I always thought those commercials, tv shows or movies that showed little boys peeing into an unsuspecting face to be stupid. Kind of a Little Rascals meets the Three Stooges humor. Not my style.
Pee-in-the-face humor reminded me of Three's Company - Mr. Roper always managed to overhear just the right part of a conversation to allow the perfect storm of misunderstanding.
No more.
That shit is real.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, peace, health, happiness and babies to everyone.
Love always,
Roccie
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Not like riding a bike, for the record
Here I am writing one handed again, but this time the other hand is putting birthday cake in my mouth, not cradling the head of Baby Jay. He was born and several days later I turned 41. Life is pretty great to me these days.
Baby Jay is tricky. I know tricky isn't the right word, but baby freak show sounds mean.
He cries when he is getting his diaper changed (most of the time). He cries when he thinks it takes me too long to pull my 23 pound breast out of its harness. And that is it.
What kind of game is he playing???
I don't understand this baby. After he eats, he sleeps. Soundly. In a bassinet. For hours. The madness. I follow his lead and breastfeed on demand, usually around every 2.5 hours, but I typically see 3-4 hour stretches at night.
What. Baby Jay is a cake walk. I am certain it will all fall apart now that I have written it, but it was fun while it lasted.
Toddlerina slept in a car seat for months. (Please note this was only after a demonstration in the pediatrician's office to ensure it was safe.) She ate almost every hour for most of the day. She never napped. I heard "wakeful baby syndrome" theories.
Breastfeeding is an ass kicker.
Holy cow, I just don't remember it being this hard. I saw blood on my sweet baby's face, had a heart attack, then realized it was coming from my nipples. Brutal, brutal pain. Brutal.
I cry out involuntarily when he latches on. It scares Toddlerina, so I need to turn the yelps into a song. I could win an Oscar cause I really just want to rip my breast off and throw it into the pond. Similac, take me away.
Want to hear my naughty, self medicating solution? I have some hyrdrocodone prescribed to me to manage the c-section pain. I take a modified dose more for my hot zone boobs than for my Frankenstein scar.
I honestly don't know that I could have survived this week breastfeeding without the meds. I am a cheat. Hats off to those Mommas who survived the grim ramping up on breastfeeding stark cold sober. Damn women, let me hear you roar.
Hope this doesn't frighten new moms or mommas in progress. Harsh reality is that breastfeeding is hard. The buy in price is huge, but if you can clear that debt, you get back a bajillion times more. I adore breastfeeding. Love it, just not the first 90 seconds on the right breast.
Much love to everyone. Always reading, just a little comment hiatus in the short term.
Baby Jay is tricky. I know tricky isn't the right word, but baby freak show sounds mean.
He cries when he is getting his diaper changed (most of the time). He cries when he thinks it takes me too long to pull my 23 pound breast out of its harness. And that is it.
What kind of game is he playing???
I don't understand this baby. After he eats, he sleeps. Soundly. In a bassinet. For hours. The madness. I follow his lead and breastfeed on demand, usually around every 2.5 hours, but I typically see 3-4 hour stretches at night.
What. Baby Jay is a cake walk. I am certain it will all fall apart now that I have written it, but it was fun while it lasted.
Toddlerina slept in a car seat for months. (Please note this was only after a demonstration in the pediatrician's office to ensure it was safe.) She ate almost every hour for most of the day. She never napped. I heard "wakeful baby syndrome" theories.
Breastfeeding is an ass kicker.
Holy cow, I just don't remember it being this hard. I saw blood on my sweet baby's face, had a heart attack, then realized it was coming from my nipples. Brutal, brutal pain. Brutal.
I cry out involuntarily when he latches on. It scares Toddlerina, so I need to turn the yelps into a song. I could win an Oscar cause I really just want to rip my breast off and throw it into the pond. Similac, take me away.
Want to hear my naughty, self medicating solution? I have some hyrdrocodone prescribed to me to manage the c-section pain. I take a modified dose more for my hot zone boobs than for my Frankenstein scar.
I honestly don't know that I could have survived this week breastfeeding without the meds. I am a cheat. Hats off to those Mommas who survived the grim ramping up on breastfeeding stark cold sober. Damn women, let me hear you roar.
Hope this doesn't frighten new moms or mommas in progress. Harsh reality is that breastfeeding is hard. The buy in price is huge, but if you can clear that debt, you get back a bajillion times more. I adore breastfeeding. Love it, just not the first 90 seconds on the right breast.
Much love to everyone. Always reading, just a little comment hiatus in the short term.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Roccie, meet Baby Jay
He is here and we are in love.
The "we" could be anyone: my family, Rocco's family; my friends or Rocco's. This whole wide world seems to be lining up to love him.
I am pretty tired and sleepless. Stare at him when I should be sleeping. Pecking out one handed posts when I should be sleeping.
I am sitting on top of the world.
The "we" could be anyone: my family, Rocco's family; my friends or Rocco's. This whole wide world seems to be lining up to love him.
I am pretty tired and sleepless. Stare at him when I should be sleeping. Pecking out one handed posts when I should be sleeping.
I am sitting on top of the world.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Roccie, meet Roccie
How about that Thanksgiving? It was great. This is the first time I have ever celebrated a holiday without my family. I have to admit, I was feeling a little sorry for myself at first. I thought it would be kind of lonely but it was perfect.
The last hurrah for the Rocco family of three. Or five if you count all those dogs.
We went to cheer Rocco on in a neighborhood Turkey Bowl. It was organized by the neighborhood mom's group. I am not sure why we went. The last mom's group meeting I went to was t-o-r-t-u-r-e. A bunch of northwest suburban moms representing the stereotype at the peak.
Rocco, Toddlerina and I arrived a little late. The games had already started and we kind of milled around, trying to figure out where we fit in. Did we? These people are a bunch of morons.
I get to talking. Everything starts coming with ease. Moms my age. Donut holes. Coffee. I even see flasks. What is not to like?
Yelling in the background. I'll be damned if Rocco didn't just score a touchdown.
I see a baby. I want to touch it. I head on over.
Some of the neighborhood kids attending the bowl are in high school. I see them video taping the mom with the young baby for their psychology class. I noticed a little late, almost walking into the frame of the shot. This is what I hear:
"...I guess I thought I would have kids in my late 20's shortly after getting married..."
She catches my eye, this mom who looks just like me, less the belly, but add a six month old in a pumpkin seat by her side.
I grab my stomach to double over and give a fake, silent Santa laugh. She laughs out loud and loses her train of thought. I don't know it yet, but I might have just met my new Very Best Friend Ever. I wander off to let the filming complete.
Suuuure we will have our babies in our late 20s. Er... make that 30s... Errr....
The video mom and her dog (sans leash) eventually come over to the swings where Toddlerina is shouting with delight. We laugh at the mom's public service message she video taped for the high school students: don't settle. Wait for love, even if it takes a while. Like, uh, an extra 20 years.
She has an incredibly well behaved dog. Key sign of an Infertile, no?
Great and easy conversation. I tell her I will give the public service message to the same girls once they reach college: news flash: believe that declining fertility chart in your gynecologist's office. Just because you are young and intend to live forever, your eggs won't.
Love fest ensues. She is 42 with a six month old. Old girl has me beat and I admire her for it.
Man, did we have a great time. Rocco had to buy a splint for his finger on the way home. I plugged in the heating pad before he asked. What a great day.
The last hurrah for the Rocco family of three. Or five if you count all those dogs.
We went to cheer Rocco on in a neighborhood Turkey Bowl. It was organized by the neighborhood mom's group. I am not sure why we went. The last mom's group meeting I went to was t-o-r-t-u-r-e. A bunch of northwest suburban moms representing the stereotype at the peak.
Rocco, Toddlerina and I arrived a little late. The games had already started and we kind of milled around, trying to figure out where we fit in. Did we? These people are a bunch of morons.
I get to talking. Everything starts coming with ease. Moms my age. Donut holes. Coffee. I even see flasks. What is not to like?
Yelling in the background. I'll be damned if Rocco didn't just score a touchdown.
I see a baby. I want to touch it. I head on over.
Some of the neighborhood kids attending the bowl are in high school. I see them video taping the mom with the young baby for their psychology class. I noticed a little late, almost walking into the frame of the shot. This is what I hear:
"...I guess I thought I would have kids in my late 20's shortly after getting married..."
She catches my eye, this mom who looks just like me, less the belly, but add a six month old in a pumpkin seat by her side.
I grab my stomach to double over and give a fake, silent Santa laugh. She laughs out loud and loses her train of thought. I don't know it yet, but I might have just met my new Very Best Friend Ever. I wander off to let the filming complete.
Suuuure we will have our babies in our late 20s. Er... make that 30s... Errr....
The video mom and her dog (sans leash) eventually come over to the swings where Toddlerina is shouting with delight. We laugh at the mom's public service message she video taped for the high school students: don't settle. Wait for love, even if it takes a while. Like, uh, an extra 20 years.
She has an incredibly well behaved dog. Key sign of an Infertile, no?
Great and easy conversation. I tell her I will give the public service message to the same girls once they reach college: news flash: believe that declining fertility chart in your gynecologist's office. Just because you are young and intend to live forever, your eggs won't.
Love fest ensues. She is 42 with a six month old. Old girl has me beat and I admire her for it.
Man, did we have a great time. Rocco had to buy a splint for his finger on the way home. I plugged in the heating pad before he asked. What a great day.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Fertiles: making me eat my words, again and again
Who are these Fertiles - showing care and compassion on a grand scale? My local Fertiles really showed their true colors last night.
I saw email chains flying around setting up dinners for my family once the baby arrives. Do I have any preferences, aversions, dietary restrictions? What about Toddlerina? What does she eat? Would I like to consider a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule to stretch it out - everyone will make large meals to allow for leftovers.
Who are these people? How do these Fertiles have the hearts of an IF veteran? I guess babies can bring out the best in everyone.
I got a call from another neighbor. Her daughter is our occasional sitter. She has a chronic illness that can keep her out of school for weeks at a time. It is not life threatening and she is expected to outgrow it. Her daughter recently had a bout with it and is on the mend.
