burnt toast life

  • home
  • about
  • the story of burnt toast
  • the timeline
  • contact

Apr 26

Fat, poor and introspective in the Cayman Islands

Apr 26

Things got better in Cayman. We figured out that the room service was sub-par, but the restaurants at the hotel were pretty good, so we just needed to motivate our lazy asses to get out of the room. I never thought I’d have the life experience to say the phrase, “Don’t order room service at the Ritz in Cayman, it’s positively dreadful,” but here I am saying it. Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, there were no pregnant women on our snorkeling excursion. Right when I let my guard down enough to enjoy the trip, another boat zipped past and slowed just long enough for me to notice a very pregnant passenger, also in a bikini. Apparently that’s a thing there. Also, HAHA, UNIVERSE, VERY FUNNY.

There were times I felt a little bit like the Beverly Hillbillies at the hotel. It’s not just that we don’t fit into that financial bracket – it’s a whole other mindset and way of behaving. I think I’m pretty good at “faking it ’til I make it” but as for my husband… God love him, he does not care what people think, and he won’t pretend to be anyone other than exactly who he is. Really I should take a lesson from him and stop being so worried about appearances (and no, I’m not just saying this because he reads all my posts). I was the girl quietly slipping the complimentary Molton Brown shampoos and lotions and cute little jars of honey into my handbag while maintaining what I hoped was an expression of total indifference. But Eric totally surprised me when we went to a dinner with my aunt and two of her lawyer friends. Her colleague, a Caymanian resident, picked us up in his Jaguar and whisked us over to a gorgeous open air restaurant where we dined on lobster and sipped mojitos in the balmy 80 degree evening. I was thinking, “A girl could get used to this,” and hoping I’d think of interesting enough things to say during dinner. But then it turns out I didn’t need to worry about it, because Eric totally held his own during the conversation, regaling them with tales of the military that they found a hell of a lot more interesting than discussing billable hours. And he didn’t even have to fake it.

stole a lot of good free stuff

stole a lot of good free stuff


On our way to the beach one morning Eric asked, “Why are you walking funny? Just get off a horse?” I didn’t even notice I was doing it. But after he said something, I figured out the problem. When wearing dresses or bathing suit bottoms, it became apparent that my thighs rub together when I walk (something that has never been an issue before). To accommodate their larger circumference, I had inadvertently and involuntarily adopted a wider stance, therefore making me walk like I just got done jockeying or alternately, had just had some kind of bathroom mishap. Oh, the shame of it all.

I know I’ve been so weight focused and it’s probably getting annoying to hear but honestly, I was terrified when I got my BFP. I was certain that I would balloon to elephantine proportions during the pregnancy. My stomach getting bigger was one thing. But my thighs and my arms and even my calves? They were already too big for me, and had the potential of getting bigger still. I can’t explain how much I felt like a foreigner trapped in my own body.

Before packing for the trip, I made the mistake of hastily texting my sister saying, “None of my clothes for vacation will fit my fat ass. Looks like I’ll need to borrow yours.” I need to mention two things: 1) My sister is extremely sensitive and 2) She’s not fat at all. But we are built differently and she gravitates towards mediums while I (used to) make a beeline for the extra smalls. I also need to mention that my sister is incredibly beautiful whereas I am more “pretty” or even “average-leaning cute.” I think that’s part of the problem, or even most of the problem, with the weight gain. For the longest time I’ve relied on my thinness to keep me feeling attractive. Like, OK, my face isn’t a 10, but at least I look decent in a pair of jeans. It’s like I’ve become invisible to the world now that I’m larger.

The fact that I have to keep reiterating how I’m not obsessed with appearances probably proves that I am obsessed with them, and clearly I’m in denial. I’m smart enough to know that my self-worth is not directly proportional to my weight nor is my being thin or not thin an indication of how attractive I am. I know. But going on vacation in April forced me to thrust my winter-hibernation and especially out of sorts post-infertility and even post-miscarriage body into a bikini and skimpy cover-up. And I did this at a resort populated with women whose full-time jobs appeared to be working out, tanning and getting manicures. I felt a bit like the Pillsbury Dough Boy at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. And, at heart, I’m feeling quite betrayed by my body both inside and out. It’s no wonder my self-image issues go deeper than just how much extra pasta I’ve been eating.

I stuck to my new diet today, which was extra hard since I haven’t gone grocery shopping since vacation and there’s pretty much nothing but eggs in my fridge. I took a great “before” picture that I contemplated posting, but I’m thinking I’ll wait until I have a noticeable “after.” I also ate an apple this afternoon and then suffered the absolute worst stomach pains, so I’m convinced I have Fructose Malabsorption as my PCP suggested. Looks like it’s legit broccoli and chicken from here on out. Bring it.

Posted by amanda 18 Comments
Filed Under: miscarriage, miscellany, the little things Tagged: fat, fructose malabsorption, Grand Cayman, poor

Apr 22

Greetings from the Pregnant Women’s Convention, Grand Cayman edition

Apr 22

I was going to hold off on posting until I got back from vacation. I wanted to just take a break from blogging and infertility and drama for five days. But alas, you cannot take a break from reality, even when you are in paradise.

I could not wait to post because 1) shit is on my mind, 2) it’s a lot of shit, so I don’t want to post it all at once and 3) relaxing vacations offer plenty of spare time to write, write and write some more.

