Young At Heart

I find I am very childish about some things. Last night, I was so excited about the work going on in the den that I genuinely COULD NOT sleep despite physical exhaustion (and a glass of wine,) and the feeling was very reminiscent of Christmas Eve Jitters such as I recall getting when I was SEVEN YEARS OLD. Slightly embarrassing.

On the other hand, it's kind of fun to be that sort of a person. Difficult, given that it also means I'm highly impatient (hello, another reason that pregnancy sucks for me,) but fun because I still get pretty genuinely whipped up and giddy about lots of things. Not Christmas anymore, sadly, since it now involves a lot of WORK, but about birthdays and vacations and babies (BABIES!) and other people's new pets and most of all HOME IMPROVEMENTS. Last night, when I saw how much progress the guys had made in just one evening, I had to restrain myself from hugging them both and/or jumping up and down. In actual fact, I may have jumped a little. More of a bounce, really, though. Hardly noticeable.

So anyhoo, they say it'll be done by tomorrow night. Painted and trimmed and everything. I'm thinking Saturday we'll get everything moved back in and cleaned up, and then by Monday we'll be all ready for a nice President's Day party!

A Sign

As the carefully chosen cycle approaches when we will begin trying again for Baby #3, I have found myself growing more and more apprehensive and thinking of more and more reasons why I'm not ready yet. The den still isn't quite done, and how will I handle the stress of construction while on Clomid and feeling extra hormonal and stressed out already? Or while pregnant and cranky and exhausted? And speaking of exhausted, how will I EVER nap with two little kids around all day? Especially since one of said children's idea of a nap is now to merely lay in Mom and Dad's bed watching The Diamond Castle and reading books and singing and then popping up OUT of bed about twenty minutes later looking for Mom MOM MOM! I mean, I well remember the I've-been-run-over-by-a-truck, I-would-sell-my-soul-for-another-hour-of-sleep kind of exhaustion that pregnancy brings, and let's just say I'm not getting any EXCESS of sleep here as it is, so this fear of tiredness is way up there on my list.

Another fear is running out of space and then not having the money to add on (since moving is definitely tabled until the market gets WAY better.) Fear of lines at the bathroom and no storage space for clothes and a cramped kitchen while I'm trying to cook- all those little things that are manageable, sure, but on bad days can kind of eat away at your happiness.

Then yesterday in church, the message was about letting go of fears that are holding you back and giving freely of yourself in whatever it is that you are called. I didn't hear an audible voice or anything, but I felt a little nudge in my heart that this message was for me regarding the area of our family. I KNOW that we want a large family, I KNOW that I am emotionally ready for another baby, and I KNOW that we can afford it, though it may mean less eating out and more buying of generic brands in bulk and that sort of thing. But I FEEL afraid. So I prayed that if this was a message to me, telling me to release those fears and go ahead as planned with baby making, then to please let there be some clear signals in the coming days.

Well, today I picked up my friend's daughter for her after school, something we had discussed last week, so that she could go to a job interview. Her daughter is eleven, and her school is literally about a minute from our house. The afternoon went really nicely; Breanna had a snack with the kids, and then asked if there was anything she could help with. I told her I was going to put a dessert in the oven and then try to get some cleaning done while the kids were playing in the living room. She mentioned that she loved baking, and I was all, "Hey! I HATE baking! How 'bout you follow this recipe right here and I'll go change sheets and empty trash cans?" And she did! And it was awesome! There was blueberry cobbler for snack tonight, and I never had to stir or mix or clean up a thing!

When her mom arrived, she told me excitedly that she had gotten the job. However, she was now going to need someone to pick up Breanna and keep her after school until five thirty or so, three days a week. That someone will be ME, and I couldn't be happier. Breanna is great with the kids and says she wants "babysitting experience," and she loves to cook, which is my least favorite thing to do! So basically, I'm helping them out, and in return I'm getting a free mother's helper, more or less. I mean, I'm not going to use her for slave labor or anything, but I can definitely see the possibility of, say, a few months down the road when I'm presumably pregnant and tired, actually getting those afternoon NAPS! And she could go with me on errands and help corral the kids, and... Yay! (I will make sure she has peace and quiet to do her homework when needed, too, rest assured.) So it seems one of my fears is, if not entirely put to rest, at least quieted.

Then also today, my husband's friend from out of town who is a contractor called to let him know that he has the end of the week off work, and he would like to come stay with us and help Jim until the den is finished! Which means, by next week, the den will actually, really and truly be DONE! Even though this probably puts a dent in any Valentine's Day plans, this feels like the best gift anyone could give me. Now it will definitely all be back to normal around here before I get pregnant. I could just about cry with relief. Plus, we won't have to pay anyone (since the guy says he won't accept it) and Jim and his friend will get a chance to reconnect and spend time together! This is SO awesome! Check another worry off my list.

