miscellany Archives - Page 9 of 11

Apr 18

Broccoli! Lots and lots of broccoli!

Apr 18

As expected, my PCP was not thoroughly swayed by my food allergy argument. To appease my delicate emotional state, he offered to refer me to an allergist to do a more in-depth test. He also suggested that maybe I was reacting to the fructose in high fructose corn syrup, not the corn. A little bit of research determined that Fructose Malabsorption is a fairly common malady and gave a list of foods to avoid. This list included a bunch of fruits (boo), some vegetables (double boo) and even coconut milk. Coconut milk is a mainstay of the Paleo diet. So I ask you – what the hell can I eat? I feel like food is out to get me and it’s more than a little frightening. I really want to know exactly WHAT is causing these issues. Next week I will literally be subsisting on broccoli, which seems to be the only totally “safe” food. It’s OK; I like broccoli. And this could be a good thing because the doctor weighed me and ~~holy shit I almost weight as much as my husband~~ infertility/carb loading has caused my weight to skyrocket to an unacceptable number. So, broccoli it is. Mmmmm…broccoli. (Please don’t call the authorities on me, I’m totally kidding about only eating broccoli. I’ve also decided to include peppers and celery).

I was over at my parent’s house last night for my little sister’s EIGHTH birthday celebration. I cannot believe she was born eight years ago. Where does the time go? Anyway, we were discussing natural healing and all that jazz and my mom got all serious and said I really needed to try acupuncture in addition to my crazy broccoli diet. She’s been seeing the same chiropractor/acupuncturist since I was eight years old and apparently he really wants to see me. I know acupuncture is huge in the infertility world, but I just never thought I needed it. Remember, I was strolling merrily along believing that my only problem was sperm count/motility/morphology, not anything with me. Last week proved otherwise. So now I have to figure out how to heal myself. She had mentioned yoga and meditation, which you would realize is totally out-of-character if you knew my mom. But again last night she said, “I’m serious about the yoga, meditation and acupuncture. You need to do those things.” And again, my husband gave me a look that said, “Seriously, between the grass fed beef, organic produce and acupuncture you’re going to put us in the poor house.” Which is probably true. But when it comes to healthy living, can you really put a monetary value on it? If anyone has any success stories or advice in regards to acupuncture, I would really appreciate it.

I was not expecting my PCP to be so concerned and involved, but he totally took me by surprise. He asked all the right questions and ordered up a slew of blood clotting disorder tests (as I figured he would) and made me promise that my OB/GYN would keep him in the loop on the tissue results from the D&C and any additional tests that she requests. He even shared that he and his wife had experienced a few losses early in their marriage, so he had personal experience with diagnosing the cause of this particular issue. I don’t know why I was so surprised that he cared. But anyway, it can’t hurt to have multiple doctors all doing their own individual research and diagnostics. I sort of feel like a lab rat, but since Dr. House does not exist in real life, I just have to work with who I have.

How many regular doctors does it take to match House’s misogynistic brilliance? Three, hopefully. And possibly an acupuncturist.

Apr 16

I’m in a glass case of emotion and I’m carb loading

Apr 16

I don’t even like Will Ferrell that much and I’ve only seen Anchorman one time, but all day that phrase kept running through my head.

Sorry for the massive number of posts this week, it’s not something I planned. It’s just that stuff keeps happening that compels me to write, and since I’ve decided forgo a diary in favor of a blog, here we are.

Today a pregnant coworker who has three boys found out that this child is a girl. As expected, there was a lot of happy squealing and high-fiving when she arrived at work. She was so very excited. And I’m happy for her. I like this person, and I think that any woman who raises three boys certainly deserves to have a little girl. But for me… well, yeah the timing sucks. I’m trying so hard not to be fragile but the effort is exhausting.

The world does not stop turning when you suffer a tragedy. It’s a sentiment I’ve heard before, but now I’m living it. People around me are (justifiably) going through happy life events or even mundane daily routines while I sit here feeling like absolute shit. Sometimes. Sometimes I feel decent, like in those moments that I’m not thinking about last week. But I’m sorry, someone else being pregnant – even pregnant across the room – just kills me on some level. To her credit, she did not come over to my side of the office gushing and when she talked to someone who sits next to me, she whispered. Again – it’s a great argument for sharing my life story with the whole world. But it pissed me off that she had to do that. I felt like a leper; like someone who had to be treated so gently. I know, I’m being contradictory here. On one hand I get pissed when people are insensitive, on the other I get offended when people treat me with extra care. I don’t understand it myself. I’m confused and unhappy. I just wish I could celebrate with her. Instead, I’m stuck over in the corner feeling super awkward and vulnerable. Before last week we were pregnant together. Now I feel like I’m on another planet.

