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.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Sick Day
Tuesday J was sick. He came home from work early, ate a little dinner, and then slept for 14 hours.
Wednesday I got it.
"Thanks for the germs. I'm miserable."
"Just go to bed. Sleep it off. I'm feeling so much better today."
"And what? Let our son roam the house unattended until you get home from work?"
I think not.
I take up residence on the couch and moan. Suddenly PBS Kids turns into Charlie Rose and while I'm stoked the Cracker is quite perturbed.
"Go find the remote! Then press 5-5 for Disney. Two fives!"
(I've started pushing PBS because of, duh, the Doddlebops. Death to Deedee, Rooney, Moe, I say.)
But he can't move, because 10 feet away from me he's somehow managed to get his fingers stuck in the slats of a chair.
And I can't get them out. And now he's screaming. The headache I thought couldn't get worse is now worse. And his fingers are getting more swollen by the second. And I'm trying butter. Olive oil. Regular mayonnaise. Vegan mayonnaise.
It's not working. It’s going on a half hour.
"I need you to be brave. I will be right back! Mommy's just going to run to the garage and get a saw..."
"NOOOOOO!!!" Apparently "saw" upset him further.
I try again. Nope, not budging.
I know I'm not thinking clearly. Surely there are more things around the house to try, but I cannot for the life of me fathom what the might be with the splitting headache and hysterical screaming child in my OTC drug induced haze.
Call J at work. No answer. My Dad is overseas. My Mom is back East were her cell is worthless.
Think woman! Think!
The Pediatrician's office! Because this is so something all little kids do at some point. Hell, I remember two different times that the fire department got called to my Kindergarten class to saw someone's head out form the back of a wooden chair.
Receptionist answers right away. I tell her what's going on. She takes my name. His name. His medical record number. His social. His date of birth. Please verify your address and home phone?
AND THEN THEY TELL ME TO CALL 9-1-1.
Fuck you.
Back to the drawing board. Crisco? Cooking spray? Liquid soap?
Finally they came free. I have no idea what finally worked, but I suspect it was a combination of everything.
(Now that I have a clear head, I'm thinking K-Y Jelly.)
Wednesday I got it.
"Thanks for the germs. I'm miserable."
"Just go to bed. Sleep it off. I'm feeling so much better today."
"And what? Let our son roam the house unattended until you get home from work?"
I think not.
I take up residence on the couch and moan. Suddenly PBS Kids turns into Charlie Rose and while I'm stoked the Cracker is quite perturbed.
"Go find the remote! Then press 5-5 for Disney. Two fives!"
(I've started pushing PBS because of, duh, the Doddlebops. Death to Deedee, Rooney, Moe, I say.)
But he can't move, because 10 feet away from me he's somehow managed to get his fingers stuck in the slats of a chair.
And I can't get them out. And now he's screaming. The headache I thought couldn't get worse is now worse. And his fingers are getting more swollen by the second. And I'm trying butter. Olive oil. Regular mayonnaise. Vegan mayonnaise.
It's not working. It’s going on a half hour.
"I need you to be brave. I will be right back! Mommy's just going to run to the garage and get a saw..."
"NOOOOOO!!!" Apparently "saw" upset him further.
I try again. Nope, not budging.
I know I'm not thinking clearly. Surely there are more things around the house to try, but I cannot for the life of me fathom what the might be with the splitting headache and hysterical screaming child in my OTC drug induced haze.
Call J at work. No answer. My Dad is overseas. My Mom is back East were her cell is worthless.
Think woman! Think!
The Pediatrician's office! Because this is so something all little kids do at some point. Hell, I remember two different times that the fire department got called to my Kindergarten class to saw someone's head out form the back of a wooden chair.
Receptionist answers right away. I tell her what's going on. She takes my name. His name. His medical record number. His social. His date of birth. Please verify your address and home phone?
AND THEN THEY TELL ME TO CALL 9-1-1.
Fuck you.
Back to the drawing board. Crisco? Cooking spray? Liquid soap?
Finally they came free. I have no idea what finally worked, but I suspect it was a combination of everything.
(Now that I have a clear head, I'm thinking K-Y Jelly.)