So, are these the signs I was looking for? Maybe, and maybe also just coincidence. But it's good enough for me.

To Whom It May Concern

Kitchen. Stop getting so gd filthy every day, defying my nightly scrubbing. You are sapping my will to live. (Floor beneath high chair, I am looking at YOU.)

Head. Stop aching constantly, for no conceivable reason, and in spite of all the water drinking I am doing to help you out even though I don't really enjoy chugging water. You are making me worried. And cranky.

Hair. Please PLEASE stop being so frizzy and dry and unmanageable. I only wash you every other day, I rarely use a hot iron to tame you, and I recently got about five pounds of you thinned out. I lavishly apply expensive condition and even let it SOAK instead of rinsing immediately. So just give in, okay? Lay down and relax for awhile.

Hands. Stop cracking and splitting around my fingertips, causing me no small amount of pain during totally routine activities such as opening car doors and zipping coats. Your delicate, fragile act is getting real old. You'd better toughen up, because all that dish scrubbing and hand washing? It's not going away any time soon. Deal, my friends.

Coffee. Also, Wine. Thank you, my friends. Many thanks. My gratitude to you is immeasurable, and my reluctance to give you up (see, ttc next month) is not insignificant.

Double The Fun

This is so, so, SO premature, but here's the thing: we are probably going to start Clomid in four weeks, which even at the low dose I will be on does increase the likelihood of twins, so... I keep finding myself staring off into space contemplating twin names. Wondering if they would be a boy and a girl or two of a kind. Wondering if my body would ever recover from that pregnancy. Wondering how reasonable/possible it would be to attempt to exclusively breastfeed two babies while caring for a four year old and a two year old, even if the four year old were in part time preschool. Wondering if it's possible to give birth to twins without a c-section, of which I am terrified (mainly due to a VERY bad experience with spinal anesthesia when I had knee surgery.) This concern is so great I've been dreaming about giving birth to twins naturally.

So, again, I REALIZE I am jumping the gun and overthinking and borrowing trouble and all that, but do you guys have any words of comfort related to the above subjects? Or, failing that, some really great name ideas for two boys, two girls, or one of each?

*Also, I want to say, I realize that I'm making it sound like twins is my worst fear, which obviously would come across pretty, um, crappily to those of you who already have them. Don't get me wrong, I think IN THEORY twins sound adorable and fun too. But ideally, the twins would come FIRST. Then any singletons you might have. When I try to contemplate adding twins to our existing family, my eyes start getting wide and panicked. When I imagine taking a preschooler, a toddler, and two newborns anywhere out of the house together, the idea overwhelms me completely. When I envision two high chairs, two exersaucers, two cribs, etc., I feel like our house would be overtaken completely by kid stuff and I should just give up trying to pretend grown ups live here too.
So yeah, I guess the idea has me a little freaked out. But I sincerely apologize to any of you with twins who are feeling a little miffed by the TONE of this post. I of course can also envision lots of lovely things about twins, but those things don't have me panicked. THESE things (see above) DO have me panicked, so those are the ones I am asking for help with.
Thanks in advance!

Snow Bunnies

These shots are from Wednesday afternoon, when it was still about ten degrees out and we were knee deep in snow. It was Eli's first go at playing in the snow, and boy did he have fun. Unfortunately it wasn't good packing snow, so there was a lot more throwing of snow into the air (and face) than there was snowmen or snowball fights.

Addy's favorite thing to do that day was get handfuls of snow and lick at them delicately until her face was an attractively red, chapped, slobbery mess, and Eli's was to crawl determinedly through the snow like a mushing sled dog, planting mouth first more often than once. Still, despite his painfully beet-red face and eyes streaming from the cold, he screamed in protest when I finally took him inside, worrying about hypothermia and cold burns. It really is a thankless job, trying to keep your kids relatively safe from themselves.

In The Flesh

EEEEK!!! I saw a BABY get borned! AAAHHH!!! *jumping up and down wildly, with cheeks so flushed you'd think I'd been into the wine*

Okay. Deep breath. Give vital information in coherent sentences. My friend Jess's second son, David Nicholas, was born at 4:56 AM this morning, has tons of dark hair, weighed 8 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 20 1/2 inches long. And did I mention I was THERE? (Hyperventilating again as I relive the excitement.)