Carb loading is something that endurance athletes do to maximize energy storage in muscles, or it’s something that I do to prepare for carb elimination next week. Want to hear what I ate today? A bagel for breakfast, homemade mac ‘n’ cheese for lunch and a giant muffin as a snack. You’d think I would be so happy to be eating all of these yummy, oh-so-bad-for-you foods, but I feel terrible. Lethargic. Bloated and gross. I’ve been busily pinning Paleo recipes and creating my shopping list for next week, and really I can’t wait to get started. My heart isn’t in this “naughty” food week. I’ve been obsessively researching articles bashing high fructose corn syrup and even hashing out my own contribution. Hey, I’ve always wanted to become a published author – maybe this will be my avenue. At least it’s something I feel passionate about.

I’ve also been thinking about drinking a glass of wine every night but somehow once I get home, I’m never in the mood. I only drank one time – last Tuesday at happy hour – and it didn’t go well. One unfortunate side effect that I get from drinking is a 2 a.m. bout of insomnia/dehydration that usually lasts well into the early dawn hours. It’s simply not worth it. My only escape from my current crappy situation is the solace of sleep, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take that away from myself.

I seriously hate being all “woe is me” when there are actual tragedies going on in the world right now. I remember the date of our first consult at New Hope was December 14th, which was also the day of the Sandy Hook shooting. It felt so silly to be anxious over getting accepted into a clinical trial when people were mourning the senseless loss of their first graders. Just like now, I’m feeling incredibly self absorbed and even selfish. My family is safe, I am safe. I am grateful for all the things that I have. But then… I want more. I want this one thing that I’ve wanted for my whole life and came so close to getting.

Countdown to Cayman – T minus four days. But who’s counting?

Mar 22

Things that make me want to punch other things

Mar 22

Can I just say, I am loving ICLW so far? I love comments, they really are the new hug (and I’m not even a hugger, really). I have had this draft hanging out for a while so I thought it would be fun to do an interactive post. I even managed to keep it (mostly) free from typical infertility gripes.

I often enjoy reading People I Want to Punch in the Throat. With her blog in mind, I started a similar list. Without further ado, I bring you….

Things that make me want to punch other things

1. Anyone who says verbiage, bandwidth (incorrectly), plush, flesh, supposebly and “Let’s take this offline.”

2. People who buy too much food for events and then throw it away. Take whatever you were planning to order, cut it in half, and then order half of that. You’ll still have leftovers, I swear.

3. Anyone who has their shit together. This includes people with investment portfolios, stocks, robust retirement funds, and summer homes.

4. People with achingly beautiful, thoughtful blogs that I’ll never live up to. Just shut up already.

5. People who think animals are cuter than babies. They’re not.

6. Vegans

7. Danielle Steele

8. Anyone who complains about having thick hair. Trust me, the alternative is far worse.

9. Being wet. This includes showers, baths, swimming, rainstorms, kayaking, puddle stomping, sweating on summer days, and all other moist activities. Also, the word moist.

10. Tile floors in any room besides the kitchen and the bathroom

11. People with no sense of humor

12. The whole 50 Shades of Grey phenomenon. Oh, yeah, let’s glorify terrible writing just because it has graphic sex scenes. Tee hee, we’re soooo naughty!

13. Facebook status updates of inspirational quotes. They make me hate you. Honestly, I’d rather hear about what you had for breakfast.

14. Anyone who ignores simple grammar rules and punctuation in any format

15. Laugh tracks on shows

16. Any show on MTV

17. Crumbs on the counter

18. Broken turn signals on cars that blink too fast.

19. Windshield wipers turned to a setting that does not match how hard it was raining. Slight drizzle? No need for heavy downpour setting. If your wipers start skipping and making sounds because the windshield is too dry, you’re doing it wrong.

20. Arbitrary Capitalization In The Middle Of Sentences For No Apparent Reason. No, It Does Not Make Your Words More Important. It Makes You Look Like An Idiot.

