It was so beautiful for a few days, so warm and sunny and practically summer-like. The grass was freshly cut and the yard dried up and Fonzie's paws stopped being filthy every time he went outside. The windows were open to let in the breeze; everything seemed fresh and new and redeemable.
Now it has rained for three days in a row, and both my arms are sore from blood draws and the carpet is covered in crumbs and dog hair that I haven't had the will to vacuum up. I feel tired throughout the day, but come night I am wide awake and a bit anxious. I'm also having trouble eating, which is the strangest thing ever for me. My stomach feels a little knotted and jittery all the time, and once my initial hunger pangs have been quelled, even one more bite more makes my stomach turn. I guess maybe that's a good thing. I had to fast this morning for my last blood draw, and once it was over and I could eat, the danish that I had picked up as a treat felt like glue in my mouth. I gagged a little, then gave the rest to the kids.
~
My best friend is moving away. Maybe not for a while, probably not given the real estate market, but eventually. Sometimes I feel fine about this, and happy for them that they will be fulfilling their dreams of living in the country and having gardens and land and animals and a shorter work commute. And sometimes I feel self-pitying and childish about this, and I want to cry. I will miss her- all of them- so much.
~
There are moments when I feel like the whole Clomid/Prometrium/Lovenox/progesterone injections during pregnancy thing is no big deal in the scheme of things, that no doctor has outright told us we're being crazy to want more kids so it must NOT be crazy, and that I should suck it up and get back on the baby train. There are also moments when the thought of another pregnancy makes me want to bury my head in a pillow and sob.
I guess I need the sun to come out again.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Pissy. And Alternately Weepy.
You know what's fun? Waiting almost two hours for a doctor's appointment. You know what's even MORE fun? Waiting almost two hours for a confusing, frustrating and unprofessional doctor's appointment!
Blurgh. I feel tired and annoyed even thinking about it, so I won't bother giving you a blow by blow account, but here are the highlights:
-barely understanding anything the guy could say thanks to his accent.
-having the appointment interrupted by a phone call from another doctor, requiring him to leave the room for another five minutes.
-getting the most bizarre physical exam of my life, which involved me lying down, fully clothed and THEN covered with a little hospital gown, while he poked me all over so tentatively I could barely feel it, inquired if the poking caused me pain (um, inasmuch as being TICKLED causes pain,) felt my ankles, wrists, and lymph nodes, then checked my reflexes inside my elbows.
-having him call me "Ma'am" eleventy million times, which irritates the heck out of me. I'm twenty freaking four. It's not time for me to be a ma'am yet.
-being told that I should definitely receive Lovenox injections (by my own hand) twice a day throughout the next pregnancy to give the baby the best chance for avoiding blood clots. That's Lovenox shots along WITH weekly progesterone injections. I'm going to be black and blue for nine months straight.
-having the doctor announce that he would advise amniocentesis for the next pregnancy to check if the baby has the same defective genes I do, so that I can "decide if I want to terminate and try again" if the baby should happen to have a clotting disorder.
When I replied that I was unlikely to consider doing that, he got kind of huffy and said, "Well, you wouldn't want your child to have a life of suffering." Ummm... No, no. Certainly, I wouldn't want to condemn my child to a life of suffering SUCH AS I CURRENTLY LIVE. Gosh, this taking folic acid and baby aspirin every day is DESTROYING MY QUALITY OF LIFE! I mean, it would suck, if the baby were a girl, for her to have to face the same kind of reproductive dilemmas and problems that I experience, but I wouldn't consider it a reason for therapeutic abortion! WTF.
Blurgh. I feel tired and annoyed even thinking about it, so I won't bother giving you a blow by blow account, but here are the highlights:
-barely understanding anything the guy could say thanks to his accent.
-having the appointment interrupted by a phone call from another doctor, requiring him to leave the room for another five minutes.
-getting the most bizarre physical exam of my life, which involved me lying down, fully clothed and THEN covered with a little hospital gown, while he poked me all over so tentatively I could barely feel it, inquired if the poking caused me pain (um, inasmuch as being TICKLED causes pain,) felt my ankles, wrists, and lymph nodes, then checked my reflexes inside my elbows.
-having him call me "Ma'am" eleventy million times, which irritates the heck out of me. I'm twenty freaking four. It's not time for me to be a ma'am yet.
-being told that I should definitely receive Lovenox injections (by my own hand) twice a day throughout the next pregnancy to give the baby the best chance for avoiding blood clots. That's Lovenox shots along WITH weekly progesterone injections. I'm going to be black and blue for nine months straight.
-having the doctor announce that he would advise amniocentesis for the next pregnancy to check if the baby has the same defective genes I do, so that I can "decide if I want to terminate and try again" if the baby should happen to have a clotting disorder.
When I replied that I was unlikely to consider doing that, he got kind of huffy and said, "Well, you wouldn't want your child to have a life of suffering." Ummm... No, no. Certainly, I wouldn't want to condemn my child to a life of suffering SUCH AS I CURRENTLY LIVE. Gosh, this taking folic acid and baby aspirin every day is DESTROYING MY QUALITY OF LIFE! I mean, it would suck, if the baby were a girl, for her to have to face the same kind of reproductive dilemmas and problems that I experience, but I wouldn't consider it a reason for therapeutic abortion! WTF.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunshine and Butterflies and Rainbows!
Oh hi out there! As is often the case when I'm feeling busy and happy, I've had relatively little to say, since the bulk of my post content tends to be kvetching. But so far this weekend, the weather has been gorgeous, I finally went spring shoe shopping with the kids (MUCH less psychologically devastating than jeans shopping,) and my BIL is home at last from his globe wandering.
