Two Weeks November 30, 2009

It seems as if my life is a never-ending stream of two weeks. Two weeks until ovulation (or at least when ovulation should occur). Two weeks until time to test. Two weeks until the next ultrasound. Everything is two weeks away.

 

Right now I’m just inside of that two-week wait until Blueberry Bean’s EDD. I can’t help but to play parallels in my head all day of what life should be like in these final days of my pregnancy. How I should be feeling, what I should be doing. My brain is on automatic countdown mode, as if it’s just like any other tww. Two more weeks, until… nothing.

 

Which is exactly how I feel, as if “the nothing” is coming. It will be here in two weeks (actually 12 days) and I’m powerless to stop it. I don’t know how I’ll react, or how I’ll feel. Part of me thinks that by dreading it this much, I’m taking away its power. That it can’t possibly be as bad as I’m building it up to be. But, another part of me thinks I’m being naive and that it will be far worse than I’m imagining. How the pain can get any worse than the last two weeks is really quite beyond me, though.

 

It’s really odd, right now, I feel “fine.” You know, fine for me. I haven’t cried in two days, I’m concentrating on my work fairly well. I’m doing leaps and bounds better than the last time I made a Never Ending Story reference. But, I have this feeling like this is the calm before the storm. Like there’s a thunderhead on the horizon making its way towards me.

I Am Not Pregnant November 28, 2009

Considering that this is the normal state of things, you may be wondering why I must proclaim it so loudly. It’s less for you and more for my body.

 

See, we had sex an all time low of twice this cycle. FertilityFriend seems to think one of those times was great timing. I disagree. It’s not unusual for FertilityFriend and I to disagree on the primary thing that I pay her for (i.e. telling me when I ovulated), because she’s a whore and I don’t trust her.

 

I am feeling quite the tired and nauseous this afternoon. Considering that I take 2,000mg of Met everyday, feeling the nauseous really, truly isn’t THAT out of the ordinary. I mean, it happens. But, my body is all “well, FF says 60% chance and it’s 3pm and I could use a nap and please don’t move too fast, lest I start cookie tossing, so better not have a glass of wine with dinner, because maybe…” I am not falling for FF and my body’s tricks, though. I know what they’re up to. They like seeing me crushed and crying into my diva cup, rather than being resigned and strong when that bitch Flo finally shows her face. (See, I told you FF was a whore.)

 

So, my mantra today is “I am not pregnant. I am nauseous because, Met fucks with my tummy. I am tired because my sleep schedule is off and I had Big C for three straight days while cooking a huge meal. I have to pee, because I do, so suck it up.” Wash, rinse, repeat. I’ll let you know if it starts working.

 

For those not keeping count (that’d be everyone): Today is CD31, 13dpo (FF) or 11dpo (me), I have resolved to NO TESTING until Tuesday. Except the left over OPK strips I had in the linen closet, because they don’t count as “testing.” Which all came back negative. And the line is getting lighter. Please repeat after me “I am not pregnant. The facts all point to Met doesn’t like it when I eat butter and sugar (the second and third ingredients on my Thanksgiving menu), so I’m sick from all the leftovers. Take a nap if you’re so damn tired. Not that tired? Do you remember sleeping in your car everyday from the hcg fatigue? If you can’t nap in your own bed, it’s not hcg. I repeat, I AM NOT PREGNANT.”

 

Yes, I do have those little conversations with myself. Yes, I do refer to myself in the first and second person when having these little self chats. I think crazy IS the droid you’re looking for.

 

(In completely unrelated news, the sex thing is starting to show evidence of getting better. Reading a new book, improving my own attitude about things, great sex this morning. Why do I feel the need to SO over share on this topic?)

The Red Zone November 25, 2009

You know how they call the last 20 yards to a touch down the red zone? OK, I will acknowledge that most of my readers are female and you may not know that. But, they do. Apparently, all progress to the 20 yard line matters not at all if you can’t make it out of the red zone.

 

Pregnancy also has a red zone. It’s that 20 days prior to the guessed delivery date when the arrival of your shiny, new, bouncing bundle of happiness really could come ANY MINUTE. Like now… or maybe now. It’s also the 20 days that really start to amp up the grief when you fumbled early on and lost the ball. I am so in the red zone. (No more football analogies, I promise.)

 

As I prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas it’s very hard not to dwell on all that I’ve lost this year. In April I was planning a quiet Christmas at home with my own shiny, new, bouncing bundle of happiness and his wonderful, doting, affectionate, loving Daddy. I was planning on being big as a duplex (for, I’m already big as a house) and being the guest of honor at Thanksgiving. Not cooking and hosting and being the one who does all of the work for everyone else to have a memorable holiday. No, me being the one everyone was concerned about, because I could go into labor ANY MINUTE. These were the holidays when we would finally be a trio. We’d finally have OUR family to create traditions for and be with. This was supposed to be MY year.

 

Yes, I’m fully aware that I sound like a selfish cow right now. That’s because, I am a selfish cow. I want to FINALLY be the one everybody fusses over and takes care of. I want to finally be the one that everyone loves. I’ve paid my dues on the taking care of everyone else front (at least as far as childless holidays are concerned) and I was SO ready for my turn.