She had made something for the baby at school. Wouldn't I come down and get it?
I head out the door - half in clothes, half in jammies (it was 730pm after all). I am wearing The Nighttime Bra, the one without the flying buttresses.
Low riders and jammies, I walk into a surprise neighborhood baby shower.
It was great. Everyone swapping stories, trying to scare the new Momma to be then telling tear jerker tales of motherhood.
I would give anything in the world to have everyone here beside me, battle over and war won. Every day I offer up my own thanks, then your names are right behind - asking to take you along too.
It looks dippy in print, but I wanted you to know.
I saw email chains flying around setting up dinners for my family once the baby arrives. Do I have any preferences, aversions, dietary restrictions? What about Toddlerina? What does she eat? Would I like to consider a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule to stretch it out - everyone will make large meals to allow for leftovers.
Who are these people? How do these Fertiles have the hearts of an IF veteran? I guess babies can bring out the best in everyone.
I got a call from another neighbor. Her daughter is our occasional sitter. She has a chronic illness that can keep her out of school for weeks at a time. It is not life threatening and she is expected to outgrow it. Her daughter recently had a bout with it and is on the mend.
She had made something for the baby at school. Wouldn't I come down and get it?
I head out the door - half in clothes, half in jammies (it was 730pm after all). I am wearing The Nighttime Bra, the one without the flying buttresses.
Low riders and jammies, I walk into a surprise neighborhood baby shower.
It was great. Everyone swapping stories, trying to scare the new Momma to be then telling tear jerker tales of motherhood.
I would give anything in the world to have everyone here beside me, battle over and war won. Every day I offer up my own thanks, then your names are right behind - asking to take you along too.
It looks dippy in print, but I wanted you to know.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Closed for Business
Reporting to you LIVE from a Mother In Law Free Zone: Roccie of The Roccie Road.
She is gone now. Sweet rejoicing begin, my house is now my home again.
Rocco took MIL to the airport on Saturday. The three month long occupancy has ended.
The rest of the day I noticed Rocco paying a lot of extra attention to me. My water glass was always topped off and I didn't have to let the dogs in and out. A lot of little things, you know? He made me a nice dinner to boot.
That night, when we crawled into bed, he went to hold my hand. Oh no, Rocco. First of all, it is hard to read with only one hand and second of all, more importantly, nuh-uh, no way, this park is closed for business.
Business Time is over. I am over 37 weeks pregnant, sir.
Please Rocco, I am pulling an extra 30 pounds and while my sex drive may by up, it sure doesn't mean I want to act on it with you. Ahem.
I broke it to him gently and he laughed. I think he laughed at the idea of actually coupling with me, but it IS so preposterous I laughed too.
Rocco wasn't looking for love, but told me he was feeling really connected with me. That he realized just how hard it must have been to live with his mother. He wanted me to know how much he appreciated my sacrifice.
What a good, good man.
I ate 2 Tums, rolled over and went to sleep with a giant smile on my face.
She is gone now. Sweet rejoicing begin, my house is now my home again.
Rocco took MIL to the airport on Saturday. The three month long occupancy has ended.
The rest of the day I noticed Rocco paying a lot of extra attention to me. My water glass was always topped off and I didn't have to let the dogs in and out. A lot of little things, you know? He made me a nice dinner to boot.
That night, when we crawled into bed, he went to hold my hand. Oh no, Rocco. First of all, it is hard to read with only one hand and second of all, more importantly, nuh-uh, no way, this park is closed for business.
Business Time is over. I am over 37 weeks pregnant, sir.
Please Rocco, I am pulling an extra 30 pounds and while my sex drive may by up, it sure doesn't mean I want to act on it with you. Ahem.
I broke it to him gently and he laughed. I think he laughed at the idea of actually coupling with me, but it IS so preposterous I laughed too.
Rocco wasn't looking for love, but told me he was feeling really connected with me. That he realized just how hard it must have been to live with his mother. He wanted me to know how much he appreciated my sacrifice.
What a good, good man.
I ate 2 Tums, rolled over and went to sleep with a giant smile on my face.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Why were DE so easy for me?
How is that for a sensationalist title?
Anyone who has been around here knows that title is kind of a load of crap, but true at the same time. I freaked the fuck out when I faced donor eggs, but once I committed, I was in and rarely looked back.
Did I always know I would choose this option to continue my family? Maybe. DE were raised at my first WTF appointment after our 1st IVF cycle was a bust. Was I always a little terrified of my own body? Absolutely. Losing my first pregnancy to severe genetic anomalies wrecked me.
This shirt was given to Toddlerina by well meaning family members (might I clarify his family, ahem).
I hated it the moment I saw it.
I found it again as I pull out Toddlerina's infant wear to use as hand me downs for this DE baby. I only put it on Toddlerina one time. It put me in a foul mood all day long. You know that feeling where you just cannot settle - the feeling usually reserved when you are personally wearing something crappy - too tight, too sheer or way too last year.
I hated that damn shirt.
I don't think hate is too strong a word. It got me all riled up. No, it is not hard to get me going, but this shirt was so damn presumptuous.
Why the fits, Roccie? Is Toddlerina not created by that very fraction - one half you and one half Rocco?
Maybe I always knew I was coming this way, the way of family by donor egg.
I see a lot of folks out there in the middle of or considering their own DE dance and man, oh man, do I wish I could help you digest it all. I try my best to support you by telling you how much I love my DE decision, but I felt I owed you this little bit of truth. Maybe it was easier for me. If your decision isn't as clear cut as mine felt, give it time.
I sit here at term today, 37 weeks. I have one baby by me and one baby via gift egg. I hope it gives me a unique perspective to share with you. I am just so overcome with joy that my family will grow. I hope you can find your path to your family no matter what it takes.
Anyone who has been around here knows that title is kind of a load of crap, but true at the same time. I freaked the fuck out when I faced donor eggs, but once I committed, I was in and rarely looked back.
Did I always know I would choose this option to continue my family? Maybe. DE were raised at my first WTF appointment after our 1st IVF cycle was a bust. Was I always a little terrified of my own body? Absolutely. Losing my first pregnancy to severe genetic anomalies wrecked me.
This shirt was given to Toddlerina by well meaning family members (might I clarify his family, ahem).
I hated it the moment I saw it.
I found it again as I pull out Toddlerina's infant wear to use as hand me downs for this DE baby. I only put it on Toddlerina one time. It put me in a foul mood all day long. You know that feeling where you just cannot settle - the feeling usually reserved when you are personally wearing something crappy - too tight, too sheer or way too last year.
I hated that damn shirt.
I don't think hate is too strong a word. It got me all riled up. No, it is not hard to get me going, but this shirt was so damn presumptuous.
Why the fits, Roccie? Is Toddlerina not created by that very fraction - one half you and one half Rocco?
Maybe I always knew I was coming this way, the way of family by donor egg.
I see a lot of folks out there in the middle of or considering their own DE dance and man, oh man, do I wish I could help you digest it all. I try my best to support you by telling you how much I love my DE decision, but I felt I owed you this little bit of truth. Maybe it was easier for me. If your decision isn't as clear cut as mine felt, give it time.
I sit here at term today, 37 weeks. I have one baby by me and one baby via gift egg. I hope it gives me a unique perspective to share with you. I am just so overcome with joy that my family will grow. I hope you can find your path to your family no matter what it takes.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Forgiving Fertiles
Just when you think another Fertile in your face will make you fall to the floor in convulsions, screaming "Away with you, BREEDER"...
You won't believe what my own personal pack of Fertiles did for me yesterday.
Those Fertiles threw me a baby shower.
Everyone knows you only get a baby shower for the first take home baby. After this initial birth, it is assumed you are now a Breeder too. Subsequent pregnancies will line up like little obedient soldiers. "Second babies" are a promise to the likes of you - there is no need to celebrate.
Speechless.
Not sure how I didn't cry right there in the conference room at work. I think I was too stunned.
All these years, they got it. They knew how hard I was working to get back to this place... pregnant. Another baby.
I am forever grateful for these Fertile friends.
You won't believe what my own personal pack of Fertiles did for me yesterday.
Those Fertiles threw me a baby shower.
Everyone knows you only get a baby shower for the first take home baby. After this initial birth, it is assumed you are now a Breeder too. Subsequent pregnancies will line up like little obedient soldiers. "Second babies" are a promise to the likes of you - there is no need to celebrate.
Speechless.
Not sure how I didn't cry right there in the conference room at work. I think I was too stunned.
All these years, they got it. They knew how hard I was working to get back to this place... pregnant. Another baby.
I am forever grateful for these Fertile friends.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
36 weeks pulls all the brakes
This is my fourth pregnancy. Each one brings its own bucket-o-terrors. Once I passed the level II ultrasound with Toddlerina I felt like I was successfully past the worst of it - danger and risk. I haven't enjoyed the same level of comfort with this pregnancy.
Early bleeding, my SCH and placenta previa put a deep fear in me. I know one family in real life who lost to preterm labor and another who lost a heartbeat at 34 weeks. Last OB appointment I was informed that the placenta keeps aging. Damn, what. I though my Fine Young Egg buried all that ageist bullshit.
Anyone have any idea how the hell the planet reached 7 billion. Yeah, me either.
If I go into labor at 36 weeks, no efforts are made to delay delivery. Gulp. The baby is developed enough to balance the risks of early delivery with the risks of stopping labor. Heavy.
No reason to suspect anything, but I raced home and threw in a load of laundry. You can never be too prepared for this kind of thing.
Early bleeding, my SCH and placenta previa put a deep fear in me. I know one family in real life who lost to preterm labor and another who lost a heartbeat at 34 weeks. Last OB appointment I was informed that the placenta keeps aging. Damn, what. I though my Fine Young Egg buried all that ageist bullshit.
Anyone have any idea how the hell the planet reached 7 billion. Yeah, me either.
