False Positive

On Tuesday, December 14th, my family welcomed a new addition to the family. The cutest, sweetest baby boy- Rocco James Vickers. I was lucky enough to be there for the entire process. From induction, to the C-section decision, waiting for the surgery to be over and then FINALLY meeting him for the first time. It was the closest I've ever been to a live birth. It was truly a magical experience.

The first time I held him I just sobbed. I was overcome with emotion. He was so beautiful, so perfect. I loved him instantly. I had heard that when a mother meets her baby for the first time there is an instant connection, I never knew it was the same for an Auntie. Love at first sight does exist.

As all of my emotions poured out over this little newborn baby, my mom and sister said things to me like, "why are you crying so much? maybe you're pregnant". I guess it seemed a logical explanation for why I was being so "emotional". I just laughed it off, knowing good and well that it wasn't even a remote possibility. After my they continued to make additional comments over the following two days, I finally explained to them that it was impossible. "I just finished my period five days ago!"

But their words stuck with me.

On Thursday, December 16th, Brett and I arrived in Phoenix. We were exhausted from spending the previous days at the hospital and only became more exhausted as the week(s) went on. Between the holidays, sleeping on air mattresses, dealing with the stress being produced by our stay with his family and the time change, we (I) was a mess.

All of these factors manifested themselves into what felt like an emotional roller-coaster with the addition of constipation which in turn became bloating and nausea. This on top of those lingering words from my mom and sister...

On the 30th, I got a call from one of my good friends. She had just tested positive. I was so happy for her (I still am. I'm NEVER resentful of ANYONE who gets pregnant- I know how happy it would make me and I want that same happiness for everyone, especially the people I love). But I couldn't help it, I hung up the phone and the tears came pouring out. It was a full-on melt down. Big heavy sobs.

My sweet husband, just rubbed my back, knowing there was nothing he could do to make it better. But this melt-down was intense. I couldn't stop. I just cried and cried..."why am I crying so much?" The words of my mom and sister, haunting me...the weeks of constipation, bloating and nausea floating around in my mind.

I thought I was going to start my period that Wednesday, it was Thursday. I was one day late. Maybe it was an immaculate conception. Did I mention that we hadn't even slept in the same bed since December 11th?

The next day was New Years. I knew I wanted to drink that night so Brett and I went to Walgreens Thursday night and bought a two pack of tests, just to be sure. I peed on the stick that morning and it was negative. Just like all the other dozens, if not hundreds of tests I had taken in the past. I wasn't surprised. Not to sound like a martyr, but I'm used to it AND you have to have sex to make a baby, so, you know, there's that.

Fast forward to Monday, still no period. I was now five days late. I called my doctor and asked if I should up my progesterone dosage and he said yes but I thought I'd test, just in case, before increasing to two capsules per day. Besides, I still had the second one left from the pack of two, might as well use it.

It was Monday afternoon, about 3pm. I knew it wasn't my "first urine" but whatever, I was bored...or something. I had just taken a nap (remember that whole tired thing?) and I figured, "why not?" So I went to the bathroom, peed on the stick, set it down, went about my business, glancing down every couple of seconds. After about 15 seconds I saw what appeared to be a VERY faint line. I'm not going to lie... I whispered loudly, "holy fuck!" Never had I ever seen anything other than NOTHING.

I took it to Brett and I said, "don't get excited, but I think I see a line". I knew it was faint. I knew he would have a hard time seeing it, hell I could BARELY see it. I mean BARELY. When he didn't see it, I decided I was probably imagining things. But I KNEW I had NEVER seen what I saw.

We just kind of laughed about it. I put it back in the wrapper, placed it in the trash and forgot about it...for a couple of hours anyway. But I couldn't stand it. I just had to look one more time, in different light, like maybe outside.

I reached into the trash, pulled the stick out of the wrapper and there it was, a pretty defined, yet light blue plus sign. I showed it to Brett, he said, "yep, I see it". We decided not to get excited. Even though I have told friends who have questioned their positive results, "there are not false positives", I still couldn't feel confident that is was happening to me. I knew the math, I was pretty sure I hadn't ovulated and I certainly knew that there hadn't been any baby dancing going on. The two major requirements for pregnancy.

BUT, there was a plus sign. There are no false positives...right?

