TH is pretty much all over this TTC stuff. He knows about my cycle, what the temp things mean, etc. But sometimes he just catches me off guard with his innocence (or naivety).
Example 1: After my pre-conception doctor's visit.
Me: yeah, I was expecting her to tell me a lot more, but she basically just said to take prenatal vitamins and come back when I miss my period.
TH: (blank stare).........why would you miss your period?
Example 2: This morning, telling him about giant temp fall and rise from yesterday/today
Me: Well, there is such a thing as an "implantation dip."
TH: (blank stare)
Me: You know, implantation
TH: (blank stare)
Me: (circling hands around uterus) you know, the fertilized egg....
TH: (blank stare)
Me: ....IMPLANTING...in my UTERUS
TH: .....why would it do that?
Example 3: Breakfast this morning
TH: I'll just be happy when you're pregnant and you can just relax and stop worrying about anything.
I let him hold onto his innocence on that last one. No need to burst THAT bubble just yet.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Let Me Count the Ways...
...that my thermometer tortures me.
1. I have dreams about temping. Sometimes it's that my thermometer is broken, explaining why I got such a shitty temp the day before. Sometimes it's that my thermometer just keeps reading and reading and never reaches a decision (and causes my tooth to fall out...but that may be just dream randomness). Sometimes it's just that I dream that it's morning and I wake up to temp and get ready, and I dream that three or four times before it's actually morning and time to wake up to temp for real and get ready. Anyway you look at it, I'm losing restful sleep.
2. I've convinced myself that if my mouth falls open while temping, my temp will be lower, so I purse my lips together tightly. That one's not really so bad...just annoying. Makes it harder to go back to sleep if I have to concentrate to intently.
3. My mood is directly related to my temperature. If my temp is up, I'm a happy girl. If the freaking bottom drops out of my temp like it did yesterday, it's probably not a good day to whine about anything in front of me or make lame excuses about work (sorry design girl on our team). Luckily my job is all about rules--there are specific grammar rules to follow. Language is something I can control. There is a beauty and simplicity in that, and it was so nice to bury myself in that world yesterday and escape this one where I felt like nothing was specific or beautiful or simple or under control.
4. Why, oh why would you have an almost 1.5 degree drop in the middle of my 2ww??? An implantation "dip" is supposed to be .3 degrees or more, leading me to believe I must be growing quadruplets in there if that was really an ID.
5. Quit messing with me, please. You went back up today. I had started to come to terms with another disappointment this month. I had started my grieving process. And then you had to go and go back up this morning and now I have such mixed feelings of lingering disappointment from yesterday and stubborn hope from today.
I didn't buy any tests yesterday because I figured I was out for this month (I still think I probably am). I guess if temps stay up for the next two days I'll try Sunday morning while we're still in Dallas.
I'm just praying for my thermometer to be nice to me until then.
1. I have dreams about temping. Sometimes it's that my thermometer is broken, explaining why I got such a shitty temp the day before. Sometimes it's that my thermometer just keeps reading and reading and never reaches a decision (and causes my tooth to fall out...but that may be just dream randomness). Sometimes it's just that I dream that it's morning and I wake up to temp and get ready, and I dream that three or four times before it's actually morning and time to wake up to temp for real and get ready. Anyway you look at it, I'm losing restful sleep.
2. I've convinced myself that if my mouth falls open while temping, my temp will be lower, so I purse my lips together tightly. That one's not really so bad...just annoying. Makes it harder to go back to sleep if I have to concentrate to intently.
3. My mood is directly related to my temperature. If my temp is up, I'm a happy girl. If the freaking bottom drops out of my temp like it did yesterday, it's probably not a good day to whine about anything in front of me or make lame excuses about work (sorry design girl on our team). Luckily my job is all about rules--there are specific grammar rules to follow. Language is something I can control. There is a beauty and simplicity in that, and it was so nice to bury myself in that world yesterday and escape this one where I felt like nothing was specific or beautiful or simple or under control.
4. Why, oh why would you have an almost 1.5 degree drop in the middle of my 2ww??? An implantation "dip" is supposed to be .3 degrees or more, leading me to believe I must be growing quadruplets in there if that was really an ID.
5. Quit messing with me, please. You went back up today. I had started to come to terms with another disappointment this month. I had started my grieving process. And then you had to go and go back up this morning and now I have such mixed feelings of lingering disappointment from yesterday and stubborn hope from today.
I didn't buy any tests yesterday because I figured I was out for this month (I still think I probably am). I guess if temps stay up for the next two days I'll try Sunday morning while we're still in Dallas.
I'm just praying for my thermometer to be nice to me until then.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Waiting
When TH and his family left the former USSR as refugees, they went to Austria first, and then an international aid organization sent them to Italy. They lived in Italy for six months with a host family who took them in and gave them a room to sleep in. My FIL painted pictures of the scenery and sold them for pennies. TH washed car windshields on street corners to help make ends meet.
Once a week, they, along with all the other refugee families placed in the small beach town, would go to a park and wait. Once a week, a representative from the international aid organization would arrive and announce to the waiting crowd the name of a family, or two, or more, or none. The families whose names were announced had been selected, finally, after all their struggles, to start their new lives in their new countries. A spot had opened up somewhere, in some state, or in Canada, a spot with a local aid organization that said they had room for one to look after and get situated, and that family would cheer and cry and rush home and pack and leave that small town on the coast of the Mediterranean, that town that had served as a beautiful limbo, that waiting town. And the rest of the families would slowly turn and slowly disperse, back to their borrowed rooms to face another week of window washing, or painting, or house cleaning, or whatever it was they had found they could do to survive.
