in on what's really important in this photograph:

Do you see 'em? BUNNY SLIPPERS!! I can't think of a single greater reason to have babies than to dress them up in bunny slippers. My heart is melting and my tatas are lactating just looking at that preciousness! How could you not just shower this darling little rabbit-shoed ball of adorable with anything her little heart desires?!

Yeah, I might need to cut back... just a bit.

Stay at Home Mommy

2011-03-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

So, turns out I'm no longer employed. There's a long story as to why, but it's really not all that funny so I'm gonna avoid it. Let's just say the decision was born of many tears and much soul searching. Yeah, so NOT funny. But, until I'm again gainfully employed I suppose I'm a stay at home mommy. This leads me to 2 points.

1. Being a SAHM (stay at home mommy) is AWESOME! This morning E and I cuddled in bed until the sun was too bright and beckoned us outside for a walk in the park. She nursed while gazing into my eyes and is now blissfully sleeping in her swing. The house is quiet and bright and I'm still lounging in yoga pants and a holey t-shirt.

2. Being a SAHM SUCKS! Holy hell, this is HARD! E and I hid under the covers as long as possible this morning trying to avoid seeing the mountains of dirty clothes and dirty bottles and dirty dishes and dirty diapers screaming to be cleaned. Unfortunately, E's diaper and my bladder finally demanded we leave bed. I tripped over the bouncer, Lola's leash, the swing, a pacifier and a receiving blanket on my way to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet praising myself for managing to avoid dropping the baby while braving that obstacle course when it dawned on me I was holding the baby while on the toilet. That has to be some sort of health code violation.

I thought maybe a little fresh air would perk us up so we headed to the park. Did you know that there are actually other people in the park at 9:30? People who look at you funny when you wear your pajamas to the park. We made it around the lake once before practically running back home -- it was colder than expected. And really windy. Yep, I'm that mom who drags her half-naked baby around the park in inclimate weather.

Trying to salvage what's left of my mommy pride I decided to nurse E to sleep and rock her in my arms. That was until her little icicle fingers and toes touched my bare belly which caused me to shriek, which caused the dog to shriek, which caused the drowsy baby to shriek... and continue shrieking.... still shrieking.... until I gave up, put her in the swing, cranked it up and let her and giraffe sort it out. She stopped crying instantly. I'm telling you, that giraffe has healing powers.
And there she lies. Sleeping peacefully in her swing as I reflect on how much I suck at being a SAHM! Please God let me go back to work soon before she realizes I don't know what I'm doing.

First time mom

2011-03-17T14:40:00.000-07:00

My husband has suggested I might suffer from hypochondria. At first I was skeptical, but after researching the symptoms, I can safely say this is one of many illnesses I've contracted over the years. Lately, however, it seems to encompass not just my sicknesses, but Eleanor's as well.

Since birth, I've been convinced she has temporary blindness, rabies, soap and water poisoning, rickets, thrush, explosive diarrhea, constipation (she actually had this) and the bird flu. Ok ok it wasn't actually bird flu but she did catch something from the 4 year-olds in my Sunday school class. Let's call it kindergarten flu. I've been treating her kindergarten flu with saline nasal spray and wet wipes and keeping my hypochondria at bay. Until..... she coughed. I panicked and did something The Husband has forbidden. I googled. I know, I know, TERRIBLE IDEA. As one who's easily persuaded, I should never EVER google, but last night I just couldn't help myself. Big mistake. After just a few clicks I was certain E had RSV, pneumonia and bronchitis simultaneously.

I laid awake all night (well, until I fell asleep) just staring at her chest and planning how I was going to synchronize CPR and a call to 911. I pictured myself screaming at the dispatcher, "LIFE FLIGHT HER!" between breaths and chest compressions. I might have overreacted just a tad. Alas, we made it through the night. I paced the floor until 8 am on the dot when our pediatrician's office opened. I tried to hide the panic in voice while I explained to the receptionist that my daughter was clinging to life. I even leaned the phone toward the, now-smiling baby in hopes that she would cough to accentuate my point that this was severe! She did not cough. She did not cough again all morning. She did not cough during her 10 am appointment. She has not coughed since.

Turns out she has a cold. And a mother with hypochondria.

The worst thing

2011-03-09T08:05:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned before that Eleanor has a "work schedule"? I just can't stomach the thought of putting my precious, perfect little pink princess (like that alliteration??) in day care. I seriously have nightmares about it that include giant man eating boogers and freckle-faced red-headed bullies. I can't even type about it. Anyway, because I can't stomach the thought of daycare, I had no option but to construct a meticulously designed system of care takers for the baby. Well, it's not so much meticulous as it is muddled, but it works. On Mondays she stays at home with Aunt Sarah, Tuesdays and Fridays belong to Grandma and she brings home the bacon with Mommy (me) on Wednesday and Thursday. Confused yet? I am!

But Eleanor's agenda is not the topic of today's post. The actual topic is the horror that is breastfeeding or breast pumping at work. EGADS -- it's a nightmare! Her schedule makes it a necessary evil, but I almost break out into hives just thinking about it. You should know that I work with all men; that's a large part of the problem right there. If I even so much as mention breastmilk, let alone show it to them in a container they all kinda cringe. But really it's the nudity that gets me. There is just no graceful way to latch a wiggly baby onto your exposed private parts.

I know, I know, I should be modern and carefree enough to unapologetically whip out my nipples and breastfeed anywhere anytime, but let's face it, I'm a coward. I believe in breastfeeding as necessary in public and I would be the first to cheer on any mama who sheds her bra to nourish her baby at the mall. Frankly, if just my tatas were giving the peep show I would probably be right there with her. My reservations, neigh my HORROR, comes from the thought that someone might accidentally glimpse...... my stomach. I'm serious, hear me out! I just had a baby so everything down there is all squishy and overlapping. And of course pregnant women in tanning beds are frowned upon so it's all pasty jiggly belly flesh. Add in my red stretch marks and I resemble a bloated hairless Bengal tiger -- it's not pretty.

After I had one or two nervous breakdowns when it came time to breastfeed E, the guys in my office clued in and made me a lactation spa. It was previously known as the spider corner due to the abundance of creepy crawly things that amassed over there, but they've since swept it out, put down a rug and hung what I fear might be a see-through curtain. Behind that thin, sheer vale, I can escape judgment and fear and let my mama milkers (and my muffin top hang out). Thanks guys!!

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers

2011-03-03T09:25:00.001-08:00

To say that my daughter is fussy is an understatement. I've described her as obstinate, particular, persistent and down-right discontent. I like to think that this little baby body is just too confining for all her potential. Inside, she has the makings of Ronald Regan, Maya Angelou, Mia Hamm and Picaso all just bursting at the seams and when she opens her mouth, nothing but burps escape. That's gotta be frustrating.

Then again, maybe she's just fussy.

Either way, she was hell in a handbasket this morning. Wednesday and Thursday are E's days to come to work with me. Usually this goes smoothly. Today, not so much. I don't know if it's the shots she had on Tuesday or her nap that was interrupted yesterday or the polish sausage I had for dinner last night, but whatever the cause she was screaming bloody murder ALL MORNING. My co-workers are patient, but I could see rage rising in their eyes.

I fed her. I bounced her. I burped her. I changed her. I covered her up. I uncovered her. I picked her up. I sat her down. I fed her again. I gave her a pacifier (inappropriately titled as it never "pacifies" Eleanor). And then finally I gave up. I sat her in her bouncer and in an attempt to simply drown out her screams, I cranked up some Tom Petty. Turns out, 'Mary Jane's Last Dance' is actually Eleanor's lullaby. I've been blasting the likes of Boston, Bob Seger, Pink Floyd and Steve Miller Band ever since and haven't heard a peep from the tot. I don't know if I should be excited or terrified. Do I have a cool rocker chick on my hands or a non-shaving, hemp-sandal-wearing, weed-smokin' hippie? This child's gonna be a trip...

In Honor...

2011-02-23T07:04:00.001-08:00

Eleanor's wearing her "big bow" today in honor of a sweet angel. Madison Paige, the daughter of an online pal, went to live with Jesus last week. She was just 4 months old. She's being laid to rest today and in her memory (she LOVED bows) many are dressing their little ones in pretty bows.

You can find Maddie's story here:

Kellie's Blog

Please hug your kiddos today. And say a little prayer for Kellie and her husband.

Today

2011-02-22T14:36:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday. That is all.

Ok, kidding. Although, I really REALLY RRRREEEAAAALLLLYYYY love my birthday. I've been know to block off the entire month of February as SUSAN'S BIRTHDAY. Yeah, I'm that girl. My obsession with my birthday doesn't have as much to do with celebrating "me" as it does with C-A-K-E. If heaven were a food it would be cake. I'm not kidding. Cake alone could probably cure all the world's diseases if eaten in large enough quantities. Cake. Is. Bliss. That is all.

But no seriously. The Husband got me a cute little gift this morning and then sent flowers... well, technically "Eleanor" sent flowers this afternoon. Lovely. :) We'll probably go out to dinner tonight and that's about the extent of it. Funny how having a baby changes things. Suddenly February 22 is just another day I get to see my baby smile up at me and my birthday. However, there are still a few things on my wish list. If anyone's itching to get me a gift, you can pick from the following:

1. 364 hours of sleep to spend at my leisure. I can cash them in at any time. During these hours, the rest of the world just pauses. E doesn't scream, Lola doesn't scratch at the back door (or eat another diaper - VOMIT - we'll discuss this in detail later when I can type it without puking on my Pumas) and Dave doesn't need help finding his belt. Seriously, the man loses his belt ALL THE TIME. How does this happen????

2. A maid. A butler. A nanny. And a stylist.

3. One free day to do nothing but sit on the couch, hold the baby and watch Law & Order reruns.

4. I would like The Husband to learn to breastfeed so my nipples and I could have a day off to drink martinis and keep our clothes on.

In all seriousness, Eleanor is such a beautiful miracle, I feel like every day is my birthday. Well, except the days she cries for more than 5 hours. Those days are kinda like the day after my birthday.

Battering Ram

2011-02-21T11:49:00.000-08:00

I should just make a note right off the bat here: Husband, if you're reading this, STOP NOW. You're just gonna get angry at me for what I'm about to type, so you may as well save us both the trouble and STOP READING NOW. Just go play Sim City or watch the 13th hour of Sports Center or something... it will be better in the long run.

Ok, now that he's gone, I absolutely must tell you how terrified I am by The Hubs' new method of quieting E's cry. For starters you should understand that E has a touch of colic. She cries A LOT. Both The Husband and I have gone to extreme measures to calm her, but his latest trick leaves me wincing every time.

Whenever she gets particularly fussy, he wraps her up tightly in his arms ... feet toward his belly and head positioned like a battering ram and runs through the house. HOLY CRAPOLA. I almost passed out the first time he did this. Here's why:

About a month before E was born, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I could hear The Husband playing with Lola (the little terrier) in the front room. I heard her little claws clickity clackity on our hardwoods followed by The Hubs' sneakers squeaking around a corner. I heard a bark or 2 and then....... THUDDDDDD! Lying half in the kitchen and half in the living room was my 6' 3" husband, face down. I hurried over to see what had happened. Both Lola and I stood staring at him with our heads cocked. To the best of everyone's assumption, he just toppled. Planted his feet and dove head first toward the cold hard tile of our kitchen. He laid there for about 2 minutes, collected what was left of his dignity, stood up and grumbled, "What? I just fell, that's all." Que uproarious laughter from both me and the dog.

Ok, now fast forward to the sight of this same husband streaking through the house in his SOCK FEET whizzing my screaming daughter around. My heart stops just typing about it. I've mentioned that this maybe isn't the best idea he's ever had, but there's no telling the man. How much do you think it would cost to have our house fitted with those padded gym mats from floor to ceiling? I should probably do the side walk too... just in case.

The Silent Sisterhood

2011-02-18T06:17:00.001-08:00

I'm happy to report a few things to you. First, despite many MANY obstacles, Eleanor's breastfeeding! Turns out her tummy doesn't care for dairy and her little bum doesn't care for soy. That doesn't leave a heck of a lot of options in the newborn meal plan. But, I took the plunge and gave up dairy (ish) and she's back on the boobie. Actually, I hate phrases like" back on the boobie" or "taking the tit" or anything else borderline vulgar like that. It just sounds so... trashy.

Wait, speaking of trashy, I'm going to digress here. This is probably going to offend a large majority of you, but I'm just gonna go for it. I have a real hard time dressing Eleanor in anything leopard print. When did this become a trend? Babies creeping around in wild animal designs? It just gives me visions of prostitutes and pole dancers and frankly, doesn't scream precious innocent baby girl. Is that really wrong and judgmental? Probably. Did I just become my mother? Certainly.

Ok, back to the good reports. Along with a more routine feeding schedule, Eleanor's also started sleeping through the night -- for the most part. Her "night" begins at wildly different times... 9, 10, 1:30. But once she goes down I get a good 6-7 hour stretch!!! Except of course, for last night. Last night she chose 10:30 as bed time which I thought was excellent until she chose 3 am as wake up time. Not cool, little E, not cool. So I got up and scrambled to get her out of her little nest before she really began screaming and then tried fumbling to get the nipple shield in place (yes, she has to use a nipple shield...topic for another day) and get her latched on and a burp rag under us so we don't start Lake Breastmilk on the mattress. All of this while half asleep, in the dark, trying not to wake the Husband or the Dog.

After all the chaos, E finished feeding and drifted back to dreamland leaving me wide awake and thinking. I began wondering how many mothers across the nation were awake doing the EXACT same thing at the EXACT same time. How many were cursing under their breath while a little one gnawed a throbbing nipple? How many stubbed a toe on the way to the kitchen to make a bottle? How many were fumbling for diapers in the dark and praying there wasn't poop on their hands? Motherhood really is a silent sisterhood. I was comforted by that thought and fell asleep quietly cheering all the selfless mamas out there and praying for those still trying.

Switched at Birth

2011-02-08T06:37:00.002-08:00

I'm not sure I brought home the right baby. Here's my reasoning:

1. Eleanor is really beautiful. We have strangers stop us to say, "Wow. You're daughter's really beautiful. I say that all the time, but this time I really mean it." That kind of beauty certainly wasn't inherited. On a good day I look like Stephanie Weir and the Husband, although handsome, has been likened to Napoleon Dynamite.

2. She was born normal size. The Hubs and I were both born GIGANTIC weighing almost 9 pounds. I was 23" long!! That's pretty much 2 feet! Eleanor is petite in comparison.

3. This one will really drive it home. Eleanor doesn't find farting in the least bit funny. And I'm not just saying she doesn't bust out laughing when the Hubs rips one. No, she vehemently hates breaking the wind. It's toot toot WAIL around here. Every single blip outta that girl's backside triggers waterworks. And it doesn't end there; she hates farting so much she uses it to punctuate her frustration at other things. For example, if she has a hard time latching while nursing she'll cry and fart simultaneously. Tummy time? Not a favorite... we roll her over and she instantly loses it -- tears and toots.

I'm telling ya... a pretty petite princess couldn't have come from this shallow gene pool. It's just not possible. I'm betting there's a family of tofu and rice cake eating, non-gas passing super models out there wondering where their baby went. I got her, folks and I'm not trading back!!

Mama's BACK!