Fortunately I didn't allow myself to get excited. Well, not too excited. After all I wasn't completely convinced. But of course my mind did wander a bit. I thought about how we were going to tell people-- this is something I've fantasized about for as long as I can remember. I wondered what we'd do about fostering. I let myself feel like maybe just maybe it WAS happening to me. And it felt good.

However, it's now Wednesday, two days later-- still no period, but TWO new negative tests.

I hate to sound like I'm throwing myself a pity party, but it DID feel good, even if only for a very short while. I hope I get to see a REAL plus sign some time soon, but until then I will remember those 12 hours when I thought, maybe, just maybe it was happening to me, too.

Coming Clean

Yeah, I know, it's been close to forever since I last posted. I had good intentions but life got in the way. First it was the Mono, then it was travel then it was...forgotten about, then...put off, and off some more and off a little longer.

So what's been going on for the last few months? Well other than THE MONO incident, a trip to Gatlinburg, camping with friends at the lake and going to the beach with family-- not a whole heck of a lot. Oh wait, there was something else...we tried a round of clomid a few weeks back.

WHAT?! CLOMID? You mean you took it and didn't tell anyone?!?!?!

Yes, yes I did and it was miserable. I felt fine- hormonally and physically. I never experienced any side effects. That could be because it didn't work, but it could also be that I am just lucky. Lucky enough to not experience hot flashes, mood swings, headaches, etc. Did I mention it didn't work? Yeah, that's probably why.

Although I thought maybe it was working at the time, it turns out, according the blood tests that my progesterone levels did not indicate ovulation.

The funny thing is that even if it HAD worked, I still wouldn't have gotten pregnant. You see, there's this really important part of getting pregnant called SEX. That which, I made sure not to have after chickening out about getting pregnant at what was assumed, the last minute. Did you follow that? I think that sentence was kind of confusing. Let me rephrase the whole paragraph.

I took the clomid, on cycle days 5-9. According to the directions we were supposed to start doing, what all the message boards call, "the baby dance", on the 10th day. So the tenth day came and it was time to DO IT. What I thought would be this magical, highly anticipated dance, turned out to be nothing but miserable. The stress of it was so overwhelming that I just wanted to cry. It was awful.

We went camping the next day and when we came home I realized that I just couldn't even try. I was scared. Scared of being fat and pregnant. Actually, scared is not the right word. More like terrified. So I chickened out.

It's weird. I feel like I made the right decision, but at the same time I can't decide if I'm being selfish. I'm not asking for your opinion. I know you all support whatever I do and want me to be happy and healthy, but I just feel kind of...bad.

I know Brett is ready to have a baby. I know I'm ready to have a baby. I know what ever baby is in there is ready to become a baby, but I don't want to go through a pregnancy not even being able to tell that I am carrying a child. I want to be able to feel that baby, I want Brett to be able to feel it too. I want to have external belly ultrasounds, not internal vaginal ones because they can't see through the fat. I want people to be able to identify my pregnant belly. I want to be healthy and I want my child to be healthy. I know fat women get pregnant and have babies all the time, but I'm afraid to be one of them.

When the nurse called to tell me that I hadn't ovulated, she said that she was going to call in a new RX for the higher dose. I haven't picked it up yet. Don't know if or when I will.

For now, Brett and I are going to the gym, trying to eat better (as always) and trying to focus on summer vacations and anything and everything that doesn't involve US having a baby.

One more thing-- I need more than two hands to count how many friends and family members have either had beautiful, healthy babies or found out they were pregnant in the past three months.

Baby fever is hard to avoid.

So it's been a while! WARNING: (WAY) TMI to follow...

I have a tendency to write when I'm irritated and not so much when I'm feeling good. I THINK this is healthy. I like to think that writing gets it all out and when I'm feeling good I'm busy being happy. BUT, I don't want this to be a "downer blog" where everyone who reads just feels sorry for me all the time. Of course I have many difficulties and frustrations, but I also have many blessings in my life that I am thankful for every day.

So, okay, enough about that...

What has happened since my last entry? Well, A LOT of good things...minus the continued bleeding. Yes people, we're going on a whopping TWENTY-FIVE-MOTHER-EFFING DAYS! Last weekend was REALLY bad. There were many "blunderwear" casualties, as Brett likes to call them. Many calls from the bathroom..."BRETT!!! Will you please bring me some underwear?" He's a good sport. Never complains, might huff a little, but is sensitive to my frustrations. By the third day I decided to just grab a handful of clean pairs and left them next to the toilet. Took me long enough to figure that one out! DUH!