So there's been lots of family time and yummy food and playing outdoors and even a TIDGE of alcoholic beverage consumption and I really have nothing to whine about except the lunatic at the Y on Saturday whose noisy grunting and straining, even when he WASN'T actively lifting weights, made me concerned that he needed to seek out the nearest restroom instead of the nearest Nautilus station- which of course happened to be beside me. AND there was no one nearby to make subtle, horrified eye contact with, so obviously this intensified my suffering.
Overall, though, the last few days get a nine out of ten. Maybe nine and a half. Good work, weekend.
So there's been lots of family time and yummy food and playing outdoors and even a TIDGE of alcoholic beverage consumption and I really have nothing to whine about except the lunatic at the Y on Saturday whose noisy grunting and straining, even when he WASN'T actively lifting weights, made me concerned that he needed to seek out the nearest restroom instead of the nearest Nautilus station- which of course happened to be beside me. AND there was no one nearby to make subtle, horrified eye contact with, so obviously this intensified my suffering.
Overall, though, the last few days get a nine out of ten. Maybe nine and a half. Good work, weekend.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The, Eh, Screw It List
Have you guys heard of the Anti-Bucket List? I have to credit Shelly for cluing me in. It's, erm, it's actually called the DON'T READ THIS PARENTS OR PARENTS IN LAW Fuck It List. Basically, ten things you couldn't care less about doing before you die. Without further ado, I present mine:
1. Building or extensively renovating a house. I get the obsession in theory, I do. I understand the thrill of dreaming something into reality. I just know myself (know myself REAL well after the den remodel) and I know that enduring months of choices and indecision and setbacks and unexpected obstacles and nitpicky details and the horror of realizing you didn't put enough outlets in the bathroom would turn me into a drooling, basket-weaving mental patient.
2. Owning my own business. Again with the avoidance of situations in which I would be the one in charge or ultimately responsible for any failures, see above.
3. Being artistic. In terms of painting, not in terms of, say, arranging flowers in a vase. The gift of representational drawing, sketching or painting passed me over entirely, and even impressionist or modern art feels weird and foreign. I can and do appreciate the artwork of others, but please don't put me in front of an easel and ask me to explore my inner artist. She just isn't there.
4. Seeing the Grand Canyon. Sounds majestic sure, but also big and cavernous and deep and chock-full of opportunities for certainly fatal falls. Does that about cover it? Moving on. (I should ammend that maybe if I didn't have little kids and weren't constantly thinking of things like possible falls, maybe I'd have more interest in doing this.)
5. Sampling recreational drugs. Frankly, I get enough of a thrill from the legal kind. I think I'd probably have a heart attack if I got a hold of honest to God street drugs.
6. Owning expensive bags or shoes. I just don't care. Not judging those who do, I just don't. Ditto clothes in general, actually. Most designer clothes and shoes strike me as being particularly uncomfortable and/or outright ugly anyways.
7. Being involved in politics. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I kind of see governments as inevitably corrupt institutions, almost by definition. I admire those who strive to clean it up, play fair, and actually do good, but to me it seems like a losing battle that would eventually wear down and defeat the morale of all but the most zealous people. And I... am not a zealot. I'm a lover, not a fighter, baby.
8. Being wealthy. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to be well off, I'd like to be able to travel whenever I felt like it, and I'd like to hire people to do the crap that I don't enjoy doing (yardwork yardwork yardwork.) I'd like to have a larger and more architecturally interesting house. But beyond that- don't really want it. I don't want a mansion. I don't want servants. I don't want expensive jewelry, and as for clothes, we covered that. I don't want to constantly be worrying about people envying me or about my friends being insincere and simply wanting to enjoy my spacious swimming pool and vacation home in Greece. I don't want to be afraid of burglary. I don't want my kids getting over-indulged to the point that they're ruined for ordinary life.
I guess this particular item on the list is kind of pointless though, given that compared to about ninety percent of the world's population, I AM wealthy.
9. Being a good singer. I actually gave this an honest try, but it's just not my forte, so I have let the dream go. Not in the cards, my friends. I was in choir for three years of high school, and even took private voice lessons, and I still have about a ten note range and an absolute inability to find, let alone sing, harmony. It's bad to the point that I often intentionally TRY to sing harmony while Jim and I are doing the nigh-night song with the kids, just to randomly startle him with my joltingly incorrect notes.
10. Liking baseball. Or golf. They are absolutely the dullest ways I can think of to spend an afternoon. I'd literally rather watch people take a walk around a golf course than watch them chase down a tiny white ball for three hours while dressed like Eton rejects.
1. Building or extensively renovating a house. I get the obsession in theory, I do. I understand the thrill of dreaming something into reality. I just know myself (know myself REAL well after the den remodel) and I know that enduring months of choices and indecision and setbacks and unexpected obstacles and nitpicky details and the horror of realizing you didn't put enough outlets in the bathroom would turn me into a drooling, basket-weaving mental patient.
2. Owning my own business. Again with the avoidance of situations in which I would be the one in charge or ultimately responsible for any failures, see above.
3. Being artistic. In terms of painting, not in terms of, say, arranging flowers in a vase. The gift of representational drawing, sketching or painting passed me over entirely, and even impressionist or modern art feels weird and foreign. I can and do appreciate the artwork of others, but please don't put me in front of an easel and ask me to explore my inner artist. She just isn't there.
4. Seeing the Grand Canyon. Sounds majestic sure, but also big and cavernous and deep and chock-full of opportunities for certainly fatal falls. Does that about cover it? Moving on. (I should ammend that maybe if I didn't have little kids and weren't constantly thinking of things like possible falls, maybe I'd have more interest in doing this.)
5. Sampling recreational drugs. Frankly, I get enough of a thrill from the legal kind. I think I'd probably have a heart attack if I got a hold of honest to God street drugs.
6. Owning expensive bags or shoes. I just don't care. Not judging those who do, I just don't. Ditto clothes in general, actually. Most designer clothes and shoes strike me as being particularly uncomfortable and/or outright ugly anyways.