2011-02-04T08:57:00.000-08:00

Hi friends!!! Did you ever expect me back????? No real thoughts on why I quit blogging. Maybe it's because there's not much funny about swelling induced pregnancy cankles. Or maybe it was sleepless night after sleepless night that gave me writer's block. Or perhaps because it's hard to type while using both hands to shovel Tums in my mouth. Whatever the reason, preggo-Susan abandoned you AGAIN! And for that I'm so sorry.

But on the bright side, I'm back! And with a precious new edition to boot! Meet Eleanor:

I promise that her outfits usually match. Well, sometimes...

She's amazing. I'm not sure how a little girl who doesn't laugh yet can be so hilarious, but that she is. This little bundle is bringing so much joy to our already jovial house. We're just bursting at the seams! Well, all except Lola that is. The once only child is still a bit jaded, but she's coming around. I have so much to tell you all! I can't wait to share all the quirks of motherhood with you, cyber pals. But first, I thought I would share E's birth story... just so ya know where I'm coming from! Be forewarned, it's not funny. Seriously. And it's long. But it's worth knowing. I promise a lighter note tomorrow. :)

Eleanor's Surprise Entrance

To say that E’s birth was a surprise is an understatement! She managed to turn an ordinary Thursday into the scariest, most amazing day of my life! I started the day at work…cleaning and organizing my desk before my maternity leave was to start the following week. It was the day before a long weekend and I was looking forward to a little time off. The husband and I were planning a nice night out, most likely our last before E arrived and changed everything.

Around 2, my boss picked me up for an afternoon meeting. I hopped in the passenger seat and headed out, blissfully unaware of what was coming next. We pulled into the parking lot of our client’s new office. We were talking when the car lurched forward a bit. My boss had bumped the curb while parking… something I’ve done a million times. I was wearing my seatbelt and felt a little tug in my belly. ‘It was really nothing,’ I tried reassuring myself, but I couldn’t quiet that voice in my head. I finished the meeting and we headed back to the office. I joked with my boss that his curb check had sent me into labor, although I honestly felt nothing.

Back in the office I decided to be a good, cautious patient and called my OB just to tell them about the curb incident. To my surprise, he insisted I head directly to the hospital to be monitored for 4 – 24 hours! I was less than enthused about the idea of spending New Year’s Eve unnecessarily hooked to monitors in the hospital, but I obliged.

I drove myself to the hospital and checked in. I actually announced myself by stating, “I’m Susan, Dr. H’s patient who’s NOT having a baby today.” The nurse laughed but obviously felt the same way when she set me up in a regular room… not a labor room. She didn’t even require me to change into a hospital robe. ‘Yep,’ I thought to myself, ‘I’ll be outta here in no time.’ I sat there feeling nothing and texting the husband for 20 minutes or so when the nurse popped back in. She took one look at my print out and her eyes went wide. “You’re contracting! 3 minutes apart!” I argued that I wasn’t feeling anything and she must be mistaken. She insisted on checking me anyway and I had progressed a little… I was at a 3 and 70% effaced.

It wasn’t long before the husband and the dr showed up. Dr explained that I needed to take things a little more seriously because I could be looking at an abruption of my placenta. He explained that if it fully detached we would have 18 minutes to get little E out before we would lose her. Those words were all I needed to hear to sober me up. Seeing the fright on my face, he reassured me that in his practice he’s only ever seen 2 abruptions and was able to save both babies. He promised that if my contractions slowed down after all the fluids were pumped into me, then the husband could get us some dinner and we would be released in the morning.

About an hour passed, contractions slowed and the nurse’s re-check showed no progress. We were told the likelihood of baby that night was slim and the husband could safely get us some dinner. He left to grab us some Sonic. 15 minutes later there was a shift change and the new nurse came to check on me. She looked at my print out and said, “I know you were just checked, but I have a feeling I should recheck you.” A minute later she pulled out her hand covered in blood. She immediately called doctor and came back to watch the monitor. By this time, baby was falling off the monitor more than she was on. Basically her heartbeat wasn’t registering at all. Dr showed up within 5 minutes and said, matter of fact, “This is your baby telling us there is something wrong and we’re going to listen. We’re getting your baby out right now.” The room started spinning and filled with nurses and techs and paper work and IV meds. I just sat there scared and alone and crying. Finally one sweet nurse suggested I call my husband who was still blissfully unaware and picking up a dinner we would never eat. He was SHOCKED by the phone call and managed to make it up to our room in less than 5 minutes. Things happened so quickly from this point. I was wheeled into surgery and given the spinal block. It didn’t hurt like I expected. I mean, it hurt, but not in the manner I was expecting. The husband came in and things got started. It took less than 15 minutes to get baby out. I could hear her crying as they rushed her to the warmers. I was too shocked to cry, but my heart immediately melted. They brought her to me and I got the first glance of her beautiful eyes. What a moment!!

I had to stay in surgery as they sewed me up. This waiting was so horrible. After 45 min or so I was wheeled to my room and thankfully my mom was waiting in there for me. I was warned I would be there for an hour before I could see my baby. Although this was heart-breaking it was bearable. That’s when the husband came in to give me the awful news, E’s temp wasn’t regulating and it would be 6 hours before I could touch or see her. I was devastated. However, thanks to some very sweet nurses, they snuck her in after 3 hours and I was able to nurse. What a memory. She was just so so beautiful.

My doctor came in early the next morning to talk to me about all that had happened. He told me I was ¾ abrupted when they went in and E’s life was saved because we were in the hospital. Had I not called or heeded his advice, my placenta would have detached at home and we would have lost this precious little girl. I am so grateful to God that what I felt was utter chaos, was actually his beautifully scripted plan. We also owe our dr a great debt of gratitude – his quick action saved our baby girl.

She's not Jesus!

2010-10-06T11:15:00.001-07:00

Last night I was quizzing the Husband on why he doesn't daily shower my belly with affection and sweet nothings. It only makes sense to me that after years and years of failed attempts to get anything to sprout in there that he would want to talk to our little one daily... even if she is still shielded by a couple layers of my belly fat. But, it seems, that's just not the case. Frankly, I have to force him to talk to the bump. This usually ends with the Husband screeching in the general direction of my mid-section using a freakish monster voice and me wailing that his daughter is going to come out scared of him.

This scenario was re-enacted in our room last night. I begged the hubs to say a little something to Eleanor (who is still an Eleanor, by the way... phew!!). He very begrudgingly obliged and mumbled a little something about her mom being insane. It was at this point that I finally interceded, "Why don't you like to talk to her?" He thought it over for a few minutes (or just bought time by being silent and looking pensive) and finally responded, "I don't know. It's just kinda weird. I don't know what to say." I responded with much sensitivity, "That's crazy. I talk to her ALL THE TIME!"

It was the Husband's response to this comment which has me seriously questioning his grip on reality. He immediately replied, "Yeah, but you don't have to talk out loud to her." WHAT?! She's not JESUS! I can't pray to the baby in my womb!! Of course I again replied with all the sensitivity of a warthog and laughed out loud until I nearly wet the bed. He stammered a defense, "but she's, like, IN you." I explained that just because she was renting a room in my womb didn't leave us with an intrinsic ESP link, much the same way that while having sex the Husband can't read my mind (not that I haven't wished that to be a time or two).

He was, of course, embarrassed and annoyed at my response. And I had to apologize a few times for the excessive laughter. But it did leave me wondering about the male view of pregnancy. Sure, I realize the wee one is growing inside me. I feel her kicks and movements and that makes it a lot easier to believe the reality of it all. I imagine for men pregnancy must be akin to awaiting a delivery from UPS. You know the approximate delivery date, you're aware that the item is in transit and there's little you can do to stop it's arrival (or speed it up, for that matter). But, I suppose, it's just a bit harder to really understand what's happening. I suppose I can cut him so slack. Hope he figures it out soon though so Eleanor doesn't come out thinking her dad's a mime.

Just so you know...

2010-09-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

It's 1 week until my second gender ultrasound ... the one to make sure Eleanor didn't grow a who-ha.

Then it's 5 weeks until my shower.

Then 2 weeks until Thanksgiving.

Then 4 weeks until Christmas

Annnnnndddddd..... 2 weeks until baby.

That's practically TOMORROW. I swear, every day it gets a week closer. This poor child isn't going to have a nursery until April. AGHK!

And can we take a second to talk about what I'm going to do if Eleanor did, in fact, become a boy in the last 8 weeks? I'm pretty sure that I will:
A. Cry.
B. Mourn the loss of my "daughter".
C. Worry that I've caused significant and lasting gender confusion for my "son" who will now undoubtedly grow up to wear eyeliner and compete in drag queen shows... all because I called him Eleanor in the womb. Not to mention that he's going to have to wear nothing but pink until he's in Kindergarten. Here's hoping she's still a her.

Holy Heartburn

2010-09-16T08:00:00.001-07:00

My book says that women with heartburn are more likely to give birth to babies with a full head of hair. If this is true, then I'm growing Rapunzel. Holy MOTHER!!! It's like nothing I've experienced before. It feels as if, not only my heart, but my entire upper respiratory system has been set ablaze. Sheer misery.

Now here's the ironic part. A few nights ago for dinner I wolfed down 1 chicken breast, a bit of corn and some mashed potatoes. I then spent the entire night sitting upright in bed shooting flames out my mouth. Seriously. From potatoes! The following night it was a turkey sandwich for supper and the same nagging heartburn a few hours later. I swear, we could have roasted marshmallows in my chest cavity. But get this... last night -- supreme pizza with cheese sticks washed down with Dr. Pepper and 3 chocolate chip cookies (don't you judge me) and NOTHING. NADA. It was practically the ice age in my body. WTF?!

So here's my theory. Eleanor's just making her preferences known early. Healthy chicken breast? Lean turkey? Nourishing corn on the cob? COMPLETE CRAP. Give the child a pizza and she's happy as a lark. This may be the first indication that she's actually my child! I mean, besides the fact we share a circulatory system.

Caught in the act

2010-09-07T07:42:00.000-07:00

Since finding out I was pregnant, I've been taking bi-monthly belly pics. It seemed like fun 5 months ago when my belly was flat(ish). However, now that I'm practically whale sized, it's losing it's luster. I used to anticipate the morning photo and pour over the millimeters of growth I saw in my mid section every Monday. Now I take the pictures every-OTHER Monday and try not to spot the 4 week picture when uploading my newest plus-size-pic to the message board. Seriously, my gut is out of control!

I used to make The Husband take the photo, but that tradition has also gone by the wayside. Today I was at work when I realized I hadn't shot anything in a couple weeks. I don't know what got hold of me, but I decided to take matters into my own hands. There isn't anyone else in the warehouse of the sign company I work for this morning, just me and the cat. I also doubted we would have any walk-ins considering the down-pour that broke out.

I set up the camera's self timer, positioned myself in the classic pregnant pose (one hand on top, one on bottom), took 3 miss-shots and then finally geared up for a 4th. The little timer light blink, blink, blink, blinked... and then... A CUSTOMER WALKED IN. Right into the flash of my belly picture! I tried to jump out of the way and pretend I was photographing signs, but there were no signs anywhere in sight. Then I tried pretending nothing happened. This lasted an awkward minute or so with both of our eyes darting around the room in uncertainty. Finally I just gestured towards my obvious mid-section and stammered, "Belly" like a toddler just learning the names of body parts. Seriously, Belly? This is all I could think to say?!

The customer looked at me like I was in serious need of medical intervention and then chose to continue on professionally. I chose to run and hide under my desk. This last maneuver didn't really help my cause either, especially considering I no longer FIT under my desk. Now I'm just a wacky pregnant lady typing my pathetic blog from the floor adjacent to my desk because I can't get myself up off the ground. Please tell me this gets better soon....

And, in case you were wondering:

THEN AND NOW (3.5 - 22 weeks)

The weekend of Eleanor

2010-08-30T07:45:00.000-07:00

It was the weekend of Eleanor. Not the weekend that she was born or anything. Although, upon telling my friend Adrienne that The Hubs and I were about to watch The Last Exorcism, she warned me not to scare myself into early labor. This thought, of course, was more terrifying than the entire movie. Thankfully, no water broke during the film - but I did threaten to spritz the smelly bare foot of the big guy sitting behind me if he didn't put it away. In hindsight, this wasn't my smartest decision to date, but hey, who's gonna hit a pregnant chick??

I digress. This was the weekend of Eleanor's Stuff. We planned a trip to KC around a cloth diapering class I wanted to take. I know, cloth diapering (GASP!). I don't really want to talk about it. All you nay-sayers can just keep to yourselves and silently rejoice in February when I'm knee deep in poo and re-thinking my life. The class actually went well. There were 3 other couples there. After the lecture portion, one of the other moms-to-be and I started talking. She mentioned that she had already stock-piled 50 diapers and I told her I was just starting to figure it out and didn't actually own any diapers yet. After giving my belly the once-over she retorted, "Well, it looks like you're starting early enough." What's that supposed to mean? Does my bump not measure up? I later overheard her telling someone her due date which is a whopping 9 days before mine and decided to take her previous comment as Eleanor's first skinny compliment.

After the cloth class and lunch with good friends, we met up with another couple we adore. Here's where Eleanor went from diapers to diva. Awaiting us at their place was the mother-load of hand-me-downs from their sweet daughter who will be almost exactly a year older than ours. There was a girl in my high school who didn't wear the same outfit twice for an entire semester... yeah, I'm pretty sure Eleanor's going to be the equivalent in our church nursery. There were so many things... so many CUTE things, to boot. I'm still planning my thank you gift which should include a bottle of Amaretto if I can muster up the balls to waltz my pregnant bump into the liquor store. Won't that be a site?! Just a picture of the clerks face could keep me laughing for weeks!

There were other stops along our trip... few of them note worthy. It really was a fantastic weekend. I swear, each day that passes brings more excitement and joy and anticipation and heartburn... but more on that tomorrow. :)

Wal-Mart.

2010-08-23T07:50:00.000-07:00

I'm insane. This isn't a question, it's a fact. Insanity abounds inside me. And now that I'm pregnant, well, it's just out of control. Generally, I reserve the true moments of crazy and unleash them only on telemarketers, anyone answering a customer service call (US Cellular breeds a particular brand of moron), and commercial business in general. This could explain my undying hatred of Wal-Mart.

I'm sure most of you know the story, so I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say, Wal-Mart and I have parted ways. There was some cranky old cashier who made a dumb off-handed comment, I flailed about a bit, there might have been some cat litter chucked across the front of the store... and then I made the pledge. I call it my Wal-Mart ban where-in I swore a solemn oath not to shop at Wal-Mart for 1 year. If you know my small town and the lack of store choices, you would realize what an undertaking it was. But, alas, I made it and I actually loved every minute. Each time I would buy from a farmers' market, or a local merchant I felt a little swell of pride for my principles and a pinch of disdain for the corporate monster in blue.

My year actually passed quickly and my buying habits completely changed. Believe it or not, I even saved money. But now, the hard part. I pledged to myself I wouldn't shop at Wal-Mart for 1 year, realizing that swearing it off completely would be impossible. However, I didn't account for the time after my year's sentence was served. Wal-Mart is now such a demon in my head that I can't shop there. It's been a year and a half and I just can't cross the threshold. I tried once... got as far as the parking lot before I began to sweat and palpitate and had to turn tail and run for my car. This wouldn't be much of an issue except for one little detail.

