Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Infertility Information Overload

We met with our reproductive endocrinologist (RE) for the first time yesterday.  We were incredibly impressed with his knowledge and his level of detail while still explaining things to us in a way that we could understand.  We were also incredibly overwhelmed with the amount of information we came away with from our appointment.

Part of our meet n' greet was an internal ultrasound to check out the state of my Lovely Lady Lumps: Ovary Edition.  Let me tell you, there are few things in life more awkward than spreading your legs in a miniscule room with a doctor, a nurse, an intern, and your husband gazing at your reproductive organs rendered in fuzzy black and white.  Except for maybe the act of giving birth.  I'll consider this training.

Unfortunately, we came away from that experience with less than optimal news than what the doctor on base indicated when he said that my test results looked "good".  Our RE was only able to locate eight follicles, instead of the 10-20 that he explained most non-reproductively challenged women would have.  He thinks my reproductive organs might be a little farther along in the aging process than they should be, but he also pointed out that some of the follicles may have just been hidden by a cyst that was also present on one of my ovaries.  I'll do some more testing this month and we'll reassess when we get that information.

Colby will also repeat his testing to make sure he wasn't just having a bad day, and will visit a urologist at the end of this month to rule out any physical issues.  Despite what some anonymous commenters may believe, we do not find this embarrassing, shameful or in any way detrimental to his status as a man.  In fact, male factor infertility is the sole cause for 20% of couples facing infertility and a contributing cause to 30-40%.  I'll bet that seems like a pretty high number to you.  Know why you didn't know that?  Because no one talks about it.  Because they are worried about reactions just like ones we've faced.  

Ability to reproduce is not the measure of a man or woman, it is not a reflection of how good or frequent the sex is--as our doctor put it yesterday, it is simply an egg meeting the sperm through some sort of delivery system.  If you're fortunate enough to be one of those lucky people who has been able to conceive easily, please don't think that those of us who aren't so fortunate are somehow embarrassed or consider ourselves to be "less than" in any way.  We wouldn't be ashamed if our kidneys didn't function properly, or if our blood sugar didn't regulate properly, so why on earth would infertility be any different? /Tangent

We were also given two huge packets outlining our Intrauterine Insemination (IUI) and Invitro Fertilization (IVF) options, including how the procedure works and a breakdown of all the costs.  Tricare doesn't cover any treatment after a diagnosis of infertility, so with the exception of some monitoring costs which are covered, everything will be out of pocket.  Each round of IUI will cost in the neighborhood of $1200, and depending on which IVF package is chosen, it will cost anywhere from $11,000-20,000--neither of those numbers include meds which we would purchase separately and can cost from $200-400 for IUI and $2000-4000 for IVF.

Enter sticker shock.

So, that's where we are now.  Our doctor is confident that by the time Colby leaves for his deployment, we'll have a plan and will be ready to go ahead with either IUI or IVF when he returns home in the Spring.  Obviously, none of this is ideal.  We joke about it as a defense mechanism, because it is absolutely the most terrifying, heartbreaking, unfair situation we've ever faced.  We are overwhelmed, not only by all of the physical demands of these procedures, but also the staggering costs.  I find myself on the verge of tears throughout the day, any time I think about our options, hence the joking to make the scariness a little more bearable.

We were saying last night that our doctor had better include some kind of academic screening to only pick the smart sperm, because that kiddo is going to be spending any potential college funds just being conceived.  We're going to need some scholarship-level brainiacs.  Either that or a reality tv show.  What do you think:  Angela & Colby + Embryo.  That could work!

The Thorn Bush

Instead of complaining that the rosebush is full of thorns, be happy that the thorn bush has roses.
~ German Proverb

Last week we got the results back from Colby's fertility testing.  The good news is that now we know why we haven't been able to get pregnant over the course of the last 13 cycles.  The bad news is that we're facing male factor infertility.  Being that this is Colby's diagnosis, I don't feel comfortable elaborating further. This is a topic that I am much more open about than he is, and that he has only begrudgingly accepted me posting about here knowing that it helps me to process our journey.  Suffice it to say, it is not wholly impossible for us to become pregnant naturally, but the chances of it happening are very low.

Also in the good news department, I finally got my test results back, and everything looks good on my end.  All I need now is my hysterosonogram to make sure I don't have any blockages, but it looks like all systems are go in my tiny human incubator.  This is comforting in that I feel a lot more optimistic about our treatment possiblities being that my hormones and eggs all seem to be doing what they're supposed to do.

I've felt a little distanced from our situation since we got the results back last week.  I think it's because we're in something of a holding pattern until Colby visits a urologist and we get a better idea of what the next steps might be.  Since we only have one cycle left before the deployment, I've essentially accepted as fact that at the earliest, we may be able to conceive next Spring.  I almost feel a sense of relief knowing that all of my worries were justified and that we are getting so much closer to getting the help that we need to get our baby.

A very wise friend shared the quote above on Facebook recently, and it was exactly the kick in the pants I needed to readjust my thinking.  I've spent a lot of time lately moping about the fact that life didn't go our way.  That we haven't been able to get pregnant, and now that we are getting answers we're going to have to be patient while Colby is overseas.  I certainly have recognized the good parts of my life, but they have not been my focus.  I've been dwelling on the negatives and even resenting the positives because they aren't my first choice.

I would rather have a baby than to go out drinking with my girlfriends.  I would rather have a baby than to travel abroad.  I would rather have a baby than to be able to display breakable items on child-height shelves.  I would rather have a baby than spend my Saturdays catching up on new Fall premieres.  I would rather have a baby than spend money on new clothes and shoes.

But that is not my reality.

My thorny reality right now is that I do not have a baby.  So instead of focusing on that, I will better appreciate the roses that are in my life.  The amazing friends and family that listen and support me.  That we have the freedom to travel and watch television uninterrupted and read a book in silence.  That I can splurge on new sweaters and a to-die-for pair of boots instead of diapers and onesies.

Are those things my first choice?  No.  But that doesn't make them any less wonderful in their own right.  We are not without hope.  Now, even more than six months ago, I can see a family in our future and feel the excitement again rather than dreading each upcoming month that ends in disappointment.  Our journey is far from over, but instead of focusing on the pain of the thorn prick, I'll stick a bandaid on it and enjoy the life that I do have.  Because it's not perfect, but it's mine.  Thorns, roses and all.

So Much More Complicated Than It Needs To Be

I am absolutely at my wits end.  I am supposed to be getting answers, making a plan, learning what it is that we're up against.  Instead, I feel like a dog spinning around endlessly chasing my tail.

As I mentioned in a previous post, this cycle we started our fertility testing.  I went in two weeks ago and had my blood drawn for the cycle day 3 labs, Colby gave his... erm... sample on the 25th.  We have still been unable to track down any of the results from any of the tests.  In both cases the lab at one location was supposed to send the results to a doctor at another location, and instead I've been ping ponging back and forth between nurses who tell me they've not received any labs, or that they've faxed labs, or that from their end they aren't able to access my information.  I am about this close to ripping out all of my hair.  At this rate, I'll be going in to do my second blood draw for my next labs before we've gotten any information about our first.

I know that I'm incredibly lucky to have decent health insurance that is, for the most part at this stage, taking good care of us and covering our quest to become parents.  But it is so frustrating when one hand doesn't talk to the other hand.

Because of our level of coverage, I have to have all of my labwork done on base, but because the base no longer provides GYN services, I see a doctor off-base.  Colby did his testing at a fertility center because the base doesn't run that lab, but sees a doctor on base.  And in each case, it seems as though Colby and I are the only people who give two hoots about where exactly in the ether our results may be floating.

On top of that, it's impossible to just pick up the phone, make a call and speak with an actual person.  In each instance that I need to speak with a nurse at either the base or my OB's office, I have to work my way through a labryntine maze of "press 1 for this, press 3 for that" and then at the end of it all, leave a message and wait hours (usually a full day) for a return call.

Yesterday, I had a long conversation with my on-base nurse about how she had faxed over my lab results and how she needed to speak with my off-base doctor about where I would get my HSG done so that Tricare would cover it.  It seemed like finally everything was under control.  This morning, I got a call from my off-base doctor's nurse asking me where I was going to get my HSG done because my on-base nurse needed to know.  OH MY GOD.  THIS IS NOT MY JOB.  Oh, and according to my charts, they hadn't received any lab results.

I understand that I'm hardly the first person to have to go through this annoyance.  I know that a few days isn't going to change the results or change anything about how my body works, but I just want to know.  Knowing that there are answers out there, and I just can't get my hands on them is absolutely infuriating.

Not to mention, I'm afraid to do anything (go to the gym, take a shower) that will take me away from my phone, on the off chance that one of the nurses will call me, I'll miss it, and be sentenced to yet another day of leaving a message and waiting for the phone to ring.

And with that, I'm off... to wait for the phone to ring.

Happy and Healthy

I don't even know where to begin talking about the last few days.  I've had Colby with me, I've gotten to cuddle a baby, we've gotten piles and piles of much needed rain... it has been so good.  A lot of my focus lately has been centered on the part of my life that isn't going the way I want.  Nine months ago, I thought that I would have a baby either in my arms right now, or soon to be arriving.  The past couple of months have been extremely difficult in that regard.  It's a challenge reconciling my expectations with reality.  That being said, all is NOT sadness in my life.  The moments of sadness are there, but overall, I am so lucky with the lot that I've been dealt.

