Yesterday, bright and early, we had our first visit with the RE.
After discussing all of our test results and history, his main concern was viscosity just as it had been with useless OB wanna be RE. While he agreed that morphology and motility are low, he told us that he wasn't concerned since the overall count was good and we had gotten pregnant before. (No hamster eggs for us.) Based on the above, he suggested that he was leaning IUI and felt our chances were very good. Above average good. Cool. He did ask that I repeat the CD #2-3 tests (FSH and friends) since those test results seem to have disappeared from the OB's office. I will also get a chromosome analysis done at the same time to see if there are any obvious answers to my sucky m/c rate.
Woo hoo...vaginal ultrasound time. Right ovary had 7-8 follies, 3-4 on the left. (CD #5.) It was all happening so fast that while I heard him mention "a few cysts, but that's okay" it didn't register enough to ask any questions. Nor did I get any measurements on the follies, though I'm not even sure measurements this early in a cycle would mean anything anyway. As far as he could tell, my ovaries and whatever else are looking really good. (Tubes, of course, can't be seen this way, so who knows.) No signs of ageing beyond my years, which I was relieved to hear since early menstruation and early menopause run in my family.
Are you familiar with OPKs? Yes. We recommend Clear Blue because... Yes. But not the monitor. Yes. Have you charted before? Yes. Today is CD #5? Yes. What day do get a positive OPK? CD #13. Alright, let's do an IUI next week. Let's start with two or three rounds unmedicated. If that doesn't work, we'll try meds for a few months. If you still haven't conceived, then we will reevaluate.
WHAT? IUI NEXT WEEK???
Next week.
Oh, you mean, like, next cycle.
No, next week. You are set to ovulate next week, aren't you? (Flips through my chart and nods. Yes, his short term memory is intact.)
Yes...but this next week?
Yes.
Next week. I'm sorry, I'm not hearing you correctly. You said next week?
Yes.
Should we see a Urologist first?
It's up to you. We have a great one right here in town who I highly recommend who specializes in IF, but I feel confident based on your case that this is the next step.
What about repeating the SA? Shouldn't repeat the SA first?
Again, that's up to you.
What about the CD #2-3 blood tests? Should I do those first?
No. Next cycle is fine.
IUI next week.
Yes.
Ummm...do I have to?
Yes, I actually asked if I had to. Not once, not twice, but at least a half dozen times, even after he'd left us in the care of his nurse, who very nicely reminded me that their job is to get me pregnant, but that we would proceed when I was comfortable.
Because mentally I was back on long term TTC thinking. Meet him, spend a few months running more tests, wait a few months to get into the Urologist as a new patient, maybe actually decide on a plan in 3 or 4 or 6 months. Out of all the scenarios I'd been running in my head there was ever a next week one. Hell, since filling out the paperwork a few months ago when I'd been a friggin saint, I *just* started drinking a cup of caffeine most days again, just started getting lazy about taking prenatal vitamins, just started having the occasional glass of wine after the 2ww was over. The good girl crap was getting old.
False hope? Scam? No, the dude's got an excellent rep: this clinic, which he started when there were only a handful in the entire country, was one of the pioneers of IVF in the early 80s. He's been featured as one of the best by reputable sources, sources we've all heard of. His IVF rates are well above national averages. And he's local, which is just freaky, since we live where we do which is not a major city.
And I feel like an ass, because of course we're going to do it next week. Or at least we plan to unless we get there and are told we should cancel. I just needed a little bit of time to process it all. Because, seriously, suddenly there's a real plan: a plan that starts next week.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Whose vacation is it anyway?
I was awoken far too early this morning when my eyelids were forcibly opened.
"Mommy? I want to do somefing."
"It's still dark out."
And so began our first day of summer vacation.
Preschool resumes August 17th. Only 56 more weekdays to go.
"Mommy? I want to do somefing."
"It's still dark out."
And so began our first day of summer vacation.