They have a crib. A crib I LOOOOOOOVVVVEEEEE. I found it online and it's $100 less than anywhere else I've seen it. It even has free shipping, with one little catch. I have to have it shipped to the store. So what do you think, readers, can I do it? Can I actually place the order, feed the blue beast, walk all the way to the BACK of the store and pick up my item? I just don't know if I have it in me.

The big reveal...

2010-08-10T13:26:00.000-07:00

Sugar and spice and everything nice... that's what our little gal's made of. :) Bubblegum (her pre-gender nickname) is a GIRLLLLL!!!!! Yea! I was worried I would have gender disappointment if I didn't see a penis, but turns out I wanted a girl all along. What would I do with a boy anyway? The universe has spoken and we're buying pink (well, probably purple actually, who really likes pink?)

The rest of the appointment was uneventful. Doc Higgi scanned and measured everything. He pointed out her foot and declared, without a doubt, that it was a girl foot. Took me several minutes to realize that he was kidding and then everyone had a good laugh at my expense. Also, she refused to turn over so he only got to see one side of her head, but stated, "Well, at least she has one ear." So, I guess I can work with that. The Husband assured me it's better than two on one side.

Oh and last, but not least, she has a NAME! Eleanor Quinn. Has sort of a ring to it, don't you think? Now, off to shop shop shop!

Red or Green?

2010-08-09T07:44:00.000-07:00

TOMORROW!!!

TOMORROW!!!

Reasons I love tomorrow:

1. It's no longer Monday. This is even better considering this particular Monday (aka Today) is my first day back to work after a 4 day lake weekend. More on this later.

2. Tomorrow I FINALLY get my car back from the C*C%$~C%3R$ at the service center. We are now entering the FOURTH week of my car being in the shop. If I typed curse words I would be typing them right now.

But the number 1 (which is technically #3 because appearantly I suck at math) reason I love tomorrow:

3. We get to find out if our little one is team Edward or team Jacob. Wait... that's not right, we get to find out if the baby is a BOY or a GIRL!!!!

We are hoping it's a boy for various reasons, but I'm almost 100% sure it's a little girl. I have no basis for my belief except my intuition. It just feels like a girl... so, there you have it! Opinions? Anyone wanna place bets? Double the pot if you can cover the spread (I don't even know what that means, but I've heard bookies say it before. Yeah, I know bookies... what of it?!)

Size Issues

2010-08-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

I have learned 2 things to be true about pregnancy and baby so far in my life:

1. My size is > the size of my clothing.
2. My house is < the size of my baby items.

Allow me to elaborate. First, number 1. I'm in an ever-constant state of growth. I think this is directly related to my ever-constant state of consumption (I can't help it... a girl's gotta eat!) At first my pants just got a little snug, so I bought one of those Bella Bands -- ya know, the half-shirt tube thing that goes around your middle and holds up your unbuttoned pants? Yeah, it didn't really work for me.
Ok, actually I got the cheap knock-off from Target which might have been half my problem. Seems that the band didn't do much to hide the fact that my pants were, in fact, not zipped. And the dang thing kept rolling up until it was just a high-dollar rubber band around my middle. I went from muffin top to hamburger buns and it was NOT flattering.

Quickly bucking the B Band, I borrowed a few maternity clothes. This is great, except I'm about a foot taller than my friend, so everything has turned into "maternity capris". Finally this weekend I bought some ACTUAL maternity clothes and they seem to be fitting alright for now. I'll let you know for sure after I finish second breakfast.

Next, number 2. This one is a bit more alarming. I ordered my first baby item, a Pack 'n' Play in cute gender neutral colors. Of course the second it arrived at my house I tore open the box, strung out all the pieces and yelled for The Husband to come assemble it. It actually went together fairly quickly. Only after it was together did I look around and realize that The Husband, Lola (the fur child) and I were actually standing inside the pack and play as all open floor space in our home was now consumed by baby things (thing, actually). No kidding. It seems the playard takes up about 75% of our 2 bedroom home. The swing a friend loaned us over the weekend takes up the remaining 25%. I have no idea where the baby is going to reside because we are now at max capacity. Sorry cute espresso-colored crib, too bad toddler high-chair, forget it changing table -- there's just no room! However, I'm pretty sure I'll make room for this, it's simply a must-have:

You're gonna get really really big.

2010-07-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

You'll be happy to know, dear readers, that the uncomfortable subject we discussed a couple blogs back -(the itch)- yeah, it's all cleared up. Let's observe a moment of silence in honor of healthy nether regions.

Unfortunately, I do need to discuss the events surrounding the incident in a bit more detail. Don't get antsy yet, I promise to only mention the term once (ok, twice). You see, last week I had a dr's appointment. The one during which my child quacked- remember that? Yeah, well, I left out the part where my doctor got all snarky and sarcastic with me. I'm pretty sure I'm either his favorite patient and he finds me hilarious or I'm his LEAST favorite patient and he dreads the days I come in. For sanity's sake, I've convinced myself it's the first.

Now, we're at the appointment and I'm sitting in the ever vulnerable legs-up, pants-off position when we begin to discuss the yeast infection. I'm showing obvious discomfort at the plague that's befallen me when Dr. Higgi drops the bomb, "You know, many women have a yeast infection throughout their entire pregnancy." At this point I retracted my legs and covered my whoo haa to ward off the jinx he had just spoken to my lady bits. "NOOOO!" I gasped. He shook his head and clearly decided to have some fun at my expense. "You're gonna get really really big too!" And then I fell off the table.

Everyone laughed, it was funny. But seriously! Can a doctor say such things? I realize that pregnancy isn't a skinny lady's sport, but you don't have to say it out loud! I wanted to ask exactly how big we were talking, but I thought that might risk making me look dense. At least he didn't say my boobs would sag. There's hope!

If it talks like a duck...

2010-07-13T08:43:00.000-07:00

I made it to the 2nd trimester!!! There seems to be some debate about when that starts... 12 weeks, 13 weeks, 4 months?! But regardless, I heard the words "SECOND TRIMESTER" out of my doctor's mouth today so that makes it official. Woot.

I also heard something alarming today during the routine heartbeat check (my favorite part of the appointment, of course). The baby was moving all over -- only coming into range for a few random heartbeats before swimming away. This is not the alarming part. After several unsuccessful attempts to count the BPM the nurse pushed a little harder and finally got the little one pinned down so we could hear about 15 seconds of beating. And then... he quacked. Or she. Gender questions aside, I SWEAR THE BABY QUACKED -- TWICE! I sat up and looked at the nurse who was just as bewildered as me and asked, "Did the baby just quack?" She nodded and said, "He did. I mean, it did. I think." At this point we all cracked up. The nurse had to turn the doppler off because it was crackling loudly from my laughter.

Surely I'm not carrying duck babies, am I? I realize this is medically impossible, but you don't understand the clarity with which we heard quacking. I was startled. I'm now apprehensive about my gender ultrasound in a few weeks... "Congratulations, mama, you're having a..... DUCK."

DON'T READ THIS ONE: trust me

2010-07-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

WARNING: If you are a man, easily offended, feeling queasy or quick to judge you should stop reading NOW. I'm serious... you most likely do not want to read the following post. Heck, I don't even want to type the following post, but in the interest of honest reporting I feel the need to disclose the important events of my life. And trust me... right now, this is IMPORTANT!

Are you sure you want to read on?

This is your last chance to turn back.

You'll see me differently after this blog. If you can't handle that... this is your last warning.

Alright brave souls, here it is... I have an itchy vajayjay. There, I said it. Now, excuse me while I bury my head in the sand. It's awful. AWFUL I TELL YOU!!! I don't know what happened. I've done nothing that would warrant such a curse, yet alas, I believe I have the dreaded yeast infection. Surely it's because of the baby and all the wacked hormones coursing through my veins.

I tried to ignore it at first; decided I needed to just take a shower. That didn't work. Then I decided I just needed more breathable pants. One pair of loose fitting shorts later and it still felt like I had been gang raped by mosquitoes. By Sunday afternoon, I'd had it. I drove myself to Walgreens and walked bravely into the feminine hygiene section. I was determined to buy the most potent stuff they sold. I picked up the giant kill-all and almost made it to the check out when a tiny little voice said, "What about the baby?" ARRRGGHHHH!! What about the baby?! I'm fairly certain this travesty has befallen me BECAUSE of the baby. But, I couldn't ignore the voice and so I took the giant box and it's accompanying neon sign that reads, "Her vagina itches" to the 75 year old pharmacists. I handed it over and asked, "Can I use this if I'm pregnant."

This is the point where it got awkward. He stammered a little bit and stumbled over his words and then just began using random medical terms.... "Err um, placenta, ehhh embryo, vaginal uhh canal." I think he was thrown by the panicked look in my eye. He could see through to my soul and my soul was screaming, "Scratch your privates NOW!" Basically, the answer was no. "I'm sorry pregnant lady, but you can't use the Monistat cream until you call your doctor." I gently reminded the 75 year old pharmacist that it was Sunday and I would be dead by Monday when my doctor's office opened. The headlines will read, "WOMAN DIES AFTER SCRATCHING OFF HER LADY PARTS." He suggested an anti-itch cream and I went on my way.

The moral of the story? Well, there isn't one. All I can say is that if that nurse doesn't return my call stat I'm going on a murderous rampage.

Mom Butt

2010-07-06T08:01:00.000-07:00

Can we take a minute to discuss my body please? Well, actually, I just want to talk about it and you can all follow along. No real discussion necessary. I hate to admit that my bod has been on my mind more than baby lately... but it's for good reason. I fear post-baby ugly is in my future.

Allow me to explain. I have stellar self esteem. Like seriously good. Probably too good considering what I've got to work with. I blame my folks. They always told me I was fabulous and therefore, I believe I'm fabulous. In high school I was freakishly thin and lanky tall. On paper I probably had the measurements of a model, but I certainly wasn't fleshing out that look. I was just an awkward bony kid with a weird face and SUPER weird hair. I mean, don't get me wrong, I had boyfriends, but I was nothing to write home about. Nevertheless, I always thought I was great. I wasn't vain, but I also wasn't crying in the mirror every morning. I was always just "ok" with my look.

Now, let's fast forward to the present...well, actually the pre-pregnancy me. I am no longer freakishly thin. I wouldn't even say I'm thin. I'm actually border-line chubby, but ya know what? I'm ok with that. I can work slightly chubby because it came with tatas and a plump rear that high-school Susan was seriously lacking. My husband loves me and I love me and I'm still "ok" with my look. It's the self-esteem, I'm telling ya!!

But now there's a tiny little seed of doubt creeping in. I think the baby invited him. I can feel it setting up camp at the base of my brain. It's just hanging out back there whispering about the unknown terrors that lie ahead. What if my belly turns into a road map of ugly stretch marks that most certainly won't compliment my pale skin? What if my now-pleasantly-plump bottom turns into 2 ham hocks fighting for room in my mom pants?? God-forbid, what if my boobs turn into something out of National Geographic?!? I have good boobs right now... I'm serious! And if those puppies go, well, I just don't know what I have left! And I can't even begin to type about my vaginal fears. Does that thing EVER recover?!?!!!???

I know they say you can't tell if your own kid is ugly; I believe that you see beautiful no matter what comes out. But is the same true about yourself? Will I love my stretch marks because they are battle scars? Will my saggy tatas remind me of breast-feeding bliss? Will I love my mom-butt because it fits better in old-lady jeans? Somehow I find that hard to believe.

The Town Crier

2010-06-28T13:02:00.001-07:00

I am not a crier. Is that a word, crier? I don't think it means what I want it to mean. To revise: I don't cry easily. The Husband, on the other hand, is a bit on the weepy side. Not in an un-manly way or anything, but he does have the ability to show genuine emotion... something I lack. In my world, if something's sad, I make it into a joke (i.e. see all previous blog posts). This is particularly unfortunate at funerals, but that's a topic for another day. In my husband's world, if something's sad, he gets a little wet in the eyeballs. This is normal and I think it's endearing.

Until recently I was convinced that my child's only hope for displaying appropriate emotions was a healthy dose of The Husband's gene pool. That was, until last week. This pregnancy thing... yeah, well, it's made me crazy. A crazy, weeping fountain. A crazy, weeping fountain of insane emotions. Please, allow me to illustrate with a list:

Things That Would Make Susan Cry Pre-Pregnancy:

Steel Magnolias (I'm sorry, this movie is just devastatingly sad)
Remembering the day my daddy died
A swift kick to the face -- I've never sustained one of these, but I can assume the blow to my sinuses would have to cause at least a few tears to fall. Other injuries, however, (like a stubbed toe or broken jaw -- I've had both) lead to no more than a few curse words.

Now, to compare:

Things That Make Preggly-Susan (trying this phrase out... is it working? I don't think so) Cry:

Steel Magnolias
Anything involving anybody's daddy anywhere
Pain of any kind as it could, in some unforeseen way, harm my growing baby
Any sporting event where someone eventually wins and someone inevitably loses. PARTICULARLY an underdog story.
Toy Story 3
Absolutely any show on TLC, A&E or the Bio Channel
The Radio
My dog Lola
The Husband
Work
Well.... you get the point.

I'm such a wuss these days! I think my child must be the Bill Gates of emotion. Seriously, there's so much cry inside me, I'm not sure it's all going to escape when I birth the baby. I feel like I'll still be a "crier" in 6 years!! Oh man, in six years I'll have a 6 year old... playing T-Ball and going to Kindergarten... oh Lord, here I go again.

The Doppler

2010-06-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

I bought a Doppler! For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, allow me to explain. My lime-sized little one (yep, the babe is the size of a lime this week) has a tiny beating heart, I believe it's dime sized. Clever, I know. So the dime in the lime is ticking away in quarter-time. Ok, this is getting out of control. Let me start over:

I bought a Doppler. I'm fairly certain that The Husband was under the impression I was going to forecast tornado outbreaks from our bedroom when I told him I had ordered a Doppler. I may or may not have let this impression linger so that he wouldn't deny my request to spend $40 on an unnecessary baby item. You see, the Doppler allows me to hear Baby's heartbeat between dr's appointments. I use the term "hear" loosely because, well, it wasn't as easy as the eBay ad made it out to be.

Here's how the whole thing went down. I'll outline it chronologically for you:

I found and fell in love with a Doppler Fetal Heart Monitor (not a Doppler Radar) on eBay.
I waited (very impatiently) for said Doppler to come in the mail.
I wrote 3 letters demanding that my Doppler appear before me instantaneously -- I should mention here that I'm a pregnant lady and that's pretty much synonymous with crazy. Therefore, during the remaining months of my pregnancy I should not be held responsible for my actions.
My Doppler finally did appear, 5 days after I ordered it. I can wait 9+ months for a baby, but I can NOT wait 5 days for a Doppler... this is ENTIRELY TOO LONG!
I ripped open the Doppler while still sitting at my desk and immediately plunged it into my pants and against my lower abdomen as instructed.
I realized that the "hand-in-my-pants-look" was unprofessional and excused myself for an early lunch.
I spent 1.25 hours at lunch attempting to hear the heart beat. I heard nothing but my lunch digesting.
I spent 3.45 hours after work attempting to hear the heartbeat. Unsuccessful. I pushed, I pulled, I tilted, I hung off the end of the bed. All unsuccessful.
Then... just as I was about to give up,I heard it. IT WAS GLORIOUS!!
I screamed loudly and wildly for The Husband to come listen. I screamed with a passion that should be reserved for times of fire or crisis only. I screamed so loudly that I scared the baby. I was fairly certain that I had actually caused the heart to quit beating with my shrieks, but I was able to find it again quickly. It was a moot point however, because The Husband was sitting 9" from the TV watching soccer on volume level 49. He did not hear my screaming. He did not hear the heartbeat. I'm just lucky there wasn't a fire!