I got to the hospital around two thirty this morning, jacked up on caffeine and adrenaline, and Jess's mom, doula and I just hung out with Jess and talked and walked the halls and did all the normal labor stuff for about two hours. Her midwife was really cooperative and didn't make her have an IV or stay on the monitor all the time, so she was pretty free to labor how she wanted. Jess stayed very centered and calm; it was impressive. But I remember after our final lap around the mother/baby hall, Jess's mom and I realized that her contractions had gotten really close together, and that she wasn't talking through them anymore.

When we got back to the room, at four thirty, we could tell she was transitioning, but her water still hadn't broken so we thought there was awhile yet to go. Still, I went to get her husband, who was resting in the waiting room, thinking Jess was in enough pain at this point that she'd probably appreciate his comfort as well as ours. As we reentered the room, I heard a nurse from inside scream out the name of the midwife, then saw her rather frantically push Jess back onto the bed and tell her, "Don't push yet! You're complete!" Apparently she had gone into the bathroom while I was gone, and as soon as she got there could feel David's head crowning. She yelled that she had to push, and a nurse came in to check, tsk-tsking all the way that it was IMPOSSIBLE she had to push yet, she had only been FOUR centimeters at last check, her WATER wasn't even broken, but then lo and behold... It was time to push!

The midwife came shoving past us, literally smashing into me as she was scrambling for her gown and mask and I was running to find the video camera. For a minute there it was all very movie-like and loud and surreal, especially to Jess, I think! But her doula was just wonderful, very soothing and encouraging. She just kept stroking her face and holding eye contact, reassuring Jess as she pushed and yelled and pushed some more. David came very fast once they got the bed set up; less than ten minutes, I think. It was a very intense and moving ten minutes, too, let me tell you. My hand was shaking so hard I had to steady it with my other hand in order to get the camera to hold still!

The moment they handed Baby David up to his mom was so amazing. I had chills all over, watching her laugh and cry and exclaim as she cradled her son. It was so crazy to think that literally moments before he had still been safely cocooned in his amniotic sac, oblivious to the roomful of people awaiting his arrival. He was so alert and peaceful, blinking his little blueberry eyes up at us all for awhile, then nuzzling into his mom again. He barely even cried after those few initial protests, just snuggled in his parents' arms as all the REST of us got a little teary.

David, you are just beautiful, just the sweetest little boy, and I am so thankful to your parents for letting me witness your arrival! Jess, you did a truly amazing job, and you have renewed my awe for the miracle of childbirth, painful though it is! I have never seen a birth live and in person like that, and it truly a rush like nothing else. Thank you for one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me!

Nothing Much

Good thing one of my new year's resolutions wasn't to update my blog daily, huh? I have been doing pretty good on the others, with the exception of getting my hair thinned. (State of hair: course and dry. Stubbornly unhelped by Matrix smoothing conditioner.) I also missed one gym session due to an illness which I won't name but will describe as being treated by chugging countless glasses of cranberry juice. Oh and ALSO, as long as we're sharing, I am very proud of myself, as this is the first month in... a few, that I have made it all the way to the end without once thinking or proposing to Jim that perhaps, somehow, I am pregnant OMG NO! Clearly in 2009 I will turn a new leaf and cease forever with being obsessive and fretful!

That's really all I've got; things quiet but good here. We're keeping mostly at home, as it's either frigidly cold or actively snowing lately. Adelay has stayed the course with potty training, and I almost forget what it's like to have two in diapers. The winter blues seem to have left me for the time being, though their cure, chocolate, has also left me with five pounds I had shed just a month before. Well. It's cold. I need insulation.

My current hobbies are doing Sudoku puzzles in the bathtub (hot baths are a great cure for winter depression too, I have found) and, of course, waiting on pins and needles for that momentous call from Jess that ze baby is on his way. Poor girl is now like three days overdue. I realized today that this is exactly four WEEKS longer than I was pregnant with Addy. Young man, you had better be one CUTE little small headed baby, you hear?

Three Questions

Well, that was fun, being awakened at four thirty in the morning by Adelay SCREAMING INCONSOLABLY because she had actually been woken up by her need to pee. I was trying to be happy and enthusiastic about it for her, despite the inconvenience- "That's great, sweetie, what a big girl! It's GOOD that you woke up!" but it was kind of hard to stay peppy while she sat on her potty chair, weeping and shrieking as though she was in the throes of a night terror or something. The sobbing made the process considerably lengthier, too, since it's kind of hard, apparently, to urinate when you're busy having a nervous breakdown.