If I go into labor at 36 weeks, no efforts are made to delay delivery. Gulp. The baby is developed enough to balance the risks of early delivery with the risks of stopping labor. Heavy.
No reason to suspect anything, but I raced home and threw in a load of laundry. You can never be too prepared for this kind of thing.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Peace, love and sleep to my new Mommas
(Please don't read me if you are in a rough spot meeting your Take Home Baby. This might smell a little like ingratitude. I promise it isn't intended this way, but I remember my desperate times. Words like these would make me want to punch someone.)
Sleep. My love.
Husband? Sure, he is ok, but I would much rather take a nap with my true love, Sleep. I find in the growing complexities of toddler management and making this baby, Rocco slips down the list more with each passing day. Bless his heart.
I remember this place. You think delivery will bring you all the comforts of sleep. Then the baby shows up and you would give anything for one more night of baby-in-the-tummy cause sleep is ANNIHILATED when a little one shows up.
All my love and support to all the new Mommas out there struggling with the dream come true.
This fantasy is some hard ass work, isn't it?
It doesn't mean you still wouldn't sell your sibling for a child of your own. You and I have bled from our bones for these babies.
Needing a lot of support doesn't diminish our love for the babies, these babies who are here with us or those babies who were taken too soon. It doesn't mean we are not the Super Moms we imagined.
Sleep. My love.
Husband? Sure, he is ok, but I would much rather take a nap with my true love, Sleep. I find in the growing complexities of toddler management and making this baby, Rocco slips down the list more with each passing day. Bless his heart.
I remember this place. You think delivery will bring you all the comforts of sleep. Then the baby shows up and you would give anything for one more night of baby-in-the-tummy cause sleep is ANNIHILATED when a little one shows up.
All my love and support to all the new Mommas out there struggling with the dream come true.
This fantasy is some hard ass work, isn't it?
It doesn't mean you still wouldn't sell your sibling for a child of your own. You and I have bled from our bones for these babies.
Needing a lot of support doesn't diminish our love for the babies, these babies who are here with us or those babies who were taken too soon. It doesn't mean we are not the Super Moms we imagined.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Mad ravings caused by a giant uterus
Rar.
I am impossible to please.
In early pregnancy when I started showing, I was pretty self conscious about my belly button. It was like a giant cave. I could hide a Twinkie in there. It would have been a perfect fit.
Now my button is starting to pop.
It feels perverse.
It makes me really, really self conscious. Belly erections.
I feel like a perv.
I am impossible to please.
In early pregnancy when I started showing, I was pretty self conscious about my belly button. It was like a giant cave. I could hide a Twinkie in there. It would have been a perfect fit.
Now my button is starting to pop.
It feels perverse.
It makes me really, really self conscious. Belly erections.
I feel like a perv.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Inviting historical figures over for dinner
Remember that question? What famous person would you most like to join for dinner? Alive or dead.
The first time I remember answering this question I ended up feeling pretty stupid with my choice. I said Jane Austen. The person who asked me the question picked Jesus. Jesus. Well, not sure how you beat that one. I think I picked a good one, but you sort of feel like a heel when you don't pick Jesus.
Yeah, I am not putting my donor on par with Jesus - but I wouldn't pick her for dinner either.
Melissa? This one is for you.
I had a heart squishy post a while back about how much I love donor eggs. Melissa asked questions about choosing a donor and defining the relationship. I am amazed someone succeeded in finding something I don't talk about here. I like to get all my donor thoughts down on paper so I can refer to them later.
It was important to me to find a donor who would allow our child(ren) to meet her when they reached the age of 18. It makes my hands a little sweaty to think about it. Absurd, really, but I bet when it happens it will be a time where I put on a Brave Face for DE child and inside I am scared skinless. But who knows. Maybe by then I will be so damn old that wisdom will have taken residence in my heart.
The option to meet the donor was not part of the standard contract. Our lawyers worked with donor's lawyers to discuss the idea. This is how the communication works. Everything is routed through the lawyers and agency. Our donor accepted the modification to the contract and proposed a change of her own.
Our donor has 2 (healthy! beautiful!) children of her own. She asked that her children have the right to contact our DE child(ren) upon the age of 18.
This broke my heart wide open. I sat there in the conference room on speakerphone with our lawyer, tears streaming down my face. I could only speak with that thick, teary voice. Of course we would accept the proposed change.
Bam. Any reservations I ever had about DE were put to bed right then and there. Another mother who understands what this is all about. Her biggest concern was her children. Just like me. She and I were both looking out for our little loved ones. I look forward to the day I meet her and I can tell her how much peace her request gave to me.
She offered another connection. She offered to meet Rocco and I before the contracts were signed. I said no thank you, dinner with Jane please.
I don't know why. I don't think about it much anymore. I believe I was terrified she might do or say something that didn't match the dreams in my heart and head. Shallow much, Roccie? I know.
I am also ashamed I never gave The Donor Gift. Oh, the process that many recipients travel through to find Just the Right Gift. I could never relate.
I never sent one. I never sent a card. What the fuck is wrong with me? I am ashamed I never did it, but I understand why I did not send it at the same time.
I could explain it all away, but it is weak. I like to pretend I couldn't find the right words. I have the card and draft note in my bag. I carried it around every day. Still carry it. Never sent it. Just never reads right.
What if I give her the same willies I was afraid she would give to me??
Sometimes I am so practical it seems heartless. I just think if I were a donor I would analyze the hell out of whatever came my way. I have an amazing talent to find flaws in the flawless, just ask Rocco. I figured since I wouldn't want a donor gift I would not send a donor gift.
I will probably bring a nice little something when we meet in 2029. I think I will be able to find it by then. She has my heart, gratitude and prayers of thanks in the mean time. I think she is spectacular but I never knew how to tell her.
The first time I remember answering this question I ended up feeling pretty stupid with my choice. I said Jane Austen. The person who asked me the question picked Jesus. Jesus. Well, not sure how you beat that one. I think I picked a good one, but you sort of feel like a heel when you don't pick Jesus.
Yeah, I am not putting my donor on par with Jesus - but I wouldn't pick her for dinner either.
Melissa? This one is for you.
I had a heart squishy post a while back about how much I love donor eggs. Melissa asked questions about choosing a donor and defining the relationship. I am amazed someone succeeded in finding something I don't talk about here. I like to get all my donor thoughts down on paper so I can refer to them later.
It was important to me to find a donor who would allow our child(ren) to meet her when they reached the age of 18. It makes my hands a little sweaty to think about it. Absurd, really, but I bet when it happens it will be a time where I put on a Brave Face for DE child and inside I am scared skinless. But who knows. Maybe by then I will be so damn old that wisdom will have taken residence in my heart.
The option to meet the donor was not part of the standard contract. Our lawyers worked with donor's lawyers to discuss the idea. This is how the communication works. Everything is routed through the lawyers and agency. Our donor accepted the modification to the contract and proposed a change of her own.
Our donor has 2 (healthy! beautiful!) children of her own. She asked that her children have the right to contact our DE child(ren) upon the age of 18.
This broke my heart wide open. I sat there in the conference room on speakerphone with our lawyer, tears streaming down my face. I could only speak with that thick, teary voice. Of course we would accept the proposed change.
Bam. Any reservations I ever had about DE were put to bed right then and there. Another mother who understands what this is all about. Her biggest concern was her children. Just like me. She and I were both looking out for our little loved ones. I look forward to the day I meet her and I can tell her how much peace her request gave to me.
She offered another connection. She offered to meet Rocco and I before the contracts were signed. I said no thank you, dinner with Jane please.
I don't know why. I don't think about it much anymore. I believe I was terrified she might do or say something that didn't match the dreams in my heart and head. Shallow much, Roccie? I know.
I am also ashamed I never gave The Donor Gift. Oh, the process that many recipients travel through to find Just the Right Gift. I could never relate.
I never sent one. I never sent a card. What the fuck is wrong with me? I am ashamed I never did it, but I understand why I did not send it at the same time.
I could explain it all away, but it is weak. I like to pretend I couldn't find the right words. I have the card and draft note in my bag. I carried it around every day. Still carry it. Never sent it. Just never reads right.
What if I give her the same willies I was afraid she would give to me??
Sometimes I am so practical it seems heartless. I just think if I were a donor I would analyze the hell out of whatever came my way. I have an amazing talent to find flaws in the flawless, just ask Rocco. I figured since I wouldn't want a donor gift I would not send a donor gift.
I will probably bring a nice little something when we meet in 2029. I think I will be able to find it by then. She has my heart, gratitude and prayers of thanks in the mean time. I think she is spectacular but I never knew how to tell her.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Patient #367781, we will see you now
Man, does my OB office suck. The place raises my blood pressure just walking in the door. I do take extreme satisfaction declining follow up appointments with Dr. Evil - loudly.
"No Dr. Evil. Please schedule me with any other doctor." I look around knowingly, nodding to imply anyone who overhears this will know exactly what I mean by it.
Rar.
I have a lot on my mind. Has anyone seen my money tree? I really need it about now.
Lots of late night discussions with Rocco lately around the budget, the debt, the house and how they all cohabitate. We have been running the numbers.
Is it worth working when my net take home pay is roughly 50 cents a day? No. Of course I exaggerate, but I want to stay home. I tend to manipulate the numbers to my favor.
I put out The Ultimatum at work. I have an impending life event and need to make some decisions. It is time for me to get that promotion please.
Denied.
Okay. Well. Then. I don't care about the title, I was really driving for the money anyhow. Please show me how much you value me during raise and bonus time this year.
Lukewarm response.
Okay. Well.
What do you do when you put out feelers for an ultimatum and it gathers no real response? How do you read the writing on the wall when it merely says "You are so very Average".
It looks like I might get to be at home, but I expected a little horse trading to try to keep me. Instead I got a big cake decorated with don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-ass icing.
I know there are real problems out there right now but I sort of just threw myself a pity party.
Woe is Average Me.
"No Dr. Evil. Please schedule me with any other doctor." I look around knowingly, nodding to imply anyone who overhears this will know exactly what I mean by it.
Rar.