Preschool resumes August 17th. Only 56 more weekdays to go.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
If They Mated
Circa 2001, we were out at Dave & Buster's with our friends Brooke and Rusty when we came across one of those novelty takeapictureoftwopeopleandseewhattheirkidswilllooklike photo booths. All you had to do was fork over a few bucks, select your ethnicity, and smile for the camera. Rusty, as seriously funny as he is seriously Caucasian, and I should note married to a natural blonde, had to be talked out of selecting Asian.
Good times.
Really?
The laughs grew as we realized that our fake supposedly composite children resembled each other more than any of us. It was oh so not scientifically based.
A friend of mine was commenting today on her blog about how she had suddenly realized, through pictures, that her new daughter's hair is changing. I've always gotten a kick out of watching people grow up through pictures, trying to guess what they will look like as they get older, not just as children but through their adult years as well. Probably because I am an only child, I have always been especially fascinated by siblings. When anyone we know has a second child my first question if they resemble their older sibling as a baby. It's not so much the individual features that I'm interested in, but the overall picture.
Earlier this month J's sister had her second child. Our family had a great time guessing what our new niece would look like. Her son, undoubtedly is the spitting image of my ex-BIL. Taking my SIL's fair skin and striking red hair and combining it with her fiancée's dark olive skin and Cambodian roots was a combo that we just could not picture. She was only a few days when Jon's mother produced a picture of him as a newborn that you would have sworn was our new niece Emily. Freaky identical.
(I can't describe Emily except to say she's outrageously beautiful. There are a few pictures on Flickr.)
J resembles his dad, and he unquestionably resembles his sister, but she is certainly not just a male version of him. Neither of them look even related to their mother. When a long lost half-brother of theirs showed up at my FIL's door a year ago both my SIL and FIL thought it was J. "They could be twins!" Whatever...we didn't think so. But I did think he absolutely looked like my FIL. I've always been told that I look like both my parents, though I more strongly resemble my dad. Everyone agrees that the Cracker looks like my dad, but not usually like either one of us.
Confused? So am I, and I actually know all these people.
Today Jen reminded me of the time when I too realized, through a picture, that the Cracker had lost almost all of the dark brown hair he'd been born with. It was a really weird moment: you've been there nonstop but you miss the gradual change until one day it just slaps you upside the head.* We had just gotten a hiking backpack and I just had to take pictures of His Cuteness in it even though he was still far too young to actually ride in it.
*(Personally, I blame hats. I had quite a serious baby hat fetish. Trying to find a picture of his hair was way harder than it should have been.)
12 days old
6 weeks old
His hair quickly came back in: light brown at first, gradually becoming blonde.
And then there's that really neat point where they stop being infants and start being little people, and you can finally really see what they're going to look like as child. As they grow they look so much the same yet older.
16 months
A few months ago, as I noticed that the Cracker's hair is slowly getting darker, I began to wonder what color hair he will have as an adult. I think the reason people ask about his hair is that he has the same weird almost greyish tint that mine does. (Or maybe I'm just going grey?) I suspect it will be in the brown family, and I'm really starting to lean towards thinking it will be the same as mine. (Except by then I will be grey, and we'll never get a good side by side comparison.)
Good times.
Really?
The laughs grew as we realized that our fake supposedly composite children resembled each other more than any of us. It was oh so not scientifically based.
A friend of mine was commenting today on her blog about how she had suddenly realized, through pictures, that her new daughter's hair is changing. I've always gotten a kick out of watching people grow up through pictures, trying to guess what they will look like as they get older, not just as children but through their adult years as well. Probably because I am an only child, I have always been especially fascinated by siblings. When anyone we know has a second child my first question if they resemble their older sibling as a baby. It's not so much the individual features that I'm interested in, but the overall picture.
Earlier this month J's sister had her second child. Our family had a great time guessing what our new niece would look like. Her son, undoubtedly is the spitting image of my ex-BIL. Taking my SIL's fair skin and striking red hair and combining it with her fiancée's dark olive skin and Cambodian roots was a combo that we just could not picture. She was only a few days when Jon's mother produced a picture of him as a newborn that you would have sworn was our new niece Emily. Freaky identical.