Here I am on Grand Cayman Island, staying at The Ritz-Carlton and trying to enjoy myself. There was one cute baby on the plane. Fine, OK, I dealt with it. But apparently someone forgot to mention that there must be a Pregnant Women’s Convention here at the hotel. Within the first ten minutes of sitting by the pool on the first day, Pregnant Woman #1 waddled her happy pregnant ass over and plopped into the chair right next to me. Awesome. Then Pregnant Woman #2 passed me in the hallway. Today is day two and around Pregnant Woman #6 (in a cute bikini, no less) I’ve stopped counting and just resigned myself to laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. I would not classify this as a “kid-friendly” hotel by any means. I would not come here for a wild and fun family vacation. But I guess there are a lot of lawyers and hedge fund managers here and the men brought their wives to enjoy the beach while they’re stuck in conferences. Their pregnant wives. Or maybe there’s really a Pregnant Women’s Convention. Frankly, it wouldn’t shock me.

Moral of the story? There’s no escaping your state of mind, even if you leave your state. As frustrating as it was to see those women and the occasional cherubic baby in a stroller, the worst moment so far happened when I casually glanced at Eric in profile and couldn’t help but picture that our babies probably had his facial structure. I don’t know why I thought that and it’s something that could have happened anywhere. It just proves that I’m never safe from my own self-inflicted misery.

I’m making it sound like I’m having a terrible time, but really I’m not. This place is incredible. The water is turquoise and warm, the sand is white, the weather (minus a brief rain shower today) is perfect. My complaints, besides the inundation of pregnant people, are just the food and the prices. I mean, $15 cocktails and $25 salads would be one thing if they were mind-blowing. But honestly? Every single thing I’ve eaten has left me uttering, “I’ve had better,” all while trying hard not to calculate just how much we’ve wasted on dried-out-cheese encrusted nachos.

Tomorrow we’re going snorkeling and swimming with stingrays, two things that are actually worth the money and will hopefully deter the league of pregnant chicks. Tuesday we’re planning to go on a rum distillery tour and a brewery tour, which are things I would not have enjoyed as much if I’d still been knocked up.

As far as existential crises and major life decisions, I’ll save those chats for a later post. Let’s just say I’ve been doing some serious thinking about my life and knowing that I’m a super control freak surrounded by uncontrollable situations, it should make for an interesting next couple of months and even years. I need to make real changes if I want things to change. Simple to say… not so simple to do.

And for now, here’s some sandy toes:

toes

Posted by amanda 8 Comments
Filed Under: IVF, miscarriage, the little things Tagged: existential crisis, Grand Cayman, Pregnancy Convention

Apr 02

heartbeats, Easter chicks and Grand Cayman

Apr 02

What do these things have to do with each other, you ask? Nothing, nothing at all except that they are part of what’s been making my life a little more interesting these past few days.

Eric and I “officially” announced the impending arrival of our twins at our respective Easter gatherings over the weekend. The whole thing was pretty underwhelming since literally every single person in attendance knew anyway. I am still blown away at how many people in my life follow my blog and care what I have to say. It’s quite humbling. Anyway, it was very cool to finally be the ones doing the announcing, but as I said… underwhelming since it wasn’t a surprise. I might as well have said, “Attention, everyone: the sky is blue and chocolate makes me happy. Also, I’m getting fatter by the day.”

We also got six new chicks to replace the ones we so carelessly allowed to be slaughtered last year (if you missed or forgot that incident, catch up here). They’re very cute. They help me remember that despite the shitty cold temperatures, spring is technically here and pretty soon we can spend time outside again. Just no free range chicken wandering this time.

Allie + chick

Allie + chick

the cuteness

the cuteness

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grand Cayman. Ok, so I hate the word “babymoon” and everything it stands for, but I do believe I will be going on one. My aunt goes on a business trip every year to Grand Cayman and has invited me numerous times. Finally this year I said, “You know what? I’ll probably never have this opportunity ever again.” Ok, I guess babymoons make sense.  Kind of. (It’s still a stupid word).

actual photo of where my fat ass will be sitting in 3 weeks

actual photo of where my fat ass will be sitting in 3 weeks

Anyway, she has graciously agreed to let both Eric and me come along (since if I went alone he would be way too jealous to function) and since it’s a business trip, the room is totally covered. And when I say “room” I mean the $1,500/night suite at The Ritz-Carlton, Grand Cayman. So yeah… kind of hard to turn down. I’m pretty sure this is not something we would ever get to do otherwise. Our flight leaves April 20th, so I have to find myself a fat person bathing suit, STAT.

And I saved the best for last – heartbeats! I had my ultrasound today at New Hope and everything looks perfect. Still two babies and best of all, I got to hear both little heartbeats.  I must admit I got a little teary eyed hearing them – they sounded very strong and clear (though no one has given me numbers, which is annoying). I’m measuring 7 weeks 1 day, which is right where I’m supposed to be. Unfortunately, I had to refill my dwindling supply of Progesterone and I am not allowed to stop taking it as I had hoped. I cannot wait to transition to a regular doctor that’s not 90 miles away. But who’s complaining? Not me! Hearing those heartbeats helped me turn the corner from, “Is this happening?” to “Shit… this is happening.”

Guys… this is happening.

 

Posted by amanda 7 Comments
Filed Under: IVF, pregnancy Tagged: chicks, Grand Cayman, heartbeats, ultrasound