Once she finished, she was remarkably cheerful, though, and demanded her mini candy cane as per usual, a potty reward which I am strongly considering ditching pretty soon here. This leads me to question one: At what point is it safe to stop excessively praising and rewarding a child for using the toilet? I mean, I worry about the sugar intake from all the treats, but on the other hand, I would hook her up to a glucose drip for a month if that's what it took to keep her on the path to Toilet Independence. Do you think two weeks has been long enough?

Question two: How do you get a kid who's doing really well on her potty chair to transition to the actual toilet? I mean, she's only had about three accidents in the last week or so, and those were all incidents of not getting there fast enough rather than totally forgetting and just peeing all over the sofa or something. So is she far enough on the path, do you think, that we could kind of insist on her trying to use the big potty without putting her off the process altogether? Emptying the little one is getting REALLY old...

Question three: Does anyone have any of the LeapFrog systems? We have an older one that was given to us, but it's been discontinued and we'd have to buy the cartridges on eBay. We also checked out some of the newer ones and they SEEM great, but it also seems like it could be one of those overhyped but little used type of things. So if any of you have had actual experience with them, I'd love to hear what your kids (and you) thought of them.

January

Has it really been over a week since I wrote last? I feel a little disconnected lately. Floaty, like I am here but not really. I will be doing the dishes, but looking out the window instead of down to the task at hand. Looking out at the new snow, which falls fresh every night, it seems, and which is deceptively beautiful to gaze at, with no suggestion in its sparkling, crystalline blankets of the slushy puddles it will leave on the floor and the chapped ankles from where it will sneak in between your boots and your jeans.

I'm also doing things in excess lately, I notice. Drinking too much coffee, so that I feel a constant, jittery unease in the pit of my stomach. Eating too much chocolate (see previous post) and even dipping into Jim's beers, for which I rarely feel any desire. I've even been somewhat overzealous in exercise, mindlessly doing leg presses until the screen on the Nautilus machine warns me that I've completed the maximum number of reps and should either stop or lower the weight (which is embarrassingly low to begin with, so this is more an example of my compulsiveness than of my fitness.)

I seem to be wallowing in some sort of melancholy, or perhaps more succinctly, some sort of disinterest in the dailiness of life, the dishes and the laundry and the errands by which I generally mark my time. Instead, I keep rereading Anita Shreve books- Where or When, The Last Time They Met- which are perhaps unwise choices when one is feeling a little off, as they tend to be pensive and sad and on the theme of impossible love. Jim found an old Sarah McLachlan CD of mine when he was cleaning out his desk last week, and I've been listening to it almost daily, as some sort of soundtrack. Also, most alarmingly, I seem not to care much about dusting lately, which heretofore has been my favorite chore, though I suppose this could likely be attributed to an inevitable resignation to the constant presence of dust in our lives at this stage of remodeling.

It is somewhat depressing to realize how easily I am felled by such a common and cliched affliction as the winter blues.

Also, incidentally, flaky winter skin. Le sigh.

Sixth Day's The Charm

Both kids have colds now, so I'm awfully glad Jim's been home the last few days. It helps to have another adult to talk to when you're handing out tissues twice a minute and washing crusty layers of snot off the sleeves of kids' clothing.

Despite being ill, Adelay has made it through her first day without a single accident. Both of them napped frequently and at odd times today, so she slept until seven and is currently still awake, splashing away in a bath (mission: remove mucous from hair.) Which means that from eight thirty this morning (when she woke up DRY) to nine PM tonight, I have not had one disappointing incident of peeling wet underpants off and administering the dreaded let's-quickly-wash-your-bum bath! Whoo hoo!

In other news, I have resisted the urge to snort down in one sitting the massive amounts of clearanced Christmas chocolates which my husband once again purchased in the first week of the New Year, in a gesture of apparent kindness and generosity, but which I secretly suspect to be an act of sabotage. Exhibit A:

Two And A Half Out Of Four's Not Bad

Jim had scheduled this week off work a month ago. It was slated as the great Get All Those Pesky Monkeys Off Our Back week: potty training, finishing of the den (progress had been put to an agreed-upon halt during soccer season and the holidays,) figuring out of our old/new insurance and medical crapola (because I am crippled with panic about such things and require another adult around as moral support,) and the sorting of all of the soccer jerseys, warm-ups, balls and duffel bags that had been stashed around our house and garage from last year's season.

So far the soccer sorting is practically done: the enormous piles of clothes and bags and balls and are neatly organized and stacked into Rubbermaid tubs in the garage, and all the phone calls nagging the girls to turn in the rest of their stuff have been made. Also, a huge stack of bills has been paid and a worrying insurance claim has been figured out.

