OK. So can anybody tell me how LH surges actually work? Because I seem to hit two peaks - one somewhere around Sunday, and one yesterday/today. Sunday I had two darkish lines. Monday, nothing. Tuesday, two lines with a light test line. Yesterday, two dark lines again. *glare at world* What?
I'm wondering. If. All this time that I've been doing the OPKs could we be missing the actual surge, trying too early, and missing the egg? :-/ That would explain the super long luteal phase... maybe it's not so long after all?
It's enough to drive you batty. That's all I know for sure.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Newbies!
Oooh! I have a follower! A real live official "follower"! And a new commenter! Hi and welcome! (I know I have 3 faithful unofficial followers and to you I send cyber-flowers too).
So here we sit. There is a foot of snow outside, a fire in the fireplace, and an LH surge sometime yesterday... or the day before... or something. My body's not quite clear when it comes to OPKs. So we cover our bases. :)
The man woke me up at 6:00 this morning and said, "Pssst. Hey, do you think we should have another go? Just in case? To make sure?" Someone's getting spoiled methinks. He also knows that there are two mornings a month where, though he is still likely to be rejected, he is not likely to be hit for suggesting.
Needless to say (?), we did not have another go at 6:00 AM.
... This afternoon was a different story. Yay for working at home, eh?
I'm relieved as all get out that it's already CD 15 and I'm not stressed out and miserable. I hope it sticks. I'm not really hopeful for this month, for some reason. I mean, I'm HOPEFUL, but I'm not really hopeful. My OPK results were too sketchy and we missed two days in a row early on. I'm afraid the ole egg may have arrived early and we missed her. I suppose we'll know in 3 weeks.
In other news, I bought a new laptop today and it's due to ship late next week. SO excited. Now I have something ELSE to look forward to, which is always a very good thing.
Speaking of other things to keep one's mind busy, I've been rather busily dropping the pounds. I've lost something like 5-8 pounds (scales are about as fickle as my cycles) and about an inch. Yay! So I'm going to go do some more ab work, and maybe "sculpt" the old legs and butt.
So there's my list of new things. I'm trying not to fantasize too much about October (do the math).
So here we sit. There is a foot of snow outside, a fire in the fireplace, and an LH surge sometime yesterday... or the day before... or something. My body's not quite clear when it comes to OPKs. So we cover our bases. :)
The man woke me up at 6:00 this morning and said, "Pssst. Hey, do you think we should have another go? Just in case? To make sure?" Someone's getting spoiled methinks. He also knows that there are two mornings a month where, though he is still likely to be rejected, he is not likely to be hit for suggesting.
Needless to say (?), we did not have another go at 6:00 AM.
... This afternoon was a different story. Yay for working at home, eh?
I'm relieved as all get out that it's already CD 15 and I'm not stressed out and miserable. I hope it sticks. I'm not really hopeful for this month, for some reason. I mean, I'm HOPEFUL, but I'm not really hopeful. My OPK results were too sketchy and we missed two days in a row early on. I'm afraid the ole egg may have arrived early and we missed her. I suppose we'll know in 3 weeks.
In other news, I bought a new laptop today and it's due to ship late next week. SO excited. Now I have something ELSE to look forward to, which is always a very good thing.
Speaking of other things to keep one's mind busy, I've been rather busily dropping the pounds. I've lost something like 5-8 pounds (scales are about as fickle as my cycles) and about an inch. Yay! So I'm going to go do some more ab work, and maybe "sculpt" the old legs and butt.
So there's my list of new things. I'm trying not to fantasize too much about October (do the math).
Friday, January 23, 2009
TMI?
Ho. Ly. Shit.
Please feel free to go gather a plastic bowl, bag or other vomit receptacle, because I'm going to brag on my husband for just a quick sec.
Ho. Ly. Shit.
I don't know if it's because it's been nearly 3 weeks (he was sick, I was a bloody mess, and then the HSG), or if it's because the last visitor that part of my body had was something that caused "mild discomfort" (read: excruciating pain), or because the HSG, in addition to increasing fertility, also increased other factors, but friends, I have been introduced into a category of orgasm probably previously unknown on the planet.
Just call him God of Sex. My children, should I ever have them, will probably have superstrength and laser vision. It was just. That. Good.