The Long Awaited Return

2010-06-22T06:42:00.000-07:00

Knock, knock... remember me? I'm that quasi-funny blogger you used to follow. The one with infertility problems and weird hair?? You might not recognize me now because I'm PREGNANT. Yep, knocked-up, bun in the oven, with child, preggers, eating for two (this one's not exactly a new thing for me), expecting and as one creepy customer put it "of the family way". Took me 10 minutes to figure out what he was saying...might have been easier if he had all his teeth. You'll notice I left one term off the list: Prego. If you're like me, prego conjures up one image and one image only: spaghetti. The last thing I need to be compared to right now is a thick, meaty, pungent, chunky sauce. None of these words should ever be used to describe a woman "of the family way". (Dadgumit, that phrase is gonna stick).

A lot has changed since I left you last. There's the baby part, and the... well, the baby part is pretty much it, but that's giant! I'm due 1/11/11. And I'm currently 11 weeks! Remember this post about my body's thing for odd numbers? The Numbers Game -- I'm just saying. The hubs and I did finish our foster parenting classes and we're certified to take kiddos, but that's on hold for now. We will come back to that, but not for a little while. Right now I need to focus on growing a person and holding down my bananas. That reminds me that I have a funny banana story, but I should probably save it for tomorrow. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with my hilarity on the first day back!

Sorry I'm late

2010-04-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog World,

I'm so sorry that I keep neglecting you. This level of humor takes time to mature and... who are we kidding, I just get writer's block easily. Dear readers, I'm sorry that I leave ya hanging every week. Thanks for loving me anyway.

Love,
The Barren Babe

That said, can we take a minute to discuss how I was LATE to foster class. L-A-T-E. I sit right under the rules poster which clearly states that lateness is not tolerated. In my defense, I was actually on time, but they started early. Clearly, this is not my fault. However, no one seemed to take my side in the matter as I tiptoed to my seat. Do you think this makes me look unfit for parenting? Because, in all honesty, I'm generally late.

I was a late bloomer, not sprouting boobs until well into my 20's (this could have something to do with weight gain, but that's neither here nor there). I was always late to class and I'm perpetually late to work. I'm late writing blog posts. I'm even late on having babies. The only thing that's NOT late EVER is my period. Woah...wait...that's the first time in the history of this blog that I've used the word period. Yep. Don't like it, but nothing else fit there.

Anyway, other than my tardiness, there's not much to report on the foster parenting front. I'm learning lots and my classmates ask some of the best questions. They use words like reintegration and truancy. I've only managed to ask if I ever get to go on vacation again in my life. The answer, I'm happy to report, was yes. I can vacation anywhere I want in the state of Kansas. Ok ok, that's not entirely true, but vacations seem like a complicated ordeal better dealt with later on in the process (or never, if I continue to be late).

See, dear readers, this is why I haven't blogged in a week. All I've got is some ramblings about lateness and my desire for exotic vacations. I promise to do something exciting tomorrow to really get the blog juices flowing. In the mean time, check out this hilarity that my friend (holla Christine) turned me onto: http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/

Susan, The Rocket Scientist

2010-04-13T13:44:00.000-07:00

This may surprise some of you, but I used to be smart. Like, seriously nerd-alert smart. I say "used to" because I peaked somewhere around 7th grade. It's a strange phenomenon (the fact that I had to spell check that word only further proves my point) that I chalk up to my unique blend of laziness and apathy. My mother would tell you that I got dumber when I discovered boys, but she's the same mother who told me kissing leads to babies and we all know how accurate that fact was in my life. Regardless of the reasons, it happened. Much in the style of Benjamin Button, my brain has been aging backwards, from Einstein to Paris Hilton. Ok ok, I was hardly Einstein, but you get my point.

Talking to a good new friend today (holla Kelly) I realized that my reproductive cycles are beginning to parallel my past-tense genius in a really creepy way. Woah, smart sentence right there. But seriously, before going on birth control (8 billion years ago) I had regular cycles and probably could have popped out a baby on a moment's notice. Fast forward 8 billion years and after coming off the Evil Pill, I started to notice more and more Sundays passing between visits from Aunt Flo. The last nail in my reproductive coffin came with my miscarriage last winter. Since then I don't think I've even ovulated (a key component to making babies). It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that things aren't going in the right direction.

I'm hoping to channel 7th grade Susan and ask her to solve my fertility problems. She'll probably ask why I'm not married to Kirk Cameron or Luke Perry and I'll have to explain how I broke both their hearts when I fell for The Husband (who's both younger and cuter). Then hopefully, if I bribe her with chocolate and the secret to talking our mother into a later curfew, she'll help me solve this fertile crisis.

The Lists

2010-04-08T10:53:00.000-07:00

It came! It came! Our packet of information and paper work from the foster-to-adopt agency came in the mail yesterday. For a few brief moments I channeled Second-Grade-Susan and poured over the papers, outlining them in my Lisa Frank notebook. Ok, Lisa Frank wasn't present (does she still exist?), but it was just as fun as any back-to-school supply list. My head started racing with ideas and family planning was fun again. The Hubs even got into it.

We agreed that we need several lists. First will be the Master List and will include all the deadlines for certification, dates of classes, questions, etc. Next will be the Supply List which will outline all the ...wait for it... supplies we need. These include cabinet locks, carbon monoxide detectors and a full color escape route to post in the house. This last part is laughable if you've ever visited our house. It's not exactly maze like... you'd have to be pretty special not to find your way to a door. But, the rules are the rules.

Next on the list of lists is the Children List. We unanimously agreed that we need clearly defined boundaries of what children we're capable of fostering or adopting. You see, both The Husband and I are big ol' softies. If we don't make clear limits we're going to end up like "The Green House Gang". The GHG was a foster home in the town I grew up in. They lived, you guessed it, in a green house and at any given time there were at least a dozen kiddos in the family. I'm not saying their needs weren't met, but I am saying I never knew them by name. They were just a gang, a gaggle, a group... and that's not what I'm looking for. Thus, the Children List.

And lastly, I'm making a list just for me. I call it The Heart List. Here are a few excerpts:

3. Packing lunches with sweet notes from mom
7. Wiping runny noses
10. Folding way more laundry than I do now
15. Buying frivolous miniature Nike's
35. Calling The Husband Daddy and my mom Grandma
45. Finally answering a cry for Mama.

How do you spell license?

2010-04-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

I have NEWS! I probably shouldn't have typed that in all caps... it's not that good of news. I'm not pregnant or anything. I'll give you a second to wipe those shocked looks off your faces. Dang, I'm 3 sentences in and already off track. Ok, my news.

Next Tuesday will mark a new milestone in my house. Next Tuesday is day 1 of state training to be foster / adoptive parents. After much prayer and consideration, we've made a few decisions. I'm pretty set on these so don't try to talk me out of it. Not that you would, they're solid decisions if you ask me.

We're somewhere mid-Round 2 of the Clomid. We intend to continue with that until either: A. Success! B. Round 6 ends in epic failure (there will be no round 7) or C. The Lord returns. Have I ever told you my theory about that? I imagine I'm going to finally fall pregnant, carry the baby for 9 long, fat months, endure the pain of childbirth and just at that second where they're about to hand me the literal fruits of my labor... at that exact second the Lord returns. Think about it for a minute. It's just the type of thing that could happen to me, isn't it? Basically, if I ever announce I'm knocked up, you should probably prepare to meet your maker. It's only a matter of time.

So let's recap. We're staying course with Clomid, but we're also starting our journey towards becoming adoptive parents. The Husband and I have always imagined ourselves adopting or fostering children, I just imagined them coming to us after we had a biological child. However, I'm beginning to wonder if that's not the Universe's plan. And if not, I'm totally cool with that. Someone could have mentioned something a little SOONER, but let's not split hairs. We will most likely adopt out of the foster system because I'm terrified of private infant adoption (and terrified of the price tag!). And that means... state licensing. EEK. I'm scared and nervous and excited all rolled into 1. I hope you all understand my ramblings here. I also hope and pray you're supportive of our decisions. We want to be parents. We want to parent whatever child God chooses for us... even if it is a baby-from-another-mother. I'm down with that.

I'm not saying I'm gonna do it...

2010-03-31T08:03:00.001-07:00

I've gone off the deep end, folks. I saw it coming in the distance. I could have turned around and ran screaming in the other direction (towards sanity), but NO. I plunged head first into cosmic crazy. I googled: Artificial Insemination at Home. Let's face it, we all knew it was only a matter of time before my mind went there! I've swallowed everything I can swallow in attempts to produce a baby -- wait, I should clarify -- I've swallowed every possible pill to produce a baby. I think the other type of swallowing would only hinder my efforts. But, yeah, all those supplements haven't done much yet. So that got me thinking... maybe I'm focusing on the wrong end!

So, I googled. I'm not saying I'm going to do it. Actually, I should probably go on record right now to confirm I am NOT going to turkey baste myself yet. I don't even know how to baste or bake an actual turkey, I can only imagine how disastrous the outcome when I turn the syringe on myself. But still, I was intrigued. I found a few articles -- very informative stuff. As silly as I've made it sound, I think it's probably pretty effective when done correctly. But I'm not quite there yet. I did find this though. It's the "ingredient list" for self-basting:

Supplies needed:

Needleless syringe or oral medicine syringe

Collection cup, baggy or condom

(Optional) Saline without additives or preservatives

(Optional) Tube to attach to syringe

(Optional) Mild germicidal soap

I ask, dear readers, why the hell is soap OPTIONAL!? Do these people not have MOTHERS!? You must always wash your hands before and after handling raw ingredients. This is kitchen rule number 1! So why on earth would it be any different when handling raw human ingredients?? You could get that stuff on your hands and before you know it, it's in your mouth and it's really all downhill from there.

HOLY HOT FLASHES!

2010-03-30T06:28:00.000-07:00

This week marks the beginning of Clomid Round 2. What happened to round 1, you ask? Epic failure. But I have high hopes for round 2. This time Higgi uped my dosage and I'm sure feeling it in the form of HOT FLASHES. I have to type that in all caps and bold it so you understand the severity of my condition. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. I'll be sitting around all normal until all of a sudden it feels like I ran my face into the sun. Seriously. SERIOUSLY.

I want you all to fully relate to my pain. Close your eyes and imagine....wait, don't close your eyes because then you can't read what I'm typing... but keep imagining anyway, a volcano. This volcano is huge and smoldering and spitting rocks and ash and all sorts of nastiness. Now, with your eyes open, imagine this volcano on the top of your head. And now imagine it blowing and spilling lava all down your face every hour or so. Ok, this is getting kind of weird...but I'm not kidding here! Molten lava is on my face and I'm not talking about that Molten Chocolate Cake they have at Chili's. But if we could, for just a second, digress and talk about that cake. That stuff is GOOD! Have you had it? You must. It's glorious.

Ok ok, back on topic. These hot flashes are the strangest phenomenon because I didn't feel anything like this at all with 50 mg. But we all remember the anti-climatic conclusion of Round 1, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm hoping it passes after I take the last pill on Thursday. And if not, I guess bikini season's starting early for Susan...God help us all!

I hate dancing.

2010-03-22T09:07:00.000-07:00

This weekend I did something that I should never ever do again. EVER. I danced. You know those giant promotional blow up dancing wind sock dudes with nylon arms that flail in the wind?

My dancing is worse than that. I bet you think I'm exaggerating. "Surely," you're saying to yourselves, "her dancing can't be THAT bad." But, dear readers, it is. It is every bit as bad as you're imaging... and worse.

You must be questioning how I managed to temporarily lose all control of my senses and allow such things as dancing (in public, no less) to happen. And all I can say is that I was in the company of good friends (who I now wish were both blind and stricken with amnesia) and I think I may have been in another state, but that's unclear. Regardless, it happened and I'm making peace with it. Spring, Erica... if you're reading this... please forget you know me. :)

My tragic attempt at getting "jiggy" reminded me of something a girlfriend told me once. She was trying, to no avail, to teach me to dance. She showed me the steps. Tried manually maneuvering my uncoordinated limbs and finally, in a fit of frustration yelled, "Just pretend you're having sex!!" Needless to say, that didn't work either. So, I ask, dear readers... is it possible to fail tragically at one and succeed at the other? Are sex and dancing intrinsically linked? Is my love-making held hostage by my inability to bust a move? And surely, SURELY this doesn't have anything to do with my lack of baby does it? I'm considering signing up for a dance class... just in case.

B double Dub

2010-03-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

Do you think it matters under what circumstances my child is conceived? This thought has been plaguing me lately. Allow me to explain.

Yesterday was Tuesday and we have a tradition. Every Tuesday we meet friends at a little bar and grill in town for Taco Tuesday. They serve drinks of the adult persuasion and 3 tacos for a $1. I would be lying if I said I didn't love those greasy, disgustingly fatty little Mexican delicacies. Every Tuesday I devour more than a dollars worth of tacos and have a little Coke (the soda... let's not get off track here). However, after nearly a year of this tradition we decided last night to shake things up. We declared it Buffalo Wild Wings Tuesday and headed for the saucy chicken nugget paradise. I'm getting to my point, I swear.

Once at the B double Dub I ordered up a few Teriyaki wings and a few Asian Zing wings (against my better judgment, of course). And then I may or may not have had a Wild Punch. If you don't know what it is, you can google it... I'm too embarrassed to type the contents. Well, you remember how I ordered the Asian Zing wings??? Yeah, those suckers are spicy and that Wild Punch went down the hatch a little too quickly. At this point, I may or may not have ordered another. I had a dozen wings... you can see where this is going.

That brings me to my point. Let's say I conceived a child last night (unlikely, but whatever). Do you think it matters the circumstances? I don't want my unborn influenced by the epic battle between Genghis Khan and Southern Comfort that's happening currently in my innards. And what if said child is conceived on a particularly kinky night?? Let's face it folks... we've been at this 2-ish years, the things I gotta do to keep this interesting are not type-able! But do I want to remember my little one is the product of Karma Sutra gone wrong? Please tell me my kiddo isn't coming out a boozed up, sex crazed maniac! And please don't lecture me on the dangers of drinking while trying to conceive. Like I said... it's been 2 years! If I don't have a Wild Punch every once in a while, I'm going to start having the coke -- and I don't mean soda. :)

Ovary Ovations

2010-03-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

Well, the first round of Clomid was an epic failure. Epic might be strong, but regardless, it didn't work. I was planning to blog something clever about Harrison Ford and Michael Jordan and John Grisham and how they were all failures before becoming great. But that's just not me. I will tell you this much: We're trying again.

Clomid Round 2

For this cycle, I have a plan. Each day I'm going to utter some inspirational words to my nether regions. I'll call it Insemination Inspiration and it's going to be great! Technically my cycle hasn't started yet (and won't for a week or so) but I'm getting a jump start on the Ovary Ovations:

Listen up, reproductive organs...I'm talking to you! Here's your thought for the day:

Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out.
Robert Collier

Basically what I'm saying here is... prepare yourself for a mattressing dancing routine of EPIC proportions. :)

The Giveaway.