Friday, April 20, 2007
Life in New Mexico
In line at the Costco Food Court
Middle-aged Caucasian-looking man: Your son has the most interesting hair.
Me: Thanks.
MACLM: What do you call that color?
Me: Uh.........blonde. (Is this a trick question?)
MACLM: Hmm.
MACLM: What's his natural color?
Me: Excuse me?
MACLM: You know, his real hair color? If you didn't dye it?
Middle-aged Caucasian-looking man: Your son has the most interesting hair.
Me: Thanks.
MACLM: What do you call that color?
Me: Uh.........blonde. (Is this a trick question?)
MACLM: Hmm.
MACLM: What's his natural color?
Me: Excuse me?
MACLM: You know, his real hair color? If you didn't dye it?
Car Talk
Listening to MC Solaar (French rap) this morning on our way to school:
"Hey Mommy, what's that other 'Panish called again?"
"French."
"Oh right! Fwench! Got it!" (muttering to self) "I ahways forget Fwench."
"Hey Mommy, what's that other 'Panish called again?"
"French."
"Oh right! Fwench! Got it!" (muttering to self) "I ahways forget Fwench."
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
What is it?
Something has sprung up in the old compost pile area again.
It's not a pumpkin.
It's not a honeydew.
Enlighten me.
It's not a pumpkin.
It's not a honeydew.
Enlighten me.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Time Suckage Revisited
Remember the How many states can you name quiz? I innocently ran across the How many countries can you name? version today. I'm not even going to try until I've had a glass of wine.
We have worms!
And they're living in our new* compost pile! Dozens of them! And I didn't put them there! They put themselves there!
Holy shit...I'm vermicomposting!
What you have to remember here is that I live in the desert. Roadrunners, coyotes, and ants we have. Worms? Not so much.
I must admit that I have never been excited by worms before, so this is new for me. Growing up we had worms out the wazoo. In fact, when I think of worms it brings me back to my childhood, whining at my parents to clean up the dudes who came in under the front door and beached themselves on the entryway carpet during every decent rain storm. (And of course I also think of a baby Cracker. The avatar that really needs changing is the first worm the Cracker ever saw back at a pumpkin patch in October of 2004.) (Yeah, that picture is kind of old.)
This composting thing is a hoot.
*You can read about what happened in our first compost pile here.
Holy shit...I'm vermicomposting!
What you have to remember here is that I live in the desert. Roadrunners, coyotes, and ants we have. Worms? Not so much.
I must admit that I have never been excited by worms before, so this is new for me. Growing up we had worms out the wazoo. In fact, when I think of worms it brings me back to my childhood, whining at my parents to clean up the dudes who came in under the front door and beached themselves on the entryway carpet during every decent rain storm. (And of course I also think of a baby Cracker. The avatar that really needs changing is the first worm the Cracker ever saw back at a pumpkin patch in October of 2004.) (Yeah, that picture is kind of old.)
This composting thing is a hoot.
*You can read about what happened in our first compost pile here.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
The Bestest Unsolicited Junk Mail Ever
A big thank you to my new friends at Tide/Pampers/Kandoo marketing. The illustrated frog wiping his ass is genius and a delightful treat to unexpectedly find in one's mailbox.
Reward chart and stickers? Oh how you spoil us!
There is just one minor problem: the packet came addressed to yours truly, but my dear husband is insisting on taking it to work where he plans to proudly display it in his cubicle. (Something about checking off everything but "I wiped.")
Reward chart and stickers? Oh how you spoil us!
There is just one minor problem: the packet came addressed to yours truly, but my dear husband is insisting on taking it to work where he plans to proudly display it in his cubicle. (Something about checking off everything but "I wiped.")
Monday, March 05, 2007
Time Suckage
Am I smarter than a 5th grader? Probably not.
I came across this How many US states can you name in 10 minutes? quiz tonight. Turns out I can only name 49 states. But hey, I can do it in just under 3 minutes and they give 10. Does that count for anything?
I am humbled. I honestly expected a perfect score the first time, and then again the second time, and yes, even the third time. Ninety-friggin-five percent all three times.
(But can I have bonus points for knowing that 95 is Lightening McQueen's number?)