I've often wondered about those gatherings, about the emotions coursing through the veins of the weary mothers and fathers and children who had no home, who had only the hope of a home, the vague notion that somewhere, at sometime, things would change. They lived their lives in one-week increments, and on the day of the gathering, the tension and fear and hope and anticipation of finally, after all that waiting, hearing their name called must have been overwhelming. And yet when I picture it, I picture a group of tired, but calm, people. Imagine the disparity between the violent rush of emotions on the inside, that surely was so powerful the people should have been shaking, and the stoic outward appearance. And it all hinged on a single moment, a single word from the aid worker.
Imagine the disparity afterwards, when one family's lives are changed forever, and the rest of the crowd has to return to their waiting. Did they smile for the ones whose names were announced? Did they have it left in them to feel happy for them? Did their own disappointment over it not being "their" week fill them with a disappointment so strong and bitter they could no longer feel happy for others? Or were they so practiced at their stoic approach, at being rocks to weather the storms of their lives, so used to living behind their stone walls, walls that protected them from so many harsh realities and cruel disappointments that many on the planet will never have to face, that they no longer felt sorry for themselves nor happy for others. It just was. Another reality they had to face without complaint, because complaining didn't sell paintings or wash windows or feed children.
Who among us can really understand what these families went through, the ones who had to wait? There were families who arrived and were called away the next week, because it wasn't a first-come-first-served process--it all depended on where you had applied to go and which location had a spot open up. Those families, the ones who lucked into asking for the very location that had room, never understood, could never understand, the agony of the waiting. They never knew what it was like to have that agony become familiar to you, to become an expert at balancing the hope with the fear. They had faced other hardships in life, other disappointments, but of this they only knew the hope and excitement they felt at that first gathering, and the joy they felt when they heard their names. They never faced the wait. They never had to attend the gathering, week after week, forcing themselves to believe that eventually it would be their turn, that surely this week was their week.
And, of course, on the other end, who could ever understand the families whose names never got called? The families who ran out of money, or who had a child fall ill, making them temporarily ineligible for relocation to their new country, or who eventually just lost hope and settled there, there in the waiting town.
It is the waiting that is the challenge. The finding things to focus on between the gatherings. The finding a way to mitigate the disappointment you feel every time you don't hear your name called, and the pain and the anger at knowing you're going to have to wait again, and the fear that you live with while waiting, fear that next week won't be your week either, and ultimately the hope that begins to blossom against all odds, against all historical precedent, hope that next week will be your week. The waiting for it to be your week.
It is the waiting that is the challenge.
Once a week, they, along with all the other refugee families placed in the small beach town, would go to a park and wait. Once a week, a representative from the international aid organization would arrive and announce to the waiting crowd the name of a family, or two, or more, or none. The families whose names were announced had been selected, finally, after all their struggles, to start their new lives in their new countries. A spot had opened up somewhere, in some state, or in Canada, a spot with a local aid organization that said they had room for one to look after and get situated, and that family would cheer and cry and rush home and pack and leave that small town on the coast of the Mediterranean, that town that had served as a beautiful limbo, that waiting town. And the rest of the families would slowly turn and slowly disperse, back to their borrowed rooms to face another week of window washing, or painting, or house cleaning, or whatever it was they had found they could do to survive.
I've often wondered about those gatherings, about the emotions coursing through the veins of the weary mothers and fathers and children who had no home, who had only the hope of a home, the vague notion that somewhere, at sometime, things would change. They lived their lives in one-week increments, and on the day of the gathering, the tension and fear and hope and anticipation of finally, after all that waiting, hearing their name called must have been overwhelming. And yet when I picture it, I picture a group of tired, but calm, people. Imagine the disparity between the violent rush of emotions on the inside, that surely was so powerful the people should have been shaking, and the stoic outward appearance. And it all hinged on a single moment, a single word from the aid worker.
Imagine the disparity afterwards, when one family's lives are changed forever, and the rest of the crowd has to return to their waiting. Did they smile for the ones whose names were announced? Did they have it left in them to feel happy for them? Did their own disappointment over it not being "their" week fill them with a disappointment so strong and bitter they could no longer feel happy for others? Or were they so practiced at their stoic approach, at being rocks to weather the storms of their lives, so used to living behind their stone walls, walls that protected them from so many harsh realities and cruel disappointments that many on the planet will never have to face, that they no longer felt sorry for themselves nor happy for others. It just was. Another reality they had to face without complaint, because complaining didn't sell paintings or wash windows or feed children.
Who among us can really understand what these families went through, the ones who had to wait? There were families who arrived and were called away the next week, because it wasn't a first-come-first-served process--it all depended on where you had applied to go and which location had a spot open up. Those families, the ones who lucked into asking for the very location that had room, never understood, could never understand, the agony of the waiting. They never knew what it was like to have that agony become familiar to you, to become an expert at balancing the hope with the fear. They had faced other hardships in life, other disappointments, but of this they only knew the hope and excitement they felt at that first gathering, and the joy they felt when they heard their names. They never faced the wait. They never had to attend the gathering, week after week, forcing themselves to believe that eventually it would be their turn, that surely this week was their week.
And, of course, on the other end, who could ever understand the families whose names never got called? The families who ran out of money, or who had a child fall ill, making them temporarily ineligible for relocation to their new country, or who eventually just lost hope and settled there, there in the waiting town.
It is the waiting that is the challenge. The finding things to focus on between the gatherings. The finding a way to mitigate the disappointment you feel every time you don't hear your name called, and the pain and the anger at knowing you're going to have to wait again, and the fear that you live with while waiting, fear that next week won't be your week either, and ultimately the hope that begins to blossom against all odds, against all historical precedent, hope that next week will be your week. The waiting for it to be your week.
It is the waiting that is the challenge.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Enjoying It While It Lasts
So today I am officially 3 DPO. We had perfect timing this month. My temps are looking beautiful. And I'm not obsessing.
Wait, what? NOT obsessing?? What gives?
I finally decided it was too hard. Too hard to think about it constantly. Too hard to be jealous of others all the time. Too hard to feel bad. Too hard to be constantly stressed about it. Just too hard. It took a lot of energy to do all those things. I was exhausted all the time...not just physically, but mind-tired.