7. Being involved in politics. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I kind of see governments as inevitably corrupt institutions, almost by definition. I admire those who strive to clean it up, play fair, and actually do good, but to me it seems like a losing battle that would eventually wear down and defeat the morale of all but the most zealous people. And I... am not a zealot. I'm a lover, not a fighter, baby.
8. Being wealthy. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to be well off, I'd like to be able to travel whenever I felt like it, and I'd like to hire people to do the crap that I don't enjoy doing (yardwork yardwork yardwork.) I'd like to have a larger and more architecturally interesting house. But beyond that- don't really want it. I don't want a mansion. I don't want servants. I don't want expensive jewelry, and as for clothes, we covered that. I don't want to constantly be worrying about people envying me or about my friends being insincere and simply wanting to enjoy my spacious swimming pool and vacation home in Greece. I don't want to be afraid of burglary. I don't want my kids getting over-indulged to the point that they're ruined for ordinary life.
I guess this particular item on the list is kind of pointless though, given that compared to about ninety percent of the world's population, I AM wealthy.
9. Being a good singer. I actually gave this an honest try, but it's just not my forte, so I have let the dream go. Not in the cards, my friends. I was in choir for three years of high school, and even took private voice lessons, and I still have about a ten note range and an absolute inability to find, let alone sing, harmony. It's bad to the point that I often intentionally TRY to sing harmony while Jim and I are doing the nigh-night song with the kids, just to randomly startle him with my joltingly incorrect notes.
10. Liking baseball. Or golf. They are absolutely the dullest ways I can think of to spend an afternoon. I'd literally rather watch people take a walk around a golf course than watch them chase down a tiny white ball for three hours while dressed like Eton rejects.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Baby Talk
Last week was my due date. April fourteenth. It's strange that so much time has passed since then. It's strange to think there might have been a BABY here, a little week old newborn with bowed legs and wispy hair. That in this parallel universe of fate, I would currently be exhausted, having been up all night nursing. Well, nursing, of course, but also, still staring in sudden bouts of wonder at the baby who used to be INSIDE of me and is now here in my arms. Oh the miraculous impossibility of that, especially at two in the morning!
To be honest, the reality that tiny babies grow into kids still shocks me at least weekly. I'll be holding one of them (or, more accurately this morning, being accidentally punched in the face by one of them while another steals my breakfast) and I will be struck with the fact that these giant, rowdy toddlers used to be two pound fetuses squirming around beneath my ribs.
I think in the end I am not heartbroken that there is no baby just yet. I am really enjoying these nights when my sleep is unbroken (still not every night, but I'll take what I can get.) I am making a conscious effort to enjoy being in full possession of my own body: drinking as much coffee as I want, wearing clothes that fit properly, exercising as hard as I want (ehm, haven't taken advantage of that one TOO often,) putting Kahlua in my coffee, taking Advil when I have a headache instead of the useless but pregnancy-approved Tylenol.
I am also pretty happy that Eli isn't having to deal with having a baby around right now. More selfishly, I am happy that I am not having to deal with Eli dealing with having a baby around! What we're hoping for now is an end of February-ish due date, so he'll be at least two and a half before he becomes the middle child. I can't even imagine the extent of his fury when the time comes for his demotion from Official Lap Baby status. He's a cuddler, that one. He'll still lay cradled in your arms like an infant when he's sleepy, sucking his thumb drowsily. In fact, perhaps he'll always be a lap baby. Kind of like Fonzie thinks he's a lap dog even though he's pushing eighty pounds.
*TMI Public Service Announcement: For those of you quick with the math, you may have realized that an end of February due date means that we are taking another month "off." For one thing, I have been screwing around with my hormones- first Clomid, then Prometrium, then the pill- for two months now. I'm not coping with it too fantastically. So a month of nothing in my system seems like a wise idea. Also, our anniversary is coming up, May fifteenth, and we're hoping to go back to Jamaica for a few days to relive our honeymoon. (That is assuming our passports come in a timely fashion- we applied for them on April fifteenth, and the current waiting time is four weeks. Whee! It's travel roulette!) So, you know, I'd rather not be in the first weeks of pregnancy on a trip that's supposed to be all about excessive sun exposure and adult beverages with little umbrellas in them. Sorry to those of you anxious for pregnant whining from me- as opposed to my usual, generic whining- but you'll have to wait another month. On the upside: possible pictures of me in a bikini!
Bwah hahahaha! No. But maybe a modest skirted number. If you ask nicely.
To be honest, the reality that tiny babies grow into kids still shocks me at least weekly. I'll be holding one of them (or, more accurately this morning, being accidentally punched in the face by one of them while another steals my breakfast) and I will be struck with the fact that these giant, rowdy toddlers used to be two pound fetuses squirming around beneath my ribs.
I think in the end I am not heartbroken that there is no baby just yet. I am really enjoying these nights when my sleep is unbroken (still not every night, but I'll take what I can get.) I am making a conscious effort to enjoy being in full possession of my own body: drinking as much coffee as I want, wearing clothes that fit properly, exercising as hard as I want (ehm, haven't taken advantage of that one TOO often,) putting Kahlua in my coffee, taking Advil when I have a headache instead of the useless but pregnancy-approved Tylenol.
I am also pretty happy that Eli isn't having to deal with having a baby around right now. More selfishly, I am happy that I am not having to deal with Eli dealing with having a baby around! What we're hoping for now is an end of February-ish due date, so he'll be at least two and a half before he becomes the middle child. I can't even imagine the extent of his fury when the time comes for his demotion from Official Lap Baby status. He's a cuddler, that one. He'll still lay cradled in your arms like an infant when he's sleepy, sucking his thumb drowsily. In fact, perhaps he'll always be a lap baby. Kind of like Fonzie thinks he's a lap dog even though he's pushing eighty pounds.
