The things I say:
friend: oh, the registration for the MS150 is about to be open! Are we doing it again this year?
me: I don't know. I'm undecided. Last year was so great because I was already training for a half-ironman and I was in such kick-ass shape, I'm kind of tempted to just leave it at that single fantastic experience.
The things I don't say:
me: I don't know if I should register or not. You see, we're trying to get pregnant. So if we do get pregnant, obviously I couldn't/wouldn't do the ride. On the other hand, I feel so stupid for living my life based on the great "what if"--it sucks to put everything I used to do on hold, but I also have to believe that we will be successful soon. I would just sign up and then not ride, but $200 is a lot of money to lose for no reason.
The things I say:
mom: want to share this bottle of wine with me?
me: sure.
The things I don't say:
me: well, I'm may or may not be pregnant RIGHT NOW. I can't really test until next weekend, and I know that you don't share a blood supply with a baby until 6 weeks, and I know millions upon millions upon millions of women have had alcohol before they found out they were pregnant, but I don't want to do anything to screw this up.
The things I say:
Dad: man, there sure are a lot of babies around!
me: I know, right? They're everywhere!
The things I don't say:
me: I know, right? Since we started trying, everywhere we go there are babies. Cute, fat, happy babies with blissfully sleep deprived parents loving on them. It makes it really hard to stay calm and optimistic when it seems like the universe is taunting you with the thing you are trying so hard to achieve yourself. And did you know in the last three months since we've been trying we know FOURTEEN girls who have gotten pregnant?? FOURTEEN. And yes, I know it will be our turn soon, and we will have everything we've always wanted, but damn, sometimes I just want to stay home and hide so that I won't have to go out and see all those families who have been successful where so far we have not. Isn't that crazy? Can you believe how crazy TTC has made me, your calm, level-headed, patient, happy daughter?
The things I say:
TH: What was your temperature this morning?
me: It went down a little. But it's ok.
The things I don't say:
me: It went down a little, and I've heard that there can be a dip around implantation, but that then it should come back up after that, and mine's not really coming back up, and do you think that means we missed another month, another month of wanting and wishing and obsessing and feigning patience and optimism and calmness, and what's wrong with us, why do we know so many people who were successful on their first shot, so many people who think nothing of getting pregnant, people who say oh, just get drunk and screw like bunnies for a couple of weeks, that should do it, why does this make me feel like a failure, like we were not selected by Darwin's law to continue our gene lines, like we could have the world's greatest marriage, greatest relationship, the kind of marriage our friends are all envious of, but that they get the kids, I mean what is that, is that like the universe evening out the playing field, oh, you guys get the marriage, they get the kids, that's fair, and iknowiknowiknow I should relax and stay strong and optimistic and calm and remember to trust the process and that there is more to life than babies, and that our time will come and to forfrick'ssake just be patient, but every single twinge I feel and every single temperature I take make me so hopeful and so worried all at once, and how is that even possible???
The thing TH doesn't say:
TH: I know. Me too.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Dammit
Based on my temp rise this morning, FF moved my O date up two days.
So instead of being 5 DPO, I'm now only 3 DPO.
Big deal in the grand scheme of things? Not really. But I was going to take a test at the end of next week before our Oktoberfest party to find out how much I could partake in the festivities. With the new O date, I theoretically shouldn't test until the Monday after our party.
Boo.
Welcome to the two-week torture.
So instead of being 5 DPO, I'm now only 3 DPO.
Big deal in the grand scheme of things? Not really. But I was going to take a test at the end of next week before our Oktoberfest party to find out how much I could partake in the festivities. With the new O date, I theoretically shouldn't test until the Monday after our party.
Boo.
Welcome to the two-week torture.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
This One...
There was a point in my relationship with TH where I realized, very clearly, that this man had the potential to either make me profoundly happy or wretchedly miserable. I knew that if things didn't work out, I was going to be very, very hurt. It was that moment when I sensed that our relationship had moved from casual high school dating to serious, I'm-actually-in-love status.
I had that same realization about this cycle yesterday.
This cycle has the potential to make me wildly happy, or very, very hurt. Because of things happening in the world around me, I have placed a great deal of hope on this one. It'll either pay off, or it will completely crush me.
Only time will tell.
CD 22, 4 DPO.
8 days to testing.
I had that same realization about this cycle yesterday.
This cycle has the potential to make me wildly happy, or very, very hurt. Because of things happening in the world around me, I have placed a great deal of hope on this one. It'll either pay off, or it will completely crush me.
Only time will tell.
CD 22, 4 DPO.
8 days to testing.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Beauty of Having a Mantra...
...is that there's something concrete to focus on when your world just got turned all upside down.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the process.
We Work!
TH got his SA results back from the doc and she said everything looks normal! You could almost see the worry lift from TH--the thing he has been most worried about for years has finally been lifted from his shoulders.
AND,
I got my first crosshairs! This month we started charting, so while there's no reason to assume I wasn't ovulating before, this month we have visual proof that my body is working exactly the way it's supposed to.
So, we have two healthy reproductive systems. Now I just have to focus on my mantra this month: "Trust the process."
CD 21, 3 DPO.
AND,
I got my first crosshairs! This month we started charting, so while there's no reason to assume I wasn't ovulating before, this month we have visual proof that my body is working exactly the way it's supposed to.
So, we have two healthy reproductive systems. Now I just have to focus on my mantra this month: "Trust the process."
CD 21, 3 DPO.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
1st Birthday Insanity
Today we had the pleasure of attending the first birthday party of my best friend's little girl. One year ago, I was recovering from surgery to remove cancer, and my best friend was starting to go into labor...I think hers was the harder of those two paths! The results were equally momentous--me being totally cancer free and her having the world's CUTEST little girl to bless the world with for the last year.