Nights were spent wearing what I called diapers. Basically three pads one running vertically and two on either end running horizontally. Not comfortable at all, and still hardly effective. Brett slept in the guest room and I slept on a towel. It was awesome. NOT!

We barely left the house, and when we did, we had to stay close to home in case I had an "accident". Pretty ridiculous eh?

By Tuesday it had slowed down enough to feel "normal" again, but it's still hanging on even today. Just enough to be annoying.

###

So here's a funny story for you...especially those of you wondering how I had strained my back last week---

Because of all this bleeding, I decided to try a new "period management method". Anyone heard of the Diva cup? Yeah, well if you haven't, it's basically a pliable, funnel shaped, silicone dixie-cup with a "stem" at the bottom. Sound like fun yet?

Well the genius that invented this was obviously very dexterous and fearless of potentially losing plastic utensils in HIS or her vagina.

There are two sizes to choose from. 1 and 2. 1 is for those under 30 who have never had children. 2 is for those over 30 whether you've had children or not- since I'm 32 I paid $40.00 dollars for the #2. Both sizes are actually the same price, but I wanted you to know how much I "invested" in the this little "project".

So, I buy this miracle contraption that fits into my "green" lifestyle which will keep me from adding to the landfill, save me money since this one-time investment will last about two years, AND, I'll only have to "deal" with it every twelve hours or so because that's the nature of the design.

Excited to try it out, I get home from the store. The specialty store I might add. The specialty store that's about 30 miles away and rush into the bathroom thinking this is going to make my life SOOOOO much easier!

Boy was I wrong. I know I could just leave it at this and that you could fill in the blanks, but I want to be sure you truly understand what I went through. It goes a bit like this...

I told you it was pliable right? Yeah, well, not really! Especially since in order to insert it you have to fold it in half, TWICE! Are you following me here?

The directions, (almost) verbatim:

Step 1: Fold- press the sides of the cup together and fold it in half again forming a tight U.

Step 2: With one hand, hold the sides firmly together with you thumb on one side and your *four (4) fingers on the other side just below the top ridge of the cup.

*I guess if you're missing fingers you're SOL

Step 3: Take a comfortable position, with your free hand...(blah, blah you get the idea)

WARNING: DO NOT push the stem further than 1/2 inch into the vagina. (who the hell knows how far that is??) Inserting the Diva Cup too high may cause leaks. Over insertion may also make removal more difficult. (or impossible!)

Step 4: You ready for this one? This is my favorite...

Step 4: IMPORTANT: Finally, in order to the create the seal with the vaginal muscle, grip the base of the cup (not the stem) and turn the cup one full rotation (360 degrees) in either direction.

It goes on, but that's the gist of it. You got it? Think you can do it?

I just realized that the directions on their website make it sound much simpler. I'm pretty sure they do that for a reason. The old bait and switch...vag style!

Here I am, sitting on the toilet, one leg up on the side of the bathtub, trying to shove this thing up in me.

I'm here to tell you, there is nothing "Diva" about this cup! It requires, strong, nimble, fingers; flexibility; a strong will to stick a plastic mug all up in your business and absolute confidence in your ability to yank it back out...later.

After twenty minutes of folding and shoving, folding and shoving, folding, folding and folding again, and eventual success with insertion, I put my foot back on the floor and attempted to sit upright only to find that my back had seized up during this process. It hurt so bad it took my breath away. Can we say, AWESOME! Again? Oh hell yeah!

I left it in for a couple of hours. As long as I was sitting I couldn't feel it, but walking was quite uncomfortable. The cup isn't any bigger than other "things" that regularly go up in there (I know TMI, but I have to defend Brett here!) however, husbands don't feel like bendy dixie cups and don't require FOLDING. Nor do they have to be removed by pulling on what becomes a very slippery plastic tab.

Luckily removal only took about three minutes and although the aching back made it feel like an eternity, I had done it! I had successfully used the Diva Cup. After which I quickly washed it out, placed it in it's cute little Diva pouch, and threw it in the back of the cupboard where it will sit until after I give birth and can work up the never to try again. (highly unlikely)

There goes $40.00...I'm sticking to pads and tampons.