*TMI Public Service Announcement: For those of you quick with the math, you may have realized that an end of February due date means that we are taking another month "off." For one thing, I have been screwing around with my hormones- first Clomid, then Prometrium, then the pill- for two months now. I'm not coping with it too fantastically. So a month of nothing in my system seems like a wise idea. Also, our anniversary is coming up, May fifteenth, and we're hoping to go back to Jamaica for a few days to relive our honeymoon. (That is assuming our passports come in a timely fashion- we applied for them on April fifteenth, and the current waiting time is four weeks. Whee! It's travel roulette!) So, you know, I'd rather not be in the first weeks of pregnancy on a trip that's supposed to be all about excessive sun exposure and adult beverages with little umbrellas in them. Sorry to those of you anxious for pregnant whining from me- as opposed to my usual, generic whining- but you'll have to wait another month. On the upside: possible pictures of me in a bikini!
Bwah hahahaha! No. But maybe a modest skirted number. If you ask nicely.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Shopping: Perhaps They Should Add It To The Menu At Guantanamo
I need a hipectomy. According to the fashion industry, anyways. I swear to you on a stack of Levi's, I tried on FIFTEEN pairs of jeans yesterday, in search of just ONE style that would not gap at my waist, pool on the floor around my ankles, be made entirely of spandex, require me to tug them up every ten seconds, make my thighs look like bratwursts, or expose my backside every time I kneel down to pick up a kid. I came up empty handed.
All I ended up choosing in the three hours I perused the mall was an adorable sundress for Addy at TCP (five dollars!) and a pack of cini-minis at Cinnabon. (Note: cini-mini consumption has nothing to do with bratwurst-y shape of thighs.)
In other news, Eli made his first attempt at a sentence today. Namely, "Wan wash Boo's Coo's." English translation: "I want to watch Blue's Clue's."
All I ended up choosing in the three hours I perused the mall was an adorable sundress for Addy at TCP (five dollars!) and a pack of cini-minis at Cinnabon. (Note: cini-mini consumption has nothing to do with bratwurst-y shape of thighs.)
In other news, Eli made his first attempt at a sentence today. Namely, "Wan wash Boo's Coo's." English translation: "I want to watch Blue's Clue's."
Friday, April 17, 2009
In Case You Were Considering It...
...Don't put "cleaning behind/under the refrigerator" on your spring cleaning to-do list. You'll think that it'll make you feel virtuous to do such a thorough cleaning, but in fact, upon wrestling the large appliance back and coming face to face with the grime that is lurking not feet from your food preparation area, you will feel sickened and hopeless. You will want only to shove the fridge back from whence it came, stand against it, gasping, and pray that what you just saw will be erased from your mind.
Then you will eat raspberry oatmeal bars for breakfast. Possibly just with coffee, possibly with a Jack Daniels chaser. Depends on how gross it actually was back there.
Then you will eat raspberry oatmeal bars for breakfast. Possibly just with coffee, possibly with a Jack Daniels chaser. Depends on how gross it actually was back there.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Cheery
It's ten thirty, and I am already having the kind of day in which it feels like everyone and everything are working together in some master plan to grind on my last nerve. I am trying to eat breakfast and Addy is standing at my side, hopping up and down while hanging on my sleeve. "Mom, I wanna play princess. Mom, I wanna play princess. Mom, you get my princess stuff? You get my princess?" "As soon as I'm done eating, honey," I tell her. But it takes me about twenty minutes to eat, because I have to stop after every bite to speak with Adelay regarding THE PRINCESS STUFF OMG I NEED THE PRINCESS STUFF RIGHT NOW!
Then it's the dog, stepping on my feet with his giant wet paws when he comes in from the soggy backyard. Then it's the hematologist I've been referred to, saying he isn't accepting any new blood disorder patients. Then it's the sight of all the CRAP in this house that needs purging and organizing and I just don't feel like it, even though this is the appropriate time of year and all. Addy's stuff in particular has gotten out of control; I think the chap sticks and hair barrettes and tiny doll shoes get together and have wild orgies in the night, then reproduce all manner of girly hybrids of themselves each morning.
Also, it's just a lot of Addy personality clashing with Mommy personality this morning. Sometimes we really rub each other the wrong way, and I hate it, but once the cycle has begun it is VERY hard to halt. I am feeling restless and tired and kind of cranky, due in no small part to the second day of dreary rain in a row and the fact that Eli was up screaming twice last night. But Addy is feeling perky and wide awake and also slightly manic this morning, so it's a bad mix.
She wants oatmeal! No, she wants waffles! She wants to watch Strawberry Shortcake. She wants to play princess! Wait, no, she wants to play with the new play-dough. But hey, what are you doing?! Stop making things with the play-dough! I just want to look at the beautiful new molds fresh from their containers! Aaah, you're ruining my life! I can't play with these any more ever! Now let's play Memory. What, you want to do something by yourself for a minute? Play Memory! Play Memory! Play Memory! PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE! No, not in a minute, now! Please, I LOVE you! I LOVE you, Mommy, PLEASE!!!
Now we're playing Memory. But wait, she wants to make this game last as long as humanly possible by taking about five minutes for every turn, staring ponderously at the cards as though the weight of the world rests on her decision. The more antsy I'm getting, the more she drags it out, tapping her chin and murmuring, "Hmm hmm hmm. Which one do I want?" Meanwhile, Fonzie stands directly over my shoulder as he slowly, endlessly licks his lips, producing the kind of noise that makes me want to put an ice pick through his head or mine.
Now Addy has to pee. But the giant Cinderella dress and unrelated fairy wings make it impossible to do so. EPIC MELTDOWN OMG WILL DIE HERE IN THE BATHROOM IN A TRAGIC PUDDLE IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT THIS SECOND!! I help her take the dress off and then its MY DRESS! GIVE ME BACK MY PRINCESS DRESS! HALP ME SOMEONE MY DRESS HAS BEEN STOLEN!