We are friends with their extended family as well--they're the kind of family you can get drunk with, talk about sex with, get-into-a-bar-fight-and-you-know-they'll-have-your-back kind of peeps, so we were looking forward to seeing everybody and having a wonderful, relaxing, totally happy time celebrating little miss S's first year.
What we didn't expect was all the other babies.
There were five other babies there all within spit-up range of 1. It was like a big baby party. Which is awesome, unless you happen to be the only couple there who is 1.) not with a kid, 2.) not pregnant with a kid, and 3.) straight. We felt like interlopers, like we suddenly didn't belong to a group we had always belonged to.
To make matters worse, I was directly asked "Are you pregnant?", "When will there be a little TH running around?", and other variations of the same questions no less than five times...all while around a bunch of other people. Normally that question is fair game considering our level of comfort with the family, but I didn't realize that they wouldn't realize that maybe the other twenty people standing around us might make that topic of conversation slightly awkward for me. Instead of being able to give them the candid answer I would have normally, yes, we're trying, it's been a couple of months, can you believe with perfect timing and everything there's only a 20% chance of success, it gets hard at times, especially with the way society talks about it as if it's a simple thing, but we're doing a pretty good job of keeping a good attitude about it, I had to respond with a repertoire of lame, metaphorical spin-offs, We're still preheating the oven, There's no bun cooking yet, but we're mixing the batter, etc.
To top the experience off, I was surrounded by the kind of ignorant statements that lately have started to drive me insane:
man 1: yeah, we didn't expect the house to sell in the first month, and we didn't expect M to get pregnant in the first month, either!
man 2: ehhh, atta boy! Way to get her on the first month!
and
woman 1: oh, it's so good that you're due in March--you get to avoid the misery of being pregnant through the hot summer.
woman 2: yeah, well, that was on purpose. We planned it that way.
The first conversation broke my heart on TH's behalf. He's surrounded by friends who "got their wife pregnant" on the first try, and it makes him feel like there's something wrong with him that he didn't. I want to scream "only a 20% chance even in perfect conditions" when people say things like that. It's about luck and probability, not a guy's virility or ability to do something better than others. Unfortunately, that machismo attitude is so prevalent in our society nobody even thinks it's an insensitive and totally illogical thing to say. I used to say things like that and didn't know any better. Now I do. And now I have to listen to people saying things like that all around me, and I die a little inside each time because I know how it crushes my sweet husband, who is doing everything right, who is healthy, who is just as much a man as any of those other ignorant idiots.
The second conversation made me just want to snap, "Oh please. You can hope for for certain timing, but it's luck when you do get it. Don't take so much credit for making it happen that way. Be thankful, not haughty."
So the birthday party turned out to be an exercise in social control, a battle in self-confidence and humility. I was so completely overjoyed at little S's awesome first year, and so utterly thankful to have such good friends and to have been able to be around to see their family transition from two to three.
At the same time, I could not have gotten out of there fast enough, back to a world where I don't have to smile through anger, embarrassment, and, ultimately, sadness. Sadness that we didn't have a little one to add to the melee.
We are friends with their extended family as well--they're the kind of family you can get drunk with, talk about sex with, get-into-a-bar-fight-and-you-know-they'll-have-your-back kind of peeps, so we were looking forward to seeing everybody and having a wonderful, relaxing, totally happy time celebrating little miss S's first year.
What we didn't expect was all the other babies.
There were five other babies there all within spit-up range of 1. It was like a big baby party. Which is awesome, unless you happen to be the only couple there who is 1.) not with a kid, 2.) not pregnant with a kid, and 3.) straight. We felt like interlopers, like we suddenly didn't belong to a group we had always belonged to.
To make matters worse, I was directly asked "Are you pregnant?", "When will there be a little TH running around?", and other variations of the same questions no less than five times...all while around a bunch of other people. Normally that question is fair game considering our level of comfort with the family, but I didn't realize that they wouldn't realize that maybe the other twenty people standing around us might make that topic of conversation slightly awkward for me. Instead of being able to give them the candid answer I would have normally, yes, we're trying, it's been a couple of months, can you believe with perfect timing and everything there's only a 20% chance of success, it gets hard at times, especially with the way society talks about it as if it's a simple thing, but we're doing a pretty good job of keeping a good attitude about it, I had to respond with a repertoire of lame, metaphorical spin-offs, We're still preheating the oven, There's no bun cooking yet, but we're mixing the batter, etc.
To top the experience off, I was surrounded by the kind of ignorant statements that lately have started to drive me insane:
man 1: yeah, we didn't expect the house to sell in the first month, and we didn't expect M to get pregnant in the first month, either!
man 2: ehhh, atta boy! Way to get her on the first month!
and
woman 1: oh, it's so good that you're due in March--you get to avoid the misery of being pregnant through the hot summer.
woman 2: yeah, well, that was on purpose. We planned it that way.
The first conversation broke my heart on TH's behalf. He's surrounded by friends who "got their wife pregnant" on the first try, and it makes him feel like there's something wrong with him that he didn't. I want to scream "only a 20% chance even in perfect conditions" when people say things like that. It's about luck and probability, not a guy's virility or ability to do something better than others. Unfortunately, that machismo attitude is so prevalent in our society nobody even thinks it's an insensitive and totally illogical thing to say. I used to say things like that and didn't know any better. Now I do. And now I have to listen to people saying things like that all around me, and I die a little inside each time because I know how it crushes my sweet husband, who is doing everything right, who is healthy, who is just as much a man as any of those other ignorant idiots.