###

So on to other things. My Stacey, knowing I struggle with organization and keeping a clean house, recommended a book to me called "Sink Reflections". I picked it up at the Library last week and am LOVING it! I'm not following it to a "T", but it is giving me direction and a feeling of empowerment to gain and maintain control of my home. One of the best lines in the book is, "you can't organize clutter". SO TRUE! I never thought about it, but it's true. That's what I've been trying to do: organize all the crap in my life instead of just purging it.

I am now working to surround myself with only the things I either: use, love or to which I have a personal connection. This means, clothes that I no longer wear are gone, even IF they still have the tags on them. The two extra knife blocks that were cluttering the kitchen because I MIGHT need them are gone and the "bar" where we stored our liquor has been replaced with a pretty lamp, a candle and a plant. Of course I didn't get rid of the alcohol, but I found a home for it-- in the cupboard where the dead blender than I "might be able to fix" once lived. The bottles always bugged me seeing them there on the sideboard in the dining room. I thought it looked trashy, but now it's gone and every time I walk in that room I just see pretty things which makes me super happy!

Additionally, last week we ate EVERY meal at home. I think that's a first for us. In fact I KNOW it is. We've tried in the past, but something has always come up, whether a legitimate reason or a lame excuse, we've never made it an ENTIRE week of just eating at home and I have to admit, it feels REALLY GOOD!!

This weekend we got so much done outside. The beautiful weather helped of course, but it was amazing to come inside after a long day's work, put dinner in the oven, take a hot shower and just relax feeling a sense of accomplishment and no guilt!

It's so easy to be self destructive yet even EASIER to NOT be?? The lazy, apathetic and self-loathing snowball grows so quickly that it's hard to make it stop but all it takes is a little sunshine to melt it all away allowing for motivation, accomplishments and JOY! Hooray for spring! Literally and figuratively.

Okay, I think I've written enough for today and even though I feel like I could go on and on and on I will end here for now.

Bad, Bad Morning--- Gore Alert, and I don't mean Al.

Day 15. You'd think things would be winding down a bit by now, no?

EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WRONG!

What I thought was coming to an end yesterday morning decided to rear it's ugly head last night, leaving me to wake up, in well, a puddle.

I know this is disgusting, but it's true. And it's all part of this BS that I'm going through with my body. So, YES! This is going to be one of those "bi-polar" days, and not the manic kind, more of the pissed off, frustrated, laundry doing, hydrogen-peroxiding, SEVERAL trips to the bathroom, multiple pairs of underwear, towel-sitting, no pants-wearing (cause it's futile) kind of day.

While I'm at it, I think I'll feel sorry for myself for a little too.

What can feel so hopeful one day can feel disastrous the next.

God I wish my laundry wasn't in the basement!

MD Today- part 2

Okay, okay here it is...

So we went the doctor this morning and it went very well, as best it could I suppose. My doctor is a bit cooky to say the least, but easy to talk to and totally on board in helping us any way possible. Since he is not a fertility specialist he is limited in what he can do to help, but is willing to get us through the initial rounds of Clomid in hopes of getting pregnant.

We walked out of his office with our nifty little specimen kit (Brett is less than thrilled) and as well a prescription for Provera and Clomid; now we just wait.

It was never our intention to walk out of the appointment, run to the pharmacy, fill the prescription and come home and do it like rabbits. That hasn't changed.

For now, we plan to just hang out for a while. Let this all settle in a bit and move forward when we're ready.

I'm hoping Brett will come around sooner than later and decide the whole "filling the cup" thing isn't that bad. But I will try to be as patient as I can. Unfortunately, it's not something that can be especially spontaneous which completely removes any opportunity for "romance". It's all very clinical.

First we have to make an appointment with the lab so that they can be ready when we deliver the specimen, then the cup has to be filled (which we can do at home) but we have keep it warm by placing between our legs or under an arm and deliver it within one hour of collection. Sounds like fun, eh? Oh yeah, and no "sex" three days prior.

Who knew jacking it into a cup had to be so scientific. Yeah, I just said, "jacking it", so what?! It's funny! And it's okay to laugh about it.

From there, we'll find out what we're working with. If we've got limited, slow or abnormal sperm at least we'll know and can start looking at herbal supplements and take advantage of other remedies out there.

Once that's all determined we'll move forward.

