It Might Be Time

I have been thinking about this a lot over the past couple of months, and I think it might be time to close down this blog. But before you think that means I will be gone, guess again. I still have my primary blog, and I have slowly been moving my following of your blogs over to my list on the primary blog, which can be found here.

When I first started writing this blog, it had a purpose, and that was to help me deal with my PPD. I needed somewhere to talk about what I was going through without everyone in my real life knowing I was struggling. It was a private battle, and I didn't want my coworkers to know I was on antidepressants and seeing a shrink to work through my PTSD from infertility. More than that though, I didn't want my mother-in-law to know because she has a way of sending emails that she claims are meant to be innocent, but that are just plain cruel. I didn't need any of her negative energy weighing in on what I was already going through. I didn't want her telling me it was my own fault or that I was damaging my baby because of it somehow. I needed a place to talk about these things where no one knew who I was. A place where I felt safe. And I found that with this blog.

I have been AWOL from this blog so much lately, and I finally realized why last night. My mind is being completely occupied by what is going on my life right now that I just can't or sometimes don't want to find the time to sit down to blog. Not only that, but most of the time I can't think of things to write about. Add to that we are back into doing treatments to have another baby. The latter really negates the purpose of this blog, in my opinion.

My life has moved on from trying to deal with past issues back into trying to deal with current issues, which includes seeing an RE on specific cycle days every month and wearing estrogen patches. It could turn back into full blown treatments for us again. God only knows.

I am sorry that neglecting to write in this blog meant not keeping up with my reading and commenting on your blogs. I think I got everyone added to the list on my primary one tonight though, so if you see a new follower in your ranks, that's me. :)

I hope you will all continue with me on my journey to building a family. I know some of you have said you liked this blog better, but all of the things that made this one great are moving to the other one. I find that right now I need to consolidate and simplify my life as much as possible to make room for the chaos that is being reintroduced by treatments.

I will keep this blog up for a while until I decide if I want to shut it down completely or not. Until then, you know where to find me.

Much love!

Two Parts

There are two parts to me who seem to constantly be doing battle in my head. Neither one wins more often than the other. Part of me apparently loves to feel guilty, while the other part of me wants to quit feeling guilty and enjoy life.

Life has just been crazy for me lately what with trying to control my head from being all over the place. I think about so many things that nothing ever gets done right. Actually, all I really think about is one thing: having another baby. And the rest of my life takes a back seat, which makes me feel GUILTY.

In my shrink session a few weeks ago, I was talking about how this whole TTC thing needed to take the back seat. It was becoming too all-consuming and other aspects of my life were suffering because of it. Even my work has been suffering, and noticeably so. My shrink asked how my relationship with my daughter was, and I started to cry as I admitted it wasn't where I wanted it to be.

Don't get me wrong, we have a great relationship. She wants to be with me all of the time. I just feel like I don't spend enough quality time with her. I liked to think that taking her shopping with me was spending time with her, and it is, but it isn't quality time. I'm not 100% focused on her. In fact, I have to remind myself to make eye contact with her and play with her as I peruse the isles so that she isn't just along for the ride. When I get home at night, I need to make more of an effort to sit down and play with her, read to her, go outside with her. It doesn't matter how tired I am at the end of the work day, this child is the most precious thing in my life, and one day she will be grown. I don't want to look back on these days of her life and regret that I was so focused on having another baby that I didn't spend enough quality time with the one I had.

Not only that, but if we do have another baby, her days as an only child are limited. The days where my focus is solely devoted to one child are limited. I need to cherish them and make the most of them. Not tell myself I am too tired to play Legos with her and I will do it tomorrow.

The guilt part of me needs to give way to the content part of me again. I need to take action so I can stop feeling guilty. Stop thinking and start acting.

My shrink recommended I buy a set of toys that I keep set aside for special play time with mom. She told me to buy a basket and gave me some recommendations for toys to put in it, along with reasons for those specific recommendations. She said that I should take just 15 minutes each day to play with those toys however my daughter wanted. I was not allowed to guide the play time, but to take my daughter's lead. I have kind of done that. I haven't bought the special toys, but I have decided that if she comes over and tells me to come on while grabbing my finger, I am to get up and go with her because there is nothing I could be doing that is more important than being with her.

20 years from now, I don't want to be able to relate to the song "Cat's in the Cradle."

You Wanna Know?

Okay, since so many of your responded to my last post with "Been there, done that, done worse." I have decided you can all handle the story I was going to tell. I am sure now that you will all get a laugh.

Saturday night Hubs and I allowed my best friend to baby sit (at her request [I'm serious]) and went out for a date for the first time in eons. We started out with a really tasty dinner at Son.oma and then headed to a couple's massage at a massage club where I am a member. I guess Hubs enjoyed his massage so much, it made him a little frisky. We have been so off-sync from each other lately, I welcomed his advances. So we played around a little bit after our masseurs left the room to allow us to get dressed. We didn't stick around for too long because we knew they were waiting for us on the other side of the door.