I suppose in the wise words of Maria von Trapp, let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.  Friday, Colby got home from a week in New Mexico and Colorado where he'd had a fun hiking, camping, and fishing trip with one of his oldest friends.  That night, we met a friend at the incredible Ted's Butcherblock for one of their delicious $12 dinners and $5 wine tastings.  I seriously think these Friday night dinners are the best deal going in Charleston.  On Friday, we had delicious curried pork in a sort of falafel/meatball combination, served over eggplant, a pita and drizzled with tzaziki, with a bean salad on the side.  Dessert was a huge slab of carrot cake with a creme anglaise, and I could have eaten about ten more servings of it--it was just that good.

On Saturday, we went over to another friend's house so that we could meet her precious, perfect 1-week-old baby boy.  He is still at that limp noodle stage of infancy that terrifies me so much, because they just feel so BREAKABLE, but I managed to hold him without crushing him, and then died at the cuteness of Colby cuddling him as well.  It was admittedly a little bittersweet, but I am just so happy for my friend, and so excited to have a new baby in my life to watch grow over the years.  After baby time, we finally got around to seeing Bridesmaids, and we both got some much needed laughs.

Sunday was a relaxing chill day, just catching up on the DVR.  This week, Colby has been getting off work early, so we've been enjoying our evenings together.  Ever since the cleanse, I've been on quite a healthy eating kick (combined with a little Ben & Jerry's because I had to try Late Night Snack--CHOCOLATE COVERED POTATO CHIPS, people!), so we've been cooking up some tasty meals, I've been keeping up with my workouts, and I've discovered the most delicious way to incorporate fruits and vegetables into my daily routine--Green Monsters!  I just toss some flax seeds, a couple big handfulls of spinach, a banana, and some chocolate soy milk into a blender and liquify.  Then chop in some ice, and voila, chocolate banana smoothie.  It is SO GOOD, and I've been drinking one every day for my afternoon snack.

So, that's been my week, not all ups, but certainly not all downs either.  I'm working very hard to focus on all of the good in my life, and not take it for granted.  Unfortunately, Colby is leaving today for a work trip, but he'll be home in less than two weeks, and then we'll be heading off somewhere for almost three weeks of togetherness away from home.  Life is good.  I could complain, but today, I won't.

The Next Step

Fair warning: This post and future posts will be following my adventures in babymaking--not from an R rated perspective, but from the advanced biology aspect.  If you aren't comfortable with or interested in this topic, I totally understand and you should turn back now.  Be aware that I might be using scary words like uterus and sperm--so consider yourself warned! I know that this won't be interesting to everyone--it wouldn't have been interesting to me a year ago--but I hope that by sharing my experiences here I will not only be documenting my experience for my own benefit, but that maybe I can help someone else who might be going through this as well.

This weekend was filled with so much amazingness.  Colby came home early from a trip, so we were able to spend the whole weekend together before he left me for another week, the weather was stunningly beautiful and I took advantage of it by going to the farmer's market, the beach, and otherwise spending most of the weekend outside.  

Then, Sunday night, I went to the bathroom and all of the happiness came crashing down around me when I saw that the dreaded spotting had begun.  For the first time in this entire journey, I completely broke down.  I've had teary moments, I've vented here on the blog, I've had days of intense sadness and disappointment, but that night I ugly cried into Colby's shirt for almost an hour, wailing by turns about how unfair it was and how discouraged I feel.  He was amazing, saying all the right things, wiping my face, mostly just holding on and letting me cry until I ran out of sobs.

The one glimmer of optimism that still shines in the darkest recesses of my mind, is that we are beginning testing this cycle.  The common thinking is that it can take a healthy couple up to a year to get pregnant, so many doctors won't begin testing until cycle/month twelve.  However, when I went to the gynecologist for my annual exam last month, I explained my concerns (specifically my short cycles/short luteal phase) and that we've had perfect timing for 10 out of those 11 cycles (something of a miracle with Colby's trip schedule) and we still arent any closer to having our baby.

Fortunately for me, I got one of those great doctors who actually listens to your concerns, and makes decisions on a case by case basis rather than always going "by the book" regardless of the situation.  Her take on it was that there was no reason to wait another two cycles to begin testing given our past history, and the fact that I am very knowledgeable about my cycles and we've been hitting ovulation on the nose since November.

This month, I'll be having blood work done on cycle day (CD) 3 (tomorrow) and CD 22.  I'm also waiting on a referral from Tricare to have an HSG done.  From what I've gathered through extensive internet research (I googled it and read the first result), CD 3 blood work checks your Follicle Stimulating Hormone (the hormone responsible for egg maturation), Estradiol (high levels can indicate an ovarian cyst or low egg reserve), and Luteinizing Hormone (levels can indicate PCOS).  You want your FSH low, Estradiol low, and an LH:FSH ration of less than 2:1 or 3:1. The CD 22 blood work seems to mainly check progesterone levels and confirms ovulation.  After charting for eight cycles, I'm reasonably certain I ovulate, but I'm very curious to learn what my progesterone levels are.

The HSG, or hysterosalpingogram, is a little bit more scary as from what I understand it's more painful/uncomfortable than just having a needle jabbed in my arm.  In this procedure, dye will be injected into my uterus and fallopian tubes and the surrounding areas to make sure that nothing is blocked and all of the baby making ingredients are able to get where they need to go.  And of course, Colby gets to endure the most awkward testing experience, I'm sure I don't need to go into much detail on that procedure, but it will give us information about his sperm quantity, motility and morphology.

So, that's where we are now.  I don't know how long it will take to get the results back from each of these tests, but hopefully soon we'll have an explanation for why things aren't working out for us in the baby arena, and a plan for going forward.  As for now, I'm just trying to find the bright side of things like the fact that I've got at least another month of wine-drinking in my future.  Would I rather have a baby than a buzz?  of course.  But the the buzz sure doesn't hurt.

I Don't Know How

I don't know how I'm supposed to keep doing this month after month.

I don't know how people go through so much worse than this and come out on the other side.

Everything looked so good on paper this cycle.  Sustained high temeratures.  A lengthy (for me) luteal phase.  A beautiful temperature spike yesterday morning.  For most of you, all of that is pretty meaningless, but to anyone who has charted cycles, you'll recognize all of those symptoms as good signs.  I'll admit I was daydreaming about how I would tell Colby when he got home from his trip.  Maybe a cutesy "Happy Late Father's Day" gift.  Who would I tell early, and how would I manage to keep quiet for the next two months?

And then this morning, it was all over.  Again.

I'm onto cycle ten.  It has been eight months since we started this journey.  As much as I was nervous about the possibility that I wouldn't get pregnant quickly, I never thought that I would be in this place.  Even at month three, when it started to dawn on me that this wouldn't be an overnight success, I was scared, but nothing compared to this deep, gutwrenching sense of hopelessness.

If it hasn't happened by now, why will next month be any different?

I know that's a defeatist attitude.  And that it could very well happen on the next cycle, or the one after that.  But that is a very hard thing to hold onto after this many failures.

On top of the sadness I'm feeling over our inability to concieve (so far), I feel constant guilt.  I feel guilt because people DO go through so much worse than this, and seem to do it with so much more grace and goodwill than I can muster in my situation.  I feel guilty because my life is so good--I have an amazing, supportive husband, I live in a beautiful home in a beautiful city, I have stellar friends and a loving family, we are financially secure, I am educated, I have my health--and yet all I can feel 50% of the time is sadness about this very specific aspect of my life.  I feel badly because I am so, so envious of all of my pregnant friends, even though I try to remind myself that we all have our trials and I don't know what anyone else has gone through to get where they are in their own life.

I don't feel proud of any of those feelings.  But they are there.

So, I'm moving on to a fresh opportunity.  Maybe this month the stars will align and I'll have a miracle.  This week will be the worst, but maybe by next week I will have rediscovered my optimism.  And even if I don't, I know that I will get through this, and I can get through worse.  

Because this is something I want so desperately.  And the more the universe tells me that I can't have it, the more I'm determined that somehow, someway, I WILL have my baby in my arms.  Because beneath all of the sadness, hopelessness, guilt, and heartache, at the very root of my soul I am as stubborn as an elderly mule.  And I am not a person to give up this easily.  So no, I don't know how I'll keep doing this month after month.  But I know I will.

Nine

"Each month I watch for blood, fearfully, for when it comes it means failure.  I have failed once again to fulfill the expectations of others, which have become my own.

"I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will.  I could use it to run, push buttons of one sort or another, make things happen.  There were limits, but my body was nevertheless lithe, single, solid, one with me.

"Now the flesh arranges itself differently.  I'm a cloud, congealed around a central object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows red within its translucent wrapping.  Inside it is a space, huge as the sky at night and dark and curved like that, though black-red rather than black.  Pinpoints of light swell, sparkle, burst and shrivel within it, countless as stars.  Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen.  It transits, pauses, continues on and passes out of sight, and I see despair coming towards me like famine.  To feel that empty, again, again.  I listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty and red, continuing on and on, marking time."

The Handmaids Tale
Margaret Atwood

National Infertility Awareness Week

I know this blog is teetering dangerously close to being all empty uterus all the time, but I have always written about my life in the moment with very little censorship, and this is happens to be the central issue in my world at this point.  I also feel very strongly that the tabboos associated with trying to conceive are increcibly antiquated and am on a personal mission to break through those bonds of silence that so many women who have difficulty conceiving place upon themselves.  April 24 through April 30 is National Infertility Awareness Week, and I wanted to take this opportunity to talk openly about many of the stereotypes and stigmas associated with conceiving. 