2010-03-12T14:09:00.001-08:00

You all remember the love of my life, right?

How could you forget those eyes??? She melts my heart (and occasionally chews my most valuable possessions, but I forgive her for that). Anyway, Lola (the love of my life) needs some new snazzy accessories and it just so happens that there's a giveaway with her name on it (literally)! I'm not actually giving anything away, but my dear new friend Kelly is!!! Kelly's from Texas, but I forgive her for that because she doesn't love Colt either.... phew.... :D

Here's a link to Kelly's give away (and particularly HILARIOUS blog):

The Lola & Foxy Giveaway

If you have pets, check it out. If not, check it out anyway...she's funnier than me and much more committed to her blog. It'll give you something to read between my sporadic blog posts!! Have a great (and REproductive) weekend all!!

P.S. Sorry about the excessive punctuation in this post. I'm working on that, I swear.

The Mattress Man

2010-03-09T14:26:00.000-08:00

We've tried everything... and I do mean EVERYTHING in our attempt to reproduce: funky positions, the classic pelvis-on-the-pillow-hip-tilt, morning temperature taking, peeing on every fertility-related stick imaginable (and occasionally just random sticks from the back yard), taking pre-natals, taking b6, taking thyroid meds, taking soy, not taking anything, using the (ultra-pleasurable) pre-seed, doing it in the morning, doing it at night, doing it with the lights on and doing it in the dark. We've done it ALL!

And then some

And what have I got? NOTHING. Nada. No baby. This month's experiment with Clomid was a bust (awesome) and I was starting to question the whole darn thing. Ready to throw in the towel... until I had a thought. What has been the one common denomenator in all our failed attempts (asside from our cast of characters, which isn't changing any time soon)????

THE MATTRESS.

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret that you SURELY don't want to know. Family, if you're reading, avert your eyes. ***Side note, there is no WAY my mother would EVER read this blog. Just the thought of it would make her put me up for adoption and I'm practically 30! So we know she's not reading*** Remember back in October / November-ish when I actually made a baby? Yeah, well that didn't happen on the mattress. (gasp!) I won't tell you where it actually happened because some of you may be guests in my house some day... but let's just say the pillows weren't invited. So this realization got me thinking. What if that mattress, which I've hated since the day we bought it, is actually throwing off my mojo? Could it all really be in the bedding?

I've hated that bed since the first night I slept on it. I've tolerated it for 6 years due in large part to the depth of my laziness. But I'm calling it quits. I made an appointment for the inspector to come out on Thursday and tell me if I can trade it in on warranty (it's kinda saggy). I'm saying sionara to the saggy sack and hoping to send all the baby-woes with it. Here's to counting sheep on my new fertile-serta!

There's a rumbly in my tumbly

2010-03-04T11:35:00.000-08:00

I feel a little something cooking down there. I've decided to give my ovaries a little visual stimulation. Bear with me while I hold my pelvis up to the screen.

Ovaries... BE INSPIRED:

First, I'm hoping you've developed one of these (certainly NO MORE THAN 2)

Any day now you're gonna let those puppies fly. They're on the look out for these:

And when you spot 'em, you're gonna do a little of this:

Wait, that's my department. Anyone know where I can get me one of those? (Just kidding Husband)

Eggs, this is your mission:

Stand by for some...

And BAM, we've got one of these:

See, that's not so hard now is it??

Well there's always that option...

2010-03-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

I had a little spare time the other day and decided to review my insurance policy. Ya know, on the off chance that the Clomid doesn't work after 6 months and we need pursue other options. Well I scrolled down to reproductive health and on the way, I found this:

Penile Prosthesis are covered

Phew... I was really sweating that one. After my initial shock I kept scrolling and found that only a portion of the services I would need should the Clomid fail are actually covered. At that, I scrolled back up and re-read:

Penile Prosthesis are covered

This is when it occured to me that my policy was written by a man. I mean, seriously? I can't get IVF but The Husband can get a new who-ha? I'm trying to create life and all my insurance company cares about is a stitched-on dildo!!! Fear not, faithful readers, I may not produce a baby, but BCBS is willing to re-equip my husband with a new, albiet non-working, device. Becuase that's gonna solve my problems.

Sooo...did you quit blogging again?

2010-02-26T11:51:00.001-08:00

I talked to a good friend last night and he reminded me that occasionally other people read my blog... and occasionally they like to read something new. I guess I kinda forgot that. Actually, that's a lie. I wanted to blog, but I couldn't. Every time I sat down to write I got stuck trying to tell a particular story. It's like the Hoover Dam of blogging and I couldn't get past it. Finally, I've decided to just come out with it. Here's what happened:

I had an encounter. With a doctor. Who hates me. I'm talking about my old doctor. See, we might have had a bit of a falling out over a teeny tiny little temper tantrum I threw about a particularly thoughtless bill. I might have suggested that I had NO INTENTION of paying a bill for a urine pregnancy test that, although positive, did not result in a baby. And I MIGHT have offered to bring in the 7 tests that I took at home (who's total cost was less than the doctor's bill) and I might have suggested where they could stick those tests.

After throwing my fit, I sought new fertile representation. Did I tell you about the new doctor?? I think I did... he's a HE! I've never had a he looking at my girly bits in a medical way before. It's strange, but I've made peace with it. I digress. I saw the new doctor a couple weeks ago and the very next day I got a letter in the mail from the OLD doctor (the one who's bill I bawked at) saying, and I quote:

This letter is to inform you that at this time I can no longer continue our professional relationship. I will be unable to provide you with any further medical care.

WHAT THE F???? They didn't dump me, I dumped them! Don't they know that? Just writing it down doesn't excuse them from being the dumpee. I swear, I broke up with boys in jr. high who took the news better than these goons! I guess that's what ya get for spreading your legs without getting to know someone first... their true colors always come out in the end!!

See, that last paragraph there is why I haven't written this story sooner. I didn't know how to end it. There was no wrap up, no witty, clever last remarks. "Spreading your legs"??? Who would write that?! But, I had to get it out to make way for all the new fresh things that are happening. So there it is...my story. Expect better next week.

The Big Foot of TTC

2010-02-11T08:49:00.000-08:00

Today is day 7. 7 days since I ovulated, 7 days until my cycle starts over again and 7 light years away from being pregnant. At least that's how I felt when I saw a bit of spotting last night. I know, I know... ewww.... who wants to talk about that before noon? But, dear readers, it's today's topic, so deal with it. The spotting, obviously, is making me cranky.

Now of course, as soon as I saw it, I flushed the toilet paper and all hopes of being pregnant this cycle right down the tubes. 'Apparently', I thought to myself, 'soy isn't good for anything but sauce on your low mein.' I went to bed, woke up this morning to an unfortunately low temperature and washed my hands of the whole affair.

However, I voiced my concerns with the Universe (otherwise known as the gals on my message board. TMP: HOLLA!) and I was met with a surprising answer. IMPLANTATION BLEEDING. Why didn't I think of that??? Well, probably because I think Implantation Bleeding is the Big Foot of the pregnant world. Everyone knows someone who's married to someone who's sister had implantation bleeding, but no one's seen it in person. There's probably grainy, out-of-foucs pictures of it online somewhere (yuck!) but does it really exist? I googled it and found lots of sites that referenced it, but none with any certainty.

I think Implantation Bleeding might just be the same phenomenon that happens mid-break-up. The boy stops calling or coming around or texting and you cry to your girlfriends. They, of course, have to say SOMETHING and rather than drive the nails in your coffin they offer, "He's probably just busy. I bet he's working a lot or with his family or studying." RRRRRiiiiiiiigggghhhhhtttt! That's sort of how I feel right now. "I bet it's just implantation bleeding. Your uterus isn't breaking up with you... it just needs a little space."

Ugh. I love my friends for being so kind and giving me something to hope for. I just wish I didn't see it at all. I wish I didn't have to wonder. I wish I would have seen a UFO instead.

In other news, I'm seeing a new dr today. I'll update you tomorrow about how it goes and if my uterus is, in fact, cheating on me.

Goodbye Good Eats

2010-02-10T10:45:00.000-08:00

I did it. I started the diet again. [sigh]. I have strayed a bit from my calorie counting determination of last spring (I know, it's been a long backslide). Considering Dr. Pepper and Cheetos and Cream Sauce Pastas are my life source, it's difficult to say no. But, alas, I must bid farewell to my carefree consumption days and embrace the "less is more" principles of dieting. Ugh...I hate myself already.

See, dear readers, what I was hoping is that I would just fall pregnant and get to put all this "skinny chick" non-sense behind me. I mean, really, when have you ever seen a skinny pregnant lady?? (Ok ok, I know they exist, but I swear if you send me a picture of one, we're through!) However, pregnancy doesn't seem to just be happening and I keep creeping closer and closer to my pre-diet weight from last year (yikes!!)

So, here goes nothing. I'll miss you creamy cheesy chicken pasta. You'll be in my thoughts King Size Snickers. Arrivederci frozen strawberry margarita the size of my head. Dang. Maybe I'll start tomorrow...

Brace yourselves... I'm in a MOOD today!

2010-02-09T11:00:00.000-08:00

Before I can begin today, I just need to tell you all how obsessed I've become with Pandora radio. Do y'all use this thing?? It's probably existed for a hundred years, but I stumbled upon it a few months ago and recently sat down to really figure it out. OH. MY. GOSH. AWESOME!!! I can make a whole station based on "Come On Eileen." LOVE IT! You should all go there right now, type in Bad Day by Daniel Powter and then come back and read the rest while that runs in the background like a soundtrack to my life. You'll relate much better with what's to follow, trust me! I'll wait...

Ok, now that you're all in the right mind set, let me diagram for you my wacky day. I think I'll break it into acts for ease of reading:

ACT 1 -- Lack of pants
It began like any normal day... at 5:30 in the morning. I was groggy headed and FREEZING. Somehow, in my recently-awake stupor I decided to go start my car (it was 13 degrees this morning) in my bathrobe. My reasoning for the bathrobe? I couldn't find my pants. And besides, what normal person is going to be awake to see me at 5:30 AM? Well, turns out, my WHOLE BLOCK wakes up at 5:30 to start their vehicles. It was a regular block party out there and I attended SANS pants. Then, to make matters worse... my car doors were FROZEN SHUT. I pulled, tugged, pryed and it wouldn't budge. Then I tried the other side. By this point people were staring. I'm sure one of the strapping young college boys from next door would have come to my aid had I been wearing PANTS! LORD. Ok...we gotta move on, there's a lot to get to. I tried hot water, finally found some yoga wear (I've never yoga-ed, why do I own this stuff?), and opted to drive the truck instead.

ACT 2 -- Spin me right round, baby, right round.
Of course I was late to spin class which is always awkward. I despise everyone watching me mount the bike with all the grace of a warthog. Gosh. However, I made it through 3/4 of the class before I got sick. Yep, my spin class left my head spinning and my stomach churning. I then had to DISMOUNT the bike (with the same lack of grace) and limp over to the water fountain where I prayed I wouldn't puke. By the grace of God I didn't puke... yet...

ACT 3 -- Spontaneous Vomit
In case you haven't figured it out by Acts 1 & 2, the Universe really has it in for me today. After spin class and a warm shower I was feeling fine. No queasy stomach, no spinney head, nada. I was totally fine and trying to forget my insane morning. That was, until my phone rang. I started a conversation with a client and felt a little tickle in my throat. Needing to clear my throat, I put him on hold. That's when it happened. SPONTANEOUS VOMIT! I don't know where it came from. I had just enough time to motion someone else to the phone with a wave of my hand before I disappeared out the door and my breakfast reappeared in the hallway. And the trash can. And the sink. And the toilet. It just kept coming! It was as if the Up-Chuck Faries said, "You denied us in Spin Class, but we will NOT be ignored!!" Never in my life have I puked out of nowhere. Usually I get at least a rumbly tumbly. Or a little extra saliva. But seriously...NOTHING. I opened my mouth to cough and puke came out. Consequently, I've been afraid to open my mouth all day for fear of losing my lunch too. (Nevermind the fact that I opened it long enough to get lunch IN my mouth... whatever).

So, there you have it folks. My crazy, wacky, messed up day. I don't know what that has to do with having babies, except for maybe if I am having one... I'm having a dozen and they all hate my food choices.

Fertility cocktail.

2010-02-02T13:21:00.000-08:00

I realize, dear readers, that I only made it 3 days in my week-long ode to non-motherhood. But, let's face it, I still want a baby. So, this week it's back to business. No monkeying around here, there's work to be done!

Remember, a few months ago when I talked about adding a thyroid medication to my arsenal? And then a few weeks after that when I added this little gem? Well, I've done it again. My fertility cocktail got a little stronger (and harder to swallow) with the addition of what I'm hoping to refer to from now on as My Secret Weapon. Can you guess what it is??? I'll give you a hint.

It grows in Kansas (I think) and it looks like this:

It's SOY! Just to be accurate, what I swallow actually looks a little more like this:
(I SWEAR, it's THAT big! And those Asian tourists stop by every evening at pill-swallowing time just to take souvenir photos.)

Actually, soy is all the buzz on the TTC circuit (yes, we have a circuit...what of it?!). It's supposed to be "nature's Clomid" which, to me, translates into cheaper and more accessible and I'm ALL about both those words. I took it for the required 5 days at the beginning of my cycle. Only after taking it did I realize that by taking it from cycle day 1 it increased my chances of twins (EEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!). But that's ok. I've been at this a while. If I don't kick it into gear soon, I'm gonna have to start poppin' em out 4 at a time just to catch up! I didn't feel any side effects really besides a little increased "crazy" but what's new, right?

So, to recap:

Susan's gonna-have-a-baby-if-it's-the-last-thing-I-do Cocktail

1 microscopic (and probably completely worthless) thyroid pill
1 pre-natal vitamin (maybe I'll blog about this tomorrow... I've got 2 flippin' years of "precautionary" pre-natals in my system now. Talk about a waste of money.)
2 FREAKIN' HUGE soy tablets
1 cute-as-a-button little b6

and wash it all down with that peach bellini-tini. JUST KIDDING! (for the most part) :) Bottom's up, babes!

Microwaved Death

2010-01-28T08:25:00.000-08:00

Today I feel like crap-ola. CRAP-OLA. I believe it's a combination of things that have all lead up to my body's revolt. Probably the daily 6 am workouts, yesterday's super healthy menu of Spicy Chinese Chicken for lunch and sausage pizza for dinner (oh Lord, my stomach just lurched typing that) and my nightly marathon of Super Mario Bros until the wee hours have all factored into my demise. In case you need proof, here's me at work today (yes, I'm one of those whack-jobs who can't take a day off even when they look like microwaved death).

Despite my wretched health today, I've pulled it together just long enough to type this blog!! I know, I'm awesome. :)

In Honor of NON-motherhood. Day 3.

Today's tribute is not to something tangible like booze or buns of steel. Today, I honor perhaps the greatest jewel of the childless... irresponsibility. Ahhhh. See, I'm pretty aware that my current state of ill is of my own making. I eat like a pimple-faced high school boy trapped in a convenience store. I insist that bed-times are for sissies and I constantly over-book my schedule. I refuse to take responsibility for my well being. And ya know what, I can! It's totally ok to lay out drunk all night (for the record, I DON'T do that but I could if I wanted to) and eat junk for dinner (however, I'm guilty here) because I'm responsible for me, and that's about it! So, for a precious few more months, I'm vowing to celebrate my irresponsibility instead of mope around crying cuz I don't have kiddos to care for. Who's with me?