*sigh*
(Now, he's of course sleeping and I'm on the prowl for some munchies. That much at least is normal.)
Please feel free to go gather a plastic bowl, bag or other vomit receptacle, because I'm going to brag on my husband for just a quick sec.
Ho. Ly. Shit.
I don't know if it's because it's been nearly 3 weeks (he was sick, I was a bloody mess, and then the HSG), or if it's because the last visitor that part of my body had was something that caused "mild discomfort" (read: excruciating pain), or because the HSG, in addition to increasing fertility, also increased other factors, but friends, I have been introduced into a category of orgasm probably previously unknown on the planet.
Just call him God of Sex. My children, should I ever have them, will probably have superstrength and laser vision. It was just. That. Good.
*sigh*
(Now, he's of course sleeping and I'm on the prowl for some munchies. That much at least is normal.)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Gripe
I'm going to gripe a little bit.
My stepson drives me crazy. I love him, I truly truly do. But he's going to drive me round the bend. The child can't hold a conversation in his head. Here's an example of a too-typical conversation with him:
"Where are we going?"
"Quiznos, to get Daddy a sandwich for lunch."
"Oh, what's a Quiz-Moe?"
"Quiznos. It's a restaurant where you can go to get really yummy sandwiches."
"Does Daddy like Quiz-Moe?"
"Quiznos. Yes, that's why we're going there."
"Is it his favorite?"
"Well, he really really likes it."
"Favorite in the whole world?"
"No, honey, but he really really likes it."
"Is this a Quiz-Moe?" (He asks as we're stopped at a red light with traffic on both sides. Situational awareness must set in later.)
"No, we're stopped at a light. Quiznos is a restaurant. We're going there. We'll be there in a minute."
"What are we getting there?"
"Try to remember, we were just talking about it."
"Oh right right right, to get Daddy a snack."
"To get Daddy lunch."
"Oh. What is he getting for lunch?"
"A sandwich. From Quiznos."
"What's Quiz-Moe?"
But you have to understand. Every conversation is this way. He has a more extensive vocabulary than his 8 year old sister. He can detect by smell and name most ingredients in any sauce or dish that you put in front of him. He is a very smart child. But he cannot hold a conversation in his head.
We had just been at the grocery store, talking all about what we're making for dinner tonight. He helped decide on which vegetable to get (Fresh-ish Snap Peas), and whether we would have rice or potatoes. We walk out the front door of the market, he takes ten steps, and turns to me and says, "What's for dinner?"
Another fun game, instead of running conversational laps around my sanity, is the nearly-infinite-regress. Where he asks for the definition of a word or phrase he's never heard before. You define it. He asks for the definition of the definition. So you define that. He wants definition of that too. Pretty soon, he's asking, "What's a sock?" Or, "what's a car?" The child gets going full steam ahead in his questions and forgets to think.
All to say, my patience only lasts for about 3 hours of this before I start getting snappy. And it's such a shame, because I really wish we could have a fun positive day together without me wanting to bash my head against a brick wall. Sometimes, I just tell him to stop. That the conversation is over. Like with the Quizno's thing. Other times, I tell him to think about the last question he asked (eg "What's a sock?") and try to come up with an answer. Other times, like when he asks, "Are we at sissy's school?" in the middle of the highway, I'll have him look out the window and tell me where we are and what we're passing. I also think that I should take a more active role in the conversations. I should ask him questions. I could steer his questions to something not banal.
But there are other times when it's all I can do to not just yell, "Shut up!" I don't. But there are times I'd really really like to.
He's just exhausting. It's like being elbowed in the side every 10 seconds for 3 hours. Eventually you get sore and crabby.
Additionally, he seems to believe that he gets to render edicts in our house. He'll walk into the kitchen and say, "I'll have ham, pepperoni, cheese, yogurt, carrots with ranch dressing, apples, oranges, and strawberries, with white cranberry peach juice and some cookies." And then walk away like, "Hey, the order's in. I'm just gonna go wait for the *ding*." Another thing coming to you Shorty. First, he's got good taste. He likes healthy foods. So I compliment him on that. But then I tell him that he does not get to dictate to me what he will be eating. He and I will converse about it and decide what would be best for him. And then I tell him to leave the room, and come back and try again. Politely this time. Like I'm his stepmom and we love each other. And we will together fix him something to eat.