Thank God there's still Easter candy in the house, is all I'm saying.
Then it's the dog, stepping on my feet with his giant wet paws when he comes in from the soggy backyard. Then it's the hematologist I've been referred to, saying he isn't accepting any new blood disorder patients. Then it's the sight of all the CRAP in this house that needs purging and organizing and I just don't feel like it, even though this is the appropriate time of year and all. Addy's stuff in particular has gotten out of control; I think the chap sticks and hair barrettes and tiny doll shoes get together and have wild orgies in the night, then reproduce all manner of girly hybrids of themselves each morning.
Also, it's just a lot of Addy personality clashing with Mommy personality this morning. Sometimes we really rub each other the wrong way, and I hate it, but once the cycle has begun it is VERY hard to halt. I am feeling restless and tired and kind of cranky, due in no small part to the second day of dreary rain in a row and the fact that Eli was up screaming twice last night. But Addy is feeling perky and wide awake and also slightly manic this morning, so it's a bad mix.
She wants oatmeal! No, she wants waffles! She wants to watch Strawberry Shortcake. She wants to play princess! Wait, no, she wants to play with the new play-dough. But hey, what are you doing?! Stop making things with the play-dough! I just want to look at the beautiful new molds fresh from their containers! Aaah, you're ruining my life! I can't play with these any more ever! Now let's play Memory. What, you want to do something by yourself for a minute? Play Memory! Play Memory! Play Memory! PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE! No, not in a minute, now! Please, I LOVE you! I LOVE you, Mommy, PLEASE!!!
Now we're playing Memory. But wait, she wants to make this game last as long as humanly possible by taking about five minutes for every turn, staring ponderously at the cards as though the weight of the world rests on her decision. The more antsy I'm getting, the more she drags it out, tapping her chin and murmuring, "Hmm hmm hmm. Which one do I want?" Meanwhile, Fonzie stands directly over my shoulder as he slowly, endlessly licks his lips, producing the kind of noise that makes me want to put an ice pick through his head or mine.
Now Addy has to pee. But the giant Cinderella dress and unrelated fairy wings make it impossible to do so. EPIC MELTDOWN OMG WILL DIE HERE IN THE BATHROOM IN A TRAGIC PUDDLE IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT THIS SECOND!! I help her take the dress off and then its MY DRESS! GIVE ME BACK MY PRINCESS DRESS! HALP ME SOMEONE MY DRESS HAS BEEN STOLEN!
Thank God there's still Easter candy in the house, is all I'm saying.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Luck of the Draw
The results are in! I'm going to die of either a heart attack or a blood clot! Choose your own adventure!
No, no, I jest. But apparently I very well could have suddenly developed either of those things if my doctor hadn't sent me get that blood work done. And I'm still at risk for them, but with the appropriate doses of baby aspirin and folic acid every day for the rest of my life, it should be a very manageable problem. In a way, you could view the fact that I've already had two miscarriages at twenty four years old as a very lucky thing. Recurrent miscarrying caused me to be sent for blood work, tests which, according to my doctor, wouldn't generally be ordered until someone has already had a blood clot or a heart problem. It's just been in the last few years that they've found the connection between these blood disorders and a heightened risk of miscarriage, stillbirth, and fetal growth retardation, and so have been recommending them for anyone who has had two or more failed pregnancies.
So that's the good news. I may have just been saved from having a random heart attack at forty years old, or dying of a blood clot or something horrible. And with any luck, I have been saved from further miscarrying. (The doctor did say that she still thinks I have progesterone level problems and that the blood disorders aren't related to that. So I still need to do Clomid and Prometrium along with the aspirin and the folic supplements.)
The bad news is, obviously, the increased risk of medical problems and the need for drugs and supplements. I'm supposed to go for a consultation with a hematologist, in fact, to "manage my risk of cardiovascular disease." I will now be considered high risk if I get pregnant again (well, more than I already was, since I'm also at risk for preterm labor.) I'll have to have a lot more office visits, blood draws and ultrasounds than in my previous pregnancies, to make sure blood clots aren't developing in the baby, the placenta or the umbilical cord. Also, she said I may have to be on Lovenox during pregnancy, which is a blood thinner that you INJECT INTO YOUR BELLY.
But. For some reason I still feel pretty relieved. Yes, miscarriage will always be a possibility for us, more so than most people. Yes, I will probably spend my entire next pregnancy trying to push down fears about stillbirth and blood clots and dangers to my baby. Yet I feel very lucky that we are learning more all the time about what can contribute to miscarriage. It feels better, to me anyways, than just a shoulder shrugging "you must have gotten unlucky" type explanation. And sure, just plain bad luck could still come into play. That is true for anyone.
But it's reassuring to know that though I have x wrong with me, we can do y and z to correct it or minimize its effects. We can do ultrasounds throughout pregnancy to check for any beginning blood clots in the placenta, cord, or the baby itself and hopefully control them before they pose much danger. I can take blood thinners to prevent blood clots in my own body. I can take supplements to up my abnormally low progesterone levels and help my pregnancies stick. I can take action, instead of just sitting around waiting and wondering if my body is going to sabotage itself again. I can do more than just hope.
Also, no matter what, there are these two.
And with all the various odds that are stacked against us, isn't that lucky?
No, no, I jest. But apparently I very well could have suddenly developed either of those things if my doctor hadn't sent me get that blood work done. And I'm still at risk for them, but with the appropriate doses of baby aspirin and folic acid every day for the rest of my life, it should be a very manageable problem. In a way, you could view the fact that I've already had two miscarriages at twenty four years old as a very lucky thing. Recurrent miscarrying caused me to be sent for blood work, tests which, according to my doctor, wouldn't generally be ordered until someone has already had a blood clot or a heart problem. It's just been in the last few years that they've found the connection between these blood disorders and a heightened risk of miscarriage, stillbirth, and fetal growth retardation, and so have been recommending them for anyone who has had two or more failed pregnancies.