Hippopotamus

2010-01-27T06:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was just blogging along, hardly thinking at all while I typed and BAM my fingers coined the best phrase of my life... preggo-potamus. Scroll down and check, it's there. HILARIOUS. I worked it into conversation 3 times yesterday (mostly like this, "Hey, guess what I wrote in my blog? Preggo-potamus!") And that, dear readers, brings me to:

In honor of NON-motherhood. Day 2.

If there's one thing that childless girls got that pregnant gals don't it's this:

And this:

Well, ok, not all pregnant gals (and certainly not me) look like that. I actually look like this (the faint of heart may want to avert your eyes and scroll down a few clicks):

It's hardly ripped and toned, but non-bulbous enough to post on the internet and still feel good about my life. Ya see, here's the deal. My stomach is slightly larger than desirable (by me, I'm not fishin' for compliments here) but I have the option to reduce it's size. And that's precisely what I'm doing with 6 a.m. workouts 5 days a week (those of you that know me and my laziness in real life, we'll give you a second to pick yourself up off the floor). If I were a preggo-potamus (there's that word again, love that) I could work out until kingdom come and that belly wouldn't budge for 9 months! But I'm not... I'm just a common species of Susa-potamus and I'm 1 spin class away from this:

Let's CELEBRATE!!

2010-01-26T06:30:00.000-08:00

Stop the freakin' presses... SHE'S BAAAAACCCKKK!!!

Dear Sweet, Lovely, Patient, Kind and well-wishing readers,

Thank you SOOOOOOOOOO much for affording me the long hiatus. I know when I signed off last I promised to stick around and then, well, I didn't. I needed a little "me" time. I think after such an ordeal, a little personal space is allowable, don't you? So thanks for giving me a little breathing room and thanks even more for welcoming me back. I can't wait to wow you with all that's been going on in my life (ok, that's a total lie, we can just pick right up where we left off cuz not much has changed.)

In honor of NON-motherhood

Let's face it, the miscarriage sucked. There's no real nice way to put that, so I'm just gonna skirt right past it. This week, we're celebrating all things NON BABY! Yippie. And what, of course, is the ultimate non-preggo nannie-nannie-boo-boo?? My secret little don't-ya-wish-ya-weren't-knocked-up-now.... Peach Bellini-tinis

Peach is the new pomegranate and the new pink. Peach Bellini-tinis are where it's AT. And you know who can have them?? Women who AREN'T with child, that's who. I mean, dang, if I were preggo-potamus right now I would have missed this band wagon all together. Peach pucker woulda left me behind, and that's just a crying shame. So drink up my fellow non-mom's... today everything's peachy!

Susan's I'm-not-having-a-baby Peach Bellini-tini

2 parts peach flavored Absolut® (that's vodka...any brand will do)
1 part peach schnapps
1 part Champagne or sparkling wine
Small squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Fresh peach slice for garnish (optional, but VERY necessary) Try freezing it. YUM-A-LUM!

The Sunny Side of Life

2009-12-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

Please forgive me now for the sentence I'm about to write. This Not Having a Baby crap sucks big balls. I tried to church that up, but it just didn't pack the same punch. Let's look at it rationally (this may be the first rational thought I've had since seeing those 2 pink lines). I still technically have the hormones of a pregnant lady coursing through my veins. Add to that the grief, despair and anger of a miscarriage and throw in the frustration of nagging pain in my nether regions and you've got yourself a recipe for disaster. This Maltov cocktail actually blew last night when The Husband decided Christmas shopping and Buffalo Wings would be on the menu for the evening, but that's a story for another time. All in all things kinda suck right now.

However, I'm not really a sad and gloomy kind of gal. Bitter and jaded, yes, but sad and gloomy aren't my thing. So I've decided to dedicate today's post to the silver lining.

The top 10 reasons Susan's glad she's NOT pregnant

10. If I were still having a baby I would have more appointments with Dr.Couldntcareless. We all know how that would make me feel.

9. Sometimes pregnant women get fat. Considering I was hardly a stick figure to begin with, my odds weren't looking good.

8. I have a good friend who currently IS having a baby. We each deserve our time in the preggo limelight.

7. The brown sodas are too delicious to go without for 9 months. Dr. Pepper is even more glorious after that little hiatus.

6. We were planning a "babymoon" to our favorite vacation spot, Las Vegas. That will be triple the fun now, considering my non-baby housing state.

5. I won't feel guilty spending our (hopefully large) tax return on shoes and accessories.

4. I wasn't thrilled about the idea of having the height of my pregnancy fall in the middle of Kansas summer. That would pretty much just be miserable.

3. I'm back in the running for having a baby born on 10/10/10. How cool would that be?

2. I'm looking forward to a few long hot baths...or maybe even a jacuzzi dip. Both of which are out for pregnant gals.

1. This whole miscarriage process has me really jonesing for a cocktail.

Football and Fetuses

2009-12-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

I had a great phone conversation with TheIG yesterday. She was actually very comforting. She explained in comprehendable (is this a word?) English what's going on with my body. She listened to what I had to say. And then she did what no one at Dr. Couldntcareless's office has yet to do... she said, "I'm so sorry." I realize to most of my dear readers that seems like a no-brainer... a woman tries for 1 1/2 years to conceive, finally falls pregnant and then has her hopes dashed mere weeks later. That's the kind of situation that makes you say, "I'm so sorry." That is, unless, you are employed by Dr. Couldntcareless. In that case you never even think about uttering those words.

Ugh... I'm veering into dark and gloomy territory here so let's get back on track. TheIG had a game plan. That's what I like to hear. I realize we're down a few touchdowns and our star quarterback (my uterus) is suffering from a debilitating shoulder sprain. But we've got Landry Jones warming up and we just got the ball. How did my fertility issues turn into an OU play by play?? Anyway, to continue the horrible metaphor, we've got to take a knee for 2 downs and then run the Statute of Liberty with Clomid as a running back.

Oh, forget it. I think my wit and logic is suffering a miscarriage of it's own (too soon?). In a nutshell, I've got to wait 2 cycles and try again. Here's hoping.

And as quickly as it came...

2009-12-09T09:25:00.000-08:00

There's no cute, clever or witty way to word this. I'm not having a baby. I could describe the ordeal in detail. I could outline for you all the reasons Dr Couldntcareless gave me, but frankly, I quit listening after the word miscarriage. Actually she said Blighted Ovum. I already knew what that meant because I spent all last week Googling every possible pregnancy outcome ever experienced by a human. All the research did little to calm my nerves and less to produce a fetus.

Here's the short version. We're sad. Extremely, depression-state kind of sad. We wished and hoped and prayed it would be different, but, alas, it's not. Look what this has done to me... it's driven me to use words like ALAS! Ugh... I don't even recognize myself anymore. But, we'll pull through.

I intend to continue blogging. It's actually very therapeutic. So, bare with me if my posts get a little dark and gloomy... I promise to snap out of it as quick as I can.

The Power of Prayer

2009-12-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

I heard from Nurse Nothelpful today. Do you remember her from last week? She was the one with all the really insightful information concerning my invisible bean. (I need a sarcasm font) Yeah, well, last week she told me I was scheduled for a follow-up ultrasound on Wednesday. THIS WEDNESDAY! I have literally been counting the seconds (604,800 to be exact) from last Tuesday to this Wednesday. That was until today.

Today Nurse Nothelpful called to reschedule my appointment. I don't know if y'all realize the ANXIETY I've been feeling since last Tuesday. I've almost literally chewed off every inch of fingernail. I'll have to start on my toes soon (ok, that's nasty, but I bet you're curious if I could do that) The following is our conversation:

N NH: Susan, this is Nurse Nothelpful from Dr. Couldntcareless's office.
Susan: Ok.
N NH: I need to reschedule your follow-up ultrasound appointment.
Susan: cries. and faints. and begins to plot the career demise of Nurse Nothelpful. No, no! Please don't make me wait another second, I'll slit my wrists.
N NH: I was hoping we could move it up. To tomorrow.
Susan: instantly regretting the dramatic wrist slitting comment. Oh, that would be fantastic!

So, dear readers, there you have it! The hunt for Waldo, my invisible SuperBean begins promptly tomorrow at 10:20. That's only 68,640 seconds from now. Synchronize your watches!

You probably shouldn't read this one...

2009-12-03T07:54:00.000-08:00

If you have strong opinions as to the way a pregnant woman should behave, you should probably stop reading now. In fact, if you believe a woman is at her best when classy and refined and dignified and plays by the rules then we should probably never meet. I will most certainly disappoint you.

Now, on with the show. We all know my saga. I'm pregnant with the invisible bean. That's the latest theory for my stubborn child's ultrasound no-show...he/she is just THAT genetically advanced. She/he is invisible.

Ok, I need to hop off track here for a second and discuss this obvious flaw in the English language. Why is there no pronoun for a human of undetermined gender? This is clearly something any parent has dealt with. You have to refer to the kid by a pronoun because you can't name the baby because you don't know the gender but then you can't use a pronoun because there isn't an appropriate one. Do you see the vicious circle?? Basically you're stuck calling the babe heshe shehe like a destined transvestite before shehe heshe is even BORN! Ok, now I'm sure I've gone and pissed off my entire readership. I'm going to have to start referring to my readers as invisible again too. Crap.

I love transgendered individuals, really. I sympathize with their plight!! I too was born in the wrong body. Inside I'm Grace Kelly and outside I'm Janet Reno sans the political clout. It's a hard-knock-life. Ok, seriously... you've all quit reading now, haven't you??

I digress. My whole point of blogging today was to tell you all the potentially hazardous, baby threatening thing I did. I had... wait for it... a DR. PEPPER. Oh lord, I'm salivating just thinking about it. You see, I was in mid anxiety attack over this whole invisible baby thing and I just had to have SOMETHING to take the edge off. If you know me in person, you know my love affair with the brown sodas. It's been so hard to kick, but apparently caffeine and fetuses (feti?) don't mix. However, after Tuesday's drama, I couldn't help but sip the delicious nectar. It was only 12 oz and I did nurse it for most of the night. Also, in the back of my mind I'm pretty sure that's what the kid's holding out for anyway... "Come on, Mom. Give me the good stuff." Some caffeine could actually put a little pep in the placenta, right? Spark some growth??

Ok, I'm done now. I promise to be more sane and politically correct tomorrow.

House Calls

2009-12-02T13:25:00.000-08:00

Ok. I should probably start this blog with a disclaimer. The following is in NO WAY sound advice. You should NOT FOLLOW IT. But I'm gonna blog it anyway because I'm just irresponsible that way.

If you are pregnant and you are spotting invisible drag-out-your-microscope amounts of blood DO NOT, for any reason, call your doctor. Maybe I should clarify. Call your doctor if you want, but when the nurse answers the phone, hang up. This woman will, in no way, ease your mind. At least that's my experience. You see, I'm a crazy woman. This happened somewhere around month 13 of trying to conceive and it's been down hill since then. Somewhere in my crazy brain I decided that the teeny tiny hair like bit of pink I saw (which was probably just fuzz from my underwear) must mean impending DOOM for me and my unborn child. And I basically dialed up the doctor right then and there before the toilet even stopped flushing. I'm a first time mom ... I believe this insanity comes naturally.

Anyway, Nurse Nothelpful agreed that I should be worried and scheduled me for an ultrasound. AN ULTRASOUND! For about 1 second I was excited to be among the lucky few who get an early peek at the growing nugget but that was quickly replaced by visions of conjoined twins and babboon babies growing in my uterus. The spotting, of course, stopped instantly, but it was too late. I was already on this slippery slope of doubt and anxiety.

Like I told you yesterday, I had the ultrasound and it's findings were inconclusive. Basically, they didn't see a baby. Most agree it's just too early. Most, that is, except Nurse Nothelpful. The following conversation took place when I called to tell her the results.
Susan: Well, I finished the Ultrasound. What should I do now?
N NH: I guess just go home.
Susan: I am at home. What are YOU going to do now?
N NH: Well, what'd the ultrasound find?
Susan: They found a gestational sac, but they couldn't see a baby.
N NH: OH NO! They didn't see a baby?!
Susan: faints. and cries. and gives up all hope of ever being a mother.

Ok, that last part might be a little exaggerated, but you get the idea. Nurse Nothelpful scheduled another ultrasound for next Wednesday. That's 7 days from now. I may die of anxiety between now and then. Please, PRAY PRAY PRAY for growth until then.

***EDIT*****
After posting I felt compelled to add: If you're bleeding actual blood with cramps. Or you have PAINFUL cramps. Or you're just scared you probably SHOULD call your doctor. And, for future reference you should probably NEVER take medical advice from me.

What the!?!!!??

2009-12-01T12:58:00.000-08:00

Pigs have flown.

Hell hath frozen.

Fat ladies are singing.

And the cat is out of the bag.

That's right, dear patient readers, Susan's KNOCKED UP! For most of you, this shouldn't come as a shock. I've tried to personally tell all my real life readers, and all my TMP gals (holla!) found out within seconds of my positive test. Oh wait, Kerri...if you're reading this... I LIED the other day at Target. Things weren't just same ol', same ol' I was actually sporting fresh baby bump. Yippie! :)

I say this, however, with a little trepidation. There's much debate at the moment (mostly between me and 1 very UNHELPFUL nurse) as to the exact dates of my pregnancy. Basically here's how it boils down:

I've known for 3 weeks. I've had multiple needle pokes confirming the news. But I've also had a little ugly stuff like cramping and spotting which led to one very early ultrasound. That was today, actually. The U/S tech, upon who's competence I'm basing the entirety of my anxiety, told me I'm really only 5 weeks and 3 days. I should be 6 weeks and 3 days. There are multiple theories surrounding the possible reasons for this discrepancy. Most of them were concocted in my CRAZY brain. A few are medical opinions:

REASONS MY BEAN IS YOUNGER THAN EXPECTED
1. I'm actually pregnant with a midget baby.
2. I (impossibly) miscalculated my ovulation.
3. My uterus has been impregnated by aliens ... tiny, tiny slow growing aliens.
4. There's a frightening miscarriage in my future.
5. The kid's just a late bloomer.

I'm sticking with number 5. My reason? I didn't even grow boobs 'til I was like 20 so odds are good that he/she got the belated blossoming gene. It could be good, it could be bad, it could be worse... we'll just wait and see.

And now the disclaimer: In the unlikely (fingers crossed, knock on wood) event that this ends tragically with a miscarriage, please know we will be ok. God's timing is good and perfect and I still have my humor. Also, please know, that although our families know and I will continue to blog about it... the thought of telling the whole world (read: facebook) and then having to retell them should something awful happen is SCARY. So basically, mum's the word. Ha! MUM! That's almost like mom!

Kidless in Kansas

2009-11-05T08:08:00.000-08:00

Tuesday I visited The Infertility Goddess, that's how I'm gonna refer to my fertility specialist from now on. I've decided I'm casting my complete confidence on this woman. She IS going to get me pregnant if she has to get in there and do the work herself. Ok, ew, that was too far. But seriously, I'm throwing positive thinking out into the Universe and the Universe is gonna listen.