(I can't describe Emily except to say she's outrageously beautiful. There are a few pictures on Flickr.)
J resembles his dad, and he unquestionably resembles his sister, but she is certainly not just a male version of him. Neither of them look even related to their mother. When a long lost half-brother of theirs showed up at my FIL's door a year ago both my SIL and FIL thought it was J. "They could be twins!" Whatever...we didn't think so. But I did think he absolutely looked like my FIL. I've always been told that I look like both my parents, though I more strongly resemble my dad. Everyone agrees that the Cracker looks like my dad, but not usually like either one of us.
Confused? So am I, and I actually know all these people.
Today Jen reminded me of the time when I too realized, through a picture, that the Cracker had lost almost all of the dark brown hair he'd been born with. It was a really weird moment: you've been there nonstop but you miss the gradual change until one day it just slaps you upside the head.* We had just gotten a hiking backpack and I just had to take pictures of His Cuteness in it even though he was still far too young to actually ride in it.
*(Personally, I blame hats. I had quite a serious baby hat fetish. Trying to find a picture of his hair was way harder than it should have been.)
12 days old
6 weeks old
His hair quickly came back in: light brown at first, gradually becoming blonde.
And then there's that really neat point where they stop being infants and start being little people, and you can finally really see what they're going to look like as child. As they grow they look so much the same yet older.
16 months
A few months ago, as I noticed that the Cracker's hair is slowly getting darker, I began to wonder what color hair he will have as an adult. I think the reason people ask about his hair is that he has the same weird almost greyish tint that mine does. (Or maybe I'm just going grey?) I suspect it will be in the brown family, and I'm really starting to lean towards thinking it will be the same as mine. (Except by then I will be grey, and we'll never get a good side by side comparison.)
Monday, May 21, 2007
Little Boys
This afternoon I came home to find the Cracker with a hammer, pliers, and every roll of Christmas/Birthday/Wedding/New Baby wrapping paper I've collected over the years spread across the living room floor.
"What are you doing?"
"Building roads."
I grabbed a vehicle, got down on all fours, and made a lame ass girly attempt at playing cars.
"Vroom, vroom."
(Shaking his head.) "No Mommy, the roads aren't done yet. Those are just the pipes."
"What are you doing?"
"Building roads."
I grabbed a vehicle, got down on all fours, and made a lame ass girly attempt at playing cars.
"Vroom, vroom."
(Shaking his head.) "No Mommy, the roads aren't done yet. Those are just the pipes."
Things You Hope Weren't Overheard
A while back we finally gave in a went to an Indian Casino buffet for dinner. It only took 4 years of everyone telling us to give it a try.
(Yum!)
As we were exiting the restaurant a Pow Wow was letting out.
"Hey Mommy! Hey Daddy! Look at all the cwowns!"
(Whispering) "Those aren't clowns, they're Native American Dancers."
"No they're not. They're cwowns! Wow! I weally like their cwown costumes!"
(Still whispering) "See all the feathers on their heads? Those are called headdresses. Clowns don't wear feathers."
"THEY'RE CWOWNS!"
(Hissing at J) "Stop laughing and walk faster!"
(Yum!)
As we were exiting the restaurant a Pow Wow was letting out.
"Hey Mommy! Hey Daddy! Look at all the cwowns!"
(Whispering) "Those aren't clowns, they're Native American Dancers."
"No they're not. They're cwowns! Wow! I weally like their cwown costumes!"
(Still whispering) "See all the feathers on their heads? Those are called headdresses. Clowns don't wear feathers."
"THEY'RE CWOWNS!"
(Hissing at J) "Stop laughing and walk faster!"
Touché
"Sweetie, I'm afraid that you're going to fall. Would you mind getting down?"
"I'm okay Mommy. I'm balancing. With my arms, see? And my ears too."
(Okay smartie pants, let's see how much of that you even understand.)
"Your ears, huh? How does that work? Your ears don't look like they're doing anything. They're not wiggling."
"No Mommy! The ears inside, in my head. You can't see them!"
Close enough.
"I'm okay Mommy. I'm balancing. With my arms, see? And my ears too."
