With a Spot Spot Here and a Spot Spot There…

Sing with me, ladies (and gents):

Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O
And she has been spotting
For what seems like an eternity
E-I-E-I-O

With a spot spot here
And a spot spot there
Here a spot, there a spot
Everywhere a spot spot
Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O

I know, I know, my talent is just devastating, isn’t it?

In case the metaphors in the song were too subtle, I’ll say it plainly: I haven’t gotten my freakin’ period yet. I am the Queen of the Spot. I can’t even do my best Lady Macbeth impression because that would just encourage the damn spotting. My kingdom for a period!

And, contrary to last week’s intelligence from Dr. Uterus’ nurse, she told me yesterday that getting my period would speed up the decline in the HCG. Whatever. I can’t make my body do it – just one of many things I can’t seem to make my body do – so I’ve decided not to worry about it. But, that certainly doesn’t mean I’m not going to complain about it.

The good news is that the latest number is definitely lower: yesterday’s count was 2,427. Still a far cry from <5, but better than the previous number of 7,445.

In better news, I am officially off “pelvic rest”- although Sweetie decided to celebrate this momentous occasion by playing World of Warcraft for four hours instead of molesting me. I sewed – which is not really that newsworthy in and of itself except that I did it after I had a beer and well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m doing the free-motion quilting right now, with emphasis on the free-motion. I do have to admit that I also really haven’t been in the mood. Hopefully that will change as well. Incessant spotting doesn’t exactly make a girl rowdy, if you know what I mean.

That’s all the news that fit to print – and sing.

image: bardsart

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My Path

I’ve never been one for the idea that each person has a destiny set out before them. How can someone be destined to be a prostitute or serial killer when someone else is destined to be a nun or social worker? It belies a certain amount of short-straw syndrome where some people are “destined” to have crappy luck while others get to live idyllic lives, and apparently the person with the crap luck has no say in it. At the same time, I don’t buy into the idea that we make our own destiny. I had no hand in being born into an incredibly stable house with lots of opportunities for education, advancement and overall growth complete with loving and well-adjusted parents.
image: maverickapollo
I prefer to think of my life as a series of paths. I may follow the one tread by those before me, or I may veer off into other directions. I may have company on parts of the journey and others I go by myself. I may choose the direction sometimes and sometimes the direction may choose me, but there is always motion.

I’ve had to remind myself of this a lot lately, though, because I’ve been having a hard time with the fact that there are those who got pregnant around the same time that I did and they are still pregnant. I feel angry that I can’t continue that journey, I feel embarrassed that I somehow failed the test, and I’m annoyed at that sneaking little voice that asks, “Why her and not me?”

I’ve answered this question before, but apparently I have forgotten the lesson because I still seem to be asking it. So, I’m trying a different tactic this time around. Whenever I feel that question coming on, I just remember that her path is not my path. I may not know where my path will take me, but I do know which one is mine.

And for better or worse, my path right now doesn’t include being pregnant. It does include having a Diet Coke, eating bleu cheese at lunch, gardening this morning and looking forward to a glass of wine this evening. And, I’m getting better at enjoying these things for themselves and not dwelling on what being able to have them means. Because, dwelling on it doesn’t change it and never will.

It also feels so good to give myself permission not to dwell on it either. It frees me up to think about other things, dream about other things, and actually enjoy life. And you know what I did today? I laughed, out loud. It seems like it’s been so long since I did that – a genuine, joyful laugh.

And it felt really, really good.

Duly Noted

image: Joe Shlabotnik
After graduating from high school, I attended and graduated from a fairly well-known, private mid-sized university. At the time, this school was one of my “safeties”. Now, this school would certainly not offer me admission if I showed up with the STA scores that I had then. The farthest I’d probably get would be the waiting list. What a difference 14 years makes!

It took me a while to love my school – it was in a part of the country that I had never spent a lot of time in outside of childhood and the culture shock was pretty shocking. It also wasn’t my first choice school and so I had to go through the arduous process of changing my admittedly unrealistic expectations about the right school for me. Nevertheless, I learned to love and fully embrace my school and I can easily report that I had a truly great time in college (and yes, I did get an education).

So, as I looked in the mail box, I saw the familiar logo. It was the school’s quarterly magazine that is sent out to alumni. In the early years after I had graduated, I coveted this quarterly dose of school pride. As the years have passed – in May, it will have been 10 years since I graduated (dear Lord, I can’t believe it) – I have grown less and less excited about receiving this particular tome in the mail. First it was because I no longer recognized anyone in the pictures. Now, as you have probably guessed, it’s a more pernicious reason.

Inevitably, the Class Notes for my year and those immediately preceeding and following it now contain the same announcement over and over again: so and so is pleased to announce the birth of their first, second, even third child. My years-range has moved past the marriage stage (that was a few years ago – what the early aughts are now peppering their announcements with) and we’ve now moved into baby-land.

What’s amazing is that if you go maybe a decade back in the classes (so those who are 20 years out from graduation), there are very few birth announcements and its all about what that person is doing for their career. I am stuck in that time frame where my fellow alum’s only accomplishment has apparently been the fact that they were either knocked up or got someone knocked up and they had a baby. Are people not advancing in their careers so that their only news is this? We’re talking 10 years since graduation!

You have also probably ventured a guess that part of my hostility comes from the fact that I’m jealous as hell. You are absolutely right. But, what I have realized is that in wanting to place that special birth announcement, I would just be adding to the clutter of announcements that, at their minimum, herald and celebrate someone’s fecundity – something I can’t even come close to boasting about, so far. (Can I send in an announcement that I have endured two years of medical intervention to get pregnant and two miscarriages?)

So, I’m not going to wait to place my announcement when we have a child – however and whenever that blessed event may occur. I’m going to find some other recent achievement that highlights my accomplishments since graduation and send that in. Once again, I will change my expectations of what I should be doing and do what I was really meant to do.

I Got Lurved On

Well, kids, she’s done it again. Shinejil has once again humbled me and made me blush at the same time. My eminently wise and sage friend has bestowed some love on me with a “less-than-three”.
I must admit that I am a little behind the times when it comes to text abbreviations (I get stuck past about ROFLMAO) so I had to cheat and look it up on Urban Dictionary.com. I know, I know, I blog therefore I shouldn’t be a luddite when it comes to other technological advances. But, I’ll tell you I have texted fewer times than I’ve been pregnant. Such is the byproduct of having a Crackberry (yes, I know I can text from the Crackberry, but why when I can just send an email? And, have I mentioned how much I hate the damn thing?)

Anywho, with so much love, I have to share it with others. I choose one of my faves, Melanie who keeps me laughing with descriptions of llamas and other fashion tragedies while documenting her journey through the various rings of Hell that is infertility. I also choose a newer friend (who probably thinks that I stalk her daily, hence her name), Paranoid, who educates me daily on the difficulties of secondary infertility while also showing how to be a great parent. Mwah to you both.