I'm on day 14 of this "period" now, woo hoo. NOT! And if it doesn't end, and/or a new one doesn't start by the time we're ready to give this whole getting knocked up thing a whirl, I will: take a dose of Provera to jump start a period, take the clomid 3-5 days after it starts then go back to the doc on day 20 for a blood test to see what my hormone levels are and if my progesterone levels indicate ovulation. If my progesterone levels don't indicate ovulation then we start the process again only this time we increase the dose of Clomid. This will continue until A) pregnancy is achieved or B) We've reached the max dose.

If we get to B then we re-evaluate and most likely move to other plan B which is adoption. That's been plan A/B all along and will probably happen regardless...eventually.

RECAP-

Step 1: check sperm
Step 2: take Provera if a natural period doesn't occur
Step 3: take Clomid
Step 4: blood test to determine hormone levels. If test is positive -->Step 5 If it's negative we still move to step 5, because we can and then return to step 2
Step 5: have lots of sex
Step 6: take a positive pregnancy test and jump for joy or return to step 2

Here's hoping for Plan A!

Day 11, The PCOS Stamp Rant and Clomid!

Well it's day eleven of this "period" and I'm beginning to wonder if it's going to end. As I stated in a previous blog my second-to-last period lasted 18 months so I'm starting to get a little nervous.

I suppose eleven days isn't unreasonable when you haven't had a period in five months, but the fear of another 18 month stint is NOT something to be excited about.

This brings me to my rant on PCOS.

When I was diagnosed 10 years ago, PCOS was not commonly assigned. I had to ASK my doctor about it even though I'd been irregular ever since my first period at age 11. I was always just offered the pill as a symptom manager and there was never a concern. In fact, when I was finally diagnosed that was the RX too...take the pill to regulate and come back when you're ready to get pregnant and we'll use drugs to get you pregnant.

Since then, there have been some advancements I suppose. Doctors are more aware of the disorder and some even prescribe metformin (a diabetes med) to help with the metobolic end of things, which in turn is supposed to make you ovulate.

Here's my problem with all of this. Back when I was first diagnosed the doc performed in internal ultrasound and I remember seeing the "string of pearls" around my ovaries. My blood sugar was normal and so was my thyroid and every other test they ran.

Over the last ten years I've been back a couple of times, different doctor every time because I've moved so much, and every time I've been completely normal-- other than my weight.

If you read about PCOS there seems to be a correlation between the syndrome and obesity. (God I hate that word) But it seems no one knows which comes first. However, normal-weight women can get it too AND many overweight women DON'T have it. So there's really no rhyme or reason.

Another interesting thing about "PCOS" (notice I'm putting it in quotation marks now) is that different women have different symptoms. This is where my rant begins.

It seems to me that "PCOS" has become a bit like ADD/ADHD. "Oh your kid is more than you can handle, well he must have ADD, here's some Ritalin, have a nice day."

With PCOS it's like, "oh you're irregular? Hmmm...well ypu must have PCOS. Here's your 'PCOS' stamp." And that's it. Your medical chart now reads "PCOS".

Before you get upset thinking that I believe ADD is not real, you're wrong. I do believe it's real. I, myself should probably be medicated for it, BUT, it's also become a blanket diagnoses; an excuse for some parents and a money maker for drug companies.

Back to the PCOS, which is why you came here, right?

I call it the "PCOS STAMP" because during my last visit to a REPRODUCTIVE ENDOCRINOLOGIST, a "PCOS" specialist, I was given my stamp once again- as well as a RX for birth control pills and Metformin EVEN THOUGH all of my tests were normal. My hormones are normal, my blood sugar is normal, my thyroid is normal and there were NO PEARLS ON MY OVARIES!!

When I told her I had been bleeding for the past year and a half she was just like, "yeah, that's got to be tough".

My OB/GYN didn't seem bothered by it either. He wanted me to see the specialis to get her "specialized" opinion, but basically told me, "Some people are just fat. Don't worry about it so much. When you want to get pregnant I'll give you a prescription for Clomid and we'll see what happens."

All of this just leaves me wondering if there's something being missed; feeling a little more hopeless, a little more helpless and wishing I was a scientist, or at least knew one, willing to do some intense research just in case they're missing something-- like genetically altered corn or hormone injected chicken or drinking out of plastic water bottles. SOMETHING!

Done ranting.

So now what? Well, I wasn't going to say anything to anybody about this, but because A) I lack self-control, B) We can use all the good energy, thoughts and prayers out there, and C) This is the big one...I know there are other people out there that read my blog who are going through the same thing.