I'm plumb worn out.
And don't, under any circumstances, say to me, "And you want to have a baby?" Because I will punch you. Because I do. And I want the two stepkids I have. I just needed to gripe.
My stepson drives me crazy. I love him, I truly truly do. But he's going to drive me round the bend. The child can't hold a conversation in his head. Here's an example of a too-typical conversation with him:
"Where are we going?"
"Quiznos, to get Daddy a sandwich for lunch."
"Oh, what's a Quiz-Moe?"
"Quiznos. It's a restaurant where you can go to get really yummy sandwiches."
"Does Daddy like Quiz-Moe?"
"Quiznos. Yes, that's why we're going there."
"Is it his favorite?"
"Well, he really really likes it."
"Favorite in the whole world?"
"No, honey, but he really really likes it."
"Is this a Quiz-Moe?" (He asks as we're stopped at a red light with traffic on both sides. Situational awareness must set in later.)
"No, we're stopped at a light. Quiznos is a restaurant. We're going there. We'll be there in a minute."
"What are we getting there?"
"Try to remember, we were just talking about it."
"Oh right right right, to get Daddy a snack."
"To get Daddy lunch."
"Oh. What is he getting for lunch?"
"A sandwich. From Quiznos."
"What's Quiz-Moe?"
But you have to understand. Every conversation is this way. He has a more extensive vocabulary than his 8 year old sister. He can detect by smell and name most ingredients in any sauce or dish that you put in front of him. He is a very smart child. But he cannot hold a conversation in his head.
We had just been at the grocery store, talking all about what we're making for dinner tonight. He helped decide on which vegetable to get (Fresh-ish Snap Peas), and whether we would have rice or potatoes. We walk out the front door of the market, he takes ten steps, and turns to me and says, "What's for dinner?"
Another fun game, instead of running conversational laps around my sanity, is the nearly-infinite-regress. Where he asks for the definition of a word or phrase he's never heard before. You define it. He asks for the definition of the definition. So you define that. He wants definition of that too. Pretty soon, he's asking, "What's a sock?" Or, "what's a car?" The child gets going full steam ahead in his questions and forgets to think.
All to say, my patience only lasts for about 3 hours of this before I start getting snappy. And it's such a shame, because I really wish we could have a fun positive day together without me wanting to bash my head against a brick wall. Sometimes, I just tell him to stop. That the conversation is over. Like with the Quizno's thing. Other times, I tell him to think about the last question he asked (eg "What's a sock?") and try to come up with an answer. Other times, like when he asks, "Are we at sissy's school?" in the middle of the highway, I'll have him look out the window and tell me where we are and what we're passing. I also think that I should take a more active role in the conversations. I should ask him questions. I could steer his questions to something not banal.
But there are other times when it's all I can do to not just yell, "Shut up!" I don't. But there are times I'd really really like to.
He's just exhausting. It's like being elbowed in the side every 10 seconds for 3 hours. Eventually you get sore and crabby.
Additionally, he seems to believe that he gets to render edicts in our house. He'll walk into the kitchen and say, "I'll have ham, pepperoni, cheese, yogurt, carrots with ranch dressing, apples, oranges, and strawberries, with white cranberry peach juice and some cookies." And then walk away like, "Hey, the order's in. I'm just gonna go wait for the *ding*." Another thing coming to you Shorty. First, he's got good taste. He likes healthy foods. So I compliment him on that. But then I tell him that he does not get to dictate to me what he will be eating. He and I will converse about it and decide what would be best for him. And then I tell him to leave the room, and come back and try again. Politely this time. Like I'm his stepmom and we love each other. And we will together fix him something to eat.
I'm plumb worn out.
And don't, under any circumstances, say to me, "And you want to have a baby?" Because I will punch you. Because I do. And I want the two stepkids I have. I just needed to gripe.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Back in the saddle
Please don't misconstrue any sort of kinkiness from the title. I mean it purely as the slang is typically used. ;)
So the tubes are clear, the uterus is "beautiful" (who knew?) and I'm told that fertility increases for about 3-4 months following an HSG. So I got a shot of hope in the arm again. I'm not sure I want it. But it's there. And I'm not running this time.