I posted last week about my neutrality this cycle. I attributed it to fear, but I can honestly say I'm not scared right now, after the two positive OPKs, after my beautiful temp spike. I'm not scared about getting another BFN. I just am not thinking about it. Maybe it will happen. Maybe it won't. Honestly at this point I'm expecting the "won't." If we did everything the same this round, isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome? But that's not to say I'm pessimistic, either. I'm just...neutral.
It's still hard to hear that someone got pregnant by accident. Or to have all conversation around me centered on pregnancies. But it doesn't make me upset like it did last month. Maybe this is just a defense mechanism. It seems to be cyclical--I was super excited (and let down) the first month, much less so the second month, super excited (and let down) the third month, much less so this month. But, whatever the reason, it's a welcome break, this normalcy. I didn't even double check my chart today after entering my temp. Ok, maybe I did once. But not the usual three or four (or five ::insert ashamed face::) times.
So, I'll enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe (probably...most likely...of course) at the end of next week, when it's go time, time to test, time to find out again yay or nay, maybe then I'll obsess. But right now, the calmness of it all is so nice.
But, given my lack of thoughts on the subject, there's not really much to offer you here, on this blog. So I thought I'd leave you with an oldie but a goodie:
Several months ago, there was a post on the boards about the things you say (before you're a parent) that you'll never do as a parent. It had a ton of really interesting responses, so I brought it up in conversation with TH.
I asked him "What is one thing you will never do as a parent?" I was expecting something deep and meaningful, about trust, or responsibility, or respect.
His response?
"I will never tell my kids they are ugly or stupid."
*cough, cough* Gee, honey, I'm so glad we got that settled before we have kids!
Wait, what? NOT obsessing?? What gives?
I finally decided it was too hard. Too hard to think about it constantly. Too hard to be jealous of others all the time. Too hard to feel bad. Too hard to be constantly stressed about it. Just too hard. It took a lot of energy to do all those things. I was exhausted all the time...not just physically, but mind-tired.
I posted last week about my neutrality this cycle. I attributed it to fear, but I can honestly say I'm not scared right now, after the two positive OPKs, after my beautiful temp spike. I'm not scared about getting another BFN. I just am not thinking about it. Maybe it will happen. Maybe it won't. Honestly at this point I'm expecting the "won't." If we did everything the same this round, isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome? But that's not to say I'm pessimistic, either. I'm just...neutral.
It's still hard to hear that someone got pregnant by accident. Or to have all conversation around me centered on pregnancies. But it doesn't make me upset like it did last month. Maybe this is just a defense mechanism. It seems to be cyclical--I was super excited (and let down) the first month, much less so the second month, super excited (and let down) the third month, much less so this month. But, whatever the reason, it's a welcome break, this normalcy. I didn't even double check my chart today after entering my temp. Ok, maybe I did once. But not the usual three or four (or five ::insert ashamed face::) times.
So, I'll enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe (probably...most likely...of course) at the end of next week, when it's go time, time to test, time to find out again yay or nay, maybe then I'll obsess. But right now, the calmness of it all is so nice.
But, given my lack of thoughts on the subject, there's not really much to offer you here, on this blog. So I thought I'd leave you with an oldie but a goodie:
Several months ago, there was a post on the boards about the things you say (before you're a parent) that you'll never do as a parent. It had a ton of really interesting responses, so I brought it up in conversation with TH.
I asked him "What is one thing you will never do as a parent?" I was expecting something deep and meaningful, about trust, or responsibility, or respect.
His response?
"I will never tell my kids they are ugly or stupid."
*cough, cough* Gee, honey, I'm so glad we got that settled before we have kids!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
:-)
My first smiley face!! I was so excited. Sure there was no reason to believe I wasn't ovulating before, but having digital verification is so gratifying.Here's to hoping the rest of this cycle is "normal" (i.e., no double positives, no moving of my O date by FF)...and that it's my last one for a while.
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Return of the Spot
So we were at the follow-up appointment for TH's blood work this morning (100% normal! Yay! AND his doctor said if nothing happens by 6 months, to come back. His words: "We used to say give it a year, but we are being more proactive now." I could have hugged him! Yay for proactivity!), and I noticed one longer nail on TH's hand. This is highly unusual, as TH is a compulsive nail biter when he's stressed. And given the fact that he spent last weekend at his mother's, all his nails should be gone.
I looked closer, and sure enough, it was the one nail with the big calcium deposit...the white spot that, when it reaches the edge of his nail, according to TH's superstition, will signal our successful conception.
Let me make this perfectly clear to everyone: he hasn't cut that nail so that he makes sure the white spot hasn't officially reached the edge of his nail yet. He was convinced the spot meant it would happen last month, and since it didn't, it's like he's giving his spot, and his belief in the good luck it portends, one last chance to be significant.
Rather than looking sheepish at his trading trimmed nails for superstition, he looked at me and excitedly told me his plan: he's going to cut the nail next week, which will cut approximately half-way through the spot. That's when I should be O'ing, and to TH this is going to "open the present." Then, 2 weeks later, at the end of the 2ww when we should find out again, one way or another, he's going to cut it all the way off so that we can "receive the gift!" He was so excited...it's like he figured out the trick about why it didn't happen last month...he solved the riddle, and now he's ready again.
I'm so glad I have such a fun, funny, enthusiastic, spirited, superstitious, silly, strong husband with me on this journey! He makes every day better.
I looked closer, and sure enough, it was the one nail with the big calcium deposit...the white spot that, when it reaches the edge of his nail, according to TH's superstition, will signal our successful conception.
Let me make this perfectly clear to everyone: he hasn't cut that nail so that he makes sure the white spot hasn't officially reached the edge of his nail yet. He was convinced the spot meant it would happen last month, and since it didn't, it's like he's giving his spot, and his belief in the good luck it portends, one last chance to be significant.