That said, I was a little unnerved by my visit to The Infertility Goddess. It seems she believes in taking a faster approach to the whole baby-making business. There's no screwing around with TheIG (Infertility Goddess, get it??). I naively announced to her that I had successfully ovulated sometime this weekend. I expected her to squeal with delight at my almost GUARANTEED chance at conception this month. However, that was not her reaction. Actually, it was quite the opposite. She didn't believe I ovulated at all. She said things like, "When you get your period in 2 weeks." No TTC woman likes to hear these words. Her solution? CLOMID. At that word, I was the one squealing...and not with delight. Do you know how frightening that is????!!!

Basically, I have this two week wait to see if I'm knocked up. If not, it's The Evil C (clomid) for me. I do NOT want to take The Evil C. Hear that Universe??? I don't want to have to resort to that!! My body has 2 weeks to get in shape and produce or it's going to endure some serious punishment. I decided to write my ovaries a little note of encouragement...you know...positive thinking and all.

Dear Ovaries,

I'm sure you're aware of my desire for a baby. In turn, I am aware of this little cat and mouse game you're playing with me. I've given you PLENTY of opportunities to pull it together and show me what you're made of. However, you've consistently failed me and now it's time to talk turkey. I'm bringing in the closer and you're not gonna like him. You've got 2 weeks to shape up or ship out. Do you know what The Evil C is packing?? Abdominal pain, moodiness, nausea, headaches and random bleeding are just a few of his tricks. He also insists on punctuality and perfect performance. No more sluffing off at work. And to top it all off he occasionally works overtime producing MULTIPLE BABIES at once! Nobody wants that, now do they, ovaries? I hope you understand the dire consequences we're working with here. I implore you to make some magic in this two weeks or face the music.

Love
Kidless in Kansas

Hot Cross Buns

2009-11-03T10:37:00.000-08:00

So I gave in this cycle and decided to take my temperature regularly like a good girl. It's been hard getting up early on the weekends to take it and on more than one occasion the thermometer has fallen right out of my mouth as I drift off back to dream land. Once I even narrowly escaped a black eye after trying to slap the "snooze button" on the chirping thermometer. It's amazing how easy it is to confuse that thing with the alarm clock while in my barely awake stupor.

I've been waiting patiently...well actually, I've just been waiting (sans the patience) for my temperature to spike indicating successful ovulation. In the mean time I've been schooling The Husband on all the intricacies of Basal Body Temping. He's a pretty quick study.

This morning, like all the others before, my alarm cackled at 7:00 AM sharp. At 7:02 I answered it by flailing about and shoving my thermometer deep under my tongue and grasping it with my front teeth. From 7:02 - 7:04, I laid completely motionless waiting for the beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep. Finally, at 7:05, it chirped and I squinted to read it, sat it back on the night stand and fell asleep again at 7:06. That was the exact moment The Husband awoke and started talking, dashing all my hopes for another 4 precious minutes of sleep. I would have murdered him right then and there if he hadn't asked the most absolutely precious question any man has ever uttered: "Did your oven kick on?"

Yep folks, the temp spiked this morning meaning OVULATION was ACHIEVED. My oven kicked on and any little buns that may have been mixed up over the last couple days are now baking to a perfect golden brown (or, more acurately, a freakishly pale shade of pasty white considering I'm their Mother). Happy baking my potential little sticky buns!

Expection Exception

2009-10-22T07:25:00.000-07:00

Who's seen "He's Just Not That Into You?" I love that movie. Probably just because I'm a girl and I love every romantic comedy ever made...even the bad ones with J. Lo. But I love this one in particular because it reaffirms my theory that every girl believes she's the exception. That's right, Greg Behrendt, I came up with that idea first! I believe that somewhere, MANY generations ago, some poor gal was bawling over a jerk who left her for a skinny floozy (or whatever they called skanky girls back then) and, in a last ditch effort to console the dumpee, her well meaning girlfriend told her an elaborate lie about the guy riding back in on a white horse and whisking her off into the sunset. (THAT'S a run-on sentence if I've ever seen one, but you get my point) The lie worked and the girl lived the rest of her life with the false, but comforting, hope that her prince was just around the corner. And that generation passed it to the next who passed it to the next until finally we were believing that no matter what the odds, he's gonna call us or text us or....

....ok, it was better when Justin Long and Ginnifer Goodwin were talking about it, but you get my point. We want to be the exception. And it's just not in love. It's in EVERYTHING. Which brings me to today's topic. My insane belief that at any moment I may be pregnant...despite the odds, regardless of whether I have or have not done acts in the recent past which lead to pregnancy, nevermind the fact that the sticks I tinkle on say I haven't ovulated and my temperatures are in the basement. I wake up some random mornings truly believing I've wished myself pregnant over night. Maybe it's too many episodes of Discovery Channel's "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant". Have you seen that show? WOW! But something gets me rationalizing that I could actually be pregnant.

Take this morning for example. I woke up with two thoughts in my head. 1. I HATE mornings with the fire of a thousand suns and 2. I feel fat. I waddled my fat, moody body to the bathroom and somewhere along the way convinced myself that, given these two variables, I MUST be pregnant. I just couldn't keep my hands out of the stash of pregnancy tests I've stored up like it's the baby-making Y2K. Needless to say, I'm still NOT pregnant. But who knows...maybe tomorrow??

2009-10-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

Up until now, dear readers, you've known me only as the crazy baby lady. And although that is somewhat true, my heart belongs to my first love: Lola.

About the size of a loaf of bread, if bread had legs and fur and was really girthy, she is my dog soul mate. I dress her in Halloween costumes:

Let her pose for the family Christmas cards:

And pretty much treat her as my hairy child:

I mean, who wouldn't? She's adorable.

I don't have children, dear readers, so all this love's gotta go somewhere! At least I'm not one of those crazy women with monkey babies!! Those gals just aren't right! The Husband thinks I'm insane and cares for the dog-child about as much as one cares for a paper cut. But I do have one ally in this obsessive love affair, my wonderful Mother-in-Law. Resigning herself to at least another year without grandkids, she decided (much like myself) to pour her love into Lola. Allow me to offer an example.

Yesterday I came home to find a package in the mail. For me, you ask? No. The Husband? Of course not. This was special delivery from My Mother-In-Law to her best grandpuppy, Lola. So I did what any good mother would do when her child gets a package:

What did she get? Why, a fancy new Halloween scarf, of course! Am I the only one who sees how desperately we need CHILDREN!?!! And probably professional help.

Things a mom should know...

2009-10-15T11:13:00.000-07:00

Last night The Husband and I were supposed to have Potato Soup for dinner. That was, until something went terribly wrong. Allow me to explain. I'm on a kick. A cooking kick. Tuesday night I made Bruschetta Chicken (it's good, trust me!) which takes ZERO prep time. By the time I'd washed the 3 dishes needed to cook and eat our meal, I hadn't even broken a sweat. In my opinion, it's not a meal if you don't break out at least a butter knife. So, I decided to prep for Wednesday night's meal on Tuesday. I cut the carrots. I cut the celery. I cut the onion. And then...I cut the potato. Then-in lies my problem. Wednesday night I opened the refrigerator only to find nasty gray lumps where my potato chunks used to be. AGHK! You see, it turns out that you can't pre-cut potatoes for tomorrow's dinner. They're worse than apples. We had biscuits and gravy instead.

This got me thinking. Had I called my mom, she would have told me, "Susan, you can't pre-cut potatoes. Put down the knife and go watch Wheel of Fortune." See, this potato thing is something a mom would know. Obviously, I'm not a mother and for good reason! What other life truths are out there that I have yet to stumble upon?? How am I supposed to mold young, impressionable lives when I don't even know when to cut potatoes??!!

Ebracing the Chub

2009-10-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

There are several things I'm looking forward to once I finally see those 2 pink lines. Telling The Husband, buying all those cute nursery decorations I'm so excited about and picking out names are pretty high on the list. However, recently, there's one thing that has me practically giddy. Embracing Chubby.

Here's how I see it...since starting college (which was too long ago) I have transformed from a stick figure to, let's put it kindly, a voluptuous woman. During the metamorphosis I developed new camouflage techniques (note: there are a lot of really hard words to spell in this post...I just wanted you to be aware of that). First was the "blousy" shirt. You know, lose fitting and flowy, something you could hide a few donuts under. Then came the wide waist band pants which hide a tummy quite nicely. And now, I'm about 2 Deep Dish Pizza slices away from buying one of these beauties:

Spanx! They're supposed shave several pounds off that naughty mid-section!

But pregnancy is gonna free me from all that. Years of learning to hide the pouch are over! 2 little pink lines and "big boned" transforms into "cute pregnant". "Chubby Muffin Top" becomes "Adorable Baby Bump." I have plans to start shopping the maternity section mere seconds after a confirmed pregnancy. Now if only I can figure out how to make that built in excuse last for longer than 9 months...

Babies, babies everywhere and not a drop to drink.

2009-10-06T14:00:00.000-07:00

Well I'm back in the two week wait...that wretched time of month (or more accurately, that time of whenever-the-hell-my-body-chooses-because-God-forbid-I-have-a-cycle-every-month) between ovulation and whatever comes next. It's something like day 6 or maybe 7 or maaaaybe 8, but probably more like day 6.

I wanted to post something not completely baby oriented so that y'all would realize I'm not crazy. Not entirely anyway. So I decided to search out a few pictures and see if I could come up with any ideas. First thing I searched was, of course, food oriented. I've had MAJOR Buffalo Wild Wings cravings!!
YUM! Thought I might blog something about that. However, all I could think about was how what I eat there aren't really wings at all, but more like glorified chicken nuggets. In turn, this made me think about The Chelsea Lately Show (which I LOVE) and how she calls babies "nuggets" and BAM...I'm blogging about babies again.

Then I thought I'd go in a different, yet still food-based direction. My old, favorite stand-by:
CAKE!
That's when I found this. Seriously. I clicked google, typed cake and there it was.

Even I couldn't eat that and I love cake!

...well, maybe just the blanket part... or a toe.
No. NO. I couldn't even do that. EW. Who would eat a precious baby toe???

GAHK! I'm blogging about babies again!!!

In a last ditch effort to save this NON-BABY post, I googled vacation. My result?

I give up.

Gimme a B!

2009-10-05T12:03:00.000-07:00

I have seen my dr countless times in this baby journey. Countless. I have told her on SEVERAL occasions using both my sweet voice and my terminator voice that I want a baby. NOW. I'm sure my medical chart used to include nothing but my height, weight and birth control information. Now it's bursting at the seams with cycle length information, progesterone prescriptions, sperm analysis results and even the pictures of my first (and lonely) ultrasound which revealed NOTHING. Somehow, even with all that information, she's yet to solve the equation.

I'm not relying on my doctor to give me a baby. However, I'm paying her enough to at least point my eggs in the right direction. Still nothing. And yet, I've been very patient...

...that is until Saturday. Saturday I went to a football game. I spent maybe 3 hours with my wonderful girlfriend. She's a nurse. Our husbands were watching the action and we were discussing my lack there of...baby action that is. I told her about my wacked out cycles. I told her about the unspeakable amount of money I've spent on Pregnancy Tests. I told her when I ovulate and when I get a period. That's about it. It was maybe 1/100th of the information my doctor knows about me.

The game ends. The Husband and I head home. I convince myself not to take another pregnancy test (it is only 5 days past ovulation). And then my phone dings. It's a text from The Nurse Friend. "Try vitamin B6," she says, "It should lengthen your Luteal Phase." I'm not saying it's a miracle. I'm not hanging all my hopes on that little pill. But, heck, it's more than I've gotten out of Dr. Breezy in 16 months.

That's when I figured I was probably crazy.

2009-09-30T08:49:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling a touch emotional today. Ok, that's an understatement. It's not even lunch time and already I've had 2 crying break downs, thrown an angry temper tantrum and laughed my head off at a cheesy email forward. What the heck is wrong with me?

Could I be pregnant??????? Maybe. I hear mood swings are a big deal in pregnancy!

However, there's an off chance it's just PMS:

Women with PMS may feel sad, anxious, irritable, and angry. They may also suffer from crying spells, mood changes, trouble concentrating, loss of interest in daily activities, and a feeling of being overwhelmed or out of control.

And then there's always this HIGHLY UNLIKELY possibility:

cra·zy (ˈkrā-zē)
Function: adjective

1 full of cracks or flaws : unsound, crooked, askew
2 mad, insane [yelling like a crazy woman]: impractical (2) : erratic :
3 absurdly fond : passionately preoccupied : obsessed [crazy about babys] to an extreme degree

But that just doesn't sound like me at all... Odds are I'm probably pregnant. ;)

I can't stomach the thought...

2009-09-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

Well, my dear imaginary readers, I have successfully conceived ... a food baby. Forget sugar and spice and everything nice; this healthy nugget's a combination of two corn dogs, a bag of Cheetos and a diet Dr. Pepper. Judging from the belly gurgles, I'd say we're somewhere around the second trimester.

I realized recently that my eating habits are going to have to change once I finally fall pregnant. As much as I love greasy gas station fare and donuts, they don't exactly promote healthy fetal development. My list of things to eliminate after conception includes: Caffeine, Vodka, Fried Cinnamon Rolls (don't judge me), my night cap of Double Stuff Oreos and ~~Fish~~. Actually, I got a head start and already crossed off fish, so I think that's a step in the right direction.

However, the pregnancy "diet" has me concerned. Am I giving my baby-to-be the wrong impression? Or worse... what if I accidentally give birth to a vegetarian??? I have no life skills that have prepared me to fix daily meals for a (gasp) healthy eater. Any member of my family needs to have a pretty liberal take on nutritional needs, and I'm just not sure a 9 month diet of fruits, veggies and lean meats is adequately preparing my little one for the gastrointestinal roller coaster to come. I mean, I wouldn't want him / her to think I really drink water with every meal and that a salad for lunch is NORMAL. That's just lying to the kid!

So I've decided to offer a compromise, in the interest of honesty and fairness. Once I'm finally blessed with child, I'll give up the soda and vodka and oreos, but I'm keeping the cinnamon rolls. And, in exchange, I'll learn a couple new recipes...that actually use vegetables. Does anyone know where you can buy those?

It's time to Pre-Seed

2009-09-24T08:12:00.000-07:00

I went just a wee bit shopping crazy. It's ok though cuz it's internet shopping and we all know that purchases made online don't count, right? Also, everything I bought serves a function much unlike the origami paper chandelier I ordered from Urban Outfitters which I was forced to return due to my husband's UNFOUNDED fear that it was a fire hazard.

I bought...wait for it....PREGNANCY TESTS! Do you know how much cheaper these things are online? Geeze! But since I can't use the pregnancy tests for a few more weeks, I needed something for right now. So I bought Ovulation Tests. And then, because it was so fun getting things in the mail and because I have heard so many good things about it, I ordered some Pre-Seed. This is when The Husband intervened.

The conversation went something like this:
Me: Sweetie, would you like something to drink or maybe some cookies?
TheHusband: What did you buy?
Me: Oh, nothing. I just thought you looked thirsty.
while loudly clinking ice cubes into a glass and from the other room i whispered: I just ordered some Pre-Seed online.
TheHusband: QUIT BUYING THINGS! And what the heck do we need lawn fertilizer for, it's almost winter?