So we're back to the OPKs, the 3week wait (way to go body for long luteal phases!), etc etc etc. And I'm mostly relieved.
*we apologize for this interruption of your regularly scheduled post but the Clomid has kicked in and the room is *wheeeeeeeee* spinning.*
Wow. What a trip.
So the tubes are clear, the uterus is "beautiful" (who knew?) and I'm told that fertility increases for about 3-4 months following an HSG. So I got a shot of hope in the arm again. I'm not sure I want it. But it's there. And I'm not running this time.
So we're back to the OPKs, the 3week wait (way to go body for long luteal phases!), etc etc etc. And I'm mostly relieved.
*we apologize for this interruption of your regularly scheduled post but the Clomid has kicked in and the room is *wheeeeeeeee* spinning.*
Wow. What a trip.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
HSG
Well, I have lovely plumbing. Tubes are clear, and all cavities are properly formed. Yay!
It ranks rather low on my list of favorite activities though. There was more "discomfort" (read: pain) involved than I'd imagined.
But I'm OK now.
It ranks rather low on my list of favorite activities though. There was more "discomfort" (read: pain) involved than I'd imagined.
But I'm OK now.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
no cheating
So here it is, almost two in the morning. I wasn't going to write this post, then I was, then I wasn't. I'm really quite sleepy and I've not in fact decided yet how much I will write. Probably til I nod off? Who knows. You'll see in a few minutes.
I'm up late because every Saturday night I go out for a drink with my friends from work. It's delightful. Who would have thought, four years ago, when I'd just lost just about every friend I had, was mortified and humiliated, and just looking for a temporary job, that I'd find this. (see self? Things tend to work out OK, even if they suck beyond nightmare at the moment.)
I've been thinking all day about this whole not getting pregnant thing. And about how I've been trying to trick myself somehow over the last few months into not having to feel it. And I've been thinking that that's a mistake. It's cheating. There are some things that simply suck, and to not see or feel that they suck requires a certain bending, warping, changing or squashing of the self. To borrow heavily from one of my favorite CS Lewis quotes, "Wrap yourself up in little hobbies and indulgences. But wrapped up in the casket or coffin of your selfishness, your heart will not be broken. It will become unbreakable. The only place safe from all the pain and perturbations of love is Hell."
This not getting pregnant thing, frankly, sucks. But the only way out, the only way to make it stop sucking, is to stop caring. And this is really a thing worth caring about. The sorrow now is part of the joy then. We see this principle at work all the time, but in reverse. When we're around someone we love, we soak it up, we cling with our fingernails, we drink in every moment because some day, that person will be lost. No way around it. And the sorrow then is part of the joy now. The love now is sweeter because we know we have to savor it. The coming sorrow is part of the present joy. And vice versa.
I've also been thinking, and again, I'm borrowing heavily from Lewis, that this uncertainty is my present cross. I'm tempted to worry about what I'll do if the tests show that I can't ever become pregnant. Or what I'll do if they show that there's nothing wrong, and there's no reason for us not having success. What will either verdict do to me? What version of me will I wake up to? So often I find that the things I've gone through change me not necessarily today, but years down the road. So what if? But that answer is still coming, and when it comes, there will be grace to bear it. Today, I need the grace to bear the not knowing.
I found today, again, that it's not for nothing that we are promised new mercies every morning, and that we're told to pray for daily bread. There is a deep well here and now to drink from. Yes, yes, yes, it is painful and it sucks, but I'm no more alone here than I was in any other dark night I've walked through. It's totally wrong. Infertility is totally wrong. But I can find Him here, too.
I'm up late because every Saturday night I go out for a drink with my friends from work. It's delightful. Who would have thought, four years ago, when I'd just lost just about every friend I had, was mortified and humiliated, and just looking for a temporary job, that I'd find this. (see self? Things tend to work out OK, even if they suck beyond nightmare at the moment.)