Rather than looking sheepish at his trading trimmed nails for superstition, he looked at me and excitedly told me his plan: he's going to cut the nail next week, which will cut approximately half-way through the spot. That's when I should be O'ing, and to TH this is going to "open the present." Then, 2 weeks later, at the end of the 2ww when we should find out again, one way or another, he's going to cut it all the way off so that we can "receive the gift!" He was so excited...it's like he figured out the trick about why it didn't happen last month...he solved the riddle, and now he's ready again.
I'm so glad I have such a fun, funny, enthusiastic, spirited, superstitious, silly, strong husband with me on this journey! He makes every day better.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Scaredy Cat
One of our cats is a bold, beautiful, confident, often disdainful, bit of a punk-ass cat. He knows what he wants. He knows what he likes. He does it. He lets us know when he's unhappy. He's, well, confident.
Our other cat is none of those things. He's quiet, sweet, chubby, friendly, eager to please. He follows us around the house, just wanting to be near. He runs from loud noises, bags, balls, and most everything else that moves. When he's in trouble, he doesn't run; he crouches, cowers, and twitches his back. Poor baby.
I'm on CD 13. This should be when I start to get wound up, when I start to get excited. When I get hopeful. Sometime in the next 5-7 days, I should ovulate, and we should make a baby. Nothing is more exciting than that, right? My sadness is gone. Last cycle is behind us. Nothing left to do but look forward and make plans. Hopeful plans.
But the thing is, I haven't been thinking about it. I haven't been making plans. Not hopeful. Not excited. Just...neutral. And I'm not generally a neutral person. I haven't wanted to talk about things. Haven't wanted to think about things. Haven't wanted to post. Haven't been visiting the baby boards. Have really been avoiding the entire issue.
I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me at lunch today. Am I finally just chilling the f--- out? Am I finally relaxing, not worrying about when it's going to happen, letting go, letting God, and all that? The thing is, if that were the case, I would be feeling, well, relaxed. Put at ease. And I'm not. I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach when I think about it, which, I realize, is probably why I'm not thinking about it so much.
What I finally realized is that I'm feeling scared. I'm scared that it's not working. I'm scared that we'll fail again. I'm scared that there's something wrong with us, that we're part of what makes up the percentage of the population that needs medical help to get pregnant. I'm scared of the pain that comes with each month's AF--not the physical pain, but the much worse emotional pain, the pain my heart feels when it whimpers with let down, with disappointment. I'm scared of becoming bitter. I'm scared of becoming angry. I'm scared of our TTC journey changing us, stealing our happiness and our innocence and our blithe approach to life. I'm scared of failing again and again and again.
We are now four months into our journey. Our lives should have been changed by now. We should be painting our nursery and telling our families and worrying about what I eat and laughing at not fitting into my clothes anymore and every night TH should be kissing my belly gently and telling his child, our child, how loved he/she is. And every month that our lives didn't change, every month when I started my period right on time, just like I have for the last 15 years, it hurt.
And now I'm scared of that hurt. I'm like Pavlov's dogs, gradually being trained to a stimulus. The hurt comes from the hope of trying to make a baby, so to avoid that hurt, avoid that hope. I'm like our sweet, chubby, twitchy cat, who cowers on the ground, trying to hide from the punishment.
And I know, I KNOW it hasn't been that long, and that this is normal for most people, and that it will happen for us, and that you have to stay positive and think positive and create a positive reality with your thoughts and attract positive things with your energy and visualize your goal happening, and be thankful, even when you don't have that thing yet, be thankful as if you did. And I know my stress now can adversely affect the very thing we are trying to get, that my attitude and approach can make or break this.
While my head knows all that, my heart is cowering. twitching. hiding. And I'm not confident. I'm scared.
So I think I'll just stay crouched for now. Maybe after next week, when I realize our window has passed and now there is really nothing left to do but hope, maybe then I'll feel free from the pressure of getting it right. And I'll get back on the boards, and I'll start talking about it again, and my productivity at work will plummet as I become less and less capable of thinking of anything else.
But for now, I'll stay down here. Me and my twitchy cat.
Our other cat is none of those things. He's quiet, sweet, chubby, friendly, eager to please. He follows us around the house, just wanting to be near. He runs from loud noises, bags, balls, and most everything else that moves. When he's in trouble, he doesn't run; he crouches, cowers, and twitches his back. Poor baby.
I'm on CD 13. This should be when I start to get wound up, when I start to get excited. When I get hopeful. Sometime in the next 5-7 days, I should ovulate, and we should make a baby. Nothing is more exciting than that, right? My sadness is gone. Last cycle is behind us. Nothing left to do but look forward and make plans. Hopeful plans.
But the thing is, I haven't been thinking about it. I haven't been making plans. Not hopeful. Not excited. Just...neutral. And I'm not generally a neutral person. I haven't wanted to talk about things. Haven't wanted to think about things. Haven't wanted to post. Haven't been visiting the baby boards. Have really been avoiding the entire issue.
I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me at lunch today. Am I finally just chilling the f--- out? Am I finally relaxing, not worrying about when it's going to happen, letting go, letting God, and all that? The thing is, if that were the case, I would be feeling, well, relaxed. Put at ease. And I'm not. I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach when I think about it, which, I realize, is probably why I'm not thinking about it so much.
What I finally realized is that I'm feeling scared. I'm scared that it's not working. I'm scared that we'll fail again. I'm scared that there's something wrong with us, that we're part of what makes up the percentage of the population that needs medical help to get pregnant. I'm scared of the pain that comes with each month's AF--not the physical pain, but the much worse emotional pain, the pain my heart feels when it whimpers with let down, with disappointment. I'm scared of becoming bitter. I'm scared of becoming angry. I'm scared of our TTC journey changing us, stealing our happiness and our innocence and our blithe approach to life. I'm scared of failing again and again and again.