So that's the good news. I may have just been saved from having a random heart attack at forty years old, or dying of a blood clot or something horrible. And with any luck, I have been saved from further miscarrying. (The doctor did say that she still thinks I have progesterone level problems and that the blood disorders aren't related to that. So I still need to do Clomid and Prometrium along with the aspirin and the folic supplements.)
The bad news is, obviously, the increased risk of medical problems and the need for drugs and supplements. I'm supposed to go for a consultation with a hematologist, in fact, to "manage my risk of cardiovascular disease." I will now be considered high risk if I get pregnant again (well, more than I already was, since I'm also at risk for preterm labor.) I'll have to have a lot more office visits, blood draws and ultrasounds than in my previous pregnancies, to make sure blood clots aren't developing in the baby, the placenta or the umbilical cord. Also, she said I may have to be on Lovenox during pregnancy, which is a blood thinner that you INJECT INTO YOUR BELLY.
But. For some reason I still feel pretty relieved. Yes, miscarriage will always be a possibility for us, more so than most people. Yes, I will probably spend my entire next pregnancy trying to push down fears about stillbirth and blood clots and dangers to my baby. Yet I feel very lucky that we are learning more all the time about what can contribute to miscarriage. It feels better, to me anyways, than just a shoulder shrugging "you must have gotten unlucky" type explanation. And sure, just plain bad luck could still come into play. That is true for anyone.
But it's reassuring to know that though I have x wrong with me, we can do y and z to correct it or minimize its effects. We can do ultrasounds throughout pregnancy to check for any beginning blood clots in the placenta, cord, or the baby itself and hopefully control them before they pose much danger. I can take blood thinners to prevent blood clots in my own body. I can take supplements to up my abnormally low progesterone levels and help my pregnancies stick. I can take action, instead of just sitting around waiting and wondering if my body is going to sabotage itself again. I can do more than just hope.
Also, no matter what, there are these two.
And with all the various odds that are stacked against us, isn't that lucky?
Friday, April 10, 2009
Fun Fact Friday
Warning: We may be playing it fast and loose with the term "fun" tonight.
-I'm pretty sure I'm genuinely addicted to sugar. This bothers me less than it should.
-My least favorite part of my body is without question my thighs. And when I work out? They only get bigger. When I hurt my knee two summers ago and was limping around for about a month, the muscle on the injured leg atrophied quite a bit. I was so delighted to see a thin leg on MY body that I barely cared about the whole BEING CRIPPLED part. (Does anyone remember that scene in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason in which she is bemoaning how a rival girl has "legs up to here"? And her friend comforts her with, "You have fine legs, Bridget! Climber's legs."? Anyone? Anyways, that's about the kindest description of my legs. These thighs are made for hikin'.)
-On a related note, the few months that I took ballet lessons were among the most humiliating of my life.
-I'm not a very good photographer.
-I have tried to write a novel approximately six times. I have never gotten past fifty pages. Fiction and I do not agree. Basically I think I am lacking in the imagination department. I can see the funny or the interesting or the romantic in the world around me, but I have a hard time just conjuring it up from thin air.
-I really, really like asparagus. Also mushrooms. My husband believes that I exaggerate my fondness for mushrooms just to annoy him because he hates them. He is wrong.
-Yesterday I ordered mushroom soup at Panera and got french onion instead. NOT ACCEPTABLE.
-I used to loathe red wine, but lately I prefer cabernets to just about everything else. I'm evolving again!
-I couldn't swallow pills until I was sixteen.
-The dryer just turned off and my baby's still protesting his bedtime, so I guess the fun is over.
-I'm pretty sure I'm genuinely addicted to sugar. This bothers me less than it should.
-My least favorite part of my body is without question my thighs. And when I work out? They only get bigger. When I hurt my knee two summers ago and was limping around for about a month, the muscle on the injured leg atrophied quite a bit. I was so delighted to see a thin leg on MY body that I barely cared about the whole BEING CRIPPLED part. (Does anyone remember that scene in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason in which she is bemoaning how a rival girl has "legs up to here"? And her friend comforts her with, "You have fine legs, Bridget! Climber's legs."? Anyone? Anyways, that's about the kindest description of my legs. These thighs are made for hikin'.)
-On a related note, the few months that I took ballet lessons were among the most humiliating of my life.
-I'm not a very good photographer.
-I have tried to write a novel approximately six times. I have never gotten past fifty pages. Fiction and I do not agree. Basically I think I am lacking in the imagination department. I can see the funny or the interesting or the romantic in the world around me, but I have a hard time just conjuring it up from thin air.
-I really, really like asparagus. Also mushrooms. My husband believes that I exaggerate my fondness for mushrooms just to annoy him because he hates them. He is wrong.
-Yesterday I ordered mushroom soup at Panera and got french onion instead. NOT ACCEPTABLE.
-I used to loathe red wine, but lately I prefer cabernets to just about everything else. I'm evolving again!
-I couldn't swallow pills until I was sixteen.
-The dryer just turned off and my baby's still protesting his bedtime, so I guess the fun is over.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Back To Our Normally Scheduled Program Of Fertility Issues
I was on my way to the gym this morning (mission: make my kids' boundless energy/inability to play nicely together someone else's problem!) when my phone rang. It was my ob's office, which of course made my heart skip a beat as I wasn't EXPECTING a call from them. It was about some blood work the doctor had asked me to have done when I was there two weeks ago. You remember, when I was having my giant cyst discovered! She had been scanning through my file and made a little tsk-tsk noise, then handed me some papers to take to the pathology lab. No big deal, she said, just a screening they generally do after subsequent miscarriages to make sure there isn't some blood disorder which causes blood clots in the placenta and could be an explanation for repeated miscarriages. She said I should have had it done months ago but it must have slipped through the cracks. She also said she really doubted that was my problem, though, given all my other hormonal issues, but thought I should go ahead and have it done to "dot our i's and cross our t's."