The den is going to get there, too, I'm thinking. It's all cleared out of any removable furniture and toys now, leaving only the TV, giant computer desk, and one pretty hefty loveseat. The rest of our house overfloweth a bit with toys and tables right now, but I can live with that when the promise of fresh paint and pictures being hung is glowing on the horizon. Today: spackling and sanding. Tomorrow: the sky's the limit.

But the potty training... Ah, the potty training. This will be day three of Mission: Underpants, and so far we've had only two successes, one of which happened at the gym childcare center, of all places. They don't even have a potty chair, just a regular old toilet, which she refuses to touch at home, and yet she willingly sat and peed on it for Miss Ashley! This solidifies my belief that she could, in fact, physically control herself if she HAD to, but she's just kind of too lazy to care when she's at home and isn't going to be embarrassed about wet pants.

So yeah, for going on three days now, she has cheerfully been wetting her pants and running to tell us about it, despite sitting on the potty at half hour intervals all day long. Fortunately she is okay with wearing rubber pants over the panties, otherwise our house would now be thoroughly saturated with urine, but even as it is I have done countless loads of soaking and washing and drying of said underwear and rubber pants. And in spite of my beliefs that potty training should be natural and child-led and not motivated by guilt or fear of accidents, I have to admit that our patience is wearing mightily thin. There has been much lecturing and nagging and reminders about being a big girl now, then feelings of guilt about the nagging, and subsequent hugging, praising, begging, purchasing of bribery items and offers of dance classes and Dora the Explorer games and leftover candy canes if Addy will just PEE PEE ON THE POTTY FOR THE LOVE OF MOMMY'S SANITY!

Commiserating

My friend Jess is currently about thirty seven and a half weeks pregnant with Boy #2. Since she had her first son at thirty seven weeks to the day, and since her doctor told her that the baby is about seven and a half pounds now and that she's beginning to dilate and efface, and, you know, since she's got a giant watermelon wedged in her pelvis, directly on top of her bladder, she's feeling very READY for this baby to come out. Especially after two nights ago, when she had regular, timeable, fifty second long contractions for like SIX HOURS or so before they just up and went away as soon as she laid down for a rest. (Sound familiar?) She had even called her doula over and everything, called ME even, and then nothing.

Anyway, I am so feeling her pain right now, and I thought maybe we could all just leave her little cheering-up type comments. To clarify, though: nothing that's supposedly cheer-upy but is actually a huge buzz kill, such as, "Honey, just relax! It could be weeks and WEEKS still!"

Oh, Why Not?

Resolutions for 2009:

-Stop wasting inordinate amounts of time rearranging picture frames and candles every time I dust, thereby leaving a lack of time in which to do things of actual importance, like dishes and laundry and emptying the eye-wateringly pungent diaper pails.

-Stop buying and then throwing away, rotted and unopened, bags of produce such as asparagus and winter squash.

-Keep alive the five houseplants in my care. One of them belongs to my mother, so even though it LOOKS fine I have every reason to believe it will up and die right before I'm supposed to return it, just to spite me. Another is a pot of ivy that has seemed, over the past few months, to be resignedly giving up its will to live on top of my refrigerator. I keep expecting to come into the kitchen one morning and find it has jumped to its death.

-GET MY HAIR THINNED. Really, my head should be counted as a sixth houseplant. An out of control houseplant that needs sternly pruned back.

-Cook a from-scratch type of dinner at least three nights a week. I was embarrassed over the holidays when several out of town guests, after hanging out at our house for awhile, remarked on the large number of pizza boxes stacked in the garage.

-Stop leaving my contacts in overnight. Honestly. Who does that? Frequently, even?

-To not have let the yard go to hell in a hand basket by mid-July, which is what has always happened heretofore.

-To stay on top of medical/insurance stuff, which always overwhelms me. And which is bound to overwhelm me further for awhile, as Jim's company is switching plans this year. Just as we're about to start filling prescriptions for Clomid and paying for weekly progesterone shots. Also, the new OB practice doesn't accept debit cards, which is what our flexible spending account used the last couple of years, so I either have to make sure we can get checks written from the new flexible account or just file claims for reimbursement each and every time I or the kids go to the doctor. Which is like, twice a day.

-Make summer dog grooming appointment in February, rather than waiting until April or May, when Fonzie starts shedding alarming clumps of hair onto every surface, and then making a frantic call only to find out that their next available time slot is at the end of September.

-Get my pretty winter coat mended before yet another year goes by in which I don't get to wear it due to the giant rip in the seam.