We are now four months into our journey. Our lives should have been changed by now. We should be painting our nursery and telling our families and worrying about what I eat and laughing at not fitting into my clothes anymore and every night TH should be kissing my belly gently and telling his child, our child, how loved he/she is. And every month that our lives didn't change, every month when I started my period right on time, just like I have for the last 15 years, it hurt.
And now I'm scared of that hurt. I'm like Pavlov's dogs, gradually being trained to a stimulus. The hurt comes from the hope of trying to make a baby, so to avoid that hurt, avoid that hope. I'm like our sweet, chubby, twitchy cat, who cowers on the ground, trying to hide from the punishment.
And I know, I KNOW it hasn't been that long, and that this is normal for most people, and that it will happen for us, and that you have to stay positive and think positive and create a positive reality with your thoughts and attract positive things with your energy and visualize your goal happening, and be thankful, even when you don't have that thing yet, be thankful as if you did. And I know my stress now can adversely affect the very thing we are trying to get, that my attitude and approach can make or break this.
While my head knows all that, my heart is cowering. twitching. hiding. And I'm not confident. I'm scared.
So I think I'll just stay crouched for now. Maybe after next week, when I realize our window has passed and now there is really nothing left to do but hope, maybe then I'll feel free from the pressure of getting it right. And I'll get back on the boards, and I'll start talking about it again, and my productivity at work will plummet as I become less and less capable of thinking of anything else.
But for now, I'll stay down here. Me and my twitchy cat.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Weekend One-Liners
The best one-liners from this weekend (you can see why TH and I are constantly laughing):
TH: Babies are fine china. They aren't tupperware or paper plates.
AND
Me: Your sperm production isn't like movies on demand, it's like cable.
TH: Babies are fine china. They aren't tupperware or paper plates.
AND
Me: Your sperm production isn't like movies on demand, it's like cable.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Exercise = Control; Control = Sanity
I got back on my bike this morning.
It's been three months since I've gone for a ride. Which, on the one hand, isn't that shocking considering I have no one up here to ride with, and motivating yourself to go on a long bike ride by yourself is a lot harder than motivating yourself to sleep in and snuggle with your husband. On the other hand, it is shocking. Five months ago a 30-mile bike ride was my "recovery ride." Five months ago I would spend three to four to five hours out on Saturday with my team, riding until I was shaking, with just enough strength left at the end to feel just a little bit like a bad-ass.
At the end of my training, training that had consumed my free time and my mind space, training that had dominated six months of my life, training that was ultimately one step crazier than I actually am, I had completed a half-ironman. I had reached the pinnacle of my athletic career. I had closed the first major chapter of my life--young and athletic and driven--with a grand finale worthy of the years that had led up to it. I was ready to turn the page and start the next chapter: motherhood. Not that I suddenly wasn't young or athletic or driven any more...I just knew that as a mother, you can't devote yourself to your own selfish pursuits the same way you could when you had only yourself to worry about. And I was ready for that. I faced my workout-free future with glee.
I didn't really worry about not working out all summer. I felt like I deserved my break from training, and we were going to try to get pregnant in July, so why continue to bust my ass when I was just going to get blissfully plump? Because of a change in credit cards and the woefully inept bookkeeping department at my gym, my membership lapsed. I let it go. Because of the plantar's fasciitis in both of my feet, I stopped running and walking, trying to give my body a chance to fully recover from the beating I had put it through.
Only here we are, October, with no baby belly and a closet becoming more and more full clothes that don't really fit. Uh oh.
But there was more to this morning's bike ride than a need to be physically fit. All my life I've been in athletics. All my life, I've been involved in a pursuit where your own input directly relates to the output. In other words, the more you put in, the more results you see--you get faster or leaner or better. It is a world of control. If you exert a little more concentration or effort, you can lift the heavier weight, you can get up the hill a little faster, you can get to the finish line a little quicker.
But now I find myself involved in a pursuit where effort has nothing to do with outcome. NOTHING. It doesn't matter how knowledgeable you are about your body and your cycles, how relaxed you are, how much fun you have with it, what vitamins you take, if you chart, if you know when you ovulate, if you time sex correctly, if you moderate you diet, nothing. None of it matters. Or, at least, none of it has mattered so far. I feel like I've devoted my full effort to getting pregnant, and I have nothing to show for it. I have come to the realization that there's NOTHING I can do to actually affect any kind of success in this department.
And it is driving. me. crazy.
I am a 100%-er. Whatever my current goal is, I go for it with everything I have. Five months ago, I was going for the half-ironman with everything I had. I couldn't think about babies when doing hill repeats--if I had, I would have worried about the stress I was putting on my body, how my extreme efforts would adversely affect the baby-friendly environment I needed to turn my body into. Then I switched completely to baby making. I couldn't worry about working out when trying to make a baby. What if I bounce the little fertilized egg around so much it can't implant?
I haven't yet figured out how to devote 50% to each. But that's my new goal. Figure out how to temper fitness goals with baby goals. Because I have to have something in my life I can control.
So I got back on my bike this morning because I owe it to my body, but also because I owe it to my mind.
And it was a beautiful ride.
It's been three months since I've gone for a ride. Which, on the one hand, isn't that shocking considering I have no one up here to ride with, and motivating yourself to go on a long bike ride by yourself is a lot harder than motivating yourself to sleep in and snuggle with your husband. On the other hand, it is shocking. Five months ago a 30-mile bike ride was my "recovery ride." Five months ago I would spend three to four to five hours out on Saturday with my team, riding until I was shaking, with just enough strength left at the end to feel just a little bit like a bad-ass.