I have a lot on my mind. Has anyone seen my money tree? I really need it about now.
Lots of late night discussions with Rocco lately around the budget, the debt, the house and how they all cohabitate. We have been running the numbers.
Is it worth working when my net take home pay is roughly 50 cents a day? No. Of course I exaggerate, but I want to stay home. I tend to manipulate the numbers to my favor.
I put out The Ultimatum at work. I have an impending life event and need to make some decisions. It is time for me to get that promotion please.
Denied.
Okay. Well. Then. I don't care about the title, I was really driving for the money anyhow. Please show me how much you value me during raise and bonus time this year.
Lukewarm response.
Okay. Well.
What do you do when you put out feelers for an ultimatum and it gathers no real response? How do you read the writing on the wall when it merely says "You are so very Average".
It looks like I might get to be at home, but I expected a little horse trading to try to keep me. Instead I got a big cake decorated with don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-ass icing.
I know there are real problems out there right now but I sort of just threw myself a pity party.
Woe is Average Me.
Friday, September 23, 2011
I hate The Man or Another Reason I Wish I was Canadian
I had booked a run of the mill appointment with Human Resources at work today. I wanted to plan for my leave and investigate my options for additional time off. I left the office swallowing my rage and shaking my fist at The Man.
Law, I hate The Man.
Flashback to Toddlerina's birth, almost two and a half years ago. I took the 12 weeks FMLA and requested an additional month unpaid leave.
I requested the additional time off in Personal Leave. My flake of a boss denied it and blamed it on the CIO. I was angry but just swallowed it since "I was going to quit anyhow you rotten pigs". Ha. Return to present and I am still employed at the same place and don't see any clear exit yet.
HR stepped in and pushed the Personal Leave through for me. This HR employee pointed out my years at the firm and my good work. The rejection was overturned and I got an extra 4 weeks at home with the baby. I was thrilled.
You cannot imagine what it did for my mental health. I had what I call Labrador Syndrome: pat me on the head and I will work 10 times harder to please you. It meant a lot to me and I tried to show my gratitude by working to the best of my ability. For real.
Times have changed at my firm. That was then and this is now. HR was The Man personified, sitting across from me with over done makeup and excessive accessorizing.
In today's meeting the HR Agent of Heartlessness told me Personal Leave was granted for several reasons. She tossed her flat ironed, over processed head and shared a few examples with me such as knee surgery, taking extended vacation to visit "the home country" or being a contestant on The Bachelor.
I laughed, in an eager to please way. It wasn't funny, but I was a little excited that getting approval was going to be so easy this time. If you can get Personal Leave to be on the World's Most Demeaning Show on Earth, then surely you can get repeat Personal Leave on your second baby.
Things quickly deteriorated when she realized I was asking for the Personal Leave in addition to the FMLA. She asked me if the Personal Leave was for a medical reason. I explained in a joking manner that yes, it was. (I still thought we were going to be friends.) I am a walking medical reason for needing additional time off. I glossed over extended fertility treatments, pregnancy loss and still birth.
She informed me that the leave would need to be approved by both HR and my management team. She said it was not promising to get it approved, in fact the outlook was poor.
Let it simmer....
I icily asked her to confirm she was telling me that HR would deny the request even if it was approved by my management.
She said it was doubtful to be approved - if the additional time was approved for me then everyone would want it.
Let it simmer....
I am a hot head. Thank the law, I was able to show the Ice Anger today. I did not drop a printer on her head. I let her know I was having a very hard time swallowing her examples for Personal Leave.
She said it might have been a bad example. But if I "only wanted the time off to bond with my baby", there was no reason to approve the extra leave.
Begin to boil over....
Cue: Raging Mother; amplify with pregnancy hormones.
Under extreme duress you explode or you speak with a chilling clarity. I spoke clearly and quietly. I told her I could not reconcile the game show contestant with my request. I said a few other things and concluded the meeting.
Folks, we have a battle on our hands here.
Law, I hate The Man.
Flashback to Toddlerina's birth, almost two and a half years ago. I took the 12 weeks FMLA and requested an additional month unpaid leave.
I requested the additional time off in Personal Leave. My flake of a boss denied it and blamed it on the CIO. I was angry but just swallowed it since "I was going to quit anyhow you rotten pigs". Ha. Return to present and I am still employed at the same place and don't see any clear exit yet.
HR stepped in and pushed the Personal Leave through for me. This HR employee pointed out my years at the firm and my good work. The rejection was overturned and I got an extra 4 weeks at home with the baby. I was thrilled.
You cannot imagine what it did for my mental health. I had what I call Labrador Syndrome: pat me on the head and I will work 10 times harder to please you. It meant a lot to me and I tried to show my gratitude by working to the best of my ability. For real.
Times have changed at my firm. That was then and this is now. HR was The Man personified, sitting across from me with over done makeup and excessive accessorizing.
In today's meeting the HR Agent of Heartlessness told me Personal Leave was granted for several reasons. She tossed her flat ironed, over processed head and shared a few examples with me such as knee surgery, taking extended vacation to visit "the home country" or being a contestant on The Bachelor.
I laughed, in an eager to please way. It wasn't funny, but I was a little excited that getting approval was going to be so easy this time. If you can get Personal Leave to be on the World's Most Demeaning Show on Earth, then surely you can get repeat Personal Leave on your second baby.
Things quickly deteriorated when she realized I was asking for the Personal Leave in addition to the FMLA. She asked me if the Personal Leave was for a medical reason. I explained in a joking manner that yes, it was. (I still thought we were going to be friends.) I am a walking medical reason for needing additional time off. I glossed over extended fertility treatments, pregnancy loss and still birth.
She informed me that the leave would need to be approved by both HR and my management team. She said it was not promising to get it approved, in fact the outlook was poor.
Let it simmer....
I icily asked her to confirm she was telling me that HR would deny the request even if it was approved by my management.
She said it was doubtful to be approved - if the additional time was approved for me then everyone would want it.
Let it simmer....
I am a hot head. Thank the law, I was able to show the Ice Anger today. I did not drop a printer on her head. I let her know I was having a very hard time swallowing her examples for Personal Leave.
She said it might have been a bad example. But if I "only wanted the time off to bond with my baby", there was no reason to approve the extra leave.
Begin to boil over....
Cue: Raging Mother; amplify with pregnancy hormones.
Under extreme duress you explode or you speak with a chilling clarity. I spoke clearly and quietly. I told her I could not reconcile the game show contestant with my request. I said a few other things and concluded the meeting.
Folks, we have a battle on our hands here.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
He is just my dog again
What the hell was that?
I felt like my mind was possessed or something equally ridiculous. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. Maybe I just had to spew it out.
It reads like complete horse shit today.
I got so caught up in my own little story in my own little world that I forgot there are others here too. We all pick our way through the imperfections. No family story is written by Disney, but I think mine is pretty damn fabulous.
The gratitude I have for the DE opportunity greatly outweighs any additional considerations my family will manage. We will manage it with love and laughter.
It sounds pretty dippy, but if you wash the Hallmark slime off, it rings true. Yeah, once upon a time I wish we had been able to use my eggs... but all that faded away as the pregnancy became real to me.
When we get to meet this baby I know I will thank God we "had" to use DE or this child wouldn't be here. Mind boggling if you really grasp what I am saying, trite if you are skimming.
Shatters my brain.
I felt like my mind was possessed or something equally ridiculous. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. Maybe I just had to spew it out.
It reads like complete horse shit today.
I got so caught up in my own little story in my own little world that I forgot there are others here too. We all pick our way through the imperfections. No family story is written by Disney, but I think mine is pretty damn fabulous.
The gratitude I have for the DE opportunity greatly outweighs any additional considerations my family will manage. We will manage it with love and laughter.
It sounds pretty dippy, but if you wash the Hallmark slime off, it rings true. Yeah, once upon a time I wish we had been able to use my eggs... but all that faded away as the pregnancy became real to me.
When we get to meet this baby I know I will thank God we "had" to use DE or this child wouldn't be here. Mind boggling if you really grasp what I am saying, trite if you are skimming.
Shatters my brain.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
...and what the hell is a Polish Lowland Sheepdog...
I am sure there is some symbolism in here somewhere. That isn't the right word... projection? Analogy? Er, maybe metaphor.
Prognostication.
Whatever, I am about to talk way too much about dogs and how it made me think about donor eggs all night long. I expect about 75% of you may want to exit at this point. The ones who remain might only want to play the Name that Breed game.
You know the little man in my life, Huck.
He is a rescue dog who never takes a good photo since the camera sound indicating the image is in focus sounds a lot like his electric fence warning.
The report came in today. I thought I knew a lot about dog breeds. Not one single breed that I thought would be present was identified. Instead I was informed Mr. Huck is made up of the last 10 breeds I would have selected.
Now do you see where this long winded story is going?
I cannot stop staring at my dog and thinking about his real origins.
What does that mean. Real origins.
Is he any different now that I know his roots? His genetic ancestry? I kept thinking about when my child will study those topics in grade school. I remember drawing a family tree. Will my child struggle with his or hers?
Lately I have been sitting all smug in my donor egg loving fog, but damn, what about the child.
What in the hell does this have to do with the fact that Huck is one quarter Basset Hound. Hell if I know. I just catch myself staring at him, thinking how he looks nothing like a Cardigan Welsh Corgi... worrying about my child accepting similar ideas.
Prognostication.
Whatever, I am about to talk way too much about dogs and how it made me think about donor eggs all night long. I expect about 75% of you may want to exit at this point. The ones who remain might only want to play the Name that Breed game.
You know the little man in my life, Huck.
He is a rescue dog who never takes a good photo since the camera sound indicating the image is in focus sounds a lot like his electric fence warning.
Huck is My Baby Before the Baby. Yes, I loved on my dogs with obscene levels of care, but my guess is if you are still reading at this point, you are merely nodding your head. There is no love like the love of a good dog.
We don't know much about Huck. The vet gave us an estimate on his age and that is about it. We often played the What the Heck is Huck game. We settled on Pointer mix. For Rocco's birthday this year I submitted Huck's DNA to see if we could identify any major breeds in him.