I want to clarify that I have not received a diagnosis of infertility and I hope very much that I never will.  We have been trying to get pregnant for seven cycles--six with perfect timing--and a woman is only diagnosed with infertility after she has been actively trying with good timing for 12 months or 12 cycles.  So, there is a very good chance that I will never have to go through the emotional hearbreak that a woman with the diagnosis of infertility will go through.  However, I read an article on Parents.com, "7 Myths About Infertility", and I felt that it easily could have been retitled "7 Myths about Conception".  You can read about all seven myths on the website, and I encourage you to do so, but I want to talk about the few that hit home the hardest to me.

Myth 1:  It's easy for most women to get pregnant.

I confess that I personally believed this before trying to conceive.  I had a niggling sense of worry, but I honestly believed that after a month of trying, I would be pregnant.  It is unfortunate that women are so poorly educated about their reproductive system and how absolutely miraculous it is that all of the necessary occurences take place for an egg to become fertilized, implant in the womb and develop into a healthy fetus.  I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: A healthy couple, under 35 years of age, with NO medical issues and perfect timing has only a 20% chance of conceiving each cycle.  Twenty percent!

We all think of the women in our circles who became pregnant immediately, or even on accident, but the sad fact is that women who do have trouble conceiving often don't discuss their struggles, keeping it a secret even from their immediate family and closest friends.  Maybe if we all became more educated about reproduction, a little more sensitive to how to react when a friend or family member does share their struggle, women wouldn't feel as though they were trapped alone with a dirty secret.

Myth 3: Infertility is a psychological--not physical--problem.

I suspect that if you were to take a poll of women who have spent 6 months or more trying to get pregnant, they would pretty unanimously agree that the absolute most ignorant, insensitive response they have received when they've discussed difficulty conceiving is to "just relax".  It is absolutely infuriating, because it places the responsibility for conception squarely on the woman's shoulders, implying that a level of stress (that is certainly unavoidable when you are having difficulty conceiving) is the factor keeping that woman from becoming pregnant.

Yes, it is true that high levels of stress or illness can delay ovulation as the body involuntarily works to protect the egg and release it in only the optimal environment.  However, if a woman has educated herself on her body, confirms ovulation through charting or medical monitoring, understands her cycles and recognizes that ovulation is not the problem, then frankly stress or worry has little to do with conception.  Indicating that the woman can do anything about whether the egg fertilizes and implants is incredibly hurtful and unrealistic.

We all know that person who has been trying to get pregnant for ages, then went on vacation and voila!  Baby!  But I can pretty much guarantee you it had nothing to do with the level of relaxation and much more to do with increased sex, good timing, and just finally hitting that 20% chance of success.  I've been on multiple vacations with Colby in the past six months.  What does that tell you?

Myth 4: Couples who "work" hard enough at having a baby, will eventually get pregnant.

Personally, this assumption comes in only second to "just relax" in the level of annoyance it sparks in me.  If people knew just how hard we've worked at having a baby, they probably would think we've gone beyond the pale.  I use ovulation prediction kits, I confirm ovulation and track my luteal phase through charting (checking my Basal Body Temperature and yes, my cervical mucus), I've researched the optimal positions, I've tried drinking green tea, pomegranate juice, I take a prenatal vitamin, multiple supplements, think positive thoughts.  If it came down to hard work, we would be pregnant six times over at this point.  Probably with triplets.

Unfortunately, particularly to a goal oriented person like me, that's just not the way conception works.  All I can do is work to make my body a healthy, supportive environment for any fertilized eggs that want to come my way, and hope for the best.  Everything I do is only upping my chances of having that perfect moment, and even then I'll still have only a 20% chance of all of the factors aligning and resulting in two lines on a pregnancy test.  So please, not that I think you would, but never imply or think "Maybe if you worked a little harder" or joke that "You just must not be doing it right!".

I think the best advice I can give anyone is to never assume that your own experiences are indicative of anyone else's experience.  If you became pregnant easily, don't assume it's the same for everyone.  If you struggled to conceive or dealt/deal with infertility, don't hold it against others who do become pregnant.  The greatest piece of advice I ever received, when having a difficult moment after discovering that another friend had become pregnant while we still tried and tried, was to remember that there is not a quota of babies that come into this world.  When someone else gets pregnant she is not taking my baby away from me.  It's not reducing my chances of becoming pregnant.  And she may well have had her share of struggles getting there as well.  

My baby is still somewhere in my future, and whatever path life takes me down will lead me there.  Whether my child comes from my body or from China, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will become a mother some day.  And that is NOT a myth.

Hello! Goodbye!!

Ugh, what kind of lame blogger writes a super depressing, whiny post and then disappears for a week?

One whose mother and aunt are coming to town to visit for a week!

For the past four days, I've been in full on OH MY GOD HOUSEGUESTS freak out mode.  I cleaned the baseboards, donated a garage-full of various thingamabobs to the Kidney Foundation, painted two rooms, washed the pollen off of the porch and outside furniture, replaced most of our ratty old aluminum blinds with wood blinds, got the dogs groomed, and did about 18 tons of laundry.  I still have a mountain of cleaning ahead of me, as well as putting together the guest room and bathroom after tearing them apart for painting purposes.  I say "I", but my dashing husband also helped out a good deal this weekend, as well as pulling off a pretty fantastic Air Expo for the Charleston public.

Tomorrow, the royalty touches down in Charleston, my house will once again revert to a disaster area, and we will have so much fun over the next seven days.

I just need that one day for my mom to look around my house, and see what a grown up I am.  One with cleaning schedules and a fairly steady hand with the paint roller.  I don't guess I'll ever grow out of that "Look!  Look!  See what I can do!" phase.

Anyway, all of this to say that I have not pitched my sad, barren womb off of the Ravenel Bridge, but probably won't be around to blog-world too much over the next week.  I am optimistic that maybe if I eat enough, my food baby may actually evolve into a real baby.  There's nothing to do but try, right?

Adieu!  Adieu!  To you and you and you!

The Wait

From the very beginning, nothing in my relationship with Colby has gone according to any sort of "schedule" that I've tried to impose.  From the first few tentative months of dating but not dating, to the next difficult on and off years of maintaining a serious relationship long distance, I've always had to accept that my time line is simply out the window.  There were many times I thought it would never work out.  That things were ending or were over for good.  That as much as I saw a future with him, maybe it just wasn't meant to be.  But I should have had more faith, because here we are, almost nine years later, and things between us couldn't be better.

You'd think I would have learned something from that experience.

Deciding that we would have a baby was a no brainer.  We've both always known that we wanted to be parents someday.  When I was a little girl, I didn't dream of a high powered career, I dreamed of raising children.  So, it was never an "if" it was a "when".  And when we both confessed that we had suddenly found ourselves ready for that step so much earlier than we'd initially planned, it seemed meant to be.  Finally, something in our relationship that we were both ready for at the same time.  That held no drama or heartache as one or the other of us dreamed of a baby while the other held out for years longer.

And yet, here we are, 6 months later, and still we wait.  We wait and wait, and the waiting never gets any easier.

Today, we move into our seventh cycle of trying for a baby.  And I am having a really hard time maintaining any semblance of positivity.  I have learned how to pay very close attention to what my body is doing.  I spend the day, constantly staring at my chart, wondering where we are going wrong.  Our timing is perfect.  I eat and drink and take supplements all to enhance our chances of conceiving.  I exercise regularly.  We're young, healthy, vital people.  My cycles are on the short side, but regular, with a clear sign of ovulation.  We are doing everything in our power to make this baby happen, and nothing ever changes.

I can't help but ask, "Why?  Don't I deserve a baby just as much as anyone else?"

But what I am coming to realize is that babies aren't something that are "deserved".  Babies come to women who are not emotionally or physically ready for them.  They come to women who do not want them.  They come to teenagers or drug abusers or alcoholics.  Babies are not gifts for a life well lived.  The ability to create life is not a reward for making the right decisions and being a "good" person.  They are simply a scientific phenomenon in which sperm meets egg and life begins.  And that science pays no attention to a universal, purely human sense of what is right and just.

And yet, I still sit alone, wondering why it is that so many other women are given the responsibility of parenthood when it is not something that they asked for or even wanted, and why it is that two people who so desperately want and are prepared for that responsibility can't have it.  There is nothing fair about it.

There is nothing fair about life.  I know that full well.  What I do know is that I am lucky.  I am lucky that I have my health, and that I have loving and supportive family and friends.  I am lucky that I have a roof over my head, food to eat, leisure time, adorable dogs, a full life.

If only there were some guarantee, some assurance that some day, I will be able to conceive.  If that were the case, I could wait.  I could be patient.  It is the not knowing that wears me down day after day.  The elation when a month seems particularly promising followed by a despair that really can't be put into words when that promise turns into defeat.  The dreams of nursery decor, birthing plans, and tiny socks--all wiped away for yet another month.

I try to be strong, knowing how much worse it could be.  Knowing that there are others who have struggled with this for so much longer than I have and have so much more pain in their lives.  I remind myself, there is still time.  It could happen for you this month, or next.  Be happy for another month to drink wine and sleep in late.  Don't give up hope and don't blame yourself.

There is time.  There is so much time.  But the waiting.  Well, it's the hardest part.