So here are my complaints with the test:
1. No map provided. I could totally do it with a map.
2. Incorrect spelling should count. I was finishing up with New England and could already see I was going to hit 49 again and in frustration suddenly was unable to spell M-a-s-s-a-c-h-u-s-e-t-t-s.
3. Instead of alphabetical order I would like them listed in the order that I entered them.* I do not even kind of possess the patience to go through again in my head geographically and then compare against an alphabetical list. Hello? Lazy American here.
4. I would like a grade me now/cheat button. When I'm done naming 49 states and have spent a whole additional minute half-assedly trying to figure out which one I missed this time I'M DONE. Making me wait until the clock runs out is really shitty.
(My misses in order: Iowa, Missouri, Minnesota)
*As it turns out, that was the original version. For tonight I'm done aggravating myself, but I might have to try tomorrow.
Also from the same site, a YouTube link to this.
My Dad used to reenact it for me as a child.
I came across this How many US states can you name in 10 minutes? quiz tonight. Turns out I can only name 49 states. But hey, I can do it in just under 3 minutes and they give 10. Does that count for anything?
I am humbled. I honestly expected a perfect score the first time, and then again the second time, and yes, even the third time. Ninety-friggin-five percent all three times.
(But can I have bonus points for knowing that 95 is Lightening McQueen's number?)
So here are my complaints with the test:
1. No map provided. I could totally do it with a map.
2. Incorrect spelling should count. I was finishing up with New England and could already see I was going to hit 49 again and in frustration suddenly was unable to spell M-a-s-s-a-c-h-u-s-e-t-t-s.
3. Instead of alphabetical order I would like them listed in the order that I entered them.* I do not even kind of possess the patience to go through again in my head geographically and then compare against an alphabetical list. Hello? Lazy American here.
4. I would like a grade me now/cheat button. When I'm done naming 49 states and have spent a whole additional minute half-assedly trying to figure out which one I missed this time I'M DONE. Making me wait until the clock runs out is really shitty.
(My misses in order: Iowa, Missouri, Minnesota)
*As it turns out, that was the original version. For tonight I'm done aggravating myself, but I might have to try tomorrow.
Also from the same site, a YouTube link to this.
My Dad used to reenact it for me as a child.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
P.A.M.I.L.A.
A week ago now I emailed my MIL and asked if we were still going to see her in March. She had made a big deal with "pencil me in! Are you doing it right now? Are you done yet? Am I penciled?"
"Yes, you're penciled." But not literally. I did not actually write anything down, because if my MIL picks out a particular weekend and tells me she coming A) the threat is enough to keep me from forgetting, and B) I don't actually believe her.
She has seen the Cracker twice since he was born: at 5 months and at 28 months. She lives 6 hours away by car, and likes to tell me about how she can fly here on Southwest $28 one-way. All talk, no action.
"Has he changed? Will I notice a change in him?"
No, developmentally he'll be the same kid at 4 that you last saw at 2 and not quite a half. He's just taller now.
So she makes this really big deal, informs me of the who (just her), the when (March 15-18th), the where (my house), and then I didn't hear from her again, at all. Finally she calls two weekends ago and J answers the phone. Did she mention the penciled visit? No, not a word. And of course J forgot to ask .
(Sorry, I’m distracted by the neighbor’s puppy across the street who is strutting up and down the fence line with a big ol tumbleweed in her mouth. It’s freaking adorable.)
So, to recap quickly: MIL informs me she’s coming to visit. Weeks go by without any contact. She calls, talks to J, doesn’t mention the visit. I e-mail her and ask nicely “Are we still going to see you in March?” More time elapses. She e-mails J today and again doesn’t mention it.
Why do I even care? Because I am trying to book a flight, and it turns out that the best time for us to go includes part of the days she’s selected. It’s too late to call her now and I have a sinking feeling that the fare will go up $400 at midnight when it becomes less than 14 day advance notice. (I forgot about stupid short February.) And I KNOW she’s not coming, but I have to pretend that this time will be different just because she’s the mother of my husband, and if the Cracker ever sees me they way J does her I will be devastated.
(And it was far too windy to play outside today. That always puts me in a foul mood.)