(Okay smartie pants, let's see how much of that you even understand.)
"Your ears, huh? How does that work? Your ears don't look like they're doing anything. They're not wiggling."
"No Mommy! The ears inside, in my head. You can't see them!"
Close enough.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Because I Had To
Dinner was ready, the Cracker was napping, and I had a good 4 hours to kill before the Grey's season finale.
(I've been reading on the net that there's going to be a lot of sex tonight. GA is my porn, so they better not be lying.)
I was checking in over at Wannabe Hippie when I found Elaine's post about becoming a bone marrow donor.
OMG...I have to do that.
Okay, really my first instinct was more along the lines of "I want to do that but it's a little bit scary." But being a sucker for sick kids and being a mother myself, it quickly turned into "I have to do that." Because if I am ever contacted it will be for a damn good reason.
I called J and asked if he had any objections, since if I did ever match he would have to deal with me. And take care of the Cracker. Of course it helps that he's totally used to these random kinds of phone calls at work.
So I did it. Already signed up, just waiting for my cheek swab kit which should arrive in 2-3 weeks.
Starting in 2007 (yes, New Year's Resolution, ugh, along with never ever again taking a bag at any store, which another post I'll probably never write) I promised myself that when a good opportunity arose I would stop hesitating and start acting. This is way cooler than donating 11 inches of hair to Locks of Love which was what I finally did two months ago after years of thinking someday. (Yuppers, chopped it short, from elbow length to above the neck, and no, I'm not sharing pics at the moment because the dude made my bangs too heavy when I wasn't even supposed to have bangs and I'm already trying to grow it out again.)
So anyway, it's something to think about. During the Thanks Mom Marrow Donor Drive they are waiving the $52 registration fee.
(I've been reading on the net that there's going to be a lot of sex tonight. GA is my porn, so they better not be lying.)
I was checking in over at Wannabe Hippie when I found Elaine's post about becoming a bone marrow donor.
OMG...I have to do that.
Okay, really my first instinct was more along the lines of "I want to do that but it's a little bit scary." But being a sucker for sick kids and being a mother myself, it quickly turned into "I have to do that." Because if I am ever contacted it will be for a damn good reason.
I called J and asked if he had any objections, since if I did ever match he would have to deal with me. And take care of the Cracker. Of course it helps that he's totally used to these random kinds of phone calls at work.
So I did it. Already signed up, just waiting for my cheek swab kit which should arrive in 2-3 weeks.
Starting in 2007 (yes, New Year's Resolution, ugh, along with never ever again taking a bag at any store, which another post I'll probably never write) I promised myself that when a good opportunity arose I would stop hesitating and start acting. This is way cooler than donating 11 inches of hair to Locks of Love which was what I finally did two months ago after years of thinking someday. (Yuppers, chopped it short, from elbow length to above the neck, and no, I'm not sharing pics at the moment because the dude made my bangs too heavy when I wasn't even supposed to have bangs and I'm already trying to grow it out again.)
So anyway, it's something to think about. During the Thanks Mom Marrow Donor Drive they are waiving the $52 registration fee.
Oh the Horror!
Want to incite a riot? Let your 2 year old have a pacifier. Even sweet little old ladies will try to kick your ass.
BTDT.
When you're a first time parent, and then you don't have a second child in the socially acceptable amount of time, the number of crazy things with your firstborn that you most likely wouldn't do again the next go 'round increases exponentially. I'm an only child myself, so I get it.
Guilty.
(And let me just take this opportunity to thank all the people over the years who've told me that for an only I am not a freak like the all the rest. Yeah...uh...thanks.)
Here's to hoping the damage isn't permanent.
So here are a few admissions (and justifications):
At 4 years, 1 month and 2 weeks he still eats Yo Baby because he claims to hate all other yogurt. (He can't drink cow's milk and always prefers water over soy milk.) (I actually blame our granola Pediatrician on this one because she insisted that we not introduce other types of milk until he stopped breastfeeding at 19 months.) (And it's not because he's drinking juice, which remains high on his list of the world's evils.)