 

Right now I grieve for my baby. I miss him so much. I never even felt him move, but I’ve never heard anything that can compare with his perfect heartbeat. I would give everything I have to get him back. Including these perfect holidays I’ve dreamed up.

Gasp and Awe and The Sexy November 21, 2009

Yes, folks, I am back from seeing New Moon. I was NOT disappointed. But for real. Except maybe that Rob was dressed like someone’s recently deceased gramps throughout the entire flick. I digress. Good movie. Better than the first. While real life Rob will beat out underage Tay Tay any day, I gotta tell ya, Tay Tay acted Rob’s pants off (God, how I wish I could say literally!) and I found myself totally cheering for Jacob.

Now, a quick Robsession story before I put this whole Twilight ridiculousness behind me until June. I let Big C watch the first movie. He likes it from the baseball scene on, so I let him watch it. One day while watching it he asked me why I liked it, and I made a joke about Edward being my boyfriend and not to tell Uncle G. Of course I fully expected that the first thing he would do was tell Uncle G. But he didn’t. Until one day in the grocery store we passed a magazine with Robert Pattinson on the cover and he shouted “Look Minta, your boyfriend! Why is your boyfriend in the books at the grocery store? Don’t you want to buy a picture of your boyfriend?” It is a testament to how much I hate food shopping that I didn’t leave the cart and walk out.

For the Record November 20, 2009

And, this should shock no one…

 

 

My Twilight allegiance belongs to this tall drink of sexy.

Why I love the hubs: #2 November 20, 2009

So, this is going to be a dramatic change from the last post. It needs to be. The reason I totally jumped on this band wagon is because it’s too easy when dealing with the hard stuff and being stuck “in it” to turn on each other. It’s too easy to alienate the one other person who’s really right there with you. It’s too easy to not appreciate the man you want to procreate with, because there’s not enough procreation going on. Without further ado… Why I love the hubs, today:

 

I have New Moon tickets. I have pre-paid tickets to the 8:30pm (can anybody say tween-aged fangirl squeeee?) showing of New Moon, at a theatre that’s 30 minutes from my house. Can you think of a place that a heterosexual man in in his early-thirties would rather be less than New Moon fan-girl central? (If you can please let me know, I may need that information later…) Do you know where my man is going to be?

 

At the movies with me.

 

He is braving the 13 year old fan girls. He is braving the RIDICULOUS crowds. He is braving the pandemonium matched (I’m guessing) only by a Harry Potter premiere.

 

For me.

 

Why? My friends flaked, I wanted to go, so he said “Let’s go!” He decided not to go out with his friends, so that he could go with me. That’s love.

 

Tonight, screw Team Jacob. Forget Team Edward… I’m on Team G!

 

He’s the love of my life.

He’s the father of my children.

He’s the best uncle on the planet.

He makes me laugh.

He’s got the sexiest green eyes ever seen.

He’s fiercely protective of his family.

He loves me when I can’t love myself.

He loves me when I won’t love myself.

He’s my best friend.

He’s my Super Man.

Window Missed November 18, 2009

So, we all know that having “timed intercourse” sucks ass. Well, maybe not all of us. I normally sympathize with those who have to resort to even suckier means of insemination. Normally, I take some small shred of comfort in the fact that though I may not ovulate on my own without medication (be it Metformin or Clomid), I may be a habitual aborter, but at least we don’t have male factor issues. At least sex can still do the job. At least I can feel normal about that.

 

Normally, I feel that way. Today, not so much. Today I would prefer a catheter and ultrasound wand. Today I would prefer the order and schedule and certainty of a medical procedure to leaving it to whether or not I feel like having sex with my husband.

 

That’s bad, right? The state of things has gotten such to the point that not only do I not want to have sex on a regular day, but neither of us want to have sex even during possible ovulation. Needless to say sexapaloosa has not gone according to plan. Or at all. We’ve done it a whopping twice this month.

 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that neither of us wants to have sex. It’s just that neither of us want to have sex at the same time or with each other. That sounds wrong. I want to have sex with him, just not the way it’s been happening. It has come to if I want his sperm then I need to initiate, I need to “make it happen” and then I need to deal with literal complaints and general disrespect all during. Not “you’re a bad wife and I hate you” kind of disrespect, more like “oh yeah, suck it” or “that’s a good girl” kind of disrespect. Stuff that’s really little and could be kind of fun in the right context. I know sounds charming right. That’s not to say I’m the only one who initiates. Occasionally while I’m watching TV or reading or trying to work at home he’ll walk up to me and put his dick in my face. Cause, you know, that’s how every girl wants to be come on to.

 

So, that’s WAY too much information about my shitty sex life. But it was put out there for two reasons. One, if you’re in a shitty place because of IF stealing your marital spark, you aren’t alone. It sucks, but you aren’t. Two, all of that is the back story for how we’ve missed our window this month.