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

Well, how was your Super Bowl XLV?  Mine was pretty great, mostly because it involved friends, excessive amounts of yummy food, soothing a precious baby to sleep, and playing with my favorite two-year-old.  Just don't ask me anything about the game.  I hear it sucked.  I did watch the half-time show, so I know that sucked.  I was rooting for the Tigers, personally, but evidently they didn't play.  Whole different conference or something.  Who knows.

I avoided writing a post last week, because oh, whiny I was!  If you are unlucky enough to follow me on Twitter, you were exposed to untold amounts of pessimism and negativity.  There were some frustrations that I was dealing with, but over all, upon review, it was a pretty great week.

Colby got home from his first work trip since the deployment ended in early November.  It was a tough adjustment after having him home for a record 2 1/2 months (we're fairly confident that's the longest stretch of time we've spent together since I moved to Washington in March of 2007) and then his return home was delayed by 4 days, but he made it back in one piece, and that's the important part.

I also got in touch with my inner Betty Homemaker, and learned the basics of how to operate my shiny new sewing machine.  I shocked myself by successfully sewing a rather lovely kitchen apron after my second lesson.  I wouldn't recommend inspecting the hemming too closely, but from a distance, it looks pretty darn good if I do say so myself!  (And I don't, because Colby was impressed too.)  I have more classes this week, and I must admit, I'm hooked,  It's not even close to the excrutiating experience of the yarn cross-stitch cat that I worked on from about 4 to 13 and never finished.

I rounded out the week with my first observation at my new volunteer job downtown.  I love, love, love me some history--so much so that I accidentally minored in it in college after taking so many history classes as electives--and I've always thought that being a tour guide would be pretty much the best job in the world.  So, when a friend handed me a clipping from the newspaper advertising a volunteer orientation at one of the beautiful antebellum museum homes on the Battery, I knew it was a match made in heaven.  I still have a few more observations to do, and a qualifying tour, then I'll be Charleston's newest tour guide!

This week, I am determined to be more positive and appreciative of the great things I've got going on in my life and stop focusing so much on the teensy little pits in the road.  And now I'm headed to youtube to look for the best commercials from last night so I can pretend I'm completely up to speed on current pop culture moments.

The Anti-Announcement

There are approximately 6 million pregnancies ever year in the United States.

2.1 million women of the same age range are considered “infertile” (unable to become pregnant naturally over the course of 12 months).

An average woman in her mid-20s with excellent reproductive health has approximately a 20-25% chance of becoming pregnant each cycle.

The average couple in their mid-20s will try for five cycles before conceiving.

On average, 20% of couples do not get pregnant in their first year of trying. 95% succeed within two years.

If you had asked me six months ago how a woman conceives, I would have told you step 1) toss out the contraceptives, step 2) get it on till the break of dawn with your main squeeze, step 3) pee on a stick, step 4) baby.

Today, I could give an impromptu presentation on Basal Body Temperature, cervical mucous, various positions that could increase the odds of conceiving, how charting can improve a woman’s understanding of her cycle, what supplements can prolong the luteal phase, and the evils of a blue dye pregnancy test.

Essentially, now I realize how absolutely ignorant I was about how the reproductive system actually functions and what a miracle it is that anyone gets pregnant EVER. If you think you learned anything in that 2-week long unit on Human Reproduction in your high school Health class, I expect you’ve also got a lot to learn.

Six months ago, I thought you either got pregnant or you were infertile. I didn’t think about this secret group of women who were on a long journey of just “trying”. That despite the informal poll I conducted in my head of all the people I knew who went off birth control and got pregnant overnight, statistics show that there is a silent majority who spent months and months on the process before they finally got those two pink lines. It’s just that no one likes to talk about that part.

After one month of trying unsuccessfully, we were disappointed, but still optimistic. Two months in, and my optimism began to wilt. Three months in, I was charting my brains out and “trying” was verging on a military operation. As we enter the fourth month, it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to obsess, and the beginning of every cycle has become an enormous kick in the gut. Particularly when my body has decided to get its jollies by faking pregnancy symptoms like the past three months of near constant nausea and the joys of tender and swollen boobs post-(alleged) ovulation.

I’ve struggled with how much I want to publicly share this journey. It’s certainly a very private struggle for most women, and I think every woman who wants to have children, has this dream of blushingly and joyously announcing to an unexpecting world, that she is pregnant. That biology hasn’t failed her. That conceiving was a magical, dreamlike experience. Not that she cried every time she had to mark the start of a new cycle on a new chart. That she peed on seventeen sticks over the course of a particularly promising week. That she choked down horse-tranquilizer sized supplements on a daily basis. That she spent almost every evening with her hips elevated, hoping fervently that this time it would take.

That every month it didn’t work, and another friend announced her pregnancy, she bought a gift for a baby shower, or held an infant in her arms, she didn’t feel like a complete failure as a woman. Knowing that others have had to endure much greater trials, but recognizing that at a certain point, they probably also clung desperately to the same dwindling hope as she does that this month will be different.

But I feel compelled to share this experience. That there needs to be a voice saying, no, not every woman gets pregnant just from being in the same room as her husband and that is normal. Sometimes it takes time. If you are feeling this sense of defeat, and the world is telling you to “just relax”, you are not alone. I am not alone.

I would never equate what we are going through right now to the struggles of infertility. I know, and hope against hope, chances are good that we just need a few more months and we too will be making our joyful announcement. If it’s true that the average couple spends five cycles trying to conceive, we’re still well inside the window of “average”. But I also know that every month that ticks by puts us closer and closer to a frightening diagnosis. That something real might be wrong. Something that might not be fixable. Something that I’ve been afraid of since the moment I realized some women just can’t make babies.

I’ve spent so many years doing everything within my power to not get pregnant—cooing over other people’s little bundles of joy, then returning thankfully to my child-free life with my freedom to travel, plan a last minute date night, sleep in all day on a weekend, spend a rainy day with a book and silence. I don’t regret a single day of the past years that Colby and I have had to be selfish and to worry only about our own wants and needs. I treasure that time, and every day that goes by without a baby is another day that we can focus on strengthening our own relationship and relishing that freedom. But there is a bitter irony in the fact that for so long we tried so hard not to have a baby, and now that it’s what we want it has become such a struggle.

In a perfect world, this week I would be sitting down right now to write a sappy, but heartfelt, post announcing how thrilled Colby and I are to be entering the second trimester of a pregnancy. Instead, there is this. My truth. Still somewhere deep below all of the pessimism, there is that belief that our time will come. Maybe this month. Maybe next month. Maybe in a year. And the slimmest of silver linings is that now we know for certain, when our time comes, we will be two of the happiest, most thankful, and excited future parents the world has ever known. And I know in my heart that all of this sadness, frustration and disappointment will have been so worth it.

Oh, What A Beautiful Weekend!

Have I ever shared my theory about how much nicer the world would be if everyone just worked slightly longer days four times a week, and the weekend was three days?  I mean, I don't really care--there is very little difference between a week day and a weekend when you are a super hard-working stay-at-home-wife (This house doesn't clean itself!  I got an email about what a stay-at-home-mom's salary should be, so I estimate my take-home should be about 75% of that four trillion dollars or whatever).  IRREGARDLESS, it makes such a big difference to Colby's level of happiness and relaxation, and by extension, MY happiness and relaxation.  Anyway, this is my way of announcing that I will be running for President in 2012 on the platform of 3-day-weekends.  Voting is sexy!

So yes, we had a three-day weekend, and it was indeed splendid.  One of my very lovely, talented friends gave birth to her second equally lovely and talented child last week, and Colby and I were immediately pulled in by the tractor beam of adorableness.  We met the little princess when she was just one day old, and the tiniest, brand-newest baby I have ever held in my quivering arms.  I was terrified I was going to crush the little bundle of delicious baby, but still managed to fall totally in love.  We brought dinner over on the 4 day anniversary of the baby's birth, and it was amazing how much she had filled out in just those few days.  She was still as delicate as an expensive brazier, but riding the wave of confidence based on the success from our first day together, I was less afraid of crushing her and could focus all of my energy on not dropping her.

Sunday, we got together with our friends who moved here from Washington at the same time we did, and headed downtown to celebrate the fact that no one had to wake up early the next morning to go to work, whether that be in an office or in the kitchen washing dishes from the night before, BECAUSE THAT IS WORK TOO YOU KNOW.  So, we went to Amen Street, and enjoyed the 3 for $30 menu.  The shecrab soup was one of the best I've had, but sadly, I was not a fan of the shrimp and grits.  Things ended on a happy note with the chocolate terrine, a delicious mousse-like flourless chocolate cake with cream and blackberries.

Monday was a bit more low-key as the weather was gloomy, and we weren't inspired to actually get dressed.  Colby, the handyman, whipped together some sturdy wooden shelves in some dead space in our garage and WALAH, instant storage for all of our Christmas crap that was slowly taking over our entire second floor.

So, now it is Tuesday, which feels like Monday and the week will creep by slowly because everyone always expects a four-day week to be short, but they never are.  Unless the four days are Monday-Thursday.  This is my theory based on science.  And why I will specify in all of my Presidential race debates that the weekend will begin on Thursday evening and go through Sunday.  So, Mondays will still suck.  But that's as it should be.

Unnecessary Worry

My life is flying by so quickly, and sometimes I feel like I can't keep up.

We have been in Charleston for almost a YEAR.  The Mediterranean cruise that we've been talking about since this spring is just around the corner.  Colby's deployment is rapidly drawing to its close, and soon he'll be back on American soil... more specifically the soil in his backyard.

