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.
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