On our way out, I stopped to use the ladies. Silly me, I forgot to lock the door. Of course, I seriously didn't think Hubs was feeling THAT frisky. He was.

After we had been in there for a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the door. I shouted that it was occupied, and the person on the other side shouted, "Yeah, they're in there." Hubs and I both laughed, but he would not be deterred. A few minutes later there was another knock followed by, "Hey guys, we're closing." Shortly thereafter, we emerged.

I told Hubs I would not be able to go back for another massage for months and was afraid they had marked "Has sex in the bathroom" on my chart. He laughed and told me we should schedule another couple's massage for 3 weeks down the road and request the same masseurs.

The sad (or funny) thing is, I can't say that was the strangest place we've ever "done the deed."

Wooooo Hoooo!

I wanted to tell you all a completely different funny story tonight. I had it all written up and ready to post, but then I wasn't sure if it was appropriate. It wasn't detailed or anything, but some would think that some stories are better left unshared. So instead, I decided to tell you a different, tamer funny story.

When I was in college, a boyfriend and I went for a drive up the canyon where we decided to park and make out. (No, there was no sex involved. I was a firm believer in saving virginity for marriage.) He drove a great big, red suburban that had the back seats removed. We started making out in the front seat, and then climbed gingerly into the back to continue making out in a more friendly position.

As we were enjoying each other's company a car pulled into the same circle as us. I started to giggle and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if that was a cop?" My boyfriend was outraged and said angrily, "No, it would NOT!" That made me laugh more. Just then there was a knock at the window. I could not contain my laughter. My boyfriend threw me a dirty look as he crawled into the front seat and rolled down the window.

The cop shone his flash light into the car and asked my boyfriend what we were doing. Gary replied that we were just hanging out. The cop then shined his light on me as he smirked and said, "Ma'am, I have to ask you if you are being held here against your will."

"Oh no sir. I am enjoying myself very much. Thank you."

The cop laughed and my boyfriend threw me another scathing look. He told us the canyon was closed after dark and told us he would appreciate it if we would clear out. My boyfriend was all too happy to oblige. He rolled up the window and I howled with laughter as I crawled back into the front seat.

"Don't you dare tell ANYONE!" He yelled at me. He was so embarrassed, although I will never understand why.

I laughed and said, "Mum's the word."

As soon as I got home, I ran to my room, grabbed my phone and called my dad. "Dad, I have to tell you the funniest story!"

My ex-boyfriend later went on to buy a purple Do.dge N.eon and date a robust girl. Thank heaven I dodged that bullet!

A Serious Case of the Mondays

To Do:

I rolled over sleepily to turn off my alarm clock. How could it be time to get up already? How could it be Monday already? Then I noticed there was a wet spot IN my bed. How could that be? I reached my arm out from under my warm covers into the cold morning air to feel if the wet spot had come from the top of the bed. My hand met with the culprit full on: dog vomit.

I had just pulled the comforter out of the plastic bag fresh from the dry cleaners the night before, and now every layer of my bedding was soaking with dog vomit. I swore out loud, pushed the covers back, realizing painfully there would be no hitting snooze this morning, and put one foot out of bed and straight into a cold pile of dog diarrhea. I swore again, only more loudly, as my dog scurried from the room.

It was dark and cold. I like to sleep with my window open, especially in winter. I hobbled on the heal of the foot covered in feces to the bathroom sink while holding the hand covered in dog vomit up. I washed my hand and then my foot in freezing cold water. Next I turned on the lights to survey the damage. There was a massive brown puddle all over the floor next to the bed with a trail leading out of the bedroom.

I swore again.

The worst part about mornings like this is trying to wake yourself up to be coherent enough to map out a good battle plan for fighting dog poo stains.

I made my way down the hall to find the faux carpet steamer cleaner (just add hot water), and the fight to find all of the bits and pieces began. Where had I put the cleaning solution? Why the deuce was it downstairs instead up upstairs where the cleaner was?! I hate myself in that moment. Where was the Re.solve Pet Stain cleaner? How was I ever going to get this out?! "Calm down. This isn't the first time you've gotten diarrhea out of the white berber. You can do it again."

On my way down stairs I noticed my dog is a complete maximizer, as she managed to cover some serious footage with diarrhea drizzle all throughout the house. All the way down the stairs (and in the middle, I might add), all around the dining room table (yes, she walked 360 degrees around the table), through the kitchen, and to the back door (where she undoubtedly realized she was done needing to go outside).

As I cleaned, I realized my dog was really sick. She never throws up. Diarrhea isn't a big deal, but the runs coupled with vomiting is a bad sign. I began to think of what she could have possibly eaten and wondered whether or not this would constitute a trip to the vet.