I care because I’m tired of playing this game with her. She picks arbitrary dates in the future 3-4 times a year, tells me she’s buying tickets and that she’ll call with the details in less than 24 hours, and then doesn’t. It’s not that I don’t like her, and I try my best to make her feel welcome because I want her to be a part of my child’s life, but my patience has worn thin. Her relationship with J is strained to say the least so the effort I make is for his sake as well.
“Why does she do this? And why do I let her get to me?”
”It’s the whole passive aggressive thing. Nothing’s changed.”
This brings me to our old code name for her, Pamela, which dates back to our newlywed days. Passive Aggressive Mother In Law Attacks. (Okay, so it’s not perfect acronym, but I was a friggin teenager.)
Further proof that we are evil: we did get a laugh at her expense today. In the e-mail she sent J, which he forwarded to me, she has added a new signature line:
“(Business name) coordinator #32,864”
Pyramid scheme, anyone?*
*Which reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw recently "Mary Kay: Enriching Women's Lives.” I don’t wear face paint more than once a year because I am far too lazy, but really? Enriching women’s lives? And I stupidly wonder why the princess thing has gone from an innocent game of make believe to so out of control that it’s hard to find a 0-3 mos Carter’s outfit that doesn’t say “Princess” on it somewhere. (But more on that another day.)
"Yes, you're penciled." But not literally. I did not actually write anything down, because if my MIL picks out a particular weekend and tells me she coming A) the threat is enough to keep me from forgetting, and B) I don't actually believe her.
She has seen the Cracker twice since he was born: at 5 months and at 28 months. She lives 6 hours away by car, and likes to tell me about how she can fly here on Southwest $28 one-way. All talk, no action.
"Has he changed? Will I notice a change in him?"
No, developmentally he'll be the same kid at 4 that you last saw at 2 and not quite a half. He's just taller now.
So she makes this really big deal, informs me of the who (just her), the when (March 15-18th), the where (my house), and then I didn't hear from her again, at all. Finally she calls two weekends ago and J answers the phone. Did she mention the penciled visit? No, not a word. And of course J forgot to ask .
(Sorry, I’m distracted by the neighbor’s puppy across the street who is strutting up and down the fence line with a big ol tumbleweed in her mouth. It’s freaking adorable.)
So, to recap quickly: MIL informs me she’s coming to visit. Weeks go by without any contact. She calls, talks to J, doesn’t mention the visit. I e-mail her and ask nicely “Are we still going to see you in March?” More time elapses. She e-mails J today and again doesn’t mention it.
Why do I even care? Because I am trying to book a flight, and it turns out that the best time for us to go includes part of the days she’s selected. It’s too late to call her now and I have a sinking feeling that the fare will go up $400 at midnight when it becomes less than 14 day advance notice. (I forgot about stupid short February.) And I KNOW she’s not coming, but I have to pretend that this time will be different just because she’s the mother of my husband, and if the Cracker ever sees me they way J does her I will be devastated.
(And it was far too windy to play outside today. That always puts me in a foul mood.)
I care because I’m tired of playing this game with her. She picks arbitrary dates in the future 3-4 times a year, tells me she’s buying tickets and that she’ll call with the details in less than 24 hours, and then doesn’t. It’s not that I don’t like her, and I try my best to make her feel welcome because I want her to be a part of my child’s life, but my patience has worn thin. Her relationship with J is strained to say the least so the effort I make is for his sake as well.
“Why does she do this? And why do I let her get to me?”
”It’s the whole passive aggressive thing. Nothing’s changed.”
This brings me to our old code name for her, Pamela, which dates back to our newlywed days. Passive Aggressive Mother In Law Attacks. (Okay, so it’s not perfect acronym, but I was a friggin teenager.)
Further proof that we are evil: we did get a laugh at her expense today. In the e-mail she sent J, which he forwarded to me, she has added a new signature line:
“(Business name) coordinator #32,864”
Pyramid scheme, anyone?*
*Which reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw recently "Mary Kay: Enriching Women's Lives.” I don’t wear face paint more than once a year because I am far too lazy, but really? Enriching women’s lives? And I stupidly wonder why the princess thing has gone from an innocent game of make believe to so out of control that it’s hard to find a 0-3 mos Carter’s outfit that doesn’t say “Princess” on it somewhere. (But more on that another day.)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)