Now do you see where this long winded story is going?
I cannot stop staring at my dog and thinking about his real origins.
What does that mean. Real origins.
Is he any different now that I know his roots? His genetic ancestry? I kept thinking about when my child will study those topics in grade school. I remember drawing a family tree. Will my child struggle with his or hers?
Lately I have been sitting all smug in my donor egg loving fog, but damn, what about the child.
What in the hell does this have to do with the fact that Huck is one quarter Basset Hound. Hell if I know. I just catch myself staring at him, thinking how he looks nothing like a Cardigan Welsh Corgi... worrying about my child accepting similar ideas.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The first time I told someone
I have been all over the board telling people outside my family about donor eggs.
I have no problem telling complete strangers, including the checkout gal at Whole Foods. And Dominick's come to think of it. I must have a thing for cashiers: the bartender for the woman who cannot drink.
Some co-workers know, with varying degrees of success. Previously, any of them who know have been along for most of the mostly miserable ride.
I had practice telling my story last week to a co-worker I had sort of discounted as a pretty boy. I didn't think he had a lot of substance. (Don't I sound like a real joy to have as a co worker? Eek.) Turns out my man has a family by IVF - they suffered many misses before the hits. I told him my very abbreviated donor egg story and he got it.
I liked telling my story. I liked telling it in the hallway where someone just might over hear. I feel like a DE exhibitionist. This is the real deal and I get so geeked UP talking about it.
Rocco and I went to a party again this weekend. Twice in a season, remarkable, really. Guess what I was talking about?
My neighbor and I were swapping stories. She had her kids late, the last one at 40. Hey, neighbor, I am 40 as well. Knowing looks are exchanged. She tells me it was a challenge for them to get pregnant.
Well, you lead this horse to water and she is going to chug. Buuuuurp - there is my whole story sitting in her lap. I gotta say, she was hanging on every word. Asked for clarification in all the right places. Oohed and ahhed in a timely fashion.
It was positively thrilling to tell her. I told her no one in the neighborhood knew. She assured me it was not her story to tell. I don't think she said my "secret" was safe with her - that would kind of imply I had something to hide. She was good about it -- she got it too.
One of these days my kid is going to proclaim "I CAME FROM A SPECIAL EGG DID YOU COME FROM A SPECIAL EGG" at a gathering in front of a lot of people. Who knows the scenario, but I used to fear the sound of a record skipping at the end of all the tracks. I need someone to jump in and respond "yes, yes you did and it is very special" without missing a beat.
I think it will be easy to build that team of people to support him/her when it happens. I didn't realize I was holding my breath about it, but I was. Exhale. Ahhh......
Donor eggs. I love them.
I have no problem telling complete strangers, including the checkout gal at Whole Foods. And Dominick's come to think of it. I must have a thing for cashiers: the bartender for the woman who cannot drink.
Some co-workers know, with varying degrees of success. Previously, any of them who know have been along for most of the mostly miserable ride.
I had practice telling my story last week to a co-worker I had sort of discounted as a pretty boy. I didn't think he had a lot of substance. (Don't I sound like a real joy to have as a co worker? Eek.) Turns out my man has a family by IVF - they suffered many misses before the hits. I told him my very abbreviated donor egg story and he got it.
I liked telling my story. I liked telling it in the hallway where someone just might over hear. I feel like a DE exhibitionist. This is the real deal and I get so geeked UP talking about it.
Rocco and I went to a party again this weekend. Twice in a season, remarkable, really. Guess what I was talking about?
My neighbor and I were swapping stories. She had her kids late, the last one at 40. Hey, neighbor, I am 40 as well. Knowing looks are exchanged. She tells me it was a challenge for them to get pregnant.
Well, you lead this horse to water and she is going to chug. Buuuuurp - there is my whole story sitting in her lap. I gotta say, she was hanging on every word. Asked for clarification in all the right places. Oohed and ahhed in a timely fashion.
It was positively thrilling to tell her. I told her no one in the neighborhood knew. She assured me it was not her story to tell. I don't think she said my "secret" was safe with her - that would kind of imply I had something to hide. She was good about it -- she got it too.
One of these days my kid is going to proclaim "I CAME FROM A SPECIAL EGG DID YOU COME FROM A SPECIAL EGG" at a gathering in front of a lot of people. Who knows the scenario, but I used to fear the sound of a record skipping at the end of all the tracks. I need someone to jump in and respond "yes, yes you did and it is very special" without missing a beat.
I think it will be easy to build that team of people to support him/her when it happens. I didn't realize I was holding my breath about it, but I was. Exhale. Ahhh......
Donor eggs. I love them.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Welcome third trimester
Yoga pants are fine with me. I am grateful for the chill in the air to allow me to leave the skirts in the closet. I was starting to feel too much friction when I walked and it is a real chore to keep my knees together in meetings.
I wear flip flops mostly. They are made by Croc, rather high end when it comes to flip flops. My ballet flats were getting tight so Target just sold me two new pairs a half size up to get me through the last few months.
Tums Smoothies are really good. They work within the minute. I wish I could get some money promoting them as I am a real believer in the power of Tums.
Thanks very much for all of your coaching after my last post. I was delighted to get so much quality support and advice. I honestly expected crickets but wanted to get it off my chest.
It has been rough but I am eeking out my territory. Kind of pissing in corners. In fact, I just deleted the whole story I was sharing - I sound like a mean, mean beast.
Let's just say MIL is not technically inclined and I don't leave the TV in an easy recover mode after Toddlerina watches her kids shows in the morning. Take that Fox news.
Petty, shallow and mean,
Your Friend,
Roccie
I wear flip flops mostly. They are made by Croc, rather high end when it comes to flip flops. My ballet flats were getting tight so Target just sold me two new pairs a half size up to get me through the last few months.
Tums Smoothies are really good. They work within the minute. I wish I could get some money promoting them as I am a real believer in the power of Tums.
Thanks very much for all of your coaching after my last post. I was delighted to get so much quality support and advice. I honestly expected crickets but wanted to get it off my chest.
It has been rough but I am eeking out my territory. Kind of pissing in corners. In fact, I just deleted the whole story I was sharing - I sound like a mean, mean beast.
Let's just say MIL is not technically inclined and I don't leave the TV in an easy recover mode after Toddlerina watches her kids shows in the morning. Take that Fox news.
Petty, shallow and mean,
Your Friend,
Roccie
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Hiding in public
So who reads your blog?
I remember my mother in law getting quite annoyed with me when she learned about my blog. She wanted to read it.
No way in hell, MIL, no way in hell.
She asked why she couldn't and I told her it was private. After an uncomfortable silence, she asked what was private about posting ideas for strangers to read.
Sigh. Only a non blogger would call us strangers, huh?
My own mother does not read. She knows about the blog, but I only had to warn her once not to read it. To be clear, I wasn't asking her not to read it, just wanted her to know she would probably prefer to spoon her heart out of her chest than read my posts. I have a couple painful doozy posts and I sure don't think my mom would enjoy the frequency of the F bomb here.
My sister reads. It has put me in the corner a few times and caused me to censor, but I can only think of one or two times. My brother only read when he was featured as the Ass of the Week. Otherwise, I am in hiding with family.
I have been found by IRL folks out here in blogland. Hunted down by the mighty Google. To be fair, she is quite brilliant and can do anything with technology. When she showed me how I was tracked down, it was pretty obvious. Oops. I think I fixed it, but I can still see pointers back to me. Anyhow.
So my mother in law is moving in with us.
What.
I want to unload about it a wee bit but there is too much at risk. What if I am found? My own home computer needs to be rigged with safety - disabling automatic logins and clearing history and looking over my shoulder and worrying what happens if they find me?
She comes tomorrow and will be here, playing her loud Fox News and Morning Joe programs, until the middle of November.
There is a small chance I will die, but it is very small.
I remember my mother in law getting quite annoyed with me when she learned about my blog. She wanted to read it.
No way in hell, MIL, no way in hell.
She asked why she couldn't and I told her it was private. After an uncomfortable silence, she asked what was private about posting ideas for strangers to read.
Sigh. Only a non blogger would call us strangers, huh?
My own mother does not read. She knows about the blog, but I only had to warn her once not to read it. To be clear, I wasn't asking her not to read it, just wanted her to know she would probably prefer to spoon her heart out of her chest than read my posts. I have a couple painful doozy posts and I sure don't think my mom would enjoy the frequency of the F bomb here.
My sister reads. It has put me in the corner a few times and caused me to censor, but I can only think of one or two times. My brother only read when he was featured as the Ass of the Week. Otherwise, I am in hiding with family.
I have been found by IRL folks out here in blogland. Hunted down by the mighty Google. To be fair, she is quite brilliant and can do anything with technology. When she showed me how I was tracked down, it was pretty obvious. Oops. I think I fixed it, but I can still see pointers back to me. Anyhow.
So my mother in law is moving in with us.
What.
I want to unload about it a wee bit but there is too much at risk. What if I am found? My own home computer needs to be rigged with safety - disabling automatic logins and clearing history and looking over my shoulder and worrying what happens if they find me?
She comes tomorrow and will be here, playing her loud Fox News and Morning Joe programs, until the middle of November.
There is a small chance I will die, but it is very small.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Everything is coming up Roccie
No gestational diabetes.
Outgrew my placenta previa.
Toddlerina went to sleep in her Big Girl Bed without me by her side. I actually left the room when she was still awake. This is serious progress.
All in all, I suddenly feel like I am waaaaaay ahead for once. Ahhhh....
Outgrew my placenta previa.
Toddlerina went to sleep in her Big Girl Bed without me by her side. I actually left the room when she was still awake. This is serious progress.
All in all, I suddenly feel like I am waaaaaay ahead for once. Ahhhh....
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Drama from your Momma
I went into the OB for my glucose tolerance test to see if I have gestational diabetes.
