Mission Accomplished

Since I have zero connections that would allow me to land a plane on top of an aircraft carrier with the banner ‘Mission Accomplished’, I’ll just have to settle for this here blog title.  I have officially completed NaBloPoMo! 

Although, I don’t know who I am more proud of: me for doing it, or you for reading it.  I’ll call it draw and buy you a round, if you buy the next one.

It was fun, but there were some nights when the last thing I wanted to do was be erudite, eloquent and actually type something. But, push through I did, and now I can proudly display the little I did it button.  Hopefully, this experience won’t burn me out on posting, like doing IComLeavMo did on commenting (yes, ladies, I’m still having difficulty commenting after that kegger). 

I think I’ve earned a lovely margarita.  I think I shall go hunt one up!

The Daily Puppy Effect

Mr. X is smitten with someone else.  He likes her smile, he tells me.  He likes how she’s always happy.  I think I can even say that he’s besotted.  Who is the mystery girl? The baby we met yesterday.  For the first time, I think, he has told me that he wants to have a child because of a baby that we have met. 

I’ve had this feeling before: this is the feeling that because something looks good on someone else, it must look good on you.  This is the feeling that because someone else has a great puppy, you should have one too.  This is the feeling that because someone has an adorable, sweet, smiling baby, we must have one too.  I have even created a name for this: the Daily Puppy Effect.

The Daily Puppy is an addictive website that features – you guessed it – pictures of puppies, every day.  No surprises, for sure, but there is always an adorable picture (or two, or five) of an adorable puppy accompanied by glowing words written by their ‘mom’ or ‘dad’ about how this puppy has wormed its way in the person’s heart (in a matter of minutes!) and is the best thing that’s ever happened to them. Blah, blah, blah.

Here’s the thing. Before I started visiting the Daily Puppy, I really had no thoughts about getting a dog.  They were nice, I liked them, but I had no desire, no urge to have barkus interruptus in my house.  I was very happy with my kitties.  But, every day I went to that website and I saw people talk about how much they loved having a dog and how this dog has changed their lives, I began to warm to the idea.

It percolated for about a year before it came to a head and I knew that I had to get a dog.  And so, we got G.  And, yes, I can say he’s changed my life.  I have at least one moment a day when I look at him and my heart just melts.  I also have at least one moment a day where my nose wrinkles at the smell of his unbelievably toxic gaseous emissions.  I have at least one moment a day where I see him bring joy to the life of another.  I also have at least moment a day where he drives me crazy barking at the neighbor’s truck. 

The thing is that usually when I have the Daily Puppy feeling and I act on it, it never meets my (overinflated) expectations. Getting G has been an excellent example.  I didn’t fall in love with him right away, nor was I  unable to imagine life without him.  But, I eventually did fall in love with him, and yes, now I cannot imagine life without him. 

I hope that Mr. X is not disappointed or disillusioned once we have a child.  If he only compares the experience with those that others have, he will likely be disappointed, at least temporarily, because our experience will inevitably be different.  And, the readjustment period can be brutal.  But, it may also be that our experience will be far more rich than we could have ever dreamed. 

image: Bonnaboo

A Milestone, of Sorts

Today, I held a 6 month old baby. And I really, really liked it.  I had no trouble talking with her mama and felt very few pangs of jealousy.  I was really dreading this visit, too. It was with my best friend and her husband and was our first time to meet the baby.  I thought I would be overcome with jealousy and other socially unacceptable feelings.

But, you know what?  I breezed through, like a ship on a calm day.  I enjoyed myself, I held the baby and played with her. And, then I very happily gave her back to her mother when she started fussing. 

To say that I am proud of myself is an understatement.  I confronted my worst fear head on, and I came out sparkling on the other side. I can’t wait to see them again.

Gobble, Gobble

To my fellow Thanksgiving-celebrators:

May you not gain an ounce.

May you drink and be merry.

And may no one ask when you are going to have children, make a pregnancy announcement that you didn’t know about or in any way harsh on your holiday.