I got it done last week (seven vials of blood!) and then forgot about it, as they told me it took several weeks to get the results, generally. But they called today and said, surprise! You actually have TWO clotting factor disorders. One makes you more prone to getting blood clots yourself, and the other is the one that makes you high risk for miscarrying. But that was really all the nurse on the phone could tell me. She set up an appointment for me to talk to my doctor first thing Monday morning, and that was it.
I don't even know what to think. I mean, I carried half of my pregnancies to term, so obviously this clotting thing isn't inevitably fatal. Nor have I ever had a blood clot myself, despite having been on bedrest twice, which supposedly puts you at risk for clots even if you don't have a problem with them ordinarily. And... And I thought it was a HORMONAL problem that caused my miscarriages. I mean, hasn't that pretty much been determined? So what does this mean- I now have two problems stacking the odds against a successful pregnancy?
I don't even know what to think. I guess I shouldn't think much of anything until I talk to the doctor on Monday. But feelings are another story, and I'm feeling pretty discouraged.
I got it done last week (seven vials of blood!) and then forgot about it, as they told me it took several weeks to get the results, generally. But they called today and said, surprise! You actually have TWO clotting factor disorders. One makes you more prone to getting blood clots yourself, and the other is the one that makes you high risk for miscarrying. But that was really all the nurse on the phone could tell me. She set up an appointment for me to talk to my doctor first thing Monday morning, and that was it.
I don't even know what to think. I mean, I carried half of my pregnancies to term, so obviously this clotting thing isn't inevitably fatal. Nor have I ever had a blood clot myself, despite having been on bedrest twice, which supposedly puts you at risk for clots even if you don't have a problem with them ordinarily. And... And I thought it was a HORMONAL problem that caused my miscarriages. I mean, hasn't that pretty much been determined? So what does this mean- I now have two problems stacking the odds against a successful pregnancy?
I don't even know what to think. I guess I shouldn't think much of anything until I talk to the doctor on Monday. But feelings are another story, and I'm feeling pretty discouraged.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Wedding Bells
I am in a very good mood today. Because my sister got ENGAGED last night! It was very fast and a huge surprise to everyone, but having once shocked friends and family with my own sudden engagement, I have no room for skepticism and every reason to think it will all turn out just perfectly!
Congratulations, little sister! (But plan the wedding for sooner than NEXT FALL. I need a Mexican vacation THIS year!)
Congratulations, little sister! (But plan the wedding for sooner than NEXT FALL. I need a Mexican vacation THIS year!)
Monday, April 06, 2009
There Is No Title
Nothing much to say here except WHY GOD WHY must it ALWAYS SNOW IN APRIL? Is it some kind of JOKE? *Bangs head against table repeatedly*
As I am stuck inside, I downloaded all my recent pictures and thought these were cute and would substitute acceptably for written content today.
Know what else is cute? How every time the kids and I listen to the Mamma Mia soundtrack (yes I own it SHUT UP) and "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)" comes on, Adelay gets all excited and yells, "It's your song, Mommy! Sing your song!" Wha...? Do I look that hard up? TO MY THREE YEAR OLD?!
Anyways. Let's shake off that paragraph. Look at the BABIES!
Addy in a rare, snuggly mood. Try to ignore the purple blankie worn in lieu of clothes. It's hard to keep that girl dressed. (Insert hilarious comment here about how she comes by it honestly, apple doesn't fall far from the tree, wonder where she gets that from, etc.)
Fonzie, the world's most patient dog.
Last week, playing together on the deck when the weather was still behaving itself. Aren't they so BIG? They're like a couple of kids, not even babies at all.
As I am stuck inside, I downloaded all my recent pictures and thought these were cute and would substitute acceptably for written content today.
Know what else is cute? How every time the kids and I listen to the Mamma Mia soundtrack (yes I own it SHUT UP) and "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)" comes on, Adelay gets all excited and yells, "It's your song, Mommy! Sing your song!" Wha...? Do I look that hard up? TO MY THREE YEAR OLD?!
Anyways. Let's shake off that paragraph. Look at the BABIES!
Addy in a rare, snuggly mood. Try to ignore the purple blankie worn in lieu of clothes. It's hard to keep that girl dressed. (Insert hilarious comment here about how she comes by it honestly, apple doesn't fall far from the tree, wonder where she gets that from, etc.)
Fonzie, the world's most patient dog.
Last week, playing together on the deck when the weather was still behaving itself. Aren't they so BIG? They're like a couple of kids, not even babies at all.
Friday, April 03, 2009
In A Less Sentimental Vein
To Do:
-Turn back on son, allowing him to stand up on the storage ottoman, fall backwards onto his head with a terrifying THWACK! and then turn pale from screaming so hard.
-Call husband, hospital and best friend whose own son has a penchant for hitting his head. Be comforted by the nurse on the phone that, "Brain injuries often take several days to show up. It's great that he seems fine now, but you know, Natasha Richardson seemed fine for a few days, too..."
-Give up plans to go to the gym in favor of hovering over injured child watching for signs of head trauma such as slurred speech, staggering, and unusual behavior (you know, as opposed to your average year and a half old behavior, which is entirely reliable and never involves slurring or staggering.)
-While paying careful attention to son, neglect older daughter. Find her fifteen minutes later playing gleefully on bed, surrounded by piles of lingerie dug from your bedside table drawer.
-Stand outside on deck for ten minutes in the wind and cold while dog pretends to need a bowel movement when in fact he is merely looking for an escape. Finally drag him in after two failed attempts to dart through the neighbor's yard, only to realize that your daughter was having her own bathroom break alone while you were outside, and now has to be taken back to the bathroom for a more thorough clean up job.