I proceeded to explain that pre-seed isn't lawn fertilizer...it's actually more like people fertilizer. It's the KY of baby making really. Fortunately for me, The Husband found the product so laughable that he forgot to ask how much it cost. He was so tickled, in fact, that he coined them a slogan. "Pre-Seed," he said, "Before you plow."

Here's hoping this little nugget does the trick!

Doogie Howser, OBGYN

2009-09-23T06:40:00.000-07:00

I had some blood work done a couple weeks ago that my doc ordered. Before leaving for vacation I called to check on the results. Doctor's nurse, Tiffany (not exactly my idea of a trusted name in medicine), suggested I come in to go over them and pick up some free samples of a thyroid medication they were going to start me on. Thyroid?? This seems important and unrelated to baby making, but whatever.

So, that brings us to yesterday and my appointment. Tiffany weighs me, sits me down and asks the standard questions (when was your last period? are you using birth control? how's your sex life?) and then the doc breezes in. I say breezes because that's what she is, literally...cool, breezy and talks faster than a tornado in a trailer park. Dr. Breezy steps aside to introduce the kid with her and I immediately assume it's take your daughter to work day. Sweet. Breezy thanks me for allowing her to sit in and I start to tell her that: A. No one actually asked me, so I did NOT in fact "allow her to sit in" and B. I don't think my vagina and the quality of The Husbands Spermards are really a topic for a pre-teen when Dr. Breezy interrupts me.

"The embryo standing here is actually a 4th year resident studying to be an OBGYN."
(she didn't say embryo, but that's what I heard).

GREAT!! I'm being treated by a real life Doogie Howser, OBGYN. I have high hopes for my fertility now that I'm being seen by a girl who hasn't even started her period yet. Now, dear readers, I'm sure you're saying to yourselves...maybe she just looked young, and although that IS a possibility, would you bet your vagina on it? I didn't think so.

There was a lot of good (read bad) stuff in the middle of the appointment that maybe I'll tell you tomorrow, but for now I'd like to skip to the end. This is the part where Dr. Zygote gets to try her skills on a real life patient (me). I begrudgingly hopped up on the table, thanking God that this was a pants ON appointment and let her poke at me. She started with the lungs..."deep breaths" and then the pulse and then she felt the Thyroid. You know, the one Tiffany said had issues. She poked it. Cocked her head to the side. Pushed it again. Cocked her head to the other side (resembling my Terrier when I use words not in her vocabulary) and then reported, "It feels squishy."

There's my problem, folks. I'm not having babies because my thyroid is squishy.

'Roid Rage

2009-09-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

Another week, another doctor's appointment. They're getting so familiar with me there, I think my doctor could sketch my vajayjay from memory. Sorry, that was vulgar, even for a Monday, but seriously! This time they want to try some Thyroid something-or-nother. I feel a little bit like their lab rat.

Worse, actually, because lab rats don't have to pretend they understand anything that's going on with them. No one's going to ask the little vermin when she last had a period. They just drink the funky kool-aid and hope for the best. I, on the other hand, have to listen and comprehend the Greek my doc prescribes and then report back to The Husband and my mother and the family and hoards of well-meaning friends. And THEN I have to listen to their take on everything. I'm happy...truly happy for my support group and all their helpful advice and interest, but by this point I'd drink Sea Urchin excrement without question if only it meant this TRYING would be over. And I can't really explain that to anyone.

Vacation, Baby!

2009-09-08T12:15:00.000-07:00

Not sure where I left you last, dear imaginary readers, so allow me to recap. Friday I had blood drawn by a sweet, naive young newlywed who got married 2 weeks ago. She can't wait to be pregnant by Christmas. Well, get in line, sister; if Santa's handing out babies this year I'm gettin' mine first. The darling thing, who was actually quite sweet, told me she had been tracking her ovulation online and was sure next month would be it for her. Cute.

I was jealous, not of her baby making potential, but of her optimism - her hope. I lost that somewhere along the way. Each cycle leaves me just a little bit more jaded and bitter. To try and avoid raining on her baby parade, I just smiled while she told me how her friend got pregnant the first month she tried using this online calculator. I really wish it was that simple. I wish I could point and click a baby in my belly as easily as I put nursery items in Pottery Barn's online shopping cart. But, for me, it's just not so. Not YET, anyway...

Who'd have guessed....

2009-09-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd be infertile. Had I realized, regardless of what I was told, staying out with a boy past 11 pm and kissing with tongue wouldn't lead to instant impregnation I could have saved a HECK of a lot of money on birth control. I had no idea the window of opportunity was so narrow or that the "labor" was going to be in trying to get the already exhausted husband mildly interested in me while still babbling about my period and ovulation and areolas. But, it seems, in this journey I've stumbled across a lot of things I didn't know...

...or more precisely, things I didn't know I'd do. For example: I never knew I'd unabashedly waltz into Walgreens one day and grab a multi-pack of tampons, small bag of pantyliners, 20 ovulation tests and a 3 pack of home pregnancy tests. I also never knew how enjoyable the young cashier's face would be. I probably single-handedly turned that girl celibate for at least 5 more years!!

I never knew I would type freely about my struggles and fears and vagina for Lord-knows-who to read (note: Please do NOT tell my mother I keep this blog -- she'd never be seen with me in public again). And never in a million years did it cross my mind that in hopes of a miracle, I might be paying a visit to this guy:

Yep, that's a witch doctor and I'm making an appointment.

Ok ok, not an actual witch doctor, but on a friend's recommendation I am going to see some seedy lady at an herb shop (bad pun intended). Supposedly, she can pinpoint exactly what's going on with your body, fix it and BAM you're with child. Sound desperate? Well, I am. Heck, at this point I'd fly to Willendorf, Austria to cop a feel of this hot fertility broad.

Numbers Game

2009-09-01T06:11:00.000-07:00

Well, no need to change the marquee...Susan's still NOT pregnant. Yep, Cycle Day 1 today. For those of you taking notes, we did just skip from 11 dpo (days past ovulation) right to the dreaded CD 1, leading me to believe my body has a thing for odd numbers.

Also in number news, I've noticed my readership has grown from imaginary to > 0! This is, no doubt, due to my cute and functional button. Exciting as that may be, it means I can't blog all the curse words I'm thinking about CD 1. I can, however, describe for you the scene this morning just outside my bathroom with me stomping about and slamming things and cursing about Aunt Flo unpacking her bags. Somewhere in my rant I suggested brutally ripping my reproductive organs from my body as they serve no apparent function. At this, The Husband suggested replacing them with those of a baboon. Yes, he told a menstruating woman she'd be better off with a baboon womb(in his defense, he meant well). After the initial anger, I realized that baboon babies are kinda cute:
However, I googled pregnant baboons and they are NOT cute, so I guess that's out. Looks like I'm just in for another cycle with human parts. Oh, and I'm seeing someone this cycle, cuz that's what you do when your fertile bits have odd number OCD. Wish me luck!

Lousy Loopholes

2009-08-31T08:03:00.000-07:00

What do taxes, insurance and trying to conceive have in common? Loopholes. And I hate them all equally.

Really the loopholes are the "sting" of trying to conceive for any extended period of time. When I first started TTC (trying to conceive), I looked at it like a contest with a really enticing prize. Each month there's a drawing and the winners are notified. However, that's not quite the case. If it were so cut and dry I don't think I'd be half as crazy as I am right now.

For those of you not aware, let me diagram the possible scenarios for you: Let's ASSUME you have the oft maligned 28 day cycle. You should have a period for week one, gear up for O at the end of week 2 and then wait patiently for 14 days to see if you're a winner, Bob! Now for the small print:

Not all cycles are 28 days and they vary in length from month to month. You can only achieve conception during 24 hours of your cycle, but your guess is as good as mine as to when those hours happen. Have sex often to make sure you catch it, but not too often as this will lead to defective spremerds. Try to keep it "exciting" for the husband, but don't do the deed in one of the dreaded "girl on top" positions as this will cause the spermerds to just fall right back out eliminating all chances of fertilization...however, tilt your hips back too far and the goo will pool behind your cervix (why the hell does my cervix even have a behind?!?) again eliminating all chances. You can narrow the possible O window with the help of prediction kits which cost you small fortune and may or may not be decipherable. Should you get a positive there, you can begin counting to 14 when your period should show. You may see something that resembles a period BEFORE day 14 which may or may not be implantation bleeding. If it's brown it's good, if it's red it's bad and if it's green, you should see someone. Also, you can test for pregnancy early, but the test may or may not be accurate before day 14. Also, a negative on day 14 might also be a positive that you just didn't read right. Make sure to watch out for faint positives (get out your flashlights and magnifying glasses) and chemical pregnancies.

IF you make it to a big fat positive after all that... well then you get to call your doctor and start the waiting all over again. Can you see how this is a headache?? (PS headaches are also a sign of pregnancy...or your period...ya know, either one.)

Redirection of misconception

2009-08-28T12:54:00.000-07:00

It's day 8. It's been day 8 for HOURS now. I've decided day 8 is kinda like turning 19. Nothing much significant happening in either case. There's not a damn thing I can pee on right now that's gonna turn any color...too far away from O to use a OPK and too far from magical, mystical day 14 to use an HPT. I'm just sitting here wishing away this worthless day 8.

As a distraction I started trying to make a button, you know, to link my imaginary readers to my blog. I decided this button should have a picture on it which led me to google "baby images". I don't recommend that ANYONE who's EVER had the tiniest droplet of estrogen in their body should google "baby". The sight of all those chubby cheeks and bright eyes made me want babies so bad I can taste it. And to make matters worse...right in the middle of the page was a picture of a baby SEAL!?!?!!! OH MY GOSH! The only thing more heart-meltingly-adorable than a human baby is a seal baby (they have a name, I don't know it...cub, pup??). So, needless to say, my obsession with producing my own babies took a dramatic turn for the worse. Damn you day 8 and your complete insignificant-ness!!

And on the 7th day...

2009-08-27T12:54:00.000-07:00

If God created the world in 7 days, why does it take 14 to create life... or at least life that can be measured on a HPT?? 14 DAYS! I'm halfway through and already I'm a crazy woman... one sudden movement away from cutting open my own uterus to see if anything's growing inside.

I can tell you what I know:
1. I naturally secrete more pregnancy "signs" than all the pregnant women on the planet even when I'm NOT pregnant.
2. If I could put all my pre-pregnancy detective efforts into finding a way to track pregnancy from conception and then make it available at your local drugstore...well, then I'd be a millionaire.
3. As a millionaire, I could buy a properly functioning reproductive system (as mine seems to be defective) on the black market and FINALLY start making what I really want...CHILDREN! Just kidding about this one...seriously NOT going to buy organs on the black market...I don't even know where the black market is.
4. I'm going to have nothing to blog about should I ever fall pregnant. However, dear imaginary readers, I wouldn't worry too much...odds are not good.

Inglorious Barrenness

2009-08-24T07:09:00.000-07:00

Watched the movie over the weekend. If I could have babies (which, for the time being, is not a certainty) I would have Quentin Tarantino's. They might look a little creepy, but they would be creative geniuses!! Bring it on, QT.

However, back in reality, I still, to my knowledge, am not growing anything in my womb. I don't know how many times in the long, Long, LONG journey I've wished that upon ovulation your pee would turn hot pink and at conception your ass would turn blue. It's these two little guessing games that drive us women MAD. By my approximation, I'm about 4 days past ovulation (dpo) right now. Still feeling nothing but the occasional twinge of a cramp-lette in my low right side, the ever-present longing for cupcakes and an extreme desire to hunt down the people who run pee stick companies. Do you know how much those First Response commercials irritate me? "Imagine, finding out you're pregnant the moment it happens... That's not possible." Well thanks for that First Response Early Result. Way to get my hopes up and then dash them again... much like your dreaded 3 minute wait for pregnancy results. Every woman is pregnant for those three minutes... waiting, holding her breath, dreaming (or crying in fear if you're on the other side of this game) and then BAM "Let us be the one's to tell you first..." that you're STILL not knocked up. Thanks for killing my dreams First Response.

Well at least SOMETHING's positive

2009-08-21T14:10:00.000-07:00

I think Basal Body Temping (BBT) is a scam. I know lots and lots of women do it successfully and then obsess over what the Fertility Friend tells them, whether they got cross hairs or if they need to manually alter it (I know enough to know that you should never EVER manually alter it -- that machine is smarter than all of us). But it just doesn't work for me.

For starters, I have to wake up at an ungodly hour (*note, all hours before 8 am are ungodly by my standards) on weekdays. To successfully BBT you must temp at the same time every day. Who the hell wants to wake up at an ungodly hour on a Saturday BEFORE you have rugrats keeping you up?? Not I, said the barren lady.

Also, you must not MOVE, not even an inch, not even to get the thermometer before temping or you F the whole thing up. Basically, the second that conscious thoughts hit your brain, you must wriggle your tongue out of your mouth towards the night stand WITH OUT MOVING and somehow, through telekinesis, move the thermometer under it, turn it on and wait for the beep before falling asleep again. This is NOT POSSIBLE. When the alarm chirps at my bedside in the morning, I resemble something of a WWII soldier after getting hit by a grenade (minus the dismemberment, of course) with parts flailing every which way and cursing and flopping -- all in an attempt to silence the blasted alarm before actual "awakeness" happens. Needless to say, I can't do anything before "moving" in the morning...therefore, I can't temp accurately.

In lieu of the "natural" fertility monitoring (BBnagonnahappen) I've opted for OPK's this month and GOOD NEWS! I'm 1 day past a positive test! I guess that means I'm 1 dpo. Those of you imaginary readers who are here for tww symptoms, I'm happy to report that I have an increased desire for sleep and cake. However, if that means you've conceived, the octomom would have nothing on me. Odds are not likely anyway, give the BD (sex) debacle of yesterday / today...but more on that later.

FED UP!

2009-08-17T14:11:00.000-07:00

I realized that no one of any importance is going to read my blog. My visions of becoming the next Pioneer Woman or Perez Hilton are doomed. So, that said, I suppose it doesn't matter what sensitive or incriminating information I bog about; no one's going to read it anyway.

I'm under a curse. I'm happily married, gainfully employed in a job that I (usually) love, under 30 and "stable". Can you guess what the curse is? My mother and his could talk your ear off about it... LACK of children. Until recently, this was by choice. I wasn't ready, for whatever reason (and trust me, despite what my Mom-in-law has to say about it, they were good reasons). And then one day my mind flipped a u-ie and I wanted kiddos.

THAT, imaginary readers, was LAST JUNE! I say last because we've had ANOTHER JUNE since then. 2 Junes have passed and still no pitter patter of little feet. Ugh. I never knew I would be in this boat. Dare I even type the word infertility . What a nightmare.

Granted, there are daily, weekly, monthly distractions. But it's always back there, just begging for attention. If the FBI seized my computer for any reason, they would think I was a crazy obsessed woman based on my browsing history. I have nursery ideas bookmarked, maternity clothes in several different online shopping carts, a printed list of what all the damn acronyms mean, ttc forums, ddc forums (which I've joined twice now because I could have SWORN I saw a faint line). AGHK!

So I suppose since no one's reading this blog...and no one's growing in my womb...I'll use this as a place to vent until one or the other changes.

CMF4ABS (how's that for ttc speak?? :)