At the end of my training, training that had consumed my free time and my mind space, training that had dominated six months of my life, training that was ultimately one step crazier than I actually am, I had completed a half-ironman. I had reached the pinnacle of my athletic career. I had closed the first major chapter of my life--young and athletic and driven--with a grand finale worthy of the years that had led up to it. I was ready to turn the page and start the next chapter: motherhood. Not that I suddenly wasn't young or athletic or driven any more...I just knew that as a mother, you can't devote yourself to your own selfish pursuits the same way you could when you had only yourself to worry about. And I was ready for that. I faced my workout-free future with glee.
I didn't really worry about not working out all summer. I felt like I deserved my break from training, and we were going to try to get pregnant in July, so why continue to bust my ass when I was just going to get blissfully plump? Because of a change in credit cards and the woefully inept bookkeeping department at my gym, my membership lapsed. I let it go. Because of the plantar's fasciitis in both of my feet, I stopped running and walking, trying to give my body a chance to fully recover from the beating I had put it through.
Only here we are, October, with no baby belly and a closet becoming more and more full clothes that don't really fit. Uh oh.
But there was more to this morning's bike ride than a need to be physically fit. All my life I've been in athletics. All my life, I've been involved in a pursuit where your own input directly relates to the output. In other words, the more you put in, the more results you see--you get faster or leaner or better. It is a world of control. If you exert a little more concentration or effort, you can lift the heavier weight, you can get up the hill a little faster, you can get to the finish line a little quicker.
But now I find myself involved in a pursuit where effort has nothing to do with outcome. NOTHING. It doesn't matter how knowledgeable you are about your body and your cycles, how relaxed you are, how much fun you have with it, what vitamins you take, if you chart, if you know when you ovulate, if you time sex correctly, if you moderate you diet, nothing. None of it matters. Or, at least, none of it has mattered so far. I feel like I've devoted my full effort to getting pregnant, and I have nothing to show for it. I have come to the realization that there's NOTHING I can do to actually affect any kind of success in this department.
And it is driving. me. crazy.
I am a 100%-er. Whatever my current goal is, I go for it with everything I have. Five months ago, I was going for the half-ironman with everything I had. I couldn't think about babies when doing hill repeats--if I had, I would have worried about the stress I was putting on my body, how my extreme efforts would adversely affect the baby-friendly environment I needed to turn my body into. Then I switched completely to baby making. I couldn't worry about working out when trying to make a baby. What if I bounce the little fertilized egg around so much it can't implant?
I haven't yet figured out how to devote 50% to each. But that's my new goal. Figure out how to temper fitness goals with baby goals. Because I have to have something in my life I can control.
So I got back on my bike this morning because I owe it to my body, but also because I owe it to my mind.
And it was a beautiful ride.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Celine Dion Feels Me...
The three TTC amigos: one is taking a TTC break (you'll be back on the train again, soon, B #1!), one is KTFU (wooooohoooooo!!! B#2!!), and one is me.
Of the original 8 or so who would attend the FJHH (Fertility Juice Happy Hours @ Chuy's), let's see...there's me....and....uhhhhh.......
::::drunken singing commences::::
Allll byyyyyy MYYYYYYselffffff, don'twannabe ALLLLLL BYYYYYY MYYYYYYYYYselfffffff
:::::lighter and beer in the air, y'all:::::
Of the original 8 or so who would attend the FJHH (Fertility Juice Happy Hours @ Chuy's), let's see...there's me....and....uhhhhh.......
::::drunken singing commences::::
Allll byyyyyy MYYYYYYselffffff, don'twannabe ALLLLLL BYYYYYY MYYYYYYYYYselfffffff
:::::lighter and beer in the air, y'all:::::
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Just Because
Just because I didn't want the sadness post at the top anymore.
I'm not excited yet. I'm not hopeful yet. Those will come in a couple of weeks.
But I'm not sad anymore. Sometime between then and now, it slipped away.
Now I'm just waiting, in limbo between the low and the high.
And that is not the greatest place to be, but definitely not the worst. It's a blessing to continue to play the game this month, and I don't want to waste any time taking that for granted.
CD6.
I'm not excited yet. I'm not hopeful yet. Those will come in a couple of weeks.
But I'm not sad anymore. Sometime between then and now, it slipped away.
Now I'm just waiting, in limbo between the low and the high.
And that is not the greatest place to be, but definitely not the worst. It's a blessing to continue to play the game this month, and I don't want to waste any time taking that for granted.
CD6.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
My Sadness Sits
Yesterday, Sadness walked into my office and sat. He came in quietly, so quietly that I didn't notice him at first. He just sat in the guest chair and waited. Waited for me to notice him. Waited for me to feel the weight he brings to my heart. Waited for me to realize I hadn't smiled in hours. Waited for me to acknowledge him. He didn't say anything. He just sat, keeping me company.
Anger, his cousin, is the talker. Anger is the one who bursts into a room and demands attention. Anger is the one who gives the passionate speeches that get you so riled up that you can't help but be swept away with his rhetoric and vision and righteous indignation. Anger visited me last cycle. Luckily he stayed away this time. But Sadness showed up instead, and I'm not sure which is worse.
It was Sadness who kept me from responding to posts I should have responded to. He laid his heavy hand on mine and kept me from hitting "send." It was Sadness, wrapping himself slowly, insidiously around my heart like an anaconda, like Rasputin, a trusted friend who betrays you so seamlessly you don't even realize what's happened until you are staring at the world from the bottom of a pit, a prison built by Sadness.
By the end of the work day, Sadness had slid from his seat in my office to roost on the edges of my soul, of my mind, a quiet creeping weight I no longer cared about by the time I noticed. He came home with me, sitting on my shoulders and hanging from my cheeks, too heavy to shrug or smile away.
By evening, Sadness had spread to fill every part of me left empty by Joy, Joy who didn't show up three days ago as hoped. And it was comforting, not having that empty space. Sadness comforted me, made me feel whole again, like there is nothing I am waiting for, nothing I am missing. Sadness filled me with a satisfying weight, like a heavy quilt, and I wrapped myself around him and wrapped him around me and though the cost of that comfort was tears, the slow, quiet tears were worth the ability to stop pretending like I was fine, like I was strong, like I can just keep going like a bad death scene in a movie where the doomed character is shot but keeps stumbling forward as if nothing had happened.