21. Arbitrary “quotation marks.” I have been noticing this a lot lately. It seems that a lot of people need to research where and when to use them. When in doubt – don’t.

22. Anyone who gets pregnant accidentally

23. Being at Walmart

24. Dog poop in the house. If anyone had told me often it would happen, I seriously would have reconsidered the whole “dog owner” thing.

25. Sleeping on a couch

26. Soggy cereal/melted ice cream/mushy food in general

27. Eating a meal without a beverage (even watching someone do this makes me dehydrated).

Your turn – what am I missing?

Feb 28

I want you to stay

Feb 28

First of all, I can’t take credit for the general idea of this post. I saw a similar concept over at It Only Takes One and when I reached the end with tears streaming down my face, I knew I’d have to make one of my own.

Here is an open letter to my two snow babies on this ever-so-important embryo transfer day.

Dear babies,

Hey! Hope you’re digging the view in my womb so far. I’ve been working very hard to make sure it’s cozy, if you count positive thinking, obsessing, and trying to mentally will my lining to bulk up as “working very hard.”

Hear me out, I have a couple of reasons that I think you should stick around (haha, get it? stick?). If you reach the end and think it’s not for you, that’s cool. You’re no prisoner here and ultimately I want you to be happy. But I think I’ve come up with some pretty compelling reasons to stay. Ready? Here goes.

1) Your dad. I already know what an amazing father he’s going to be based on how excited he is today, how he treats his nieces and nephews and how much he wants to be a dad. I already know how this is going to go down: he’ll be the “fun one,” always helping you make huge, exciting messes everywhere and I’ll be the “party pooper,” yelling at everyone to clean up the mess. You see, he’s just a big kid at heart. That will come in handy for you because he’ll always see your side of things and never talk down to you. I know you’re going to love him.

2) Your grandparents. Kids, you really lucked out in this department. All four of them can’t wait to meet you and spoil you silly. Plus, you have experts in all areas including cars, bargain shopping, hard work, politics and facts of all kinds. Just wait. You’ll see.

3) Your cousins/aunts/uncles/fur brothers. I can already see all the fun you’ll have with the kids, and there will never be a dull moment. There’s tons of hand-me-down clothing (don’t worry; all good stuff) and family gatherings are always a treat. You’ll fit right in. As for fur brothers, there are two and I can guarantee they will want to play – for endless hours – even when mommy and daddy are too busy. They’re also great at cuddling.

4) Well… me. I have been waiting for you for a long, long time. This may sound cliche so don’t judge me, but I knew I loved you before I met you. And as for any challenges you may face – bring it on. I’m well aware that ADD runs in the family and I am 100% prepared for it. I will love you no matter what.

So if you heard me voice concerns about having twins in the past, I’m sorry. I’ll admit that at first I was hesitant, but I’m warming up to the idea. And since you’re both here, I definitely want you both to stick around (see, did it again. Stick!) I hope this letter convinced you, because we would be truly honored to meet you.

See you soon (hopefully!)

to clarify: the photo I used before (in “we set the date”) was just found on the internet. This is a first photo of my ACTUAL children. Thinking of framing it.

Feb 26

all about my mother

Feb 26

Most of you have become acquainted with my mother-in-law Cindy via blog and in case you didn’t notice, I really lucked out with her. She’s basically a second mom to me. But what about my mother? What’s her story?

She called me the other day and jokingly complained about how the only things I have said about her in my ramblings are that she has issues with caffeine and she introduced me to diet pills. She said she was starting to feel like Mommie Dearest. I don’t mean to leave her out or to paint an unflattering picture. There’s a few good reasons that I’m always talking about my MIL (that’s mother-in-law for everyone who’s pissed at me for not explaining acronyms), not my mom. First, my MIL is a nurse, so she helps with the icky needle stuff. Second, she’s retired, so she has a lot of spare time for me. My mother works in an accounting department and literally works seven days per week between January and March, then kicks it down to six days/week until May. She is the one who taught me the value of a hard day’s work and taking pride in your accomplishments. She and I have a lovely phone relationship during this part of the year and will resume our weekend hangouts and shopping days in the springtime. If you want to know what my mom is like… just read my blog. Over the years I have basically become her clone. I look exactly like her (and that’s a very good thing. Here’s a fun fact – she’s almost 50 and has never had a gray hair. Ever.) Sometimes I’ll be off on some tirade and Eric will just look at me and say, “OK, Loretta.” So that’s my mom. More than just a bit character in the saga.