And of course, this means that all that baby talk is going to become an actual reality very shortly.

I'm not gonna lie, it makes me very anxious.

I'm scared of all the normal stuff.  Will I ever get my body back?  Will my child grow up to be a serial killer-drug dealing-ninja?  Will my shoe collection have to go live with Goodwill because my stupid feet grew?  Will I find myself actually wishing for a slick, family-friendly minivan?

But more than anything, will I even be able to get pregnant?

I don't know if it's the plethora of infertility blogs, or maybe the ease of internet research that describes in careful detail all of the reasons one might not be able to conceive a child.  Maybe it would just be the horrible irony of having spent so much of my life trying not to get pregnant, only to find out that I can't.  Maybe it's the fact that I feel like at this point, how could it have not happened on accident?  Maybe it's just a stupid, meaningless gut feeling.

Either way, I'm so worried about my ability to get knocked up.

Anyway, I know it's ridiculous to stress myself out before the process has even begun.  I'm trying to relax and just look forward to the future.  But there's always that little thought in the back of my mind, and I can't wait to prove it wrong!

Impending Death Is Not Acute Enough

Oh, internet.

I'm sorry to do this to you, but Colby's not around right now, and I have managed to completely freak myself out via Google, WebMD, and scores of illiterate postings to pregnancy forums.

So, I mentioned that I've been really, REALLY tired since I got home from Japan.  At first I thought I was just having trouble adjusting from the jet lag, but then the exhaustion persisted and I started thinking thyroid disorder or iron deficiency.

Then I started getting fatter, and I have a little belly pooch where there has never been any poochage before.  This without having changed my diet extraordinarily, making an 8 pound weight gain in two months more than a little perplexing.

I mean, the obvious reaction from the internet as well as everyone else in the world is OMG, you're pregnant!  Even Colby last night hesitantly made that suggestion.

I've been laughing it off, but secretly in my crazy brain, I've sort of come to that conclusion myself, against all odds.  I have taken FOUR pregnancy tests.  And they're all negative.  And I've had a fairly normal cycle if ya catch my drift.  I mean, it's just not likely is what I'm saying.

But then yesterday, I got horrible cramps.  I woke up this morning and (fair warning to anyone squeamish or of the male persuasion) there was some SERIOUS bleeding going on downtown.  I kept an eye out for anything clot-like (Sorry.  Gross.  I know.) but so far it's just been like someone cut an artery in my lady business.

I was stupid enough to spend the morning googling 2-month baby bumps and miscarriages, and upon formally diagnosing myself with the former as well as the latter, I called to make a doctor's appointment.  But then, I chickened out at the last minute.  I mean, come on, FOUR NEGATIVE PREGNANCY TESTS, three cycles since the last time conception could have been physically possible.

I'm not saying it's completely out of the realm of possibility that I had the Immaculate Conception v. 2.0, but I think we can all agree it's pretty unlikely.

So, I told the appointment line that I was having very heavy bleeding and had been feeling weak and tired for the past month or so, and the earliest they can get me in is Thursday afternoon.  If only I'd broken my finger, I could see a doctor today!

I'm trying to remind myself how well playing doctor for myself has worked out in the past.  (Reminder:  Not well.  You know, because I'm NOT A DOCTOR.)  But yeah, I'm still kind of freaking out over here.  And then there's the riveting mental battle between OH GOD I'M DYING and complete awareness of how overly dramatic I'm being.  I think the bottom line is that I've just watched way too many episodes of Glee.  Hysterical pregnancy!  Eff yeah!!

Still, the thought of getting off the couch right now is enough to make me want to faint in a decidedly Victorian manner, so I think I'm just going to lay here with the vapors for a bit longer and wait for death.  Or wait until I'm hungry enough to get up and make something to eat.

Confessions Part 3

(Don't forget, today is the last day to enter my pearl necklace giveaway!  All entries must be submitted by midnight and the winner will be announced tomorrow.  And follow the directions so I can give you all the points that you earn!)

So, it's been a long time since I've bared my soul to you and confessed a whole lot of things that I generally keep swept under the carpet.  But sometimes, it's very cathartic to just SAY THINGS, regardless of what people will think of you or whether anyone will agree.  Get it out there, let it roll around the universe for a bit, and then let things settle where they may.  It's been a while since I've done this.  I wrote my first round of confessions almost two years ago, and I let go another volley a few months later.  So, here we have it, my most recent round of Uncomfortably Honest Things I Should Just Keep to Myself.  Except I'm a blogger.  By definition, I am incapable of keeping things to myself.

* I have always wanted to be a stay at home mom, and my foray into child care further reinforced my desire to raise my children myself and not depend on relative strangers to do it for me.  I don't judge moms that choose differently, but wow, there is some seriously weird shit that goes on in child care.

* I’ve come to think that my Masters degree is a huge waste of time and money.

* I hate any website with music that plays automatically.  I don’t care how well you write, I’m out.  Jane Austen could come back from the dead, start a blog, and if Colbie Callait came blaring on my speakers, I’d be done.

* I am crazy competitive.  Unfortunately, I’m not super great at a whole lot of things.  This can frequently lead to a “situation”.

* This competitiveness spills over into blogging sometimes.  I’m never going to be a super blogger.  I get that.  I embrace it.  But the stat counter can really boost or destroy my ego.  Especially when I think about how many hits I used to get, compared to how many I get now.  I know I need to just get.  Over.  It.  But that’s difficult.

* Sometimes when my dogs are really driving me nuts and I snap at them and yell like an ogre or smack them on the nose, I become absolutely horrified at what kind of mother I might be someday.  Note to self: remove all wire hangers from the house the second I conceive.

* In addition to the boobs I would like to purchase some day, I would also love to have extensions put in my hair.  For it is flat and thin and uninspired.  Yes, I would like to be made of Fake.

* I’ve been going through a serious crisis of faith for the past couple of years.  I know I believe in something.  I just don’t know what it is.  I still pray, but I don’t know who or what I’m praying to.  Usually, I just feel like I’m talking to myself.

* Receiving a long email can significantly brighten my day.  Hearing my phone ring makes me want to throw up.

* It doesn’t matter how cute a piece of clothing is.  If it runs small and I have to “size up”, I refuse to buy it.  Subsequently, Target and Old Navy get a lot of my money.

* I don’t work out to be healthy.  I work out so that I can eat like crap.

* If no one comments on my Facebook status, I feel like a total loser.  Me = totally secure.

* I think people who follow trends regardless of how that trend is even remotely flattering are stupid.  Remember gauchos of yesteryear?  Bodysuits, anyone?  The rompers of today.  Mark my words.  We will look back and laugh.  Bitterly.

* I think I’ve become addicted to tea like most people are addicted to coffee.  I can’t go a day without a cup.  Or two.  Okay, three.

An Unexpected Twist

It's a strange feeling to take a pregnancy test knowing that you're going to cry regardless of the outcome.  There's some reassurance in the knowledge that at least one result will allow you to drink an entire bottle of wine by yourself, on the sofa, while watching the final episode of The Hills (which you stopped watched years ago, but were relentlessly sucked back into during an epic weekend marathon on MTV).

Colby and I decided a few months ago that when he gets home from his deployment in November, we're going to start trying for our own tiny human.  I mean, someone's going to have to foot the bill for the nursing home in 50 years.  At first, it was supposed to be this big secret, but I've heard him tell about nine hundred people, so whatever, I'm telling the internet now.  It was a decision at which we both arrived with a surprising amount of ease and accord as we agreed, when we got married, that we would wait until Colby's next (as in after the current) assignment to even start thinking about kids.

Then all of our fertile myrtle friends started having the cutest damn babies, and when I saw him making goo goo eyes at one of the toddlers in our circle of friends (yes, some of my closest friends are toddlers), I knew it was all over.  Then my biological clock exploded in a mass of cogs and springs.  Still, I had absolutely no desire to be pregnant for my first time while Colby spent 4 months deployed to the mouth of Hell, and we had already made big plans for a Mediterranean cruise this winter, so we decided to wait until post-deployment to start trying.

It makes sense for a lot of reasons.  Use your imagination.

Fast-forward to late June: Colby deploys, I go to Japan, and suddenly my lady cycle goes batshit insane.  Then for the past few days I've experienced a near constant state of nausea, splitting headaches, utter exhaustion, and most of my nights are spent waking up every couple of hours to pee.  If that doesn't sound like textbook pregnant lady, I don't know what does.  Except I know it's not possible.  Except, seriously, what the hell?

Enter EPT.

I really didn't want a positive result.  That's what I kept telling myself--keep telling myself.  The timing would be beyond awful.  I'm still not completely resigned to this whole pregnancy experience.  How on earth would I find an obnoxiously cute way to tell Colby I'm knocked up when he's thousands of miles away?  Oh God, I don't want to get fat.

And yet...

Still, it was negative.  I have a couple more tests I could take, but I feel pretty confident in the result.  And I feel sad.  Which is stupid, because I really honestly don't want to be pregnant right now.

And yet...

Guess I'll go find that corkscrew now.

Medical Revelations

It was an interesting week of doctor's appointments.  As further proof that I'm literally falling to pieces in my old age, I went from not having been to a doctor's office in almost three years, to three visits in one month.