Sadness sat with me when I lay down in bed. Sadness covered me. Sadness sighed so slowly it may have been my own breath. But he could not follow me to sleep. He is not yet strong enough to hold on when I fall into that other world, the world where I am energetic and smiling and where all things are still possible in the blink of an eye.
And this morning, he had retreated. He had pulled back from the far reaches of my mind. He still sits, heavily, silently, watchful in my heart, but eventually he will slip out as silently as he arrived.
And I will notice with quiet pleasure his absence. And I will smile.
Anger, his cousin, is the talker. Anger is the one who bursts into a room and demands attention. Anger is the one who gives the passionate speeches that get you so riled up that you can't help but be swept away with his rhetoric and vision and righteous indignation. Anger visited me last cycle. Luckily he stayed away this time. But Sadness showed up instead, and I'm not sure which is worse.
It was Sadness who kept me from responding to posts I should have responded to. He laid his heavy hand on mine and kept me from hitting "send." It was Sadness, wrapping himself slowly, insidiously around my heart like an anaconda, like Rasputin, a trusted friend who betrays you so seamlessly you don't even realize what's happened until you are staring at the world from the bottom of a pit, a prison built by Sadness.
By the end of the work day, Sadness had slid from his seat in my office to roost on the edges of my soul, of my mind, a quiet creeping weight I no longer cared about by the time I noticed. He came home with me, sitting on my shoulders and hanging from my cheeks, too heavy to shrug or smile away.
By evening, Sadness had spread to fill every part of me left empty by Joy, Joy who didn't show up three days ago as hoped. And it was comforting, not having that empty space. Sadness comforted me, made me feel whole again, like there is nothing I am waiting for, nothing I am missing. Sadness filled me with a satisfying weight, like a heavy quilt, and I wrapped myself around him and wrapped him around me and though the cost of that comfort was tears, the slow, quiet tears were worth the ability to stop pretending like I was fine, like I was strong, like I can just keep going like a bad death scene in a movie where the doomed character is shot but keeps stumbling forward as if nothing had happened.
Sadness sat with me when I lay down in bed. Sadness covered me. Sadness sighed so slowly it may have been my own breath. But he could not follow me to sleep. He is not yet strong enough to hold on when I fall into that other world, the world where I am energetic and smiling and where all things are still possible in the blink of an eye.
And this morning, he had retreated. He had pulled back from the far reaches of my mind. He still sits, heavily, silently, watchful in my heart, but eventually he will slip out as silently as he arrived.
And I will notice with quiet pleasure his absence. And I will smile.
Monday, October 6, 2008
The Funny Thing About Phantom Symptoms
Phantom symptoms. The "pregnancy" symptoms you feel and use to justify convincing yourself that you are KU when in the 2ww.
Phantom symptoms, how I loathe and love thee. Loathe because I do actually use them to convince myself that I'm KU. And then I'm not. And that sucks. Because I was soo sure. Phantom symptoms are the salt rubbed in a wound I don't even know exists until I get that BFN. Love because, let's face it, for the seven days I feel them, I am living every second in the most exciting possible tension, deliriously planning my future with my sweet little cooing chubby bundle of soft baby awesomeness.
They are the only part of pregnancy I've gotten to experience yet. And they don't even exist. I'm not going to dwell on how sucktastic that is. Instead, let's look at why phantom symptoms are cracking me up today. Me, on CD3.
I just read a post about peanut butter slices. Kinda weird, right? But then someone responded about peanut butter slices dipped in chocolate and how good that sounded to them.
I considered it. I, the world's biggest chocolate-and-peanut-butter fan, who used to eat one dark chocolate kiss and one scoop of crunchy peanut butter together in one delicious bite.
And the idea made me want to throw up a little. WTF?? Peanut-butter slices dipped in chocolate doesn't sound appealing to me? The very thought makes me feel sick to my stomach? My immediate follow-up thought? ohmygod, maybe I'm pregnant! And then smiling, laughing at my own foolishness, at the idea of imagining pregnancy symptoms while on my period. I mean, if you can't laugh at yourself in this crazy, crazy process, who can you laugh at?
Phantom symptoms, how I love and loathe thee. Even on CD3.
Phantom symptoms, how I loathe and love thee. Loathe because I do actually use them to convince myself that I'm KU. And then I'm not. And that sucks. Because I was soo sure. Phantom symptoms are the salt rubbed in a wound I don't even know exists until I get that BFN. Love because, let's face it, for the seven days I feel them, I am living every second in the most exciting possible tension, deliriously planning my future with my sweet little cooing chubby bundle of soft baby awesomeness.
They are the only part of pregnancy I've gotten to experience yet. And they don't even exist. I'm not going to dwell on how sucktastic that is. Instead, let's look at why phantom symptoms are cracking me up today. Me, on CD3.
I just read a post about peanut butter slices. Kinda weird, right? But then someone responded about peanut butter slices dipped in chocolate and how good that sounded to them.
I considered it. I, the world's biggest chocolate-and-peanut-butter fan, who used to eat one dark chocolate kiss and one scoop of crunchy peanut butter together in one delicious bite.
And the idea made me want to throw up a little. WTF?? Peanut-butter slices dipped in chocolate doesn't sound appealing to me? The very thought makes me feel sick to my stomach? My immediate follow-up thought? ohmygod, maybe I'm pregnant! And then smiling, laughing at my own foolishness, at the idea of imagining pregnancy symptoms while on my period. I mean, if you can't laugh at yourself in this crazy, crazy process, who can you laugh at?
Phantom symptoms, how I love and loathe thee. Even on CD3.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Shrek is an Ass
Ooo, boy. Oktoberfest.