My mom was invaluable during my sister’s delivery. Ashley had her son when she was 18 and her now-husband was not much older. Sure, he was supportive and encouraging, but my mom ruled that delivery room. She knew exactly what to say and do during what I’m sure was a terrifying event. My sister’s second baby was born the weekend my mom was on a camping trip, so she drove for hours, lost in the woods in the middle of the night, just to come home for it (and she did make it in time). I can’t imagine not having her there when my baby is born.

When it comes to parenting styles, I want to mimic a lot of things that my parents did. For example, I was never mollycoddled. I might have been the opposite of mollycoddled. I’ll never forget at the age of 10 when I needed to make a dentist appointment. I called my mom at work to tell her and she said, “What are you telling me for? Call the dentist and schedule one.” (I should mention that our dentist was across the street, so going there by myself after school was really no big deal).

My mom always treated me with respect, and in turn I (mostly) lived up to her high expectations. I never had a curfew. I never had to go to school if I didn’t want to, but I was expected to keep my grades up. Basically, I was trusted to do what I needed to do to succeed in life and was expected to become self-reliant. This kind of trust absolutely prepared me for adulthood. I never had the shock of, “Oh shit, how do I cook dinner?” when I moved out. I was prepared to be a functioning member of society immediately because I had already been acting like one for so long.

My mom didn’t stay home and bake cookies. She worked her ass off so we could afford to buy cookies, even fancy Milano cookies if we wanted them. She was more likely to write a sarcastic note to my teachers and embarrass the shit out of me than she was to pack me a brown bag lunch with a “Love You!” note in it. She may not be Mrs. Cleaver, but she’s one hell of a mom.

Feb 21

I broke the zipper on my fat jeans (true story)

Feb 21

I laughed when it happened. It was yesterday at NHFC while dressing after my ultrasound. Then I went to work hoping that my long sweater did not ride up to expose my busted zipper. How did I become this person?

Let me tell you something and then back it up with photographic evidence: I used to be thin. Like, actually thin.

little brother Michael and me, ’08.

seriously… LOOK AT THAT CLAVICLE

I didn’t really diet per se, but I did take diet pills that made me never want to eat. They worked. I’m not even going to tell you exactly what they were because this is the internet and I’ll probably get arrested, but let’s just say I put together a concoction and used things in ways that they weren’t intended to be used. Don’t judge me. I was thin and pretty, remember?

It’d be so easy to blame this weight gain on infertility, so that’s what I’m going to do. As soon as we started TTC, I went off the diet pills. I was also newly married and enjoying the prospect of cooking well-rounded meals. Before I lived with Eric, I used to have a bowl of peas for dinner and call it a night. That’s still one of my favorite meals (but he is not too keen on it).

That’s the thing, guys – I’m largely in denial. I still pick up a pair of size 2 jeans and think, “Well that looks about right.” I still gravitate towards the extra smalls. I have an itty bitty coworker who laments her gain of microscopic pounds and cries that she went from a size 0 to a size 2. I used to be her! Seriously! I desperately want to join in, but when I pipe up with, “Oh my God, I gained, too,” there’s no chorus of “Shut up, you’re so thin!” No one says that to me anymore. It’s really sad.

Fat crept up on me. I never thought I would be one of those people (like, how can you not notice an extra 30 pounds? Are you blind?). I think it finally sunk in around my birthday last year. I remember my dad snapped a photo of the lovely moment at Texas Roadhouse where they make you sit on a saddle while everyone sings to you. I looked at the photo and thought, “How can that be my arm? Whose chubby arm is photo bombing me?” It made me realize that I hadn’t liked a photo in a while. Then I slowly pieced together that none of my clothes fit. And yeah, it really was my arm. I would show you the photo but I untagged myself and deleted it from Facebook. I wish I could delete it from memory.

Then I started the injectables and it was really over. I swear, I gained 10 lbs this January alone. After digging out my best flowing, oversized shirts and wraps and praising God that it was winter and I could at least cover up in sweaters, I braced for a potential pregnancy knowing that I already weighed what I wanted to weigh at 40 weeks. I keep reading all these articles about breastfeeding being such a great calorie burner (oh em gee, not like I’m overly hopeful or anything reading BREASTFEEDING articles! Let’s get pregnant first, how about that). Then I mention them to the moms I know and they roll their eyes and say, “Yeah, OKAY. Right.”