-Emerge from the bathroom to see that son has thrown his lunch all over the floor, including about fifty eight peas. Try and fail to coax dog that he should be a normal frickin dog and clean up the food mess for you.
-Painstakingly pick up the peas on your hands and knees while children stand around watching you intently.
-Stand up to find that dog has eaten daughter's sandwich and tater tots right off her plate while you were on the floor with the peas.
-Give up on your day entirely and allow Steve and Blue to entertain your children while you whine online.
-Turn back on son, allowing him to stand up on the storage ottoman, fall backwards onto his head with a terrifying THWACK! and then turn pale from screaming so hard.
-Call husband, hospital and best friend whose own son has a penchant for hitting his head. Be comforted by the nurse on the phone that, "Brain injuries often take several days to show up. It's great that he seems fine now, but you know, Natasha Richardson seemed fine for a few days, too..."
-Give up plans to go to the gym in favor of hovering over injured child watching for signs of head trauma such as slurred speech, staggering, and unusual behavior (you know, as opposed to your average year and a half old behavior, which is entirely reliable and never involves slurring or staggering.)
-While paying careful attention to son, neglect older daughter. Find her fifteen minutes later playing gleefully on bed, surrounded by piles of lingerie dug from your bedside table drawer.
-Stand outside on deck for ten minutes in the wind and cold while dog pretends to need a bowel movement when in fact he is merely looking for an escape. Finally drag him in after two failed attempts to dart through the neighbor's yard, only to realize that your daughter was having her own bathroom break alone while you were outside, and now has to be taken back to the bathroom for a more thorough clean up job.
-Emerge from the bathroom to see that son has thrown his lunch all over the floor, including about fifty eight peas. Try and fail to coax dog that he should be a normal frickin dog and clean up the food mess for you.
-Painstakingly pick up the peas on your hands and knees while children stand around watching you intently.
-Stand up to find that dog has eaten daughter's sandwich and tater tots right off her plate while you were on the floor with the peas.
-Give up on your day entirely and allow Steve and Blue to entertain your children while you whine online.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
You Ruined Everything
Michelle was discussing today an article she recently read wherein a woman questions the common assumption that children add to one's happiness, and suggest that in fact they have the potential to ruin your life. (I would say that if you're looking to a helpless infant to make you happy, fix your relationship, or complete you as a person, you should really rethink the decision to become a parent in the first place. But I digress...) I followed several article links from the original blog post linked above, and found my way to this song, which a commenter cited as an example of what parenting actually is. I liked it quite a bit, and given the slight depression I've been feeling over our particular (and comparably minor) fertility frustrations, it was a good reminder of why it is all worth it.
I was fine,
I pulled my self together
Just in time,
To throw my self away
Once my perfect world was gone I knew,
You ruined everything in the nicest way
You should know,
How great things were before you
Even so,
They're better still today
Now I can't think who I was before
You ruined everything in the nicest way
Bumps in the road remind us
The worst of the best behind us
Only good things will find us, me and you
Days will be clear and sunny
We're gonna need more money
Baby you know it's funny
All those stories coming,
True
Despite my better efforts,
It's all for you
the worst kind of cliché
I'll be with you till the day you leave
You ruined everything in the nicest way
-Jonathon Coulton
I was fine,
I pulled my self together
Just in time,
To throw my self away
Once my perfect world was gone I knew,
You ruined everything in the nicest way
You should know,
How great things were before you
Even so,
They're better still today
Now I can't think who I was before
You ruined everything in the nicest way
Bumps in the road remind us
The worst of the best behind us
Only good things will find us, me and you
Days will be clear and sunny
We're gonna need more money
Baby you know it's funny
All those stories coming,
True
Despite my better efforts,
It's all for you
the worst kind of cliché
I'll be with you till the day you leave
You ruined everything in the nicest way
-Jonathon Coulton
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Probably Just Skip This One...
Wow, I sure have been a regular Pollyanna the last week or so. Sorry about that. But just as one last, final whine and then I'll shut up I PROMISE, I want to present the most convincing proof I can think of that taking the pill, at least for some of us, really and truly alters one's actual personality:
I skipped dusting this week. I also haven't vacuumed for almost a week. Yesterday, I had to run two loads of dishes back to back because there was about three meals' worth just piled up around the kitchen.
Just let that sink into your brains. I don't feel like cleaning. At. All. It seems pointless and tedious and soul killing. Also, exercising, which usually gives me energy, is making me feel exhausted and spent for the remainder of the day. I get home, make lunch, shower, and then more or less collapse into a state of coma broken up only by helping kids go potty or change their doll's clothing for the hundredth time.
So if any of you are weighing the pros and cons of the pill, or already take it and are looking for something on which to pin the blame for any of your bad habits, look no further! Ya heard it here first: the pill is the devil.
*Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that the last few days I keep finding dirty dishes mysteriously shelved with the clean ones. Clearly, at some point in the last forty eight hours I put away a whole load of unwashed dishes without noticing. Stellar.
I skipped dusting this week. I also haven't vacuumed for almost a week. Yesterday, I had to run two loads of dishes back to back because there was about three meals' worth just piled up around the kitchen.
Just let that sink into your brains. I don't feel like cleaning. At. All. It seems pointless and tedious and soul killing. Also, exercising, which usually gives me energy, is making me feel exhausted and spent for the remainder of the day. I get home, make lunch, shower, and then more or less collapse into a state of coma broken up only by helping kids go potty or change their doll's clothing for the hundredth time.
So if any of you are weighing the pros and cons of the pill, or already take it and are looking for something on which to pin the blame for any of your bad habits, look no further! Ya heard it here first: the pill is the devil.
*Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that the last few days I keep finding dirty dishes mysteriously shelved with the clean ones. Clearly, at some point in the last forty eight hours I put away a whole load of unwashed dishes without noticing. Stellar.
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