My first appointment last week was to deal with the mild form of leprosy that has been spreading over my body for the past couple of weeks.  Much like the Wizard of Oz, the doctor asked all kinds of questions through his medical assistant before he even saw me, and by the time he came in, he'd already determined that I was afflicted with some form of poison ivy.  So, well done blog friends!  I now bestow upon you honorary doctorates in poison ivy detection.  I still don't know exactly when I touched poison ivy, but I'm now terrified to go out in the garden wearing anything less than a HAZMAT suit.

I've tapered down from a high dose of prednisone last week, to just one tablet per day today and tomorrow, plus Claritin to fight the allergy.  I'm still the slightest bit itchy, but a miraculous amount of healing has taken place in the last four days.  I can now wear short sleeve shirts without scaring small children, and while my legs are healing more slowly, I think I'll be back in skirts and shorts by the end of this week.

Unfortunately, I had to follow up that appointment with another visit to the doctor to have my lady business explored.  Now, I've never had anything out of the ordinary happen at one of these oh so joyous appointments, but I suspected something might be amiss as the doctor spent more than double the time and effort on my exam than any other doctor has in the past.  He was quick to assure me that I shouldn't read anything into this, and that this is just a precautionary check, but he scheduled me for an ultrasound next month.  Apparently my uterus hasn't had its V-8 today and seems to be tilted further forward than it should be.

I've been hesitant to spend too much time with Doctor Google after the disaster of diagnosing my last itchy malady, but honestly, how could I not do at least a couple of searches.  I'm glad I did, as in a strange turn of events, the internet actually made me feel better rather than worse about the situation.  Tipsy uteruses (uteri?  uterii??) seem to be a fairly common situation, and from the testimony of many poorly spelled message board missives, don't seem to really affect fertility.

Of course, I've always had this massive premonition that I'll have a difficult time getting pregnant when the time comes, so I can't help but feel a little bit like this is just more proof in that direction.  But I'm trying really hard not to work myself up over it.  I'll have the ultrasound done on May 3rd, head to New York for a week the next day, then come back home and talk it over with my doctor.

The thing I'm most worried about right now is how I'll possibly drink that much water and not be able to go to the bathroom for two hours before the exam.  Maybe it's time to invest in some Depends and rubber pants.

I Miss Them

Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I found myself thinking about children.  Specifically, the kids that I hung out with everyday at before and after school care last year.  Lord almighty, those kids were enough to drive the Pope to drink every last drop of communion wine.  From "sex scandals", to bullying, to bald-faced lies, to snotty pre-teen attitude, there were days when I would come home from work completely and utterly convinced that I would never, ever have kids of my own.

But there were also moments when a five year old suddenly realized that she could sound out the letter c-a-t to make a word.  And when a frustrated boy somewhere on the autism-spectrum would sit down and manage to make some beautiful music between the squawking of his cello.  Or when a ten year old who'd had a bad day just needed a hug and a good cry into your shoulder.  Best of all, when the two boys who'd never got along without name-calling or shoving would play basketball or football together with no discord at all.

I miss those moments.  Those constant reminders of so many parts of my childhood I'd completely forgotten about.  The joy of sitting on top of the jungle gym to better survey the playground.  Being so certain that a new pair of shoes would give my feet wings so that I could win relay races.  Even the sullen tweeners reminded me of my former self and I remembered how hard it really was to survive being 12.

Babies have definitely been on the forefront of my mind lately, and sometimes I wonder if I want a baby like I want a third puppy.  As in, it sounds like such a fun idea until you think about all of the work that goes into it.  And then, if I want a baby, do I actually want a child?  Am I ready to deal with the terrible two's and the transition to kindergarten, the awfulness of a household with a teenager residing within.  After the angelic little cherub cheeks, do I really want the reality of being a parent?

I still don't have an answer to that, and maybe I never will until I face all of those milestones down the road.  But I do know that I miss those kids in a way that gives me a sort of empty feeling in a small quadrant of my being and where ever they go in life, I hope that in some small way they remember those hours we spent before and after school with some sense of fondness.

November

This month has certainly been... eventful.  First, we buy a house.  Second, I actually start hearing something that *may* just be the ticking of a biological clock.  Third, we celebrate another anniversary.  Fourth, I experience my very first Black Friday at the stores.  We've already discussed point one and point two, so let's discuss anniversaries and shopping a little more in depth.

Indeed, just three days ago I celebrated our second anniversary with a full day of work, a glass of wine and So You Think You Can Dance while Colby flitted about the Middle East.  Our first anniversary I spent throwing up and sleeping off a rotavirus.  I'm honestly not sure which anniversary was more disappointing.  There is no lack of mushy gushy writing on this website about how darn great I think that guy is, and suffice it to say, he started to look even cuter when he was holding babies.  Just saying.  So, I'm pinning all of my hopes on our third anniversary.  Flowers are nice, but actually getting to spend time with your spouse is even better.

Thanksgiving was a quiet but highly enjoyable day.  I whipped up Paula Deen's recipe for loaded mashed potatoes (oh my God, amazing) and bought my little can of Ocean Spray cranberry jelly and headed over to a friend's house where we watched the Thanksgiving Day parade, the Purina One dog show, the Raiders vs. Oakland game and the Peanuts Thanksgiving and Christmas specials with multiple eating and drinking breaks.  I felt so lucky to have such great friends that were willing to welcome me into their family for the day, but I still missed Colby who was spending Thanksgiving in Germany.

This morning, after a fitful night of sleep in which I dreamed about waking up at the crack of dawn for the Black Friday sales only to find that entire stores were sold out, I woke up at the crack of dawn and hauled my weary body to Best Buy where I found that not only was the store not sold out, but in fact very willing to sell me many things.  The key to skipping the Black Friday lines at the store?  Purchase major appliances.  I came away with a Samsung front loader washer and dryer to take with us and a refrigerator to leave at the house for the renters all for just a little over $2000.  It was... not as much fun as I'd imagine spending that amount on clothes and shoes would be.

BUT, I'm incredibly excited about our washer and dryer (oh my God, how lame have I become??).  Our current washer seems to mostly just get clothes wet and put tiny little holes in all of my favorite shirts, so I'm really looking forward to a washing machine that allegedly washes and hopefully will not destroy all of our clothing in the process.  Plus they're pretty.  I just got the white ones because shelling out another few hundred for a "designer" color seemed silly, but they're such a shiny, lovely white!

Tomorrow I'm going to a friend's house to watch the Tigers dominate the Arkansas Razorbacks (please, God, please?) and the rest of the weekend will be spent preparing the house for the movers to come on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Then on Thursday, we will officially become the homeless owners of two homes.  Time sure does fly when you're stressed to the max!

Tormented by Timing

Timing is everything these days.  Two weeks left in our house.  Less than a month left in Washington.  One month until we visit our families for the holidays.  A month and a half until we close on our new house.  And that's just the moving related timing.

Lately I've been starting to think very hard about the future.  As my life is currently scheduled out, I will take the next term off of school to deal with the move.  I was hoping to return to class in January, but because I get a reduced military tuition, I have to take off the entire term, meaning I won't return until March.  That will put me finishing classes at the end of August, and *hopefully* beginning my 16-week student teaching period from September through December of next year.

At which point I will begin looking for an actual teaching job.  In a county that just laid off all of its first-year teachers and is now hiring back RIF-ed teachers and those laid off first year teachers before even looking at any outside applicants.  In a county that is not even currently in need of substitute teachers.

If I am *lucky* I'll be able to find a teaching job for the 2011/2012 school year.  At which point I will be just months away from turning twenty-nine.

And let me let you in on a little secret.  I've been thinking a lot about babies lately.  And I don't think I'm the only one in my household whose mind has edged a little closer to that track.  Am I ready to start popping out infants the moment we get to Charleston?  No.  But am I thinking it's a little unlikely that I'll actually want to hold out another 4 years or so until we're settled into our next assignment?  Yes.

Another factoid that is less than a secret is that I have no desire to be a working mother.  I place absolutely no judgment on those who ARE working mothers, and in fact I appreciate their decision at least in part for the fact that it's currently keeping me in a job.  But I've worked in daycares off and on for my whole life.  They can be really wonderful environments for a child, but that's just not how I want my child raised.  We're lucky enough that Colby's job could support a family independently, so it is my hope that I can be home with our children.

But are we seeing how the time lines are starting to get a little mangled at this point?  If I finish school and start teaching in the fall of 2011, that's right around the time that I'm starting to think I may want to get pregnant.  And so I sit here wondering, have I just thrown away all of this money on my education?  Is it the right thing to continue spending thousands of dollars on a Masters degree that, it is beginning to look highly likely at this point, I'll never get to use?

I honestly don't know what to do.  There's a big part of me that feels completely disappointed in myself.  Why did I wait so long to pursue my teaching dreams?  Why can't I be a more modern gal and be okay with the idea of working and raising a family?  If I don't stay in school, what the hell am I going to do with myself for the next few years until I actually manufacture a child?  Am I just being a giant quitter?  I have no idea.

I've got just over three months to figure this out, and if the speed at which the past three months have flown by is any indication, that is no time at all.  Maybe it's time to pull out that Magic 8 Ball?

Six

Every now and then, when more than a week has gone by without updating the blog, I get to thinking that maybe it's just too much of a hassle and I should just go ahead and ditch it like every journa or diaryl I have ever written.  But then I forget a rather important, pressing detail of my life, like, just for example of course, how long exactly Colby and I have been together.  You know, it seems like it might be six years, but that couldn't possibly be right because I'm just not that old, right?  But then I can do a little research and find a post from three years ago about how we've been together for three years, and well, you know, the sanity and peaceful sleep that comes with the ability to retrace my steps like that--you just can't buy that peace of mind at Target!