I get it. I do. This is all for a higher purpose. My mom swears she could never get pregnant weighing less than 120 or while taking the concoction of diet pills (which SHE actually introduced me to. Thanks, Mom). I don’t think bony/angular/gaunt is an inviting description for a growing child. So I obliged and became soft/cushion-y/warm. It just sucks right now.

You know what? It’s more than just vanity. I don’t feel like me in this body. I’m long past the days of dressing like a total hoochie, going to bars and acting all offended when the guys stare. But I have all these clothes, and I like my clothes. I don’t want to start over just because my self control has gone to shit. But then at the same time, I want my body to change in huge, life-altering ways. I’m ready for that kind of fat, I’m just not ok with this pointless fat.

I don’t even care when you start to show, my first stop after a BFP will be some store selling maternity clothing. I cannot wait to do it. My wardrobe is at this weird place right now and I don’t want to (and can’t afford to) buy anything new. Plus, I hope it would be a waste to do that anyway. I also have this weird obsession with maternity clothes and have wanted to be buying stuff all along, but have not pulled the trigger yet, because clearly that would be considered “jinxing it.” I keep thinking I’m not going to have anything to wear, even though plenty of people have promised bags of clothes. I just want to look cute.

I almost entitled this “my obligatory ‘I’m so fat’ post” because in my travels through IF blogs, I’ve seen so many. We’re all stressed out, freaking out, pumped full of hormones, bloated, depressed, and well acquainted with Ben and Jerry. So I know, I’m not alone. I’m just so ready for the next part where you don’t notice my other fat because you’re so focused on my huge round belly. Can I get there, please?

not quite obese… but on the road

Feb 16

the world’s ugliest bathroom: a photo assemblage

Feb 16

All in all, our house is not so bad. It’s not the “forever home” that I hope to one day have. Eric and I (surprisingly) agree that it will be a farm, or at least a turn-of-the-century farmhouse, with more than 5 acres, lots of animals, and tons of character. I think my worst nightmare would be living in a McMansion of any kind, even if I could afford one. I want charm oozing out of the plaster and lath exposed beam walls. I want a rich tapestry of history. I would even settle for a few good-natured ghosts, if that’s what it took.

But back to this house. It’s your typical 60’s rancher, with the added bonus of a walkout basement so you can kind of pretend it’s two stories. When we first came to look at it, we were expecting a 2-bedroom as advertised. Imagine our surprise at finding an entire third undisclosed bedroom, which I guess is technically just a “room” since there is no closet, but it’s in the hall with the other bedrooms. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…

our house in spring: it’s pretty cute

There are a lot of things I don’t care for and a lot of things I’ve come to not mind so much. When we first moved in, I obsessed over the hideous interior doors. I thought for sure that my retinas would burn out of my skull if I had to endure their ugliness for longer than a week. This did not happen. I wouldn’t say I like the doors now, but I certainly don’t notice them like I did at first.

There is one intolerable problem. When we first moved in, the bathroom was just an outdated eyesore. Now, thanks to our dog, it’s become the quintessential crackhouse bathroom. Please see below for photographic evidence.

welcome to ugly

You’ll notice right off the bat (if you’re not legally blind) that I am missing half of the floor. Well, let me tell you a little something about Bird. Bird does not like being closed up in small spaces. When Bird does not like something, he’s not afraid to tell you about it – in his own way. I documented how this happened back in May of last year with Naughty Bird & the stinky chickens.

But the floor (or lack thereof) is only part of the problem here. So many other issues plague this bathroom that I often gaze upon it with a feeling of hopelessness. I’m at my wits end.

Here are some close-ups:

a light switch – outside of the bathroom? I’m sure that makes sense to someone.

this ugly door features a hole – maybe someone really really REALLY had to go?