Here it is...Brett and I are going to the doctor on Wednesday to talk to him about clomid. Nervousness ensues.

(I realize this is the THIRD topic that I'm covering in this, "getting longer and longer with every keystroke entry", but it seems that I have a lot on my mind. And rightfully so I guess.)

Why clomid? I'm thirty-two years old, other than my weight, I'm in perfectly good health- normal BP, cholesterol, hormones, I eat well, and did I mention I'm 32? Yeah, that clock is ticking and to be quite frank, I'm tired of putting off having a baby, or at least trying-- I mean REALLY trying.

After writing a few blog-entries, talking to a couple of friends and having a real heart-to-heart with myself, I realized, that losing the weight I want to lose, at the rate I'm going now, will leave me 40 years old and childless. I know "they" say 40 is the new 30, but I want to have a family now, not eight years from now. I'm ready. My heart and my home are ready. Brett is ready. WE ARE READY!! So we're giving it a shot. A real, honest to goodness shot.

We're ready. Ready to face this challenge. Hoping it's just me. Hoping that Clomid will do the trick. Hoping Brett has some good swimmers and that my body will provide a good home for nine months of baby growing...that between the two of us, cause that how it works, we'll be able to make a beautiful healthy baby.

I'm not bipolar, just hormonal!

So the last time I wrote a blog, well, the last three (er, um, only three) times, were all kind of pitiful. I knew they were at the time. I was aware that they didn't represent my "norm", but the feelings were completely genuine. I really was feeling very frustrated and a bit down about, well, everything. Feeling a bit hopeless and helpless-- it happens to all of us. BUT! I have good news! I GOT MY PERIOD!!!

Now this may not seem like something most people would broadcast on the web; in fact I feel a little strange doing it. BUT for all of my friends and family who either A- know my irregularity issues and B- for those who deal with PCOS themselves, know that this is quite a feat.

Why? Well because I haven't had a period since AUGUST! This isn't the longest I've gone without one, but five months feels like an eternity when you want to get pregnant. (I really should own stock in EPT) Every week that goes by is another week "late" in normal-person-world. And even though I know, intellectually that I'm not pregnant, it's easy to get caught in the maybe's and what if's.

None-the-less, I got my period and now recognize those PMS blues from two weeks ago as just that, PMS!

So what now? Well...I wait. Wait and hope it stops. My last period was induced by a round of BC pills, and boy was it a doozy! Prior to that three week long respite (during the 21 days of white pills) I had been bleeding for a year an a half. Yeah, you read that right. ONE and ONE HALF years! 18 months! 500 and some odd days. Tell me that's not exhausting! -- Which brings me to today...waiting, waiting for this period to be over. It's been about a week and has slowed down significantly since it started, but is still hanging on.

I guess I'll just wait a little longer and hope that it doesn't decide to stick around too long. The only way to make it stop is to go on the pill which is NOT my favorite option. It may make the bleeding stop, but it also makes me completely irrational and impossible to be around-- just ask Brett!

For now, I feel good. I'm eating carbs in moderation, making sure every meal has a fruit and/or veg and watching portion sizes. Haven't really lost any weight, but I'm feeling better...looking forward to warm weather, gardening, camping and other summer projects.

I've got a list of blog subjects that I will be writing and publishing soon. So keep an eye out!

So I've decided to have t-shirts made...

They'll say, "Pity me, I'm infertile!" Ok, not really. That would be funny though wouldn't it? Come on, just a little? Imagine me and thousands of other women walking around in mint green shirts with bold black letters... PITY ME, I'M INFERTILE!

I suppose it might make some people feel uncomfortable, but at least it would be out there. I mean, it's already the elephant in the room, isn't it?

As a 32 year old woman, my biological clock is ticking and my maternal instincts are locked and loaded. Most of my friends already have children and they are all well aware that I want them too. Sometimes we talk about it, especially if I'm feeling really down-- they are all very supportive and are always there for me when I need them. I am EXTREMELY fortunate in the friend department.

However, this doesn't change the fact that I want to be pregnant more than anything in the world and that they already have what I want and worry I will never get.

This can sometimes leave me feeling awkward...