 

Our window, as you may know if read regularly, can be rather wide as far when I’m going to ovulate. But, once I get the green light signs it’s pretty short, just like everyone elses. I live my whole month in preparation for this window. It’s the most important thing. It’s important enough to run my marriage through the ringer (because it will be worth it). It’s important enough to reschedule important events. That window holds all of my hope for the future. That window is my only chance at the life I’ve always wanted. That window, that chance, is all I have some days.

 

So, for an entire month to be lost to something as fickle as a sex drive, is devastating. For one window to be lost because someone is too tired, or doesn’t feel like it, is a waste. A waste of time, sure, but mostly a waste of hope. To waste a window, to waste my hope is a very deep hurt. It’s deeper than the hurt of not moving the hot tub that would save me from pain. It’s deeper than the hurt of bad sex. It’s the equivalent of saying “right now, I don’t love you enough to want to have a child with you, and your deepest desire is of no importance to me.”

 

So, last night was our window. Yesterday was the only time this month that I saw EWCM. Now, that doesn’t mean anything definitive, we’re not far enough out to really know if I even ovulated this month. I could be upset over a non-window. Regardless, last night had all the makings of ovulation. Last night was the time that I felt held our best chances. Last night was the window. It was the time I’d been preparing for all month.

 

But, my window was missed. When I brought the subject up the answer was “Can’t we do it in the morning? I’m tired.” Any other night that would have been fine. Any other night that might have dinged my pride a little, but nothing more. Last night, though, more than my pride was on the line. Last night, our future was on the line.  Last night, it was the equivalent of saying he didn’t love me.

Hello from Susie McHungover November 17, 2009

Drunk blogging since 2009. Some people drunk Facebook, some drunk dial, I drunk blog.

 

OK, so I’m not really hung over any more. Now, I just kind of have a sour tummy from last night. Which, it turns out was not a dream, I didn’t wake up to find the last six months didn’t happen. Fuck!

 

Don’t you wish life could be like, though? I think real life should have an “It’s a Wonderful Life” option. OK, lesson learned, let’s go try that again. Wouldn’t that be awesome?!?!? I’m getting a petition ready to send up to God. Maybe someone else should actually send it (Michele Duggar, maybe, she seems to have found his favor) because he tends to not be too concerned with my feelings/opinions/desires/needs.

 

At least we had some adventures in drunk blogging to keep us going for another day.

The post in which I make a drunken ass of myself November 17, 2009

Have you ever sat in your bed while drunk off your ass drinking your nepew’s apple juice box thinking “where am I going?” No? Maybe it’s just me… For the record, I am DRUNK. Like six BIG glasses of wine drunk, and I just watched a weird movie. About a crazy single man, finding the love of his life and adopting from China. Which, BTW is really easy and inexpensive when you’re a single, 28 yo, male. Please by all means check my facts, this shit happens everyday. See, drunk and sarcastic.

So, the movie ends, and I head on over to E!, because there’s always a chance of catching Joel McHale (with whom I may or may not be in love. Don’t worry Rob, I love you most of all… It goes like Rob, Joel, G… again, drunk, you can’t hold any of this shit against me). So, like I was saying, I flipped to E!, but instead of my favorite Irish giant I saw this:

 

For those not in the know, Kendra Wilkinson-Baskett (ex-girlfriend of Hugh Hefner) is currently rumored to be due on Christmas Day. The first due date I heard for her was MUCH earlier in December… It was 12/10. That’s right just one day before mine. She is plastered all over the InTouch magazine’s at the grocery right now. I broke down in front of Big C and a neice over a photo of her a couple of weeks ago, and now there are more. I can’t stand it. I literally hate her right now.

 

So, movie ends, E! news comes on and G says “I bet Holly’s pissed. She broke up with Hef over the baby thing and now KENDRA’s pregnant.” To which I reply… “Do you know her due date? Do you know her original due date? Her baby and our baby should have been born on basically the same day. Every time I see/hear about her it’s like my heart is being ripped out!” (OK, maybe I REALLY said “you know we had the same due date…” but I meant “Every time I see/hear about her it’s like my heart is being ripped out!”) to which G got up and went to bed without a word. I’m chasing my husband away. Or he’s headed that way on his own. I’m not sure.

 

What am I sure of? Losing BB was worse that any of the previous losses, and I can’t get over it and I would do ANYTHING to have him back. ANYTHING, please. Pretty please with sugar on top? I would give anything to wake up and the last six months were just a nightmare and my 10 week scan is tomorrow and everything is great. Anything, please? Please? I just want my baby back.

25 Days November 16, 2009

Due date is 25 days away and is constantly filling my brain. I know that nothing special will happen on 12/11. I also know that even if Blueberry Bean had lived, chances are really good 12/11 wouldn’t have been his birthday anyway. Most people were betting he’d be four days late and be born on my and my Dad’s birthday. Equally possible he could already be here with us now. Or he could be born on 12/8 or 12/13 or any other completely random date in the 11/27 to 12/25 time frame. Because babies don’t know when they’re “supposed” to be born, they pop out when they’re ready.

 

But, mine didn’t. Mine died. Mine had to be surgically extracted. I’ll never see his face, or kiss his nose. I’ll never get to count his fingers and toes.

 

In 25 days nothing will happen, and my world is an emptier place because of it.