-And, of course, go to the Y at least three times a week! Lose at least five more pounds! And then get pregnant! And gain at least thirty pounds! (Brings to mind that Lifehouse song, "Sick Cycle Carousel"...)

Well, there. That seems like a long enough list to briefly feel energized about and then ignore completely, doesn't it?

Last Hurrah

Here's a few of my favorite shots from this year. This has been one of the busiest, blurriest years I can remember, but also one of the best. Watching Eli turn from a hungry, grumpy little butterball of a newborn into a chortling, gleeful little brother chasing Addy around the house has been the most miraculous transformation I have ever witnessed. Addy has turned from a toddler into a nearly-preschooler, learning letters and shapes and how to much more firmly and clearly express herself about clothing, food choices, toy preferences, and her love for her purses, tiaras, and various lucky family members. And Jim and I have learned how to... Cope. Go with the flow. Enjoy the moment. I MAY have had a harder time with that lesson than he has, but I think I'm getting there. I fully believe next year will be even better.

And To All A Good Night

Dear Santa,

My greatest dream has been realized. Jewelry, perfume, books, sweaters, or fancy hand creams would now be only a side note when compared to the Christmas miracle you delivered to our house this evening... My daughter caved to my coaching, cajoling, and outright bribery, and, after much fussing and begging for a diaper and whining that her tummy hurt, begrudgingly pooped on the potty.

I have never in my life felt so excited about another person's bowel movement. I have never felt so excited about MY OWN bowel movement. I nearly cried. I gushed, "I'm so proud of you!" so many times that Adelay finally gave me a consoling, somewhat worried hug and replied, "I'm proud of you, too, Mommy!"

Early Christmas!

So guess what arrived out of the blue the other day? A gorgeous handmade carseat cover that I had totally forgotten about winning from Valley Momma! It was like the thrill you get when you discover a forgotten five dollar bill in your pocket, but, you know, a lot BIGGER of a thrill. I mean, LOOK!



And if that weren't enough, she threw in a bunch of other goodies, just 'cause she's nice like that! Lookie!



The top two are little zippered bags; the smaller one is Addy's, with cute little guitars on it, and the brown and pink one is a cosmetic bag for moi. The bottom one is a cover for a travel wipes case. So nifty, right?

Also, she sent a Christmas bib for Eli, very cute, but it's in the laundry right now so I can't show you. AND she sent crayon rolls for each of the kids! Here is Eli's, rolled:




And here is Adelay's, unrolled:



Note the possessive little hand grasping for it. That was literally the best shot I could get of her crayon roll; in all the others, Addy is actually snatching it off the desk, and all you see if a blur of fabric and grubby fingers.

These were all really well made items, in adorable fabrics. I especially love the car seat cover, though. I mean it's so awesome! Beyond the obvious convenience factor, that it is removed EASILY for washing in case someone stains it with juice or um, bodily fluids of some sort, it is just so colorful and fun and SUCH an improvement over the previous, boring navy blue fabric. And it fits perfectly, nipping in at all the right spots to conform to the shape of the car seat. I highly recommend! Thank you again, Beth!

Sigh

Well, I had my Clomid consult today, and it served only to totally frustrate me. The doctor I saw today, the "fertility expert" in the new practice I'm going to, thinks that I don't have a luteal phase defect at all, despite what two other doctors have suggested. She thinks I've just had bad luck twice, and that the low progesterone levels I had early on in those losses were just indicators that the pregnancies were failing, rather than being the reason the pregnancies were failing. I've heard this theory online from many different medical sources. Basically, as the doctor today told me, even the top experts in the field of infertility disagree on whether low progesterone is a cause or an indicator of miscarriage.

She said she thinks luteal phase defect is "overly diagnosed" and that if that were truly what I have, a, I wouldn't have been able to carry Adelay without help, and b, the progesterone supplements I took would have saved the pregnancies that I lost. She thinks my problem is that I have a delay in my ovulating process, which is causing the DNA in my eggs to deteriorate before I finally release them, which is then causing poor quality conceptions that can't develop. This delay obviously doesn't always happen, but maybe more often than not it does. I do frequently experience kind of drawn-out, painful ovulation cycles, which seem to go on for days and days instead of being over in thirty six hours or whatever.

She pointed out that several days ago when I had my ultrasound, my follicle appeared just two or three days from being ready, but my cervix was clearly far from being ready. And it's only just today that I'm beginning to feel the pain in my side that always indicates ovulation is imminent. Which means that follicle has just kind of been swelling and swelling, waiting, and meanwhile the health of the egg is suffering. I guess. That is basically what I gleaned from the discussion. Has anyone ever heard of this or had this problem themselves?