The second conversation made me just want to snap, "Oh please. You can hope for for certain timing, but it's luck when you do get it. Don't take so much credit for making it happen that way. Be thankful, not haughty."
So the birthday party turned out to be an exercise in social control, a battle in self-confidence and humility. I was so completely overjoyed at little S's awesome first year, and so utterly thankful to have such good friends and to have been able to be around to see their family transition from two to three.
At the same time, I could not have gotten out of there fast enough, back to a world where I don't have to smile through anger, embarrassment, and, ultimately, sadness. Sadness that we didn't have a little one to add to the melee.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The number 3
Apparently, 3 is a watershed number for me.
That last one I'm certain of, because it's happened. Twice. Six weeks ago, it signaled the beginning of our local baby boom on the boards. The first two? No problem. The last four? Piece of cake. It was the third announcement on that Monday that felt like a kick in the gut. Yesterday it happened again--another three girls announcing their joyful news. With the third, I felt like someone was pressing down on my chest and I couldn't get a good, deep breath. I felt like I needed to get out of my office, out of my building, out into the sunshine and cool breeze where I could let all the crazy roll of me and find my calm again.
To be clear, this isn't the green-eyed jealousy I struggled with a few weeks ago. I don't feel any negative anything toward the girls who are got pregnant. They all three deserved it so much and have been through a lot to get it. I am thrilled for them. I just want to be thrilled for us, too. And I know that our turn is coming, and 97% of the time that's all I need to know in order to maintain my happy, calm, patient outlook toward this adventure.
It's that other 3% of the time that gets me. The third announcement in a single day that, for whatever reason, makes me feel like a panicky colt in a barn on fire.
So I'm learning to cope with the effects of 3. I didn't go to the boards anymore yesterday. I didn't read baby blogs or funny parenting blogs or even TTC blogs. I turned on some music, focused on my work, and blocked everything out. I cooked dinner with my kitties for company, cleaned the house, enjoyed the gorgeous evening weather, read a book, watched a little TV, and took a bath. Basically, I enjoyed a totally baby-free evening. And somewhere in there I found my calm again. My happiness. My patience.
Calmness. Happiness. Patience.
This message brought to you by the number 3.
- TH was my third boyfriend.
- I taught for three years before getting bored and going back to grad. school.
- I have three siblings and three parents.
- I train for a sport that is actually three sports in one race.
- I want three kids.
- I am on my third cycle of TTC.
- It takes three BFPs in one day to make me completely lose my grip on sanity.
That last one I'm certain of, because it's happened. Twice. Six weeks ago, it signaled the beginning of our local baby boom on the boards. The first two? No problem. The last four? Piece of cake. It was the third announcement on that Monday that felt like a kick in the gut. Yesterday it happened again--another three girls announcing their joyful news. With the third, I felt like someone was pressing down on my chest and I couldn't get a good, deep breath. I felt like I needed to get out of my office, out of my building, out into the sunshine and cool breeze where I could let all the crazy roll of me and find my calm again.
To be clear, this isn't the green-eyed jealousy I struggled with a few weeks ago. I don't feel any negative anything toward the girls who are got pregnant. They all three deserved it so much and have been through a lot to get it. I am thrilled for them. I just want to be thrilled for us, too. And I know that our turn is coming, and 97% of the time that's all I need to know in order to maintain my happy, calm, patient outlook toward this adventure.
It's that other 3% of the time that gets me. The third announcement in a single day that, for whatever reason, makes me feel like a panicky colt in a barn on fire.
So I'm learning to cope with the effects of 3. I didn't go to the boards anymore yesterday. I didn't read baby blogs or funny parenting blogs or even TTC blogs. I turned on some music, focused on my work, and blocked everything out. I cooked dinner with my kitties for company, cleaned the house, enjoyed the gorgeous evening weather, read a book, watched a little TV, and took a bath. Basically, I enjoyed a totally baby-free evening. And somewhere in there I found my calm again. My happiness. My patience.
Calmness. Happiness. Patience.
This message brought to you by the number 3.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Temping is the New Black
Some people look good in every single new style to hit the runways. Board shorts, leggins, skinny jeans, you name it, they can pull it off. The rest of the world (and I'm lumping myself in with this group) survive on the staple of the fashion world: black. Anyone can wear it. It can be trendy or dressy or casual. It's flattering without being pretentious.
In much the same way, some people get knocked up just by looking at their husband. Or boyfriend. Or some random guy in a bar. They think, "Oh, I think I'll start thinking about making a plan for when I'm going to begin transitioning off the pill" and two weeks later are yacking their breakfast (and lunch...and dinner) into the toilet and reading What to Expect When You're Expecting. The rest of the world has to work a little harder.
Our first month trying, I blithely skipped into the TTC world, hoping to be part of the blessed TTC elite who, much like the fashion elite, can do no wrong and the world falls into place at their feet. Our second month of trying, a bit of the naivety gone, I still hoped to pull off the latest trend (I'm sure we've all noticed that being pregnant is very in right now). I was that girl in school who kind of dresses like the cool kids and hopes that nobody notices.
This month, I've accepted the fact (looking at my middle school and high school pictures, I should have known all along) that I am not part of the elite. I am achingly normal. I don't look good in bright prints or skinny jeans. I look good in black. So I started doing the one thing that every girl who is TTC can do to level the baby-making playing field as much as possible: I started temping.