So, I carry on blogging.

Six years.  That means that we've been together for more than 20% of my life--ever since I was just a wee pup of 19 years old.  I'm three years older than he was when he started dating, and holy hell, I thought he was just about the most grown up, mature, OLDEST dude ever.  Even my little sister is older than that now.

We talk a lot about the future.  It makes me laugh sometimes to remember how difficult it was to get him to open up about "where do you see us in five years?" when we were dating and I was desperate for a commitment, or even the hint of one.  Now we toss around the idea of having babies and moving to far off locales and where we want to retire like we're discussing what movie we want to go see.  It feels so natural and completely organic that we'll have all of these experiences together.

Life is a little overwhelming right now.  We're both a little stressed at work and in our respective graduate programs.  The economy is taking it's toll in the form of a continuously diving house value and we are dealing with the uncertainty of having no clue where in the world we will live at this time next year.  I haven't had the time or energy to reconnect with many of my friends lately, and I feel a little bit of the lonely winter sadness creeping around my heart.

Colby asked me the other day if I had changed my mind about ever wanting to have kids.  The full weight of just how incredibly difficult it is to deal with children hits me every single day.  And every night I come home from taking care of and disciplining other people's kids and thank the good Lord above that I can just veg out on the sofa and watch tv without having to worry about taking care of anyone else.  I can just sit, snug in the crook of my husband's arm and feel perfectly content.

I don't know when I'll know that I want to have kids.  Right now, building a family seems rather like the prospect of college did when I was in grade school.  Something that I knew that I was going to to do, but no concrete ideas of exactly when or how I would get there.  I want to be a better person before I have kids.  I want to do the laundry on a regular basis, keep the house clean, and be the wife that gets dinner on the table every night, and doesn't have to be scolded to eat her vegetables.  I want to finish school and actually use my degree for a little while and then take a break so that I can stay home.  I've seen a lot in my short time working at daycare facilities, and as great a program as I think we have, the working mom and dad lifestyle is not what I want for my children.

But I'm just not ready to give up my life for them yet.  I remember sitting in the parking lot of Colby's apartment when he lived in Georgia, about four years ago.  We were in my car, saying our goodbyes when he suddenly stopped talking and gazed steadily into my eyes.

"Our children will have beautiful eyes."

What I didn't know at the time was that we still had years of tumult and distance ahead of us.  What I did know was that he was right and that some day those theoretical children would become a reality.  And even now, six years after he shyly asked me to be his Valentine, as he was dropping me off after our first date, and four years after that out of character moment in the parking lot, I know that some day he will be right.  And when that time comes, whether I'm serving up four course meals or just barely managing to pour cereal and milk into a bowl, I know that our children will have the most beautiful eyes in the world.

Confessions

There are some couples that when I find out they are getting a divorce, I am very sad, but also not very surprised.

My opinion of how "fat" or "thin" I am completely depends on how well a pair of pants fit, not how I look in the mirror.

I still really, really want a boob job, but have put off thinking about it until post-babies.  Every time I try on a shirt or a dress, or put on another 34A bra that I can't completely fill out, I reconsider that decision.

Whenever I realize that a blogger is about to launch into a political post, I click away from the blog.  I get enough of that in "real life".

I'm pretty sure if Playboy offered me 2 million dollars to pose in their magazine, I'd do it.  I would, however, require a LOT of airbrushing.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really feel ready to have kids.  I always thought that I'd have my first child at 26.  That happens in three months and I know it's not what I want right now.

That makes me feel guilty for thinking that traveling and new shoes are more important than bringing a new life into the world.

I have written seventy pages of a book that I feel has great potential, but I don't think that I have the talent to make it as good as it should be.  I haven't so much as looked at the file on my computer for seven months, but I think about it every night when I'm lying in bed.

I am terrified of dying, because I am not completely sold on the concept of Heaven.  I wish I could make myself believe that we don't just cease to exist upon death.

Whenever I meet someone new, I always rate my attractiveness against theirs.  Completely shallow, completely automatic.

I always say that I have no regrets.  That is a lie.  I have two of them.  One I can't do anything about now, but the other I can.  I know I probably never will.

It makes me sad that I haven't received birthday or Christmas presents from my last remaining grandmother for the past few years.  I understand her reasoning, but the twelve-year-old in me is disappointed each year.

I don't like The Notebook.

Quarter Life Crisis: Round Two

My struggles with depression and attempts to define myself have been pretty well documented here over the past few years.  Sometimes, when I want a really surreal trip down memory lane, I just click over there on that depression category, and I read the posts that were written just over a year ago, and I feel like I'm reading about someone else's life.  My method of coping with those memories has been to just completely erase 2006 and late 2005 from my mind.  It was a pretty dark period in my life, and I don't really like to look back.

Lately though, I've been looking back.  I've been trying to gauge what I've been feeling lately against what I was feeling then.  Checking my Crazy Barometer if you will.  The last thing I want to do is put Colby through the hell of an unmedicated, depressed Angela, so every morning I lick my finger and test the winds of Crazy, trying to determine if what I'm feeling is really depression rearing its ugly head once more, or just confusion.

The thing is, I don't feel like driving my car off of an overpass, I don't lay in bed crying every night, and I don't feel like a totally empty shell of a person.  Yes I'm a little grumpier than usual, and yes, my patience is a little shorter than it should be, but I don't feel like it's time to start medicating my brain again.  And yet, still I don't feel quite right.

Then I found this post, from almost two years ago, and it hit me.  That's exactly what this is.  I'm going through my Quarter Life Crisis version 2.0.  I thought it was over and done with, that I had come to terms with who I am as a person, but I'm beginning to think that these little existential crises just never really stop happening.  All of those things I questioned then--whether I would ever find true love, whether I would ever be a published writer, whether I really belonged in the military--have been answered.  I thought that once I was married, published, and a civilian, everything would fall into place.  Magically, my life would have meaning, and I would know why I was put on this earth.

Thing is though?  I'm just as lost now as I was then.  Only now I'm even more confused, because all this time I just thought that if I could accomplish X, Y, and Z, everything would be perfect and I would never have to question my role in life again.

But now I'm once again on the brink of unemployment, spending my afternoons trolling through job listings, waiting for something to jump out at me.  Waiting to feel a pull in a certain direction.  Who will I be next?  What is my calling in life?  What if my calling in life already happened, and I was too busy watching Dancing with the Stars to pay attention?  What is wrong with me that never in my life have I had any sort of passion for a career?  Sure, there's writing, but I haven't done such a great job of making a career out of that.   I've always wanted three things:  to be a wife, a mother, and a writer.  I have two out of three of those things under my belt, and I still feel like I'm floundering.

So then I start wondering once more, am I supposed to be a mom now?  If that's the only thing left that I've always wanted, is that what I'm supposed to do now?  Once every two or three weeks, that starts to sound like a really great idea.  It is generally after I've spent some time with a very well behaved child, or wandered aimlessly through the Target baby section.  I start to feel those maternal twinges, and I think, "Yes, this is what I need."  But then I spend a weekend sleeping in until 10:30, lounging on the couch all day watching America's Next Top Model marathons, planning our trip to Italy and future dream trips to Costa Rica and Paris, and I think, "No, actually, I think this is what I need.  This and a Cadbury Cream Egg will do nicely, thank you."

In two years will I look back on this entry, and laugh sardonically as I hoist a baby on my hip and try to do ten loads of laundry one handed while Colby is deployed to Madrid for 6 months?  How's that for your life long dream, Ang.  Good job pinning all of your hopes on this!  Will I ever have that lightning bolt moment where I realize, "This is IT.  This is your life!  Embrace it!"  Or am I going to spend the rest of my life wondering what the hell I'm doing and if I left the gas on at home?

Failing Pretty Much Everyone Around Me

Coworkers.  Never before have so many people at work commented on projects that they'll need my help with "soon" or "in the future".  Never in my time here have people made me feel like a such a necessary cog to this operation.  Never have I felt so incredibly guilty about something that hasn't even happened yet.  I'm struggling mightily with the decision to wait another week and a half before giving my notice, because I feel like such a horrible person each time I nod and smile as someone commits me to a project down the road.  But Colby and I still have to sit down and examine our finances more closely, and he doesn't get home for another week.  I know I need to wait, but every day I feel a little bit worse.

Fellow bloggers.  I'm supposed to be guest posting for Bre today while she's in London, but I can't figure out her instructions for logging into her blog.  It seems like such a simple task, no?  Yes, that's what I thought too, so I didn't test it out before she left.  Now I'm sitting with a drafted entry and lacking the brain cells that are necessary to understanding how to post it.  I know I'm not really all that important, and her blog will probably survive without me, but I hate to promise something and then not follow through.

Friends.  I owe phone calls to pretty much every single friend in my address book, but each evening, I sit down on the train and opt to fall asleep rather than dialing the phone.  Seriously, what the heck is wrong with me that I HATE talking on the phone so much?  Why can't we all just correspond by email, text messages, and smoke signals?  I miss my friends, and love them, and would so much rather just hang out than come up with riveting phone conversation for 30 minutes.  Why do they have to live so far away?

