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.  


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.


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.

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.

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.


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.

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.

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.

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,

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.


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.