For those of you not versed in the techniques of procreation, temping involves taking your basal body temperature before you do anything in the morning...and I mean anything. Before you sit up, get up, pee, brush your teeth, AN-EE-THING. When you ovulate, your body temperature rises and stays higher than normal until you either a.) start your period, or b.) get your BFP. Temping, and then charting the temps you record, can tell you all kinds of things about your cycle, including when and IF you are ovulating and how long your body gives a fertilized egg to implant before clearing it all out to try again.
On the "Getting Pregnant" chat boards, the first thing anyone wants to know if you have a question about what's going on with your body is "Are you charting/temping?" Everybody's doing it (well, almost everybody), and for good reason: it gives all us "normal" girls a way to pull off what comes so easily to some: timing sex as best you can to give you the ultimate chance for getting pregnant.
TH is totally on board with the whole temping/charting thing. In fact, he's the one who sets his alarm in the morning and hands me the thermometer. There's a website where you can go and enter all your temps and it will chart your cycle for you, identifying when (if) you ovulated and when your fertile days are.
I was showing TH my chart this weekend. Since we are still pre-ovulatory, there hasn't been the tell-tale temperature spike. Right now, it's just kind of bouncing up and down.
So TH sees my chart and says "All right! That looks GREAT!"
I, knowing it does not in fact look great because it doesn't look like anything, and knowing he doesn't really know what he's talking about, just look at him and wait for him to continue.
TH: "That's good, right? It makes a W!"
me: :::silence:::
TH: "Wait, what? What am I looking at?"
I think we still have some work to do on the charting knowledge.
But I'm thrilled he's involved and participating, and I'm thrilled I'm one of those girls who looks good in black. The classic looks work for me, and I'm hoping this will, too.
In much the same way, some people get knocked up just by looking at their husband. Or boyfriend. Or some random guy in a bar. They think, "Oh, I think I'll start thinking about making a plan for when I'm going to begin transitioning off the pill" and two weeks later are yacking their breakfast (and lunch...and dinner) into the toilet and reading What to Expect When You're Expecting. The rest of the world has to work a little harder.
Our first month trying, I blithely skipped into the TTC world, hoping to be part of the blessed TTC elite who, much like the fashion elite, can do no wrong and the world falls into place at their feet. Our second month of trying, a bit of the naivety gone, I still hoped to pull off the latest trend (I'm sure we've all noticed that being pregnant is very in right now). I was that girl in school who kind of dresses like the cool kids and hopes that nobody notices.
This month, I've accepted the fact (looking at my middle school and high school pictures, I should have known all along) that I am not part of the elite. I am achingly normal. I don't look good in bright prints or skinny jeans. I look good in black. So I started doing the one thing that every girl who is TTC can do to level the baby-making playing field as much as possible: I started temping.
For those of you not versed in the techniques of procreation, temping involves taking your basal body temperature before you do anything in the morning...and I mean anything. Before you sit up, get up, pee, brush your teeth, AN-EE-THING. When you ovulate, your body temperature rises and stays higher than normal until you either a.) start your period, or b.) get your BFP. Temping, and then charting the temps you record, can tell you all kinds of things about your cycle, including when and IF you are ovulating and how long your body gives a fertilized egg to implant before clearing it all out to try again.
On the "Getting Pregnant" chat boards, the first thing anyone wants to know if you have a question about what's going on with your body is "Are you charting/temping?" Everybody's doing it (well, almost everybody), and for good reason: it gives all us "normal" girls a way to pull off what comes so easily to some: timing sex as best you can to give you the ultimate chance for getting pregnant.
TH is totally on board with the whole temping/charting thing. In fact, he's the one who sets his alarm in the morning and hands me the thermometer. There's a website where you can go and enter all your temps and it will chart your cycle for you, identifying when (if) you ovulated and when your fertile days are.
I was showing TH my chart this weekend. Since we are still pre-ovulatory, there hasn't been the tell-tale temperature spike. Right now, it's just kind of bouncing up and down.
So TH sees my chart and says "All right! That looks GREAT!"
I, knowing it does not in fact look great because it doesn't look like anything, and knowing he doesn't really know what he's talking about, just look at him and wait for him to continue.
TH: "That's good, right? It makes a W!"
me: :::silence:::
TH: "Wait, what? What am I looking at?"
I think we still have some work to do on the charting knowledge.
But I'm thrilled he's involved and participating, and I'm thrilled I'm one of those girls who looks good in black. The classic looks work for me, and I'm hoping this will, too.
Monday, September 8, 2008
TH's Clock
TH doesn't wear watches. The only watch he's ever liked was one his grandfather sent him from Israel. It's been broken for years. It's a self-winding watch, the kind where regular motion winds the mechanisms; only now when you move it around, the hands start spinning as if resetting themselves, but then they get faster and faster and faster until they are going so fast you literally cannot see them anymore. It's like a watch on crack.
We were out at dinner last night, just finishing our meal, when a family came in and was seated at the table next to ours. The couple had four young kids--3 boys who were chasing each other in circles around the table and laughing raucously, and a quiet girl who was still too young to stand. It was the kind of family that had always made TH and me cringe and make the "yikes" face and each comment how happy we were that we weren't that couple with those kids.
But last night, TH turns to me and says, "You know, not that long ago, that was the kind of family that would drive me crazy. But now, I look at them and I want that!"
I laughed delightedly and said, "Aw, baby! Your clock is ticking! Remember six months ago when I told you that I didn't know what had happened to me, but one day those families scared me and the next day they suddenly didn't? And you couldn't understand what I was talking about?"
And he says, "Yes! My clock is ticking! Only, I feel like it's like that old broken watch I have--no movement at all, and then suddenly spinning totally out of control!"