I've been thinking all day about this whole not getting pregnant thing. And about how I've been trying to trick myself somehow over the last few months into not having to feel it. And I've been thinking that that's a mistake. It's cheating. There are some things that simply suck, and to not see or feel that they suck requires a certain bending, warping, changing or squashing of the self. To borrow heavily from one of my favorite CS Lewis quotes, "Wrap yourself up in little hobbies and indulgences. But wrapped up in the casket or coffin of your selfishness, your heart will not be broken. It will become unbreakable. The only place safe from all the pain and perturbations of love is Hell."
This not getting pregnant thing, frankly, sucks. But the only way out, the only way to make it stop sucking, is to stop caring. And this is really a thing worth caring about. The sorrow now is part of the joy then. We see this principle at work all the time, but in reverse. When we're around someone we love, we soak it up, we cling with our fingernails, we drink in every moment because some day, that person will be lost. No way around it. And the sorrow then is part of the joy now. The love now is sweeter because we know we have to savor it. The coming sorrow is part of the present joy. And vice versa.
I've also been thinking, and again, I'm borrowing heavily from Lewis, that this uncertainty is my present cross. I'm tempted to worry about what I'll do if the tests show that I can't ever become pregnant. Or what I'll do if they show that there's nothing wrong, and there's no reason for us not having success. What will either verdict do to me? What version of me will I wake up to? So often I find that the things I've gone through change me not necessarily today, but years down the road. So what if? But that answer is still coming, and when it comes, there will be grace to bear it. Today, I need the grace to bear the not knowing.
I found today, again, that it's not for nothing that we are promised new mercies every morning, and that we're told to pray for daily bread. There is a deep well here and now to drink from. Yes, yes, yes, it is painful and it sucks, but I'm no more alone here than I was in any other dark night I've walked through. It's totally wrong. Infertility is totally wrong. But I can find Him here, too.
Friday, January 16, 2009
ew
So the word is that I'm to have some horrid-sounding three-letters-the-first-is-an-H procedure on Tuesday to check my plumbing. Something involving a speculum and shoving something through my cervix (gag) and dye. Someone please tell me what the three letters are so I can go look it up. Well, first tell me, will looking it up make me feel more or less nauseous? I'm less scared and more grossed out. But there's a little fear there too.
The best part? The hubby can't come. Whimper.
Had a good cry about it last night. Something about how this whole thing has taken a rapid turn into "suck". I mean, 12 months of trying sucks, but something about a series of medical procedures (there are more to come) kinda curls my hands into fists. Something about feeling a little robbed - about how this is all supposed to be fun and exciting, and I don't remember seeing anything on any movie about crying into your pillow.
I should go count my blessings. I'm sure I'd feel much better.
What I think I'm actually going to do is go read a book - something that will make me forget I have a body, that it's malfunctioning, and that I have a rather sore heart inside of it.
EDIT: It's an HSG. Read about it. Less scared. More grossed out.
The best part? The hubby can't come. Whimper.
Had a good cry about it last night. Something about how this whole thing has taken a rapid turn into "suck". I mean, 12 months of trying sucks, but something about a series of medical procedures (there are more to come) kinda curls my hands into fists. Something about feeling a little robbed - about how this is all supposed to be fun and exciting, and I don't remember seeing anything on any movie about crying into your pillow.
I should go count my blessings. I'm sure I'd feel much better.
What I think I'm actually going to do is go read a book - something that will make me forget I have a body, that it's malfunctioning, and that I have a rather sore heart inside of it.
EDIT: It's an HSG. Read about it. Less scared. More grossed out.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
to be sung to the tune of "row row row your boat"
Drive, drive, drive stepmom
slowly round the bend
babbly babbly babbly babbly
look, she's gonna scream!
:)
slowly round the bend
babbly babbly babbly babbly
look, she's gonna scream!
:)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
here
It's here now. Finally.
Not getting myself worked up these last few weeks has helped... the last few weeks. I don't think there's any mental trick you can pull on yourself to help when the hopes that you so carefully hid from your own view, but carried nonetheless, are dashed again. The truth is, there are real goods out there, and when you can't have them, it sucks.
Something inside me just feels very still. Very quiet. I think it might be anger. But I hope that goes away. There's nothing to direct it at, and so if it doesn't fizzle, it'll just sit and turn to poison. And I don't want that.