Flash back to last night when I gave my daughter a bowl of grapes. "Just make sure you don't give any to the doggies baby. They will make them sick."

Another profanity.

Grapes are toxic to dogs. As few as seven little grapes can kill a dog. They shut down a dog's liver. Luckily I knew this because I knew in that instant my dog was going to the vet to have her life saved.

Ten minutes after I should have been at work (I texted my PM an hour before to tell him I would be late and why), I was on my way out the door with my sick dog and newly soiled clean comforter. I wasn't too worried about my pooch because she was acting normal. Then I talked to the vet and broke out in a cold sweat. He informed me that they always seem fine in the beginning, but they get worse as the hours go on. It was a good thing I knew to bring her in.

At 11:00 I couldn't take the wait anymore and called the vet to see how she was doing. All of her blood work had come back good. I had gotten her there soon enough. She was on IVs to replace her fluids and was being given antibiotics intravenously. They didn't want me to come get her before 6:00 at night, so as to prolong her IV time and prevent the need for her to be kept overnight.

At 6:00 the Munchkin and I showed up to pick up a very happy-to-go-home Mags. I paid the bill, all the while thanking the heavens I had pet insurance that cut my bill in half. I then grabbed Maggie's meds and took her and the Munchkin home. Once there I had to go over the biggest stain in the carpet with cleaner one more time. Mags returned to the scene of the crime while I was cleaning. I looked at her and said, "All that matters is that you are okay."

Thank heaven today is over and my dog is going to be fine.

P.S. In case you are wondering, yes the picture above depicts my Christmas tree being shoved up a GE Engineer's backside. More on the story behind that later.

Babies, Babies everywhere...

... but it's still an empty womb for me.

The last couple of weeks I have been trying to decide what to do with this blog. Tonight, I got an answer I never expected. When I first started blogging, I had no idea really what it would become. All I knew was that I was going through infertility alone, but I knew I wasn't the only woman struggling with it. My mission then was two fold: find others who were fighting the same battle I was, and help anyone else going through what I was any way I could. My blog was and still is open to everyone. Over the years I've passed out the URL to friends, family, and coworkers because when I moved away from my home state, it also turned into a way for everyone back home to keep up on the going's on in my life. So it then served a third purpose. I then did something I wish I hadn't, but won't change now; I made my blog part of my Fa.cebook page. In doing so, I gave access to it to everyone who was on my friend list, and let's face it, we all have "friends" on FB that we really aren't friends with. For me it was that girl from high school with whom I was always competing in band over who was the better trumpet player. She now has access to my blog simply because she was ballsy enough to friend me on FB after all these years, and I am a big advocate for let bygones be bygones.

But tonight I am struggling with something I don't want all of my real life world to know. I am struggling with the fact that my period decided to show up three days early. Okay, it's not full on bleeding, but it's spotting, and that is the pregnancy death sentence in my world. Implantation bleeding does not happen to me. So spotting + cramps = BFN. That's not the part I don't want to share. I don't want everyone out there to know that right now, in this moment, I am so incredibly bitter. I am angry. I am so hurt. I hate this stupid broken scarred uterus of mine, and right now all I want to do is punch the daylights out of it. I want to snuff the life out of that stupid glimmer of hope that keeps nagging me in the back of my mind. Right now, I just want to wallow.

Yes, this is very unlike me, and part of it could be attributed to my stepping down another 5 mg on my antidepressants. I usually time the step down better so that it doesn't coincide with this time of the month for this very reason. However, I shouldn't be experiencing withdrawal symptoms yet.

Normally this situation would happen and I would take an hour or two to feel sad, and then I would let in all of those hopeful, positive thoughts. "We'll try again next month." "You're not really bleeding yet, maybe, just maybe it is implantation bleeding. I mean, your uterus has been really easily irritated since the surgery and spotting isn't uncommon from the slightest things. It really could be implantation bleeding. The fat lady hasn't sung yet." "I know it will work eventually."

Tonight, my bitter infertile knocked all of those hopeful thoughts down into the dust and proceeded to pummel them. "Sure we'll try again next month... and the next, and the next, and the next..." "It isn't implantation bleeding. You're an idiot. It didn't work." "Get the hint, you're broken."

I just want to break down and cry.

Then I think of all of the time I am wasting by focusing on any of this at all. How much I am missing of my daughter because I am too busy entertaining any of these thoughts in the first place. Tonight when I put her to bed, she giggled and wanted to play games, but all I could do was give her a half smile, tell her I loved her, and kiss her goodnight. I felt even more horrible in that moment, if that was possible.

I want to give her a sibling so badly. I am afraid I won't be able to. What kind of toll is my fight going to have on her if I can't let it go?