I was delighted to hear his confusion and wonder at this self-realization. He suddenly figured out last night that he doesn't want kids because I want them or because it was our plan to start trying now. He wants kids because he wants to be a dad. He wants them for his sake, not for the sake of me or our family. What a great milestone.
On the say home, Red Hot Chili Peppers were singing "Give it away, give it away, give it away now." TH, blissfully high from his realization that he wants kids, started singing along, "Give us Bay-bay, give us bay-baby, give us bay-bay now."
There were other lyrics that worked for both versions of the song, as TH was very excited to point out, but I'll leave those up to you to figure out!
We were out at dinner last night, just finishing our meal, when a family came in and was seated at the table next to ours. The couple had four young kids--3 boys who were chasing each other in circles around the table and laughing raucously, and a quiet girl who was still too young to stand. It was the kind of family that had always made TH and me cringe and make the "yikes" face and each comment how happy we were that we weren't that couple with those kids.
But last night, TH turns to me and says, "You know, not that long ago, that was the kind of family that would drive me crazy. But now, I look at them and I want that!"
I laughed delightedly and said, "Aw, baby! Your clock is ticking! Remember six months ago when I told you that I didn't know what had happened to me, but one day those families scared me and the next day they suddenly didn't? And you couldn't understand what I was talking about?"
And he says, "Yes! My clock is ticking! Only, I feel like it's like that old broken watch I have--no movement at all, and then suddenly spinning totally out of control!"
I was delighted to hear his confusion and wonder at this self-realization. He suddenly figured out last night that he doesn't want kids because I want them or because it was our plan to start trying now. He wants kids because he wants to be a dad. He wants them for his sake, not for the sake of me or our family. What a great milestone.
On the say home, Red Hot Chili Peppers were singing "Give it away, give it away, give it away now." TH, blissfully high from his realization that he wants kids, started singing along, "Give us Bay-bay, give us bay-baby, give us bay-bay now."
There were other lyrics that worked for both versions of the song, as TH was very excited to point out, but I'll leave those up to you to figure out!
Friday, September 5, 2008
Green is Not My Color
When we first started officially trying, and all of a sudden 11 people around me were pregnant and we weren't, I can honestly say I wasn't jealous. Sure my competitive spirit was irked that people who were "supposed" to get pregnant after us had suddenly "jumped in line," but I didn't begrudge them their blessing. It was never about not being happy for them. It was about simply wanting the same thing for us. And when, for the last couple of months, we've been out in public and surrounded everywhere we go by smiling pregnant women and blissfully tired families with tiny little red scrunchy newborns or adorably fat babies, so many in fact that it's prompted TH to speculate that there surely must be a second baby boom taking place, still...not jealous. I was happy for all those women and the secret joy they must feel at the sight of their swollen stomachs and the sound of their child's cry.
But then, as I wallowed through the cramps of cycle #3, which seemed like adding insult to injury (I have to hurt because of a period I didn't even want???), and we were out with our softball team for dinner after losing our second game in a row (damn I hate losing), and our right fielder is starting to show, and is into her 14th week so she's talking openly about it now, rubbing her belly and making little jokes about her baby, the one she has growing healthily inside her, and laughing about how she told the foreman of the huge new house they are custom building how she's going to be the bitchy pregnant woman giving him hell, and her husband looked like a 15-year-old waiting in line for roller coaster, all smiles and barely contained excitement about what's in store for him...something happened. Something new. I suddenly realized I wasn't happy for them. I didn't want to hear her talk about it anymore. I didn't want to look at her growing bump. I didn't want to hear her joke about feeling "fat" (haha, my legs must be pregnant too, haha -blegh). I didn't want to see their smiles.
I was officially jealous.
As a newbie to this jealousy thing, I have to say it's not a good feeling. We've been friends with this couple for a few years now, years of softball games and Christmas parties and camping. They're nice people. They both work hard. They have cute dogs. They're not assholes or liars or snobs or any other type of people I wouldn't be happy for if something good happened to them. But suddenly, seeing the world through my new green-colored glasses, I started thinking about things another way. I thought about how they've never had to struggle for anything. He's an ex-Olympian who was on While You Were Out. Last year they won the Texadelphia superbowl drawing and got a new 5,000-inch flat screen and a year's supply of pepsi products. She's an ex-collegiate soccer player who doesn't really have to work out at all and she still stays tiny because she's just that girl. They went off birth control one day and got pregnant the next. They've never had to face cancer, or debt, or even the brutal reality of a negative pregnancy test. Suddenly, the world seemed a lot more unfair.
I was a bit amused by my reaction, the way one might be amused by a child stamping his or her foot in response to not getting to eat ice cream for dinner. Amused because those reactions are like passing summer storms in Texas--honest and loud and enthusiastic, but ultimately short lived. But the next day, as I was driving down Mopac, I passed a couple in an SUV. The woman, driving, was mildly pregnant (that cute stage where you say "aw" and want to rub their belly, as opposed to the "super pregnant" stage where you just stare wide-eyed and wonder how the laws of physics continue to allow them to stand upright) and showing her husband a little green-striped, collared onsie, the kind of thing you might see on the baby of a golf-pro. And I suddenly realized that I wasn't happy for them, either. I didn't even know these people or what their circumstances were, and I was immediately, bitterly focusing on why people who are stupid enough to drive on the highway and show off baby clothes at the same time were able to procreate at all, didn't Darwin's law have any real-life applications?
I spent the rest of the day pissed, and after an evening of snapping at TH, eating dinner in mostly silence, watching Serenity while being pissed I was wasting two hours of my life watching Serenity, and taking a hot bath that I didn't even enjoy, I came to the conclusion that while every argument could be made for being jealous of friends and strangers who are having babies, and while it's certainly the easy way to be, I simply don't want to live my life feeling so shitty all the time. Shakespeare warned us to beware the green-eyed monster, and now I know why. It robs you of your peace, of your happiness with your own life and your happiness for others. I lost a good 36 hours of happiness since dinner Wednesday night that I'll never get back, and that sucks.