So my current strategy is redirection rather that suppression. I'm going to lose 15 pounds. I don't have a deadline, but I'm going to do it. That's something I do have control over, something I can do something about, and it wouldn't hurt to burn off the pounds from all my emotional eating and be healthier. Right?
And someday, a baby will come. Right?
Right?
Not getting myself worked up these last few weeks has helped... the last few weeks. I don't think there's any mental trick you can pull on yourself to help when the hopes that you so carefully hid from your own view, but carried nonetheless, are dashed again. The truth is, there are real goods out there, and when you can't have them, it sucks.
Something inside me just feels very still. Very quiet. I think it might be anger. But I hope that goes away. There's nothing to direct it at, and so if it doesn't fizzle, it'll just sit and turn to poison. And I don't want that.
So my current strategy is redirection rather that suppression. I'm going to lose 15 pounds. I don't have a deadline, but I'm going to do it. That's something I do have control over, something I can do something about, and it wouldn't hurt to burn off the pounds from all my emotional eating and be healthier. Right?
And someday, a baby will come. Right?
Right?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Christmas list...
Now would be the time to start working on my Christmas list for next year.
Let's see...
Ten fingers
Ten toes
hundreds of diapers a day
sleepless nights
*shake*
Wasn't going to do that. But GOOD LORD A'MIGHTY, is EVERYONE in the WORLD having a baby in the next 6 months?!? Little baby boys and girls are popping out everywhere. Someone save me. I've heard FOUR pregnancy or gender announcements since I woke up this morning. Someone send me chocolate, a good book, and a warm blanket. (Thank goodness I already have all of the above. Brand new tea, peppermint bark, the Harry Potter series - my first time through, several blankets, and a roaring fire.) But really. Someone save me from my procreating graduating class.
I was thinking, rather sanely, this morning, about how amazing the body is. I mean, it's frustrating as all hell. That's been rubbed in our faces several times over by now. But as I feel my body rev up to end another cycle, I'm impressed at all the things it does all by itself. It's a good thing this doesn't strike me often. It would be wearying to walk around in a prolonged state of shock and wonder because, "OH MY GOSH, I"m DIGESTING again." But really. We call our bodies "ours" and yet we were deposited into them without even the slightest consultation and will be evicted from them at a time, place and in a way we usually do not get to choose. And they do things all by themselves, without our explicit direction! Like today, I feel something building in my abdomen - a growing pressure, like a fist. The girls are starting to complain about the hormone dump. The precursors to cramping. Hunger. Feeling tired. I think I'm still a good 4 days away at least, but it's interesting to watch the process in a detached way. For the last year, I was so emotionally invested in the goings-on of my plumbing, and I know I utterly exhausted myself. The complete crash I experienced 4 weeks ago I think was helpful, because now I feel I'm 100 yards away, watching it happen. It's happening to a body that is mine, but it's not all that is me. My soul won't bleed this time. I hope.
Let's see...
Ten fingers
Ten toes
hundreds of diapers a day
sleepless nights
*shake*
Wasn't going to do that. But GOOD LORD A'MIGHTY, is EVERYONE in the WORLD having a baby in the next 6 months?!? Little baby boys and girls are popping out everywhere. Someone save me. I've heard FOUR pregnancy or gender announcements since I woke up this morning. Someone send me chocolate, a good book, and a warm blanket. (Thank goodness I already have all of the above. Brand new tea, peppermint bark, the Harry Potter series - my first time through, several blankets, and a roaring fire.) But really. Someone save me from my procreating graduating class.
I was thinking, rather sanely, this morning, about how amazing the body is. I mean, it's frustrating as all hell. That's been rubbed in our faces several times over by now. But as I feel my body rev up to end another cycle, I'm impressed at all the things it does all by itself. It's a good thing this doesn't strike me often. It would be wearying to walk around in a prolonged state of shock and wonder because, "OH MY GOSH, I"m DIGESTING again." But really. We call our bodies "ours" and yet we were deposited into them without even the slightest consultation and will be evicted from them at a time, place and in a way we usually do not get to choose. And they do things all by themselves, without our explicit direction! Like today, I feel something building in my abdomen - a growing pressure, like a fist. The girls are starting to complain about the hormone dump. The precursors to cramping. Hunger. Feeling tired. I think I'm still a good 4 days away at least, but it's interesting to watch the process in a detached way. For the last year, I was so emotionally invested in the goings-on of my plumbing, and I know I utterly exhausted myself. The complete crash I experienced 4 weeks ago I think was helpful, because now I feel I'm 100 yards away, watching it happen. It's happening to a body that is mine, but it's not all that is me. My soul won't bleed this time. I hope.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
yes, out of practice
Yes yes, a week has passed. We were visiting family in Ohio and New Jersey for about 10 days. And we're home now.