Tonight when my husband got home, for whatever reason, he decided not to be nice, despite the fact that we had been emailing back and forth all day and I had told him I had officially declared war on this day because of the way it started out (a story for another day). This was before I started spotting and before the spotting increased and went from brown to red. So when he was rude, I politely told him I didn't need that right now. Then I let him in to what I was feeling. I started to cry. He just sat there, focused on what he was doing, and ignored me. Ouch. Take three hits, one for him, one for me, and one for our relationship.

I realize he is tired of this. But guess what? So am I! He is my companion. I need him to support me every devastating month whether he is sick of it or not. This whole fight hurts me. And when he shuts me out like that, I feel so alone. I grieve alone. The best part is, he tried to go about the rest of the night like nothing had happened, which made it all worse. It makes me feel like he is saying my feelings are not justified, yet he has gone through this whole fight with me. They damn well are justified! It's not like I'm Anna Du.ggar crying because I didn't get pregnant within the first three months of trying. I have a history of infertility, severe endometriosis, PCOS, and now have a very scarred uterus. There is plenty of reason for me to worry about my ability to conceive.

Right now, I really hate that voice that says, "well at least you have your daughter." I am so grateful for my daughter, and having her definitely helps make these moments easier to bear. But right now, my hurt is so raw. It is yet another reminder that I am still broken. Always broken. A tourniquet can only do so much to stop blood gushing from a wound.

Yes, I know I will get back on my feet sooner than later. I will shortly be back to my optimistic, happy self, ready to take on the next month. I will chart out a new diet that will help with conception, get my fertility monitor ready, and all that jazz. But right now, I just want to wallow in my pity and grief. I want to wrap it around me like a blanket, and then roll around in it like mud. I want to feel it with my finger tips and inhale it's bitter scent. Because if I don't do this, I can't move forward. I need to not bottle it up. I need to feel it and let it out.

Infertility really sucks. Being an infertile sucks even more. But fear sucks even more than that.

Grownup

I just wrote up a whole post about how I haven't been blogging due to lack of time, complete with apology for not being caught up on all of yours. But you know what? I think we're all sick of those posts from me. Let's talk about something fun instead.

I have asked this question to many of my friends lately because I am curious as to their responses. Here is the question:

Is being an adult anything like you thought it would be?

The answer for me is absolutely not.

It is a million times better.

I always thought that when I grew up, and especially when I became a mom, that the fun part of me would die. I would have to be responsible, and being responsible meant that I wouldn't be silly anymore. That I would have to be serious all of the time. I was afraid my sense of humor would be stiffled and I would end up being a disciplinarian like my mother.

It wasn't until I became a mother that this thought really started occurring to me. It was because I was having so much fun with my daughter. I was enjoying buying her toys as much as I would have enjoyed getting them as a kid. Even better, I was loving the fact that I could sit on the floor and play with them with her without it being found "creepy" that I was playing with children's toys.

Before I became a mother (and even after), I lived up my adult life the way I always wanted to when I was a kid. It still tickles me pink that I can buy as much gum and candy as I want. I can go wherever I want whenever I want and buy whatever I want. The child inside me is living through my adult self. That is literally how I feel. I feel like I am getting away with things. And how cool is it when I travel the world? How awesome is it to go away on a trip with my husband? Even better, how awesome is it to be a mom and take my child on trips?!

I feel like the child inside of me is constantly bouncing up and down with glee at the freedom of being an adult. That child was made even happier with the addition of my daughter because now she has a playmate.

Don't get me wrong, I am not one of those parents who is more concerned with being my child's friend than being a parent. There are still rules, and discipline is handed down when necessary. I am still a mom, and I take that role very seriously. It is my responsibility to ensure my children grow up to be decent, caring, compassionate, contributing members of society, and that cannot be done if I am too busy being the friend and not the parent. It's just that I really enjoy being silly with my daughter.

I realized after some pondering that the reason I thought being an adult would mean being stodgy is because that is how I view my mother. So of course I would think that my role model mother is how being an adult and parent would be. Man am I glad it isn't! I enjoy life so much! I ended up being so little like my mother and more like my dad who has always been a kid at heart too.

Even more to my delight, being in the workforce isn't as stodgy as I thought it would be either. I always figured that being a professional in a professional job would be all seriousness, memos, boringness, and business suits. Again, I love that it is completely different. The people I work with are every bit as much kids at heart as I am. We love jokes and pranks and dirty jokes. We enjoy going to lunch together and laughing till our cheeks hurt. Our faces light up when we see candy and we eat it like it's going out of style. We get giddy at the sight of donuts. It is actually fun. Work isn't the seriousness and dullness I thought it would be. It is almost the exact opposite.

I bought a magnet last week that said, "If you didn't know how old you were, how old would you be?" My answer is 22. How old are you?