I don't know what exactly set me off--what it was that flipped my switch from longing for my own to jealousy of others', and I'm not even sure it matters if I ever figure it out. If I have to meditate every day, if I have to read quotes about positive thinking every hour on the hour, if I have to take a complete hiatus from all things baby-related until I can get myself back into my happy, serene, not-jealous world, I'll do it.
Because I have to remember there's more to life than babies, and I'm missing out on it if the only thing I can see is green.
But then, as I wallowed through the cramps of cycle #3, which seemed like adding insult to injury (I have to hurt because of a period I didn't even want???), and we were out with our softball team for dinner after losing our second game in a row (damn I hate losing), and our right fielder is starting to show, and is into her 14th week so she's talking openly about it now, rubbing her belly and making little jokes about her baby, the one she has growing healthily inside her, and laughing about how she told the foreman of the huge new house they are custom building how she's going to be the bitchy pregnant woman giving him hell, and her husband looked like a 15-year-old waiting in line for roller coaster, all smiles and barely contained excitement about what's in store for him...something happened. Something new. I suddenly realized I wasn't happy for them. I didn't want to hear her talk about it anymore. I didn't want to look at her growing bump. I didn't want to hear her joke about feeling "fat" (haha, my legs must be pregnant too, haha -blegh). I didn't want to see their smiles.
I was officially jealous.
As a newbie to this jealousy thing, I have to say it's not a good feeling. We've been friends with this couple for a few years now, years of softball games and Christmas parties and camping. They're nice people. They both work hard. They have cute dogs. They're not assholes or liars or snobs or any other type of people I wouldn't be happy for if something good happened to them. But suddenly, seeing the world through my new green-colored glasses, I started thinking about things another way. I thought about how they've never had to struggle for anything. He's an ex-Olympian who was on While You Were Out. Last year they won the Texadelphia superbowl drawing and got a new 5,000-inch flat screen and a year's supply of pepsi products. She's an ex-collegiate soccer player who doesn't really have to work out at all and she still stays tiny because she's just that girl. They went off birth control one day and got pregnant the next. They've never had to face cancer, or debt, or even the brutal reality of a negative pregnancy test. Suddenly, the world seemed a lot more unfair.
I was a bit amused by my reaction, the way one might be amused by a child stamping his or her foot in response to not getting to eat ice cream for dinner. Amused because those reactions are like passing summer storms in Texas--honest and loud and enthusiastic, but ultimately short lived. But the next day, as I was driving down Mopac, I passed a couple in an SUV. The woman, driving, was mildly pregnant (that cute stage where you say "aw" and want to rub their belly, as opposed to the "super pregnant" stage where you just stare wide-eyed and wonder how the laws of physics continue to allow them to stand upright) and showing her husband a little green-striped, collared onsie, the kind of thing you might see on the baby of a golf-pro. And I suddenly realized that I wasn't happy for them, either. I didn't even know these people or what their circumstances were, and I was immediately, bitterly focusing on why people who are stupid enough to drive on the highway and show off baby clothes at the same time were able to procreate at all, didn't Darwin's law have any real-life applications?
I spent the rest of the day pissed, and after an evening of snapping at TH, eating dinner in mostly silence, watching Serenity while being pissed I was wasting two hours of my life watching Serenity, and taking a hot bath that I didn't even enjoy, I came to the conclusion that while every argument could be made for being jealous of friends and strangers who are having babies, and while it's certainly the easy way to be, I simply don't want to live my life feeling so shitty all the time. Shakespeare warned us to beware the green-eyed monster, and now I know why. It robs you of your peace, of your happiness with your own life and your happiness for others. I lost a good 36 hours of happiness since dinner Wednesday night that I'll never get back, and that sucks.
I don't know what exactly set me off--what it was that flipped my switch from longing for my own to jealousy of others', and I'm not even sure it matters if I ever figure it out. If I have to meditate every day, if I have to read quotes about positive thinking every hour on the hour, if I have to take a complete hiatus from all things baby-related until I can get myself back into my happy, serene, not-jealous world, I'll do it.
Because I have to remember there's more to life than babies, and I'm missing out on it if the only thing I can see is green.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The Audacity of Hope
The power of positive thinking is not, as some would claim, puffy new-age nonsense. The great thinkers, politicians, and leaders of history have espoused the power of the optimistic, determined mindset. Most recently, The Secret has made believers--and skeptics--of many.
I, for one, don't see how you could doubt it.
Science has proven--proven--that energy affects reality. What the Bleep Do We Know!? and The Secret Life of Water both scientifically explore the effects that expectations and attitude--both conveyed through thoughts--have on the outside world. If you haven't seen the documentary or read the book, I highly recommend them. Conversations with God is another series that I found mind blowing and life changing.
But back to the point: I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your thoughts influence your reality. What you focus on is what you draw to you. If you constantly wonder why you can't do something (like get pregnant), all your attention is focusing on the idea that you can't do that thing . . . which, consequently, creates that very reality for you. If, on the other hand, you focus on the reality of something (visualizing being pregnant, holding your child, etc...), you draw that reality to you. For ease, I call that focus--the focusing on the reality of something in your future--hope.