Even Anne Geddes can’t save this bathroom

A sink that’s not connected to the wall in any way

what, you don't want to take a shower here?

care for a shower?

please excuse the mildew

too bad the lovely butterfly wallpaper is peeling

our living room doesn’t have a fan or overhead light… but our bathroom sure does!

yup, a hole in the floor and a professional patch job

prettiest medicine cabinet that I ever did see

Why am I posting this? Well, my deepest desire is that this blog post will go viral and someone from Bath Crashers will say, “By George! This is the most challenging yet rewarding project that we could ever hope to undertake! Although we are only casting in the LA metro area (as usual, because clearly those are the only people who need bathroom makeovers), we are going to make this onetime exception and fly 3,000 miles to REDO THIS BATHROOM! Just for the THRILL OF IT.”

It makes sense, really. The bathroom is just dripping with potential. First of all, I’m not sure if the photos do it justice, but it’s HUGE. There is plenty of space to do what we want, including a separate shower and tub, a double vanity, an in-room linen closet and even some extra room for ballroom dancing lessons. Space is a huge one on the plus side.

So why don’t we just do it ourselves? Well, first of all, I’m not 100% certain our marriage could survive another home reno project (the kitchen cabinets were the trial run for that, and let’s just say… it didn’t go well). Neither of us is a professional contractor. Eric is handy, but he’s also a perfectionist. I think he even wants a professional to do the work. And that brings us to the real reason – $$$$$$$. I’m sure you’ve heard that bathroom renovations are somewhat pricey. We both agree that just doing one or two little things that we can afford would be a waste, especially since we would just have to redo those things when the real renovation got going.

So we continue to suffer in the crackhouse bathroom. I find myself apologizing for it when people come over and cringing when someone asks, “So where’s the bathroom?” I always throw in the “Bird ripped up the floor! Ha-HA!” disclaimer, but it’s just sounding like a tired excuse. So if you see any bathroom makeover project contests or know a professional contractor who does charity work for his/her portfolio, please let me know. In the meantime… please don’t laugh at me (to my face, anyway).

closeup of the floor with the culprit (at right)

Feb 13

damn you, caffeine

Feb 13

I was an addict and I didn’t even know it. I really don’t understand how 2 cups of coffee every morning makes that much of a difference for the entire day, but according to my head it does.

Everything went fine at my Day 3 baseline test on Sunday except for one (minor according to them) problem. I have two colossal cysts on my ovaries. These buggers are effing huge. The tech assured me that it’s totally normal, caused by the drugs and that they should go away naturally when I ovulate this month. I did not ask the obvious, “But what if they don’t…” because I didn’t want the stress of knowing that could be an issue.

When texting my mom the results, she immediately sent an urgent “STOP DRINKING CAFFEINE RIGHT NOW” message. Apparently she’s had run-ins with caffeine induced cysts and since I share part of her genetic makeup, this could also be a problem for me. I assured her that the cysts are more likely caused by the shitload of drugs I’ve been injecting myself with, but I would give up the caffeine anyway as an added precaution.

photo credit: tumblr

Well. I never thought it would be such hell giving it up. As mentioned above, I’m a two coffee cup a day drinker, both in the morning. Sometimes I have a Diet Coke at lunch, but lately I’ve been cutting back and just sticking to water. I’ll usually indulge in a little bit of chocolate in the afternoon, but I’m talking one little wrapped square of Dove, not 5 Snickers bars. Caffeine did not seem to rule my life.

I started out yesterday with 2 cups of decaf, thinking that would at least satisfy my yen for the taste of it. By 11 a.m., a small but persistent ache started right behind my eyes and mushroomed out to the rest of my brain. At 1 p.m. I was so tired that I put my head down on my desk. I can’t say I’ve ever had to do that before.

Last night the headache continued. I drank some herbal tea and it helped a little, but I’m not ashamed to say I went to bed at 8:45. If we’re being honest, I wanted to go to bed at 7.

It’s a little scary how much I depend on caffeine and that it has that much of an effect on my body’s functioning capacity. Today the headache is still there, but less mind-numbing than yesterday. I could definitely close my eyes and be asleep in under 2 minutes.

So we’ll soldier on. This coincides with Lent starting, so I decided to give up coffee (decaf and regular). Fun times.

Feb 11

I post my blog on Facebook (and I don’t give a shit)

Feb 11

photo credit: the berry

I recently rediscovered all the infertility blogs. I’m not really sure why I ever forgot they were there. Yesterday afternoon I was bored and had just done a little redesigning on this blog, so I decided to head over to Stirrup Queens and start searching around. One hour of reading turned into seven.