In the world of TTC, I find myself strangely calm. It's nice. Keeping my mind off of cycle days and odd bodily happenings isn't easy. But it's healthy. I feel saner. I have good reasons to think it didn't work this time, as articulated in my last entry. I'm not even sure I ovulated, which would be unfortunate, but my body is not behaving the way it has the past 3 cycles. For example, CD20 came and went and is well gone and the girls are quiet. Not that I mind.
It's been fairly cold and gray around here, and I was thinking yesterday of the summers I spent working in a greenhouse. I remember one particular day so vividly. I'd spent the whole day in one house (House 7? House 10?) - it was one of the bigger ones in the back - alone, listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter, planting something. Probably Mums. The house, as usual, was about 110 degrees (Farenheit, translating to about 43 C). I remember how lovely the heat in a greenhouse was. If you started the day out in the house and stayed there (drinking lots of water, yes), you hardly noticed the temperature rising. The first trickle of sweat down your back was gross and tickly. But then you were soaked with it. And maybe in there I got a glimpse of what a sweat lodge is all about. I just remember standing in the doorway of the house sometime around 3PM, hands coated in clean new dirt, sweaty as all hell, marvelling at the breeze that seemed to sweep itself across my face, and feeling so alive. Those were good days.
In other news, remember the lady I work for? The one who puts up a fuss every time it comes time to pay me? She did it again. Thankfully, after two days of emails, she agreed to pay me the amount we agreed on a month ago. Now, I'm about to throttle her because she won't get back to me with rather crucial information. I can't possibly advertise for upcoming events when I don't have things like the date, the time, etc. She wants me to submit her restaurant to Wine Spectator, but hasn't given me any of the materials. The final application is due Feb 1. I have to mail in an initial application first, receive something back from them, and then include that something in the final application. You do the math. Ug. Annoyed.
In the world of TTC, I find myself strangely calm. It's nice. Keeping my mind off of cycle days and odd bodily happenings isn't easy. But it's healthy. I feel saner. I have good reasons to think it didn't work this time, as articulated in my last entry. I'm not even sure I ovulated, which would be unfortunate, but my body is not behaving the way it has the past 3 cycles. For example, CD20 came and went and is well gone and the girls are quiet. Not that I mind.
It's been fairly cold and gray around here, and I was thinking yesterday of the summers I spent working in a greenhouse. I remember one particular day so vividly. I'd spent the whole day in one house (House 7? House 10?) - it was one of the bigger ones in the back - alone, listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter, planting something. Probably Mums. The house, as usual, was about 110 degrees (Farenheit, translating to about 43 C). I remember how lovely the heat in a greenhouse was. If you started the day out in the house and stayed there (drinking lots of water, yes), you hardly noticed the temperature rising. The first trickle of sweat down your back was gross and tickly. But then you were soaked with it. And maybe in there I got a glimpse of what a sweat lodge is all about. I just remember standing in the doorway of the house sometime around 3PM, hands coated in clean new dirt, sweaty as all hell, marvelling at the breeze that seemed to sweep itself across my face, and feeling so alive. Those were good days.
In other news, remember the lady I work for? The one who puts up a fuss every time it comes time to pay me? She did it again. Thankfully, after two days of emails, she agreed to pay me the amount we agreed on a month ago. Now, I'm about to throttle her because she won't get back to me with rather crucial information. I can't possibly advertise for upcoming events when I don't have things like the date, the time, etc. She wants me to submit her restaurant to Wine Spectator, but hasn't given me any of the materials. The final application is due Feb 1. I have to mail in an initial application first, receive something back from them, and then include that something in the final application. You do the math. Ug. Annoyed.
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