After finishing off nearly a 6-pack by myself after not having drank (drunk?) much lately, I had a fantastic time at our party last night (and am still the reigning beer pong champ) but am paying for it today. A pregnant friend told me recently her first-tri tiredness reminded her of the day after staying up late drinking. Unfortunately, I feel that way today NOT because I'm pregnant but because I did, in fact, stay up late drinking.
TH and I spent the day recuperating on our couch and trying to eat as much leftover party fare as possible. We watched a lot of football...and Shrek the Third. The basic plot line of Shrek III is that Fiona (his wife) is pregnant and Shrek freaks out because he doesn't think he's ready to be a dad.
What an ass.
I actually got up, disgusted. Here I am, with the greatest dad-to-be in the world, who wants nothing more than to have a little one to care for, and freaking Shrek is the one who gets the baby. Or, babies, as it turned out.
Apparently I'm not dealing with it all as well today as I was yesterday. Yesterday I had a party to plan, drinking to do, friends to hang out with. Today I just have two (or more) looong weeks of waiting for my body to gear up again so we can take another shot. Two (or more) weeks of irresponsible, undeserving cartoon dads pissing me off. I blame my teary eyes and hot frustration on my tiredness and dehydration.
Regardless, Shrek sucks.
After finishing off nearly a 6-pack by myself after not having drank (drunk?) much lately, I had a fantastic time at our party last night (and am still the reigning beer pong champ) but am paying for it today. A pregnant friend told me recently her first-tri tiredness reminded her of the day after staying up late drinking. Unfortunately, I feel that way today NOT because I'm pregnant but because I did, in fact, stay up late drinking.
TH and I spent the day recuperating on our couch and trying to eat as much leftover party fare as possible. We watched a lot of football...and Shrek the Third. The basic plot line of Shrek III is that Fiona (his wife) is pregnant and Shrek freaks out because he doesn't think he's ready to be a dad.
What an ass.
I actually got up, disgusted. Here I am, with the greatest dad-to-be in the world, who wants nothing more than to have a little one to care for, and freaking Shrek is the one who gets the baby. Or, babies, as it turned out.
Apparently I'm not dealing with it all as well today as I was yesterday. Yesterday I had a party to plan, drinking to do, friends to hang out with. Today I just have two (or more) looong weeks of waiting for my body to gear up again so we can take another shot. Two (or more) weeks of irresponsible, undeserving cartoon dads pissing me off. I blame my teary eyes and hot frustration on my tiredness and dehydration.
Regardless, Shrek sucks.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Top 10 Reasons I'm OK
10. I get one more month of my life to just spend with DH and nobody else--lots of alone time, sleeping in, going out spontaneously, etc.
9. I will get one more paid week of maternity leave since my due date for future child will be after my 1-year anniversary with my company.
8. We have one more month of no car payments.
7. We have one more month of saving up for down payment on new car(s).
6. Chance of being able to go to S. America with TH in the spring has gone up.
5. I enjoyed the hell out of my Dr Pepper this morning.
4. The Super Target by my house is scheduled to open in May of next year, and I will for sure be able to register there now.
3. It feels good to relax about splurging on the party tonight and not to have to worry about saving every penny for baby.
2. I will be able to focus at work and actually get stuff done for at least another 2-3 weeks.
1. I can eat as many brats and black forest ham sandwiches and drink as many beers as I want to tonight!!
Onto cycle 4. Prost!
9. I will get one more paid week of maternity leave since my due date for future child will be after my 1-year anniversary with my company.
8. We have one more month of no car payments.
7. We have one more month of saving up for down payment on new car(s).
6. Chance of being able to go to S. America with TH in the spring has gone up.
5. I enjoyed the hell out of my Dr Pepper this morning.
4. The Super Target by my house is scheduled to open in May of next year, and I will for sure be able to register there now.
3. It feels good to relax about splurging on the party tonight and not to have to worry about saving every penny for baby.
2. I will be able to focus at work and actually get stuff done for at least another 2-3 weeks.
1. I can eat as many brats and black forest ham sandwiches and drink as many beers as I want to tonight!!
Onto cycle 4. Prost!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Spot
So, about three weeks ago TH held up his right pointer finger and showed me a large white spot on his nail.
TH: (with the tone of someone who just proved ice cream is actually healthy) Do you know what that is?
me: A calcium deposit?
TH: Well yeah, if you want to be all scientific about it!
He then went on to remind me that the Russians (or maybe just his family???) have a saying about those white spots on your nails. Roughly translated, when the white spot gets to the tip of the nail, something good happens.
TH: And this is the biggest one I've ever had! You know what that means, right?
me: You started taking your daily multivitamins???
TH: Nooo! It means when that spot gets to the tip of my nail, you'll be pregnant!
The rest of the month, at least once a day, TH would look at his finger nail, smile, and then reach over and rub my belly happily. His sweet, innocent, total belief in that old Russian superstition is so cute I just can't help but let myself believe in it just a little. He is totally confident in the portent of that white spot.
And the white spot is just about at the tip of his nail...
CD29, 9 DPO
TH: (with the tone of someone who just proved ice cream is actually healthy) Do you know what that is?
me: A calcium deposit?
TH: Well yeah, if you want to be all scientific about it!
He then went on to remind me that the Russians (or maybe just his family???) have a saying about those white spots on your nails. Roughly translated, when the white spot gets to the tip of the nail, something good happens.
TH: And this is the biggest one I've ever had! You know what that means, right?
me: You started taking your daily multivitamins???
TH: Nooo! It means when that spot gets to the tip of my nail, you'll be pregnant!
The rest of the month, at least once a day, TH would look at his finger nail, smile, and then reach over and rub my belly happily. His sweet, innocent, total belief in that old Russian superstition is so cute I just can't help but let myself believe in it just a little. He is totally confident in the portent of that white spot.
And the white spot is just about at the tip of his nail...
CD29, 9 DPO
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