She said she didn't think Clomid was strictly necessary in my case, that Adelay is proof that I CAN conceive naturally and not miscarry. But she said that given my history of loss, and especially since I responded so well to the low dose of Clomid I took to conceive Eli, that taking Clomid is probably what she would do if she were wary of another miscarriage. She said she'd have me come in on day fourteen of my cycle, and if I hadn't ovulated on my own yet even with the drugs, she'd give me a shot to make sure I did in time to preserve the health of the egg.

I am so confused! I mean, I'm kind of relieved that I don't HAVE to take Clomid if I don't want to. I'm not DOOMED to repeated miscarriages without it. But they are significantly more likely, apparently. So what do we do? Leave it to chance and hope for the best one more time? Or say better safe than sorry and take the drugs?

Just Curious

Do you send holiday cards or write Christmas letters? Or neither?

Do you have white or colored lights on your tree?

Do you do outdoor light displays?

Do your kids get into the Santa Clause stuff, or not seem to care? Do you promote him, or actively discourage him?

What do you usually have to eat on Christmas Day?


We are writing a letter this year, and we did last year, too. It's kind of hard to find the right balance between enough information (children's ages, current activities, adult's jobs and hobbies) and too much information (probably won't begin the holiday greeting by making sure everyone knows that I lost a pregnancy in August, then had hernia surgery in October.) It's also hard to know what tone to go with: fun and breezy, or heartfelt and overflowing with gratitude. But it's fun to include pictures to go with the kids' paragraphs, and it's fun to get to brag about them a little (though again, the balance problem: how much bragging evokes a smile, and how much bragging is just plain, you know, braggy?)

We have white lights on our Christmas tree, and a white-light star. Also, gold ribbon instead of garland. But our ornaments are totally random and mostly kiddy stuff, so it's hardly a stuffy, designer-looking tree. The tree skirt is a Christmas quilt that belonged to my late grandma.

We hung icicle lights around our front porch, and wrapped blue lights around the front lamppost. I also attempted, from atop a teetery ladder, to put lights on a tree, but it was a disaster and we aren't turning those lights on. Half the strands ended up being dead, and the tree is deceptively tall and I could only get lights on the bottom two branches, and... It looks really dreadful. And is going to be a pain in my arse to take down, too, since I decided to wind the strands around and around each branch instead of stringing them gracefully from branch to branch. Yeah, it's just bad all around.

I have mentioned Santa a few times in passing to Adelay, and we have a German Santa (complete with a beer stein) in our living room, but I don't think she has any idea or concept of him, and she already seems to grasp that adults bring gifts. So I think it may be a lost cause.

I usually eat candy out of my stocking for breakfast, and then at Jim's parents there's a traditional coffee cake. My mom usually has brunchy things too. But I have to admit I pretty much just eat sugar nonstop on Christmas. I set a wonderful example, I know.

This Is A Long One

I haven't talked much about when we're planning to try to conceive baby number three, have I? Ever since August's ill-fated pregnancy, and my unofficial diagnosis with luteal phase defect, we've kind of been taking it one month at a time, but with the general agreement that we would wait at least until after the holidays.

Also, I am pretty much convinced that I want to be on Clomid when we try again, since out of my last three pregnancies, the only one that went to term was conceived using Clomid. The other two were supplemented with progesterone to try to correct my low hormones, but the supplements alone apparently weren't enough. The new doctor suggested giving it one more go with just supplements, but starting them as soon as I ovulate rather than waiting until I get pregnant. And logically, that seems like a reasonable option. But emotionally, I just cannot chance that it won't work and that I'll lose another baby. So apparently we'll be chancing twins instead! Whee!

I went for an ultrasound a couple days ago to make sure everything was good to go in the ole' reproductive organ department, and then Tuesday I have a pre-Clomid consult with the fertility specialist at my OB's office. Anyways, at the ultrasound, the tech apparently knew that I was there to prepare for a round of Clomid, but didn't know what the Clomid was being prescribed FOR. As soon as she got a view of my ovaries, she got all giddy and exclaimed, "Look at this! You've got a great big follicle on your right ovary! You're going to ovulate this month- you should try to get pregnant on your own!"

For some reason, this made me irrationally angry. "I KNOW I can ovulate," I said a little snappishly. "That's not my problem. If I get pregnant this month on my own, I'll just lose it." What I wanted to say was, "Stick to your job. Measure my uterus, measure my ovaries, take note of my follicle, whatever. But don't give me fertility advise when you have no idea what I'm here for." I think it just made me feel inadequate all over again. I mean, there was a lovely, giant follicle, ripe for ovulation, and I have no choice but to let it go to waste.