He still takes the majority of his meals at home in his high chair. (He can't get up while eating, which makes eating faster and cleaning easier.) (And he hasn't used a high chair in a restaurant since he was 2.)
We put on all shoes that aren't slip-ons.
He still wears a diaper at night to catch the occasional accident. (Cheaper than Pull-ups and Overnights.)
He still sits happily in a stroller. (BUT it's a jogger, and we only use it because A) we like to hike and he's too heavy for the backpack and B) after 2 miles under his own steam forward progress comes to a standstill.)
Believe it or not, we have made some progress in the last year:
He now dresses himself.
We no longer let my parents spoon feed him.
Yes, you read that right. Well into 3 the Cracker would insist he couldn't feed himself when the my parents were around. And they'd happily sit there for hours after squabbling over who had won the honor the last time. Hands in his lap, all he had to do was open wide, chew and swallow. Even I admit it made me a little sick.
I like to tell myself it's not all bad. If you're on his top 10 list of favorite people he will ask to "cuddle" with you and his magic blankie no less than a dozen times a day. I like to think his future partner is going to thank me for that one.
Last week at preschool I was making chit chat with one of the teachers and a couple of parents (we have an above average number of metrosexual stay-at-home-dad's in our Co-op) when I stupidly volunteered that the Cracker had only recently moved out of his crib.
Insert the look of horror.
"You mean a toddler bed."
"No, we never converted it. And he slept so well we figured why mess with a good thing?"
"Weren't you worried he'd hurt himself climbing out in the middle of the night?"
"He never climbed out. He climbed in, but never out."
Okay, so maybe we are turning him into a freak.
I had been telling myself we'd convert the crib to a toddler bed by his 4th birthday at the latest, but we were 2 months away and had yet to make a move.
This time the universe intervened.
I was wandering through Costco with my parents when we came across my deal of the year: the last unopened nearly identical evil twin of the Pottery Barn Boat Bed on Costco clearance and priced to move for $199. Yes, the 9 foot long mostly wooden complete with trundle whose coordinating nightstand alone is $299 + shipping + tax. (Ours is the Bayside Furnishings La Jolla Boat Bed also available at Home Depot online if you dare to compare.) And while I like name brands as much as the next gal, the fact that the base price of the PBK one was 4.9967 times more than our first car I was thrilled. G'parents bought the bed as an early birthday gift and we bought the mattress.
(Trundle doubles as storage for all those kid’s clothes we hope to use again. Oh the storage!)
If you're still shaking your head let me tell you that transitioning at 46 months was a breeze compared to stories I'd heard long ago from my colleagues. "This is your big boy bed and you will stay in it until morning" totally worked. Okay, he didn't always remain horizontal, but at least when we would peek in he was always sitting on the edge swinging his legs back and forth in a criss-cross pattern talking to imaginary seahorses.
The mornings went almost as well. We had one "Daddy why aren't you wearing any underwear in bed?" and two apparently not early enough interrupted sex sessions. (Because, of course, the week he got the bed was also the week that I was ovulating.)
On the plus side, we were able to imprison him in his high chair, slap a couple of Yo Baby's down, buying ourselves 10 more minutes of uniterrupted adult time.
Next up: wiping his own ass. With toilet paper.
BTDT.
When you're a first time parent, and then you don't have a second child in the socially acceptable amount of time, the number of crazy things with your firstborn that you most likely wouldn't do again the next go 'round increases exponentially. I'm an only child myself, so I get it.
Guilty.
(And let me just take this opportunity to thank all the people over the years who've told me that for an only I am not a freak like the all the rest. Yeah...uh...thanks.)
Here's to hoping the damage isn't permanent.
So here are a few admissions (and justifications):
At 4 years, 1 month and 2 weeks he still eats Yo Baby because he claims to hate all other yogurt. (He can't drink cow's milk and always prefers water over soy milk.) (I actually blame our granola Pediatrician on this one because she insisted that we not introduce other types of milk until he stopped breastfeeding at 19 months.) (And it's not because he's drinking juice, which remains high on his list of the world's evils.)