Law, I know I ask for a lot, but please don't give me the diabetes. It is some hard ass work that I don't want to do. I tested high with Toddlerina, my mother now has diabetes and I am over 35... ahem.
I choked down the drink and sat watching the instructional video on how to recognize preterm labor.
Glinda the Good OB comes in and pauses the movie.
Says she is glad I am here.
Says she was going to call me.
Alarms are going off all over in my head.
Holy shit show in the making.
What bomb is she about to drop.
Guess who is leaving the practice and turned in her resignation yesterday.
Glinda.
KA-BOOM!
We talk about the reason she is leaving... read your Evil OB stories here.
Actually, Glinda doesn't directly acknowledge this is why she is leaving, but when I tell her I am not surprised, we both look at each other knowingly.
I will follow Glinda. I don't get to know where she is going yet as The Evil One will sue Glinda if she tells her patients. In fact, Glinda is only telling two of her patients she is leaving.
Not sure how the other Glinda patients find out, but surely they will be told. Glinda says might have some work to ensure she can perform our c-section, but I think our surgery will be on Glinda's very last day with NW Suburban House of Mean and Insensitive OBs.
I am happy for Glinda. I am happy for me.
I cannot wait to have the exit interview of a lifetime when I tell Evil OBs R Us why I am leaving the practice. Oh, you can bet I will be explicit in my detail.
Law, I know I ask for a lot, but please don't give me the diabetes. It is some hard ass work that I don't want to do. I tested high with Toddlerina, my mother now has diabetes and I am over 35... ahem.
I choked down the drink and sat watching the instructional video on how to recognize preterm labor.
Glinda the Good OB comes in and pauses the movie.
Says she is glad I am here.
Says she was going to call me.
Alarms are going off all over in my head.
Holy shit show in the making.
What bomb is she about to drop.
Guess who is leaving the practice and turned in her resignation yesterday.
Glinda.
KA-BOOM!
We talk about the reason she is leaving... read your Evil OB stories here.
Actually, Glinda doesn't directly acknowledge this is why she is leaving, but when I tell her I am not surprised, we both look at each other knowingly.
I will follow Glinda. I don't get to know where she is going yet as The Evil One will sue Glinda if she tells her patients. In fact, Glinda is only telling two of her patients she is leaving.
Not sure how the other Glinda patients find out, but surely they will be told. Glinda says might have some work to ensure she can perform our c-section, but I think our surgery will be on Glinda's very last day with NW Suburban House of Mean and Insensitive OBs.
I am happy for Glinda. I am happy for me.
I cannot wait to have the exit interview of a lifetime when I tell Evil OBs R Us why I am leaving the practice. Oh, you can bet I will be explicit in my detail.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sighting: Decent Fertile
We had our semi-annual babysitter Saturday night. Maybe I exaggerate, but honestly not by much. Working full time, managing the Terrible Twos of Toddlerina and worrying about this pregnancy pretty much consume all of my energy.
I won a prize at the party for my shoes. There is no confidence booster like winning a prize for Sexiest Shoes at the party, even if you know deep down it was rigged for you to win because everyone laughs to see a belly teetering in wedge heels.
Men competed for Oldest and Foulest Shoe (no, it was not Rocco, whew). All of us competed for Shoes that Have Seen the Most Miles (China). It was a fun ice breaker even though most of us knew each other.
I met a new face at the party. Not many people knew we were pregnant, so I felt like the belle of the ball with my belly. Poor new gal happened to be in my circle long enough to have to hear me accept congratulations over and over. This new gal told me she has three children. She is a trained nurse, but currently not working.
You know, she says, I really wanted to be at home with my children.
Isn't that just soooooooo nice for you, thought Bitter Infertile Roccie, constantly jealous of every family story she hears that sounds like a fairy tale to her.
I do a good job hiding my bitterness. I made some jokes to new gal why she had to endure such revelry around my pregnancy. Had she known me that last two years, she would have been corned with my Fertility War battle stories. She would have known not to get trapped with me at a party unless she wanted to know all the details of my uterus and constant pursuit of pregnancy.
The Fertile shakes of her wolf clothing. She has four retrievals, two cancelled retrievals and more FET than I can remember under her belt. Sadly, she also has several miscarriages in the whole process. She is clearly healed and lively when she shares her story.
I tell her I love her and ask her if she would like to be my best friend forever and ever.
I won a prize at the party for my shoes. There is no confidence booster like winning a prize for Sexiest Shoes at the party, even if you know deep down it was rigged for you to win because everyone laughs to see a belly teetering in wedge heels.
Men competed for Oldest and Foulest Shoe (no, it was not Rocco, whew). All of us competed for Shoes that Have Seen the Most Miles (China). It was a fun ice breaker even though most of us knew each other.
I met a new face at the party. Not many people knew we were pregnant, so I felt like the belle of the ball with my belly. Poor new gal happened to be in my circle long enough to have to hear me accept congratulations over and over. This new gal told me she has three children. She is a trained nurse, but currently not working.
You know, she says, I really wanted to be at home with my children.
Isn't that just soooooooo nice for you, thought Bitter Infertile Roccie, constantly jealous of every family story she hears that sounds like a fairy tale to her.
I do a good job hiding my bitterness. I made some jokes to new gal why she had to endure such revelry around my pregnancy. Had she known me that last two years, she would have been corned with my Fertility War battle stories. She would have known not to get trapped with me at a party unless she wanted to know all the details of my uterus and constant pursuit of pregnancy.
The Fertile shakes of her wolf clothing. She has four retrievals, two cancelled retrievals and more FET than I can remember under her belt. Sadly, she also has several miscarriages in the whole process. She is clearly healed and lively when she shares her story.
I tell her I love her and ask her if she would like to be my best friend forever and ever.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Wait for it...
If you can make it to the end of this and not cry, well, you might be made of stone.
http://www.hannahweptsarahlaughed.com/2011/06/mommys-garden/
I am so glad I didn't miss it thanks to an ever watchful Danielle. I owe you a big one.
http://www.hannahweptsarahlaughed.com/2011/06/mommys-garden/
Photo by Stacie via Flickr.
I am so glad I didn't miss it thanks to an ever watchful Danielle. I owe you a big one.
Friday, August 5, 2011
What is it about Fertiles and water?
I saw him do a double take at me across the parking lot this morning. We reached the steps at the same time and walked up to the the office together.
Fertile moron: I wouldn't drink the water around here.
Trust me, it isn't the water.
Fertile moron: Well, look at you.
Never, ever assume pregnancy is easy.
Especially for the Senior Mommas like me.
Fertile moron: Sure seems like there are a lot of You Guys in the office.
I worked very, very hard to get here.
Never, ever assume pregnancy is easy.
I can only assume this is his way of saying Congratulations to me.
Fertiles, you continue to make me insane.
Fertile moron: I wouldn't drink the water around here.
Trust me, it isn't the water.
Fertile moron: Well, look at you.
Never, ever assume pregnancy is easy.
Especially for the Senior Mommas like me.
Fertile moron: Sure seems like there are a lot of You Guys in the office.
I worked very, very hard to get here.
Never, ever assume pregnancy is easy.
I can only assume this is his way of saying Congratulations to me.
Fertiles, you continue to make me insane.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Attack of the placenta previa nerves
I guess I do not cope well with stress. I bet my family and friends would line up to tell you this is the truth.
I had my follow up appointment to review my 20 wk u/s results today. I had the whole live long morning to sit and speculate, plus I worked from home. Never a good idea to have unchaperoned Roccie home with Dr. Google before an appointment.
First offense: I ate almost an entire bag of Chicago style popcorn - the kind that is half cheese and half caramel. I ate the whole bag in just over 24 hours but 90% was chowed today. Sigh.
Second offense: I got mad at Resolve. Who gets mad at Resolve?? This tightly wound momma. Gah. Not my proudest moment.
It appeared the Resolve post was slinging desperation and partnering it with donor eggs and surrogates. So, I let 'er rip. I spouted on Twitter and, worse yet, I spouted on FB. Can't really hide when you run yer yap on FB. I guess I could have just deleted the comment, but I felt like I owed the follow up apology and moreover, I owed the explanation as to what my confusion was all about.
By the time I got my hot head to the OB I was feeling much more calm. I think the blowup and massive sugar come down expelled all that negativity. There really has to be a better way. Shame I haven't learned a healthy method in my 40.5 years...
Glinda had a lot of optimism to share around the placenta previa. Mine is marginal, meaning it is encroaching in the 2 cm safety zone that should exist between the cervix and the placenta.
Best news is that is can get better or stay the same. Getting worse is not really an option with placenta previa. How about that one? Whew. So I am back in 4 wks for another u/s. I made the appointment in my OB office as I can schedule around the Biggest Jerk In the World, the Evil OB.
Glinda had phoned last week around my long wait in the office. Her message was thoughtful and personal. She was very apologetic as she was caught in an emergency c-section. Guess who was at fault for it? Evil OB. Ha, small world.
It was a funny and sweet bonding moment with Glinda and Roccie vs. placenta previa and the Evil OB.
I had my follow up appointment to review my 20 wk u/s results today. I had the whole live long morning to sit and speculate, plus I worked from home. Never a good idea to have unchaperoned Roccie home with Dr. Google before an appointment.
First offense: I ate almost an entire bag of Chicago style popcorn - the kind that is half cheese and half caramel. I ate the whole bag in just over 24 hours but 90% was chowed today. Sigh.
Second offense: I got mad at Resolve. Who gets mad at Resolve?? This tightly wound momma. Gah. Not my proudest moment.
It appeared the Resolve post was slinging desperation and partnering it with donor eggs and surrogates. So, I let 'er rip. I spouted on Twitter and, worse yet, I spouted on FB. Can't really hide when you run yer yap on FB. I guess I could have just deleted the comment, but I felt like I owed the follow up apology and moreover, I owed the explanation as to what my confusion was all about.
By the time I got my hot head to the OB I was feeling much more calm. I think the blowup and massive sugar come down expelled all that negativity. There really has to be a better way. Shame I haven't learned a healthy method in my 40.5 years...