Jack and Ellie.  You want to go for a walk?  You want to play after dinner?  You want to lay on the floor and get your bellies rubbed?  Well, how about you just sit here next to the couch so that I can half-heartedly scratch your head while zoning out to the Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious.  Well, okay, I guess I'll feed you your dinner.  To everyone out there who seems to think I'm ready for kids?  Jack and Ellie would like to voice their vehement disagreement.

My Eye. I seem to have gotten some tiny grain of something stuck between my eye and my eyelid, and no amount of blinking, flushing with cool water, or forced tears will do anything about evacuating it from the premises.  It huuuuuuuurts!

Just a Brief Note

I'm pretty slammed today, so I won't have time to do my cheery PollyAnna post, but I just wanted to let you all know to please stop shipment on any onesies or receiving blankets until further notice.

You all scared the ever loving crap out of me yesterday with all of your giggly pregnancy comments, and then things progressed to the point that my MOTHER was emailing me inquiring as to my latest cycle.  I was having nightmares of a two week trip to Italy in which I wouldn't be allowed to drink wine and would spend my days puking all over the Colosseum and the Sistine Chapel.  I took a page out of the Book of Blair and continuously gave myself the strictest of instructions to NOT be pregnant.

And lo, the most sophisticated piece of technology I will ever pee on, assured me that no, I am not currently with child.  And it did so in under two minutes with a remarkably easy to read digital display. 

As a side note, while perusing my selections, I had to wonder who would put their trust in a store brand 3-pack for $10.99 with a mark down to $8.99.  When a stick is telling you whether or not there is a HUMAN BEING currently residing in your womanly areas, don't you want to invest a little bit more up front in the hopes of the most reliable response possible?

Adventures in Babysitting

As I said in one of last weeks posts, I was really dreading this past weekend.  I was in charge of our squadron's childcare program during our annual airshow, so I was facing two days with a herd of children and no day off from work for 11 days straight.  Lord, but am I looking forward to our day off on Friday.

With that being said, I surprised myself with how much fun I ended up having and how quickly the time flew.  When the time came to leave on Sunday, I was actually a little sad and I've really missed the kids and thought a lot about them since the weekend.  One of my airmen came in and told me that her two year old son had been asking her repeatedly if he could go back to his "new school", and that got me more than a little choked up.

I don't know if it's the common factor of all the kids having military parents, maybe they're more disciplinary with their children than most, or that the kids were used to the daycare environment, but there was not on bratty kid in the entire mix.  They were all happy, played well with the other kids, followed instructions, and were very polite.  I'm just so used to the kids I see in WalMart throwing tantrums and screaming at their parents, or the kids that I used to babysit for that were sneaky and mischeivous (not in a good way!) that turned me off on ever wanting to be a parent--to see children behaving well, even when their parents weren't around was astounding to me.  And I'd be lying if I said it didn't kick my maternal instinct into high gear.

There was one little boy that I was seriously considering packing away in my tote bag and bringing home with me.  If my dog, Jack, were a human little boy, this is the little boy that he would be.  He was extremely lovable, very solemn at first glance, but the more you got to know him the more giggly and outgoing he became.  He still couldn't talk, but he wobbled around the room laughing most of the day and pitching himself on the floor to scream for a minute everytime I left the room.  I definitely want little girls someday, but if I have boys, I just hope they're as adorable as that little guy.

I also noticed that many of my disciplinary mechanisms I used with my dogs translated pretty well to toddler speak.  A sharp "No!" while clapping my hands once got their attention far better than a "Don't do that" and very high pitched, excited praise when they did something good elicited the biggest grins of pleasure and pride. 

If only toddlers could be crate trained, I think I'd be ready for babies right this second.  However, they can't, and Jack and Ellie have already destroyed enough of my things by chewing, peeing, and pooping all over them, so I'm fairly certain that it'll be quite a bit longer before I decide to enter into the hallowed halls of motherhood.

(And because I am just not capable of writing a post without some kind of mindless celebrity gossip, go here and rejoice!  Okay girlie, it's time to bring it on home!  Mama wants a new platinum record!)

Smallish, Underage People Are Scary

Sometimes I go through stages where I'm almost overwhelmed with maternal instincts.  In the past I've quelled these instincts by getting a dog, but I feel that I've reached my limit with two volatile and completely insane furry animals in an 800 square foot area.  The Puppies are indeed getting better about listening to me--when I have a treat in my hand, or at least within reach--but they still are definitely masters of their own domain.  Which I'm fine with, as long as their domain is limited to outside and I don't have to chase after Ellie who has found another sock to bait me with.  And I think that my goal is not so much to bend them to my will so much as it is to slowly but surely whittle their domain down to nothing so that eventually when they're masters of their own domain it really doesn't mean jack.  Ha!  Fooled them!

Anyway, a coworker recently gave birth in quite possible the most insanely easy pregnancy I've ever heard of in my entire life.  She was never nauseous, no insane cravings to speak of, a touch of insomnia, but really the only way you'd know she was pregnant was the fact that it looked like she had a beachball stuck up her BDU blouse.  She never had any complaints and didn't ever seem to be in the least bit stressed about the pregnancy.  When she went in for her 8 month appointment a couple of weeks ago she was 50% effaced and her doctor said he didn't expect she'd make it to her next appointment (this is her first child, mind you!).  Luckily we had her shower planned for that weekend, so that was taken in care of in time, but Monday was her next appointment and she did indeed make it to the appointment, she just didn't make it home.  Her doctor informed her that she was having contractions two minutes apart AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT.  She didn't feel a dadburn thing!  So she headed over to the hospital and calmly called everyone to let us know that she wouldn't be at work the next morning.  Um, yes, I think that's acceptable dear.  She then proceeded to have a 5 hour labor in which she never felt a single contraction and had an epidural so that she wouldn't have to feel the 8 pound girl child bursting forth from a pea sized hole.  When we went to see her the next day she looked tired, but wasn't sore at all and proudly showed off her beautiful baby girl.  I think if all pregnancies and births worked like that there would be about 75% more people populating the earth.

So we admired little Raegan, smelled her head, curled her hand around our fingers, watched her squawk and turn all red and angry when we unswaddled her to see the whole package--it was great, and I definitely felt those maternal instincts kicking in full force, but mainly because I knew at the end of the visit I'd be able to hand over that tiny little person and go back to my own life where my biggest responsibility is remembering to take Ellie outside every 30 minutes since her bladder apparently has the ability to hold no more than a sip of water.  And I know that when I've had enough of Jack's antics and misbehaving I can just toss him outside and let him stick his head between the slats of the balcony and watch the world go by while I catch up on Gilmore Girls reruns.

So, as mushy gushy as infants make me feel, I have a feeling that it will be a GOOD LONG TIME before I'm ready to introduce one of them into the world.  Because I'm not sure, but I think throwing babies into kennels and locking them in there while you go out shoe shopping is probably frowned upon, in our society at least.

Mother May I

Okay, I feel safe saying this right now since Colby is away and doesn’t have access to a computer for awhile, but a strange thing started happening to me recently. I can’t really explain it, and honestly it scares the pants off of me. I’m surrounded by pregnancy at work, my coworker’s wife, half of the girls on our admin staff, one of the chiefs who just retired, an old commander of mine, and so on and so forth… It’s like it’s in the water, so maybe that has something to do with it, but I have been having the most insane maternal urges for the past couple of months.

Up until just a few months ago, I was violently opposed to the idea of having children before I was in my very late 20s or early 30s, I was constantly irritated by kids at the movies, in stores, anywhere that there were children present concurrently with myself. I grew up babysitting at least once or twice a week, and absolutely loved kids, but I figured I’d just hit burnout. Then my older sister had two beautiful children, who I love to pieces, but being a mother just seemed so HARD, and I wanted nothing to do with that. I loved that I could play with them and spoil them and then send them packing once they started acting up.

But truly, over the past couple of months anytime someone brings up a baby or child I just get all melty inside, and when I went to buy some baby clothes for a friend I nearly cried in the middle of Target holding these little wee socks. And having Jack in my life, as many pennies as that little guy has cost me, (the only mention of him, I promise!) has filled up this emptiness that I didn’t even realize I had inside me, so I can only imagine how incredible having a child would be.

Perhaps it’s just a side effect of growing up and entering “the real world” if you will, and maintaining a happy relationship with a man who I can actually envision as a father rather than just the current boyfriend (now watch, I’ve jinxed everything). Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve done so many of “the things I want to do before I have kids”—travel, live on my own, save money, settle down, etc.

Obviously I’m not planning on running out tomorrow and getting knocked up. I still have a life of my own that I want to lead before introducing children into my crazy world, but really the concept doesn’t horrify me as much as it did once, and that makes me incredibly happy. I felt so coldhearted having such an aversion to children when I’d once loved them so much, so I feel much more like myself now. Now, I’ll be preaching a different story when that little twit behind me in the movie theater keeps kicking my chair, but I’ll probably be a lot less likely to turn around and hiss at him with daggers shooting from my eyes.

So, anyway, don’t start panicking and calling the closest asylum to have me checked in. For my entire life I’ve worked this way. One second I’m completely obsessed with an idea and the next I’ve forgotten about it entirely. More than likely by next month I’ll be completely turned off by the thought of children again… not that the thought of children actually turns me on right now, because that’s actually quite perverse and punishable by incarceration, but you know, anyway. Probably next month I’ll be possessed by the urge to buy a chicken or something.& Besides, I’ve not even gotten the man in my life convinced that marriage sounds like a good idea, I think if I started talking kids he might go into hiding in the wilds of Washington state.