So, believing as I do, that hope and optimism bring about your desired results, I spend 98% of my time hoping--believing--that I am pregnant. I am confident in our timing. I am confident that the stress of my deadlines at work will not affect my cycle. I am confident that TH's soldiers are 100% strong and ready to do their life's mission. I am confident that my body is functioning as it should, releasing healthy eggs on time, controlling my hormone levels appropriately, creating a sustaining environment for TH's sperm. In short, every cycle, I am confident that we were successful. In the 2ww (2 week wait--the average window after a woman ovulates that she has to wait before a.) she starts her period or b.) she gets a BFP), I don't drink caffeine or alcohol. I don't eat hot dogs or sushi. I visualize my pregnant belly. I visualize our nursery. I visualize TH playing with our child. I am confident. I am hopeful.
And then I take a test and it comes back negative. And it crushes me. That's how I spend the other 2% of my time. Deflated and glaring at happy pregnant women as I stuff my face with Dr. Pepper and cold lunch meat. My hope lifts me up, supports me, steadies me as I float, wavering, on the unsteady wind of uncertainty. And then the reality of the single line brings me crashing down. If I hadn't gotten my hopes up, if I had not been confident, certain, optimistic, the reality of my period, of my undeniably not-pregnant-ness, wouldn't hurt so much. It wouldn't be such a shock. It wouldn't drive the air out of my world.
That's the catch: hope sustains me, and hope makes the fall that much harder.
What's the answer? Lose hope? Start to "know" every cycle that you weren't successful, that you'll undoubtedly start your period right on time (or maybe a few cruel days late), that it's going to take you a long time to get pregnant, that getting pregnant is hard, that only others are meant to be pregnant but not you, that there's something wrong, that it's not working, that it's not possible?
That's not an option for me. Believing those things, in my mind, will create that reality, and that's not the reality I choose for myself.
Webster's defines audacity as "daring boldness." Princeton defines it as "fearless daring." So I choose to be daring and fearless and bold. I choose to chance the pain of the fall between the heights of my hope and the lows of the reality I might face...the reality I have faced twice now...the reality of last month's BFN and this month's AF on-time arrival.
As I face the third cycle of our TTC journey, I face it with hope. And optimism. And certainty.
I, for one, don't see how you could doubt it.
Science has proven--proven--that energy affects reality. What the Bleep Do We Know!? and The Secret Life of Water both scientifically explore the effects that expectations and attitude--both conveyed through thoughts--have on the outside world. If you haven't seen the documentary or read the book, I highly recommend them. Conversations with God is another series that I found mind blowing and life changing.
But back to the point: I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your thoughts influence your reality. What you focus on is what you draw to you. If you constantly wonder why you can't do something (like get pregnant), all your attention is focusing on the idea that you can't do that thing . . . which, consequently, creates that very reality for you. If, on the other hand, you focus on the reality of something (visualizing being pregnant, holding your child, etc...), you draw that reality to you. For ease, I call that focus--the focusing on the reality of something in your future--hope.
So, believing as I do, that hope and optimism bring about your desired results, I spend 98% of my time hoping--believing--that I am pregnant. I am confident in our timing. I am confident that the stress of my deadlines at work will not affect my cycle. I am confident that TH's soldiers are 100% strong and ready to do their life's mission. I am confident that my body is functioning as it should, releasing healthy eggs on time, controlling my hormone levels appropriately, creating a sustaining environment for TH's sperm. In short, every cycle, I am confident that we were successful. In the 2ww (2 week wait--the average window after a woman ovulates that she has to wait before a.) she starts her period or b.) she gets a BFP), I don't drink caffeine or alcohol. I don't eat hot dogs or sushi. I visualize my pregnant belly. I visualize our nursery. I visualize TH playing with our child. I am confident. I am hopeful.
And then I take a test and it comes back negative. And it crushes me. That's how I spend the other 2% of my time. Deflated and glaring at happy pregnant women as I stuff my face with Dr. Pepper and cold lunch meat. My hope lifts me up, supports me, steadies me as I float, wavering, on the unsteady wind of uncertainty. And then the reality of the single line brings me crashing down. If I hadn't gotten my hopes up, if I had not been confident, certain, optimistic, the reality of my period, of my undeniably not-pregnant-ness, wouldn't hurt so much. It wouldn't be such a shock. It wouldn't drive the air out of my world.
That's the catch: hope sustains me, and hope makes the fall that much harder.
What's the answer? Lose hope? Start to "know" every cycle that you weren't successful, that you'll undoubtedly start your period right on time (or maybe a few cruel days late), that it's going to take you a long time to get pregnant, that getting pregnant is hard, that only others are meant to be pregnant but not you, that there's something wrong, that it's not working, that it's not possible?
That's not an option for me. Believing those things, in my mind, will create that reality, and that's not the reality I choose for myself.
Webster's defines audacity as "daring boldness." Princeton defines it as "fearless daring." So I choose to be daring and fearless and bold. I choose to chance the pain of the fall between the heights of my hope and the lows of the reality I might face...the reality I have faced twice now...the reality of last month's BFN and this month's AF on-time arrival.
As I face the third cycle of our TTC journey, I face it with hope. And optimism. And certainty.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Passing Muster
On April 26, 1986, at 1:23 in the morning, the nuclear power plant at Chernobyl (in the former USSR) experienced a cataclysmic failure, resulting in an explosion and the massive spread of radioactive particles into the environment (the radioactive fallout of the Chernobyl disaster was thirty to forty times more than the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima). The Russian government initially kept news of the disaster quiet; they didn't even evacuate the town where the reactor was located until more than 24 hours after the event. That day, the 26th of April, was a national holiday for the country, and 68 miles to the south, TH, then a 6-year-old boy, was at a parade with his family in his hometown of Kiev. He remembers seeing strange black clouds. Luckily for TH and all the residents of Kiev, the winds blew most of the radioactive fallout to the north. However, the memory of those clouds--and the implications they contained--have stuck with TH the rest of his life.