Glinda had a lot of optimism to share around the placenta previa. Mine is marginal, meaning it is encroaching in the 2 cm safety zone that should exist between the cervix and the placenta.
Best news is that is can get better or stay the same. Getting worse is not really an option with placenta previa. How about that one? Whew. So I am back in 4 wks for another u/s. I made the appointment in my OB office as I can schedule around the Biggest Jerk In the World, the Evil OB.
Glinda had phoned last week around my long wait in the office. Her message was thoughtful and personal. She was very apologetic as she was caught in an emergency c-section. Guess who was at fault for it? Evil OB. Ha, small world.
It was a funny and sweet bonding moment with Glinda and Roccie vs. placenta previa and the Evil OB.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Holding pattern
Me and my acne. Sort of seems unfair in the
grand scheme of things. My aging and egg-less body, but I have
the complexion of a fertile teen who is chock full of eggs.
I promise you a picture one of these days, unless that is too crass? I have a couple contenders brewing on my chin as we speak. No pride and I will do anything for a laugh, especially when it is at my expense.
Toddlerina has been sick as a goat. She is beastly when she is this sick. I had my follow up with Glinda the Good OB yesterday. Packaged up my sick little beast goat and took her with me since she was banished from school with The Fever.
This is how much I wanted to have the appt and get the low down on the placenta previa. That sentence about packaging took all my might. There was just no pleasing Her Majesty.
Glinda kept me waiting for one hour. Toddlerina read every book in the basket then ate her snack. Now what? We left the office with no sign of the good doctor in the house. Hrmpf.
I wasn't mad, but I did play up the weary look on my face and pinched Toddlerina so she would be a sobbing mess when we walked out.
Just kidding, but only because she didn't need the pinch to cue her inner beast.
I promise you a picture one of these days, unless that is too crass? I have a couple contenders brewing on my chin as we speak. No pride and I will do anything for a laugh, especially when it is at my expense.
Toddlerina has been sick as a goat. She is beastly when she is this sick. I had my follow up with Glinda the Good OB yesterday. Packaged up my sick little beast goat and took her with me since she was banished from school with The Fever.
This is how much I wanted to have the appt and get the low down on the placenta previa. That sentence about packaging took all my might. There was just no pleasing Her Majesty.
Glinda kept me waiting for one hour. Toddlerina read every book in the basket then ate her snack. Now what? We left the office with no sign of the good doctor in the house. Hrmpf.
I wasn't mad, but I did play up the weary look on my face and pinched Toddlerina so she would be a sobbing mess when we walked out.
Just kidding, but only because she didn't need the pinch to cue her inner beast.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Pregnant wanker Fertiles
My sisters, I was blatantly rude to the douche bag who just came in my office to announce he was 10 weeks pregnant.
"Sure happened a lot quicker than we thought."
"This heat is killing her."
"We will definitely find out what we are having."
I sit here with a baby in my belly at 21 weeks and his words still sear me like a hot sword to the gut. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.
Sending you all my best as you encounter your own personal bags of D in your life.
It sucks and you are not alone.
"Sure happened a lot quicker than we thought."
"This heat is killing her."
"We will definitely find out what we are having."
I sit here with a baby in my belly at 21 weeks and his words still sear me like a hot sword to the gut. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.
Sending you all my best as you encounter your own personal bags of D in your life.
It sucks and you are not alone.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
"Just try to enjoy the rest of your pregnancy"
All is well. I would be lying if I told you I slept well last night. No nightmares, but I wound myself up by the time I was on the table.
Thanks for the champ advice, Nurse Ratched. Anyone can TAKE the reservation, it is KEEPING the reservation that is the hard part.
We will have a follow up appointment in 6 weeks as I just might have placenta previa. The doctor believes it will correct itself. He told me the only risk was a requirement to have a c section, but Dr. Google is freaking me the fuck out with preterm labor.
I hope you think this picture is funny.
I hope I am not turning into that asshat we all hate on FB by posting this.
Thanks for the champ advice, Nurse Ratched. Anyone can TAKE the reservation, it is KEEPING the reservation that is the hard part.
We will have a follow up appointment in 6 weeks as I just might have placenta previa. The doctor believes it will correct itself. He told me the only risk was a requirement to have a c section, but Dr. Google is freaking me the fuck out with preterm labor.
I hope you think this picture is funny.
I hope I am not turning into that asshat we all hate on FB by posting this.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The danger of the ziplock
You should at least struggle slightly when eating cookies. In the morning. I don't care if it is green tea, you are still eating cookies for breakfast.
Or second breakfast in my case.
The ziplock allows you to take a reasonable portion out to enjoy.
The problem is when the ziplock grants easy access to top off your napkin one more time. Correct the poor tea:cookie ratio of your first batch.
We head in tomorrow for our level II ultrasound, aka the regular 20 week u/s to you young folk. My senior status awards insurance approval for all the high end testing that a 27 year old egg doesn't really need. I am delighted to take advantage of it.
I always worry a little bit that the technician might slip and say something about the sex of the baby. We don't want to know.
That is my biggest worry right now. Accidentally finding out the sex of the baby. What. Who am I???
Oh, donor egg, how I love thee.
Your price is high at times, but eventually you start to give back.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Flowers from Toddlerina
We had massive storms in Chicago this morning. It was a record for ComEd in the number of folks left without power. We lost ours in the first 3 minutes.
I had to cancel my work from home day without power. I may slack when I work from home, but not having an internet connection is a dead giveaway.
I said good bye to all the fresh groceries I had put into the fridge yesterday in my new Effort to Eat Healthier. Waste of money. I put my dogs in kennels in the dark with a flashlight, hoping the batteries would last until power was restored. Guilt.
I got dressed in the dark and put on clothes that did not need ironed. I had product-free, air-dry hair that I went to sleep with wet the night before. Ugly. I gave a brief prayer of thanks I was not born in the 1800's.
It was a loooong and very hot day.
Toddlerina picked me some flowers when we came home from school.
Can you see how beaten they are? Past their prime? Hell, one of them has no petals.
Sentimental fool that I am, I send you all my very best withered, tired, but oh so beautiful flowers.
They made my day.
I had to cancel my work from home day without power. I may slack when I work from home, but not having an internet connection is a dead giveaway.
I said good bye to all the fresh groceries I had put into the fridge yesterday in my new Effort to Eat Healthier. Waste of money. I put my dogs in kennels in the dark with a flashlight, hoping the batteries would last until power was restored. Guilt.
I got dressed in the dark and put on clothes that did not need ironed. I had product-free, air-dry hair that I went to sleep with wet the night before. Ugly. I gave a brief prayer of thanks I was not born in the 1800's.
It was a loooong and very hot day.
Toddlerina picked me some flowers when we came home from school.
Can you see how beaten they are? Past their prime? Hell, one of them has no petals.
Sentimental fool that I am, I send you all my very best withered, tired, but oh so beautiful flowers.
They made my day.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
DE babies love Woody Allen
I am recently released from house arrest.
My sister in law stayed with us for 2 weeks. In a row. She is great and all, but did you know that 2 weeks is 14 days? In a row? I have much to catch up on.
Rocco and I made it out to see a movie this weekend. About 10 minutes into it, the Indian food we had eaten kicked in - that baby was mooooving! It literally took all my might not to stand up and shout:
"Do not be alarmed! The baby is alive! The baby is ALIVE!! This just might work out!!"
Boy, wouldn't that freak some people out.
....... did I just sit here and contemplate deleting everything I just typed for fear of tempting Fate? Yeah, maybe. Old habits die hard.
I wish we all lived closer and could meet for a milkshake. I am a grinning fool. Scared, sure, but man, am I happy.
ps - Whoever found my blog with the search phrase "scared to poop after an embryo transfer": can you please self identify so I can be your new best friend?
My sister in law stayed with us for 2 weeks. In a row. She is great and all, but did you know that 2 weeks is 14 days? In a row? I have much to catch up on.
Rocco and I made it out to see a movie this weekend. About 10 minutes into it, the Indian food we had eaten kicked in - that baby was mooooving! It literally took all my might not to stand up and shout:
"Do not be alarmed! The baby is alive! The baby is ALIVE!! This just might work out!!"
Boy, wouldn't that freak some people out.
....... did I just sit here and contemplate deleting everything I just typed for fear of tempting Fate? Yeah, maybe. Old habits die hard.
I wish we all lived closer and could meet for a milkshake. I am a grinning fool. Scared, sure, but man, am I happy.
ps - Whoever found my blog with the search phrase "scared to poop after an embryo transfer": can you please self identify so I can be your new best friend?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Things we just survive
I don't get it. I don't know how it all works. Somehow, some way, we just get through it all.
I cannot believe it has been two weeks since I had my 16 week appointment with Glinda the Good OB. (Glinda, not Glenda - thanks Sarah. I love my pop culture when I can get it right.)
I sat down in the chair with Glinda and promptly burst into tears. "Oh my goodness. What is wrong? Are you bleeding again? You could have called. Are you feeling ok?" I cried a little more and the best answer I could come up with was "I am scared."
Glinda has her own stories to share. Stories of waking up and pulling back sheets to see a bloody mess; preterm labor; more bleeding. She told me she set the goal of just making it to delivery, then it will all be okay. Moral of the story: never set that final goal line. You know it always gets moved.
She delivered a healthy baby. She was nursing and the baby began to have seizures. What. But she was there. She arrived at her goal. She made it to delivery. It is the self identified safe zone. Right?
Her baby's seizures are now managed, no long term impact to the infant. The only lasting scars are on the mother. She said it was harder to recover from the seizures than the bleeding and preterm labor because she thought she was in her safe zone.
Some moral, huh? The moral is more complex than never setting the finish line. It makes it sound like you are never safe, but hell, you really aren't. I feel all predestination and shit, but taking it one day at a time is the best I have right now. Cannot change it for the better and thankfully cannot change it for the worse.
I am out about the pregnancy at work now. It is kind of fun, especially when I see people in other departments do a cartoon double take at me. As I told my newly pregnant friend Lut, I highly recommend sitting on your announcement for as long as possible if only for entertainment value.