We are heading with G to the in-laws for this venerable family holiday.  Luckily, they have internet so I will continue to provide you with my glib insightful commentary.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m Special

In my visit with Dr. Salsa today to go over the bloodwork that I had for immune testing and the Clo.mid Challenge, I learned that I am truly ‘special’ although not for behavioral issues.  I’m special because I am in the 1% of recurrent miscarriers who have chromosomally abnormal embyros but neither partner has a chromosomal abnormality. 1 percent. I’m shocked that the percentage is so low.  I had really thought it was more prevelant than that.  Can you imagine if I played the lottery with these odds and my luck?  I could be a millionaire several times over. 

On the other side of the statistics, though, I still have a 76% chance of actually having a living, screaming, squalling infant at the end of a nine month tunnel.  As I told Dr. Salsa, it is literally inconceivable to me right now that this would happen.  He knows of what I speak – he and his wife had three miscarriages in a row before number 4 stuck. 

Other good news: no immune issues and a nice, normal FSH.  Smack me, though, for wanting something definitive – preferably curable – as to why I cannot carry a child to term (other than bad luck). 

We’re on track for an IVF in March 2009.  It seems far away, but I know it will be here before I blink. I hope I’m ready by then.

The Fortunate Ones

Whenever I feel myself falling into the depths of self-pity at what has befallen Mr. X and I in our quest to do that which comes so naturally to others, I inevitably try to remember that things could be a lot worse.  I remember stories of friends’ loved ones who are battling cancer or are in need of organ transplants.  Or, I remember that we are supremely fortunate that we have some insurance coverage, when so many others do not.  I think about how lucky I am to even have a choice about whether to have a child.  There are still many, many women in the world who have no say.  I remember that while infertility sucks more than 50,000 vacuum cleaners, we are still so fortunate.

But, inevitably, I think of other women who appear to have it all and still managed to have a child with little to no fanfare.  Women who did not greet the news of a subsequent pregnancy with dread remembering the outcome of the first.  Women who have no concept of poking needles in unpleasant places or gingerly sitting down because their ovaries are so swollen that plopping oneself in the comfortable chair can mean spasms of pain.  Women who buy maternity clothes right when they find out they’re pregnant, without a single thought that things might not progress that far to justify them, and then have a trouble-free pregnancy. 

While letting the jealousy seep through and feeling the bubble of why starting to come up, I try to put myself in the position of others who have dealt with things that I have never dealt with. People with inoperable cancer, amputees, people with incurable diseases.  To them, I probably appear normal and, probably worse, I appear as if I take that normality for granted.  I flaunt my health, my complete set of limbs, youthful vitality and good color.  I probably inspire the same feelings in them that my more fortunate friends have inspired in me, namely the feeling that this person doesn’t deserve the gifts that they have been given because they do not appreciate how fleeting and miraculous they truly are.

And, I inevitably lay blame for the blithe attitude squarely at the feet of society that preaches what is ‘normal’ and ‘expected’ and to what we are ‘entitled to’.  Normal is to have a baby when you are ready, not a minute before, to have a relatively uninteresting pregnancy that allows you to design the nursery and make your birth plan, a relatively pain free delivery, nd then to have a blissful time bonding with your new baby while they instinctively figure out how to breast feed.  I have to admit, that this was my idea of normal and that I was entitled to have that experience. 

It was a very rude awakening and an even more excruciating process to retrain my brain to recognize that these are not in fact normal, but abnormal.  People who manage to have these outcomes are fucking lucky with a capital “L”.  You might say that this is my inner bitter infertile talking.  This is my way of rationalizing that which cannot be rationalized.  I don’t agree. 

When we met with Dr. Salsa for that first appointment, he showed us a graphic illustrating the outcomes of all pregnancies. It was a pyramid, not unlike the food pyramid, which just served to crack me up even more.  Do you know how mnay pregnancies out of all of those that are conceived actually result in a live infant? According to the food pregnancy pyramid, 15%.  Yep.  Mr. X and I were actually in the 30% of pregnancies that make it to being detected (yay us).  

Recognizing just how incredibly hard it is to make a baby even without assistance has humbled me and kept me grounded, while also sparking even more jealousy for those who appear to have no difficulty doing it multiple times.  Perhaps it’s enough that I know how lucky they are, even if they don’t.

Your Cheatin’ Heart

Mr. X and I talked about cheating today.  In fact, he accused me of cheating. And, he told me that he had cheated himself.