We knew we would want to have an analysis done when we were ready to have kids to make sure that TH's soldiers were not affected by the Chernobyl disaster. I figured we were just being overly cautious (or paranoid) and that his doctor would listen to TH's concerns and then gently explain them away, telling us we had nothing to be worried about. So TH finally set up an appointment last week, only an initial consultation, and went to have "the talk." To my surprise, and fear, the doctor didn't say that we were being overly cautious or paranoid or that we had nothing to be worried about. He basically said, "Yeah, you should probably get checked out." TH came home with a plastic cup with a screw-on top, a pamphlet full of information about motility and morphology, and 23 years worth of worry confirmed.
The process seemed straightforward enough. From the moment of "collection," you had 1 hour to get the sample to the lab. And you had to get it there by 10 a.m.
Now, if this were me, being the kind of person who gets to the airport more than an hour before my flight, the kind of person who leaves 45 minutes for a 30 minute drive, I would have been at the lab 30 minutes after it opened (I wouldn't want to seem TOO eager), not chancing screwing up the process by unaccounted for traffic...or having trouble finding the lab.... But it wasn't me, and TH insisted that "he had it" and that I didn't have to worry about anything.
At 10:30 a.m. on Friday of last week, I got the call that the package had been delivered and all was well. As I found out later, here's how it actually went down:
9:15 a.m. On his way out the door, TH wraps the plastic cup in a bright yellow grocery bag (a good, inconspicuous choice) and heads out (we live about 25 minutes from the lab).
9:20 a.m. TH realizes he never looked up directions to the lab, so he'll have to just go from the address on the pamphlet. *Note: in the 11 years of living in this city, he still hasn't truly learned his way around. TH chooses the wrong way.
9:40 a.m. TH gets to "somewhere near the lab" and stops to ask for directions. They point him in the right direction.
9:50 a.m. TH gets to lab #1 and tells them he's there to drop off his sample. The receptionist is taken a bit aback, and then laughs and tells him there's another lab up the street that does that, adding, "Oooo boy, you'd better hurry!"
9:52 a.m. TH is running up the street, back to his parked car, flip-flops flipping and flopping loudly, bright yellow bag flipping and flopping wildly, TH wondering if all the flipping and flopping is going to affect his guys' motility and morphology.
9:57 a.m. TH parks his car in a no-parking zone in front of the correct lab, leaves on his hazards, and runs inside. The receptionist asks him to sign in and wait. It is now past 10, it has been more than an hour, and he's in a no-parking zone.
10:15 a.m. They take TH's sample, TH's car is still there, and there's no ticket.
So, ultimately, not the way I would have done it, but like he said when he called me, all turned out well.
Now we just wait and keep our fingers crossed that TH's soldiers pass muster.
We knew we would want to have an analysis done when we were ready to have kids to make sure that TH's soldiers were not affected by the Chernobyl disaster. I figured we were just being overly cautious (or paranoid) and that his doctor would listen to TH's concerns and then gently explain them away, telling us we had nothing to be worried about. So TH finally set up an appointment last week, only an initial consultation, and went to have "the talk." To my surprise, and fear, the doctor didn't say that we were being overly cautious or paranoid or that we had nothing to be worried about. He basically said, "Yeah, you should probably get checked out." TH came home with a plastic cup with a screw-on top, a pamphlet full of information about motility and morphology, and 23 years worth of worry confirmed.
The process seemed straightforward enough. From the moment of "collection," you had 1 hour to get the sample to the lab. And you had to get it there by 10 a.m.
Now, if this were me, being the kind of person who gets to the airport more than an hour before my flight, the kind of person who leaves 45 minutes for a 30 minute drive, I would have been at the lab 30 minutes after it opened (I wouldn't want to seem TOO eager), not chancing screwing up the process by unaccounted for traffic...or having trouble finding the lab.... But it wasn't me, and TH insisted that "he had it" and that I didn't have to worry about anything.
At 10:30 a.m. on Friday of last week, I got the call that the package had been delivered and all was well. As I found out later, here's how it actually went down:
9:15 a.m. On his way out the door, TH wraps the plastic cup in a bright yellow grocery bag (a good, inconspicuous choice) and heads out (we live about 25 minutes from the lab).
9:20 a.m. TH realizes he never looked up directions to the lab, so he'll have to just go from the address on the pamphlet. *Note: in the 11 years of living in this city, he still hasn't truly learned his way around. TH chooses the wrong way.
9:40 a.m. TH gets to "somewhere near the lab" and stops to ask for directions. They point him in the right direction.
9:50 a.m. TH gets to lab #1 and tells them he's there to drop off his sample. The receptionist is taken a bit aback, and then laughs and tells him there's another lab up the street that does that, adding, "Oooo boy, you'd better hurry!"
9:52 a.m. TH is running up the street, back to his parked car, flip-flops flipping and flopping loudly, bright yellow bag flipping and flopping wildly, TH wondering if all the flipping and flopping is going to affect his guys' motility and morphology.
9:57 a.m. TH parks his car in a no-parking zone in front of the correct lab, leaves on his hazards, and runs inside. The receptionist asks him to sign in and wait. It is now past 10, it has been more than an hour, and he's in a no-parking zone.
10:15 a.m. They take TH's sample, TH's car is still there, and there's no ticket.
So, ultimately, not the way I would have done it, but like he said when he called me, all turned out well.
Now we just wait and keep our fingers crossed that TH's soldiers pass muster.
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