Do NOT sit on it justincasethatthingthatcanhappenhappens. Ahem, like I did. It doesn't help and it just might do more harm than good.
Things are great now. Happiness is finally mine. I feel like a million bucks and only worry late at night when flipping for the cold side of the pillow. But it doesn't last long or at least as long as it used to.
Thank God we are so damn resilient. Well done, Sir.
I cannot believe it has been two weeks since I had my 16 week appointment with Glinda the Good OB. (Glinda, not Glenda - thanks Sarah. I love my pop culture when I can get it right.)
I sat down in the chair with Glinda and promptly burst into tears. "Oh my goodness. What is wrong? Are you bleeding again? You could have called. Are you feeling ok?" I cried a little more and the best answer I could come up with was "I am scared."
Glinda has her own stories to share. Stories of waking up and pulling back sheets to see a bloody mess; preterm labor; more bleeding. She told me she set the goal of just making it to delivery, then it will all be okay. Moral of the story: never set that final goal line. You know it always gets moved.
She delivered a healthy baby. She was nursing and the baby began to have seizures. What. But she was there. She arrived at her goal. She made it to delivery. It is the self identified safe zone. Right?
Her baby's seizures are now managed, no long term impact to the infant. The only lasting scars are on the mother. She said it was harder to recover from the seizures than the bleeding and preterm labor because she thought she was in her safe zone.
Some moral, huh? The moral is more complex than never setting the finish line. It makes it sound like you are never safe, but hell, you really aren't. I feel all predestination and shit, but taking it one day at a time is the best I have right now. Cannot change it for the better and thankfully cannot change it for the worse.
I am out about the pregnancy at work now. It is kind of fun, especially when I see people in other departments do a cartoon double take at me. As I told my newly pregnant friend Lut, I highly recommend sitting on your announcement for as long as possible if only for entertainment value.
Do NOT sit on it justincasethatthingthatcanhappenhappens. Ahem, like I did. It doesn't help and it just might do more harm than good.
Things are great now. Happiness is finally mine. I feel like a million bucks and only worry late at night when flipping for the cold side of the pillow. But it doesn't last long or at least as long as it used to.
Thank God we are so damn resilient. Well done, Sir.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
What does that mean?
I remember when I first started to read blogs. At first I gravitated to the blogs with the glossaries down the side. There were so many new acronyms I didn't understand yet. I only knew the basics from my own experience, IVF and IUI.
I was quickly pulled in by my the writing style over at Misfit's house. I was amazed by her story and laughed at the running sidebars of Regular Life Not Associated with the Pursuit of the Baby. I read and I read and I read.
Misfit was the first one to introduce me to the idea of RPL. I can remember looking it up. And I was horrified. I don't think I fully understood what the costs of RPL might be to a family, to a couple, and to a Momma.
As avid and regular Misfit reader, time passed. I assumed I had learned the risks and the pain associated with RPL. I thought I understood what our Misfit was facing.
Dear Misfit. I am so very sorry for your loss. Your pain is now part of my own. I think of you often and wish I knew what to say.
For my own blind optimism, I apologize. I thought I was supporting you with my hoots and hollers of delight in your pregnancy. I fear it might have felt like acid on your skin. What do I know about RPL? I am grateful you can see past the gaffe to my true intentions.
I have been busy with my new prayers... or call them my best intentions, my positive thoughts and just plain thinking about our RPL sisters. You have my very, very best coming your way.
I was quickly pulled in by my the writing style over at Misfit's house. I was amazed by her story and laughed at the running sidebars of Regular Life Not Associated with the Pursuit of the Baby. I read and I read and I read.
Misfit was the first one to introduce me to the idea of RPL. I can remember looking it up. And I was horrified. I don't think I fully understood what the costs of RPL might be to a family, to a couple, and to a Momma.
As avid and regular Misfit reader, time passed. I assumed I had learned the risks and the pain associated with RPL. I thought I understood what our Misfit was facing.
Dear Misfit. I am so very sorry for your loss. Your pain is now part of my own. I think of you often and wish I knew what to say.
For my own blind optimism, I apologize. I thought I was supporting you with my hoots and hollers of delight in your pregnancy. I fear it might have felt like acid on your skin. What do I know about RPL? I am grateful you can see past the gaffe to my true intentions.
I have been busy with my new prayers... or call them my best intentions, my positive thoughts and just plain thinking about our RPL sisters. You have my very, very best coming your way.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Apologies for my Freak Fest
I don't know what that self induced Freak Fest was, but I am glad it is over. Thanks very much for your support. I was walking with a monster on my back for the last several days.
All is well today at 16 weeks.
I let a lot of things get to me. I am not made of stone.
It sounds absurd in print, but I was certain my belly was smaller. I woke up one morning, lying on my back, and it all went south from there. I swear it is like I have body dysmorphic disorder.
There was more. I seemed less tired. I didn't feel better after eating, but I never really felt all that sick in the first place. Yeah, in retrospect, all those things that come with the second trimester.
Perhaps hiding my pregnancy isn't healthy? Law knows I am not the most stable chair on the porch.
I had an amazing conversation with Glenda the Good OB. I am too tired to talk about it now, but I learned a lot from her. I think I can do this and I honestly believe this will be my last Fest.
I am planning a coming out party tomorrow. Assuming I have the guts, I will not hide in a bag outfit. I am going to try to be a pregnant lady tomorrow.
All is well today at 16 weeks.
I let a lot of things get to me. I am not made of stone.
It sounds absurd in print, but I was certain my belly was smaller. I woke up one morning, lying on my back, and it all went south from there. I swear it is like I have body dysmorphic disorder.
There was more. I seemed less tired. I didn't feel better after eating, but I never really felt all that sick in the first place. Yeah, in retrospect, all those things that come with the second trimester.
Perhaps hiding my pregnancy isn't healthy? Law knows I am not the most stable chair on the porch.
I had an amazing conversation with Glenda the Good OB. I am too tired to talk about it now, but I learned a lot from her. I think I can do this and I honestly believe this will be my last Fest.
I am planning a coming out party tomorrow. Assuming I have the guts, I will not hide in a bag outfit. I am going to try to be a pregnant lady tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I was up above it
Now I'm down in it.
I head in tomorrow for my 16 week appointment.
I have a deep and unsettled feeling.
Can't remember the last time I heard this song, but every word came back to me as I drove into the office this morning. Sure hits home.
I am useless today.
I head in tomorrow for my 16 week appointment.
I have a deep and unsettled feeling.
Can't remember the last time I heard this song, but every word came back to me as I drove into the office this morning. Sure hits home.
I am useless today.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Radio silence for my friends' losses
a
a
a
a
My friend Lis needs all the support we can offer her right now. Lis delivered her twins at 21 weeks.
Please surround her as she suffers the loss of her second set of twins.
Please give egghunt your love and support as she recovers from her ectopic pregnancy.
Egghunt has too many cycles of IVF, FET, cysts and miscarriage in her past.
This recent loss cost her a fallopian tube and is chasing her beautiful spirit.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Things that Fertiles never do
If you know me on FB, you see I have not made The Announcement.
If you know me IRL, you wonder why I wear a sweater with a heat index of 100 degrees.
I have never been good about getting to work on time. Too much morning time is spent fussing with the dogs, watering a half dead plant or some other urgent task. Mostly catering to the fair Toddlerina takes up my time.
It is impossible to get to work at a reasonable time now that I have the need to disguise my belly every morning. I try a minimum of two outfits every day. I would try on three, but I don't have enough clothes to consider.
We reach 15 weeks on Thursday, plus this is my second/third baby. Let me tell you the popping and sagging came fast. Not to mention the boobs. Heaven help me, these breasts will be the death of me. I need to buy size L for the girls, but then the arm holes sag.
I still have not come clean about the pregnancy at work. My guess is some people are putting it all together, but most have the decency not to ask. Once it is out there, I cannot take it back. If something doesn't go to plan, I have to face them all.
My defense mechanism? Carry a notebook. Everywhere.
I can be seen ready to take dictation at any time, even in the washroom.
Here are a couple of my favorite poses. (Of course, these are taken at home as I could not risk someone seeing me do this at work and draw any attention to myself.)
We told my nieces this weekend. I adore these girls. The oldest is in 8th grade, the middle is 6th and the littlest one is in the 4th grade. Their reaction was everything I had hoped for. I may not have their unbridled joy, but it counts for a lot to see it in their sweet faces.
If you know me IRL, you wonder why I wear a sweater with a heat index of 100 degrees.
I have never been good about getting to work on time. Too much morning time is spent fussing with the dogs, watering a half dead plant or some other urgent task. Mostly catering to the fair Toddlerina takes up my time.
It is impossible to get to work at a reasonable time now that I have the need to disguise my belly every morning. I try a minimum of two outfits every day. I would try on three, but I don't have enough clothes to consider.
We reach 15 weeks on Thursday, plus this is my second/third baby. Let me tell you the popping and sagging came fast. Not to mention the boobs. Heaven help me, these breasts will be the death of me. I need to buy size L for the girls, but then the arm holes sag.
I still have not come clean about the pregnancy at work. My guess is some people are putting it all together, but most have the decency not to ask. Once it is out there, I cannot take it back. If something doesn't go to plan, I have to face them all.
My defense mechanism? Carry a notebook. Everywhere.
I can be seen ready to take dictation at any time, even in the washroom.
Here are a couple of my favorite poses. (Of course, these are taken at home as I could not risk someone seeing me do this at work and draw any attention to myself.)
We told my nieces this weekend. I adore these girls. The oldest is in 8th grade, the middle is 6th and the littlest one is in the 4th grade. Their reaction was everything I had hoped for. I may not have their unbridled joy, but it counts for a lot to see it in their sweet faces.
I asked them if they thought Aunt Roccie was just getting big? Too much indulging in my much loved milkshakes? I barely had the sentence out of my mouth before they were all shouting, "Yes!"
Perhaps I have another week undercover at work.
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