I have to admit, that I have cheated.

What kind of cheater am I?

I am a Restaurant Cheater, which is probably not as serious as a Netflix Cheater, but not by much.  As a Restaurant Cheater, I go to restaurants that Mr. X wanted to try, but … without him.  I have done this several times.  I can’t help myself.  I make dates to have lunch with girlfriends who suggest new restaurants and who am I to say no? How can I turn them down with the statement that Mr. X has laid claim to that restaurant? 

Today, it has all come to a head.  I called him after lunch and he told me that he had visited a restaurant that I had been wanting to try.  He has cheated on me.  And, he told me that he enjoyed cheating on me. He wanted me to know how it felt. He was proud of himself.   

Now, I know how it feels.  But, I am unrepentant.  I will continue to cheat.   

image: Roadsidepictures

‘Tis the Season

Even though the local radio station started playing Christmas music almost two weeks ago and the tinsel has been up in the stores for almost as long, I don’t get in the holiday spirit until after Thanksgiving.  Call me old-fashioned, but the decorations, tree and other miscellania don’t find their way out of the closet until at least the weekend after Thanksgiving. 

But, this reminds me of another holiday tradition: the brag letter.  I know that’s not what it’s called, but damn if that is not what it seems like when I get one.  I have one friend who consistently sends one out, and last year, used it to break the news of her divorce.  For the record, I’ve only ever sent one of these, a few years ago when we had had a particularly action-packed year. 

Now, though, I’m tempted to write another missive to catch up everyone on our ridiculously exciting uninteresting lives and, oh yeah, share all about our infertility.  I will be the first to admit that my motivation is pretty much totally selfish as I’m tired of not telling people that we know what’s going on.  At the same time, it’s not something I want to bring up in conversation when they call me out of the blue.  I’d like to be passive-aggressive that way.

I haven’t broached the idea with Mr. X as I am still trying it on for size.  But, as ladies who are going through the same wringer, I’d like to know your opinion – and get a chance to use the poll option! So, go ahead, vote below!

image: aim and shoot

From the Rooftops

Another Dreamer at An Unwanted Path has been so kind as to bestow an award upon me.  It’s the “I Will Not Be Silent About Infertility” Award.  Thanks!

As those who read this blog know, I have no difficulty whatsoever saying exactly what I think about infertility – at least in writing.  I have to admit, though, that I feel a little like a fraud, since I rarely discuss my infertility outside of this blog.  I would say that it is because I get so much off my chest here, I don’t have to say it elsewhere, but it’s also because I want just focus on other things outside of the computer. I like leaving my infertility here, in this little box.

Or maybe, this is yet another example of my inability to take a compliment.

So, here are the rules:

1. Link to the post that started it all. 
2. Nominate 4 others who have not been “silent about their infertility”
3. Enjoy speaking out and speaking up 😀

My four others who have shouted from the rootops about their infertility, are:

May, Shelli, Shinejil. and Me. Go forth and shout!

Tip O’ the Hat/Wag o’ the Finger

I love Ste.phen Col.bert.  There, I’ve said it. The whole blogosphere now knows.  Seriously, this guy cracks me up every night. One of my favorite features is Tip O’ The Hat/Wag of the Finger.  I think I just like him wagging a finger at me accusingly. Anyway, since my brain is officially tapped out this evening, I’m going to do my own version.

Tip of the Hat: to G, for being so darn adorable on his bed.  He makes me go “awwwww” every single time.

Wag of the Finger: to my metabolism for giving me a terrible case of the munchies.

Tip of the Hat: to Mr. X, for snuggling with me this morning before we got out of bed. And making me laugh. A lot.

Wag of the Finger: to my local library for having the gaul and nerve to close for renovations, forcing me to go to another branch, which is seriously inferior.  Double wag for luring people to the currently closed library with promises of a book mobile that – surprise – only has books for those who placed orders!

Tip of the Hat: to the glass of wine I had with dinner. Not only were you yummy, you made me pleasantly mellow and sleepy.

Wag of the Finger: to Fluffy for curling up on my favorite reading chair and being too adorable and comfortable to evict without supreme guilt. 

I guess I’ll just have to go sew instead.