He still takes the majority of his meals at home in his high chair. (He can't get up while eating, which makes eating faster and cleaning easier.) (And he hasn't used a high chair in a restaurant since he was 2.)
We put on all shoes that aren't slip-ons.
He still wears a diaper at night to catch the occasional accident. (Cheaper than Pull-ups and Overnights.)
He still sits happily in a stroller. (BUT it's a jogger, and we only use it because A) we like to hike and he's too heavy for the backpack and B) after 2 miles under his own steam forward progress comes to a standstill.)
Believe it or not, we have made some progress in the last year:
He now dresses himself.
We no longer let my parents spoon feed him.
Yes, you read that right. Well into 3 the Cracker would insist he couldn't feed himself when the my parents were around. And they'd happily sit there for hours after squabbling over who had won the honor the last time. Hands in his lap, all he had to do was open wide, chew and swallow. Even I admit it made me a little sick.
I like to tell myself it's not all bad. If you're on his top 10 list of favorite people he will ask to "cuddle" with you and his magic blankie no less than a dozen times a day. I like to think his future partner is going to thank me for that one.
Last week at preschool I was making chit chat with one of the teachers and a couple of parents (we have an above average number of metrosexual stay-at-home-dad's in our Co-op) when I stupidly volunteered that the Cracker had only recently moved out of his crib.
Insert the look of horror.
"You mean a toddler bed."
"No, we never converted it. And he slept so well we figured why mess with a good thing?"
"Weren't you worried he'd hurt himself climbing out in the middle of the night?"
"He never climbed out. He climbed in, but never out."
Okay, so maybe we are turning him into a freak.
I had been telling myself we'd convert the crib to a toddler bed by his 4th birthday at the latest, but we were 2 months away and had yet to make a move.
This time the universe intervened.
I was wandering through Costco with my parents when we came across my deal of the year: the last unopened nearly identical evil twin of the Pottery Barn Boat Bed on Costco clearance and priced to move for $199. Yes, the 9 foot long mostly wooden complete with trundle whose coordinating nightstand alone is $299 + shipping + tax. (Ours is the Bayside Furnishings La Jolla Boat Bed also available at Home Depot online if you dare to compare.) And while I like name brands as much as the next gal, the fact that the base price of the PBK one was 4.9967 times more than our first car I was thrilled. G'parents bought the bed as an early birthday gift and we bought the mattress.
(Trundle doubles as storage for all those kid’s clothes we hope to use again. Oh the storage!)
If you're still shaking your head let me tell you that transitioning at 46 months was a breeze compared to stories I'd heard long ago from my colleagues. "This is your big boy bed and you will stay in it until morning" totally worked. Okay, he didn't always remain horizontal, but at least when we would peek in he was always sitting on the edge swinging his legs back and forth in a criss-cross pattern talking to imaginary seahorses.
The mornings went almost as well. We had one "Daddy why aren't you wearing any underwear in bed?" and two apparently not early enough interrupted sex sessions. (Because, of course, the week he got the bed was also the week that I was ovulating.)
On the plus side, we were able to imprison him in his high chair, slap a couple of Yo Baby's down, buying ourselves 10 more minutes of uniterrupted adult time.
Next up: wiping his own ass. With toilet paper.
Monday, May 14, 2007
I think it's time to put the Little People away
(Interestingly, it's only the people, never their animal friends.)
Me: Please take the Little People out of your underwear.
Me: No you cannot go to the grocery store with Little People in your underwear.
Me: Shoving Little People down the back of your underwear is no different than putting them down the front. Please take them out.
Me: Please take the Little People out of your underwear.
Me: No you cannot go to the grocery store with Little People in your underwear.
Me: Shoving Little People down the back of your underwear is no different than putting them down the front. Please take them out.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Out
If I wait until I have the time and energy to write one big fat post about where we've been so far pursuing an IF diagnosis I think we all know it will never happen. So instead, here are some memorable moments:
Waiting 2 months to get J in for a complete physical with his PCP, only to have him come home and tell me that all they did was check his weight and blood pressure. Oh, and btw, the latter is high. (He has since decided that the doctor was wrong and that the nurse who checked it at his office is right. But he refuses to prove it to me at any of those little pharmacy stands.)