As much as I appreciate all the kind words and support of family and friends, there’s something about reading tales of other IF journies that gives me contentment. The world of IF blogs makes me feel… normal? Yeah, that’s it. Like I totally fit in.

I remember back when I had my old blog, I used to feel a little thrill of shock when I saw someone posting with their real name and picture on an IF blog. I thought to myself, “Wow. Ballsy.” But now I’m one of them and I take it one step further – I post that shit on Facebook. Yeah, that’s right, all 308 of my friends and frenemies and old high school classmates know my most intimate secrets. Why did I start doing this? Well, for one thing Burnt Toast started out as a blog about living with dogs and chickens, not about infertility. That one bomb-drop post was sort of unprecedented.

I’m starting to realize that I posted spoiler alert because I’ve been incredibly cocky since we got accepted into the clinical trial. I can tell you I’d never be writing about this and sharing it with everyone if we weren’t doing IVF. On my last blog there was a lot of complaining and not a lot of problem solving, whereas here I’m actually going down a road. It may not be a guarantee, but it’s a hell of a lot better than just sitting around whining.

That’s not a dis to anyone who remains anonymous by any means. Sometimes it feels a little weird knowing that anyone on my friend list may know when I’m ovulating. But I figure I give enough disclaimers and clicking on the links is a conscious choice, so if you know that about me, it’s your own fault for looking. It’s not like I’m putting “Ovulation day – YAY!” as my status. It’s basically a good way to keep everyone who cares up to date with what’s going on.

I also wasn’t prepared for any backlash. Again, I’m not sure why I think I’m immune to these simple things. And 99% of you have all been supportive, so thanks for that. I’m hesitant to say anything about that other 1%, so I’m just going to leave it at that for now.

I noticed that I’ve been making my posts like little stories with intros, middles, and hopeful little end phrases. I don’t know why I keep doing this. Blogging is kind of hard because nine times out of ten I hate what I write three days later. It sounds less cheesy when I’m writing it, and then I post it, and then I go back and it sounds all chipper and happy and fake. I think a part of me is trying to maintain this veneer of perfection for all those Facebook followers just so no one gets uncomfortable. And that’s why it’s really refreshing to go back to my anonymous IF sisters and see the nitty gritty, which makes me want to get back to speaking from the heart with the good, the bad and the very ugly. Going through IVF is harrowing. It’s messy, it’s weird, and I hate it while simultaneously being so grateful that I have the opportunity to do it. So there you have it. If you came here looking for sunshine and roses, I don’t have any. I’m terrified out of my friggen mind. And if I recently showed up on your blog with a random comment, I want to thank you for reminding me why we’re doing this.

Feb 10

A quiet house

Feb 10

I have always known that I wanted children, and here is one of the reasons why.

I grew up in a loud house. There was always someone yelling, lots of commotion, and lots of noise in general. I was one of three (for a long time, until I was one of five), but I would argue that my brother Eric counts for two or even three in terms of noise-making abilities.

Holidays were even crazier, typical Italian drama-fests with an entire extended family crammed into tight quarters. I loved it. That is what spoke to my heart. It felt comfortable, it felt safe, it just felt like home.

One of the first things I loved about Eric was his big, loud family. I immediately felt like I belonged there, because it felt just like my family gatherings. One of my great joys in life is our weekly Sunday dinner at his parent’s house, a cacophony of kids and grandkids and spouses.

Naturally, I imagined a noisy house of my own, filled with the harmonious sounds of kids and dogs and happiness. Of course, I treasure silence at times, but I like it as an unexpected surprise, not a normal state of being. This morning is so quiet here that you can hear the fish tank filter humming. Sometimes we keep a TV on to drown out the silence, but sometimes we don’t. And in those moments of quiet it can be so lonely.

The silence felt oppressive when there was no solution in sight. Now that we hopefully have one, it feels like the quiet before the storm. It’s a quiet anticipation. It’s like we’re collectively holding our breath, waiting for the next moment, waiting for the noise to finally come into our house. I like when things are clean and orderly, but once the laundry is done and the dishes are done and the vacuuming is done it’s a little bit sad. I definitely feel a sense of “Now what?” I mean, it’s obvious that I’m lacking a purpose. But it’s not so much lacking as it is having a purpose that’s unfilled for right now.

I’m just really looking forward to the noise.