Well, sorry about that detour into Unresolved Hostility! The point is, we're getting ready to try again soon, albeit with pharmaceutical assistance. Slowly but surely, I've been feeling the Baby Urge again. I want to the hospital to visit a friend and her day old baby girl last Sunday, and whew, it was so fresh and exciting, yet so familiar and instinctive, to hold a tiny baby again. I forgot how they fit perfectly into the crook of your arm, their heads in your hand and their feet tucked in your elbow. I forgot how you can rock them on your lap and just STARE at them forever and not get bored once. I forgot- but so quickly remembered!- how inexplicably sweet they smell. Especially before their first bath... Oh. It is the smell of newness and innocence and magic. As I watched my friend snuggle her new daughter, wearing that very particular, exhausted but satisfied new mother smile, I felt just like Tina Fey in 30 Rock last week: "I want to go to there!"

It's just the getting there that has me hesitant, still. I know adding another kid would just be more chaos and mess and noise and sleeplessness, but really, once you have two, how much worse could it get? So I'm pretty much over fearing the realities of another child. I just fear the realities and risks of pregnancy. I so badly do not want to experience another loss. And I so badly do NOT want to be nauseaous and tired and weepy for three months, and then bedridden and bloated and dilated and crampy for another two months at the end. Pregnancy is miraculous, sure, but, just like a newborn, it is a miracle that is filled with messiness and complication and major inconvenience.

I wish I liked being pregnant more. It's kind of a sore point with me, because I always thought I would love every second of it. I wish I could walk around the whole time feeling like a glowing Madonna, rubbing my fertile orb of a belly. Instead, I mostly feel kind of like a joke. Like a whale. Or like my regular self, stuffed into a fat suit that I cannot escape. The fat suit prospect is especially scary given that I am finally getting into shape for the first time in my life.

But. I think we will probably try again soon. Or soon-ish. So, um, if you're pregnant, or just LIKE being pregnant, pretty please will you leave me some reminders of why it's special! and magical!?

New Tricks

This is, very obviously, not an exercise/diet/self improvement type of blog in any way, shape or form. If anything, I could be called an enabler for such things as chocolate addictions. However, I think it is worth mentioning, necessary to mention, even, that exercise has totally changed my life.

Well. Maybe not rocked it to its core or anything. But it was definitely a big part of what finally lifted the fog I felt lost in for a few months following my last miscarriage. The greatest thing it did for me, even more than the faint but still visible physical changes that are surfacing, was to allow me to see myself in a new way. I got to reinvent myself.

See, I have always thought of myself as somewhat soft, if you know what I mean. A bit of a wuss about things like headaches, colds, menstrual cramps, slight variations in temperature, having to sit in the backseat, etc. Not a fan of anything that would cause me to perspire, and certainly not a seeker of muscle tone. A girly girl, definitely. (I think the fact that I got through childbirth- TWICE, even- without an epidural shocked me more than anyone else. Sure, I had said I really didn't want one, but I said it with kind of the same mindset I am in when I say I really don't want a second piece of cake. Even I don't believe myself.)

I have never enjoyed exercise, and I felt that as long as I watched what I ate, that was good enough. (I'm using the term "watching" very loosely here.) But after that second miscarriage, I was so sad, so conflicted, and more than anything, so flat and numb feeling, that I knew I had to change up something in my life. And I had heard that those endorphins can cheer you up, so... I begrudgingly requested a gym membership for my birthday in September. Aside from a brief hiatus after my hernia surgery, I've been going two to four times a week ever since, kids in tow, and walked, jogged, biked, done the Nautilus circuit, and even tried out the hot tub. Just once, though. Mostly I've run, which is perhaps the most shocking part of it all.

I've always hated running, and more than that, I'm not really supposed to run, since I have weak knees. I've been advised to ride an exercise bike or swim for cardio instead. But I'm a terrible swimmer- I look like I'm drowning when I try to swim laps- and I hate being on the bike. I feel like a hamster on a wheel. So, I'm running anyways. And slowly but surely, I am enjoying it. Looking forward to it, even. Once I start panting, actually getting my heart rate up, it feels good. My body craves it, sometimes. I can feel my pulse quicken when I approach the track, much the way it would in the past upon spotting a box of chocolates. Okay, it still quickens for chocolate. But but BUT- now it quickens for running, too. And that is something I never, ever thought I would say.

I am pretty proud of myself.