(This is me, banging my head against the wall.)
The moment when we started getting taken seriously after a PCT done just to humor me/shut me up.
(Ah ha! "Everything has come back perfectly normal, so let's just wait a year" MY ASS.)
Having evil nurse swear that she called the lab again and that those darn semen analysis results still aren't available *2 months* after the fact. Picking them up directly from the lab in person and handing them to a stammering her.
(I believe I said "ours, but we'll allow you to make a copy.")
A late Saturday night, working our way through reams of paperwork at the kitchen table sent over by the RE, frustration with each other mounting as we try to agree on whether or not to check high blood pressure (see above) when SNL begins replaying Dick in a Box.
(A truly great moment.)
Ovulating at the in-laws. Suggesting we visit a naughty shop to get him in the mood for perfectly timed sex at his parent's while his entire family is congregating downstairs in a not-so-big house. And having him announce to everyone that his wife is looking for a sex store. And then having someone comment that I am looking for a new dildo I'd seen on the internet. And then having my FIL question whether or not I know that dildos don't make babies and aren't you guys ttc?
(And guess what? I'm expecting a positive OPK Thursday night, with travel back to the in-laws scheduled for Friday. Two months in a row? How sexy/conducive to baby-making is that?!)
And let's never forget the panicky last minute oh-shit-I-forgot coiffing.
(Hurrying is always a bad idea.)
(And I have to give a big thank you to those of you who have listened to me whine, complain and cry up until this point. It's so not over yet.)
Waiting 2 months to get J in for a complete physical with his PCP, only to have him come home and tell me that all they did was check his weight and blood pressure. Oh, and btw, the latter is high. (He has since decided that the doctor was wrong and that the nurse who checked it at his office is right. But he refuses to prove it to me at any of those little pharmacy stands.)
(This is me, banging my head against the wall.)
The moment when we started getting taken seriously after a PCT done just to humor me/shut me up.
(Ah ha! "Everything has come back perfectly normal, so let's just wait a year" MY ASS.)
Having evil nurse swear that she called the lab again and that those darn semen analysis results still aren't available *2 months* after the fact. Picking them up directly from the lab in person and handing them to a stammering her.
(I believe I said "ours, but we'll allow you to make a copy.")
A late Saturday night, working our way through reams of paperwork at the kitchen table sent over by the RE, frustration with each other mounting as we try to agree on whether or not to check high blood pressure (see above) when SNL begins replaying Dick in a Box.
(A truly great moment.)
Ovulating at the in-laws. Suggesting we visit a naughty shop to get him in the mood for perfectly timed sex at his parent's while his entire family is congregating downstairs in a not-so-big house. And having him announce to everyone that his wife is looking for a sex store. And then having someone comment that I am looking for a new dildo I'd seen on the internet. And then having my FIL question whether or not I know that dildos don't make babies and aren't you guys ttc?
(And guess what? I'm expecting a positive OPK Thursday night, with travel back to the in-laws scheduled for Friday. Two months in a row? How sexy/conducive to baby-making is that?!)
And let's never forget the panicky last minute oh-shit-I-forgot coiffing.
(Hurrying is always a bad idea.)
(And I have to give a big thank you to those of you who have listened to me whine, complain and cry up until this point. It's so not over yet.)
Deep Thoughts: Marshmallows
Vegans have totally ruined marshmallows for me, which I find odd since I am not vegan or even vegetarian. Everything about their elasticity and meltiness now totally freaks me out and I find myself searching food labels everywhere for gelatin.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
So we're standing on the corner
picking our neighbor's weeds, and this is what he chose to wear:
PS That is THE WIG we received this last Christmas from my crazy Grandma. She also sent us some very heavy rocks. The postage must've been a bitch.
PS That is THE WIG we received this last Christmas from my crazy Grandma. She also sent us some very heavy rocks. The postage must've been a bitch.
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