Now you may be thinking that the awkwardness would be on their part, but it's not. It's actually my own discomfort. I love and value all of my friends, and the ones with kids...well I get to love them double and some of them triple! (none quadruple..yet) I feel very fortunate to be a part of their children's lives-- to play with them, snuggle them and watch them grow. But it doesn't stop there...I also love watching my friends grow. From single, to married, to motherhood. (usually in that order)

My once wild and crazy girlfriends are now completely monogamous, relatively sober and 100% committed to being moms. It's really quite beautiful.

At the same time, our conversations have grown. Now we talk more about organic foods rather than how many calories are in a Red Bull and Vodka and tell each other about the great deal we got on a new set of dishes instead of the cute shirt we bought at Ross the other day. (We've always been thrifty) Most topics are still subjects to which I can contribute. BUT...there are also several that I can't. Co-sleeping, Cloth Diapers, how to make baby food, labor and delivery, nursing, and immunizations...to name a few.

This doesn't bother me, well not in the sense that I don't like or want to talk about these things. BUT, there's only so much that I can contribute and that's when I begin to feel a little awkward- although not the way you may think.

I admit, sometimes is makes me sad, and sometimes I get that pain behind my eyes as I fight to keep the tears from welling up, but that's still not what bothers me. What bothers me is completely self induced. I feel like, they worry they feel like they can't talk about baby things in front of me because it might make me sad.

This is especially at the front of my mind right now because of a conversation that took place this weekend.

Two of my girlfriends were over with their kids. We had just finish eating soup after sledding in the backyard for a couple of hours. The kids were in the living room with husbands watching cartoons and playing with cars and we were sitting around the table chatting. (kinda like in the movies) We have it pretty good!

Well, somehow the topic of sleeping came up and they began discussing their individual family's sleeping arrangements. They were talking about how they all fit in one bed, and how much easier it is to nurse, and so on. For some reason, I was feeling especially emotional that day and began to feel that recognizable ache coming from right between my eyes. I quickly stood up and began clearing dishes. I went into the kitchen took a deep breath and returned to the dining room listening to their conversation the entire time. Each time I entered the kitchen I let out an relieving exhale, pushing the tears down a little further with every breath. After a few trips I finally decided to jump in...contributing the only thing I could think to say. It went a little something like this-

"I know it's not the same, because well, he's a dog. But last night, Joe actually laid on the bed next to me and fell asleep. It was so sweet."

Trying to feel more like a mom I continued...

"He will lay with me sometimes, but as soon as I wiggle even a toe, he jumps down."

Pointing out the sacrifices I make as a mom too...

"So I just laid there in a really uncomfortable position for almost an hour just so he could sleep."

Now I DO love my dog. And he is like my child. But he's still a dog. I don't care how much you may love your dog, or how much I love my dog (which is A LOT!) it's not the same as loving a child. I will not even try to convince myself that it's the same. I am fully aware that it's not. I do know, however, that I can't even imagine what it must feel like to love a child considering how much I love that Joe-dog.

Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode with the love I have for him. If he were a person...I may not survive!

Moving on.

So yeah, I love my dog. And I laid there for an hour in a really uncomfortable position so that he could sleep.

Well as soon as I blurted out this story to them I felt like a jerk. I know they just thought, "aw, that's sweet" because they both said something to that affect. I also know that they meant it. But I immediately felt responsible for making things awkward by drawing attention the fact that they have children and I have a dog. The thing is, they had no idea. They thought I was just clearing the table, that I could only carry three things at a time, that I was just telling a funny story. They didn't realize that I was trying to prove (unnecessarily) that I'm okay with them talking about things that I want but can't have.

I didn't give them credit for knowing me better than that. I assumed that they would think I wasn't okay with it.

UGH!

The truth is that I LOVE it when they talk about all that stuff. Not once have I ever thought any my friends were being insensitive, I've only thought they might worry that I thought they were.

I have learned so much from them that I may or may not have figured out on my own.

Okay, enough of this infertility crap, it's certainly does not define who I am and was not the sole purpose for starting a blog. I'm not sure why I started it but so far I'm enjoying it and plan to keep it up. I think my life is interesting, or at least close representation of the word.

Yesterday-
Breakfast- Peppers and Onion Omelet with cheese- coffee with cream and sugar
Lunch- Leftover Cheeseburger
Dinner- Sauteed potatoes, onions, sausage and chard with a side of mushroom and leeks and a salad with cranberries and almonds.
Dessert- 2 scratch-made soft chocolate cookies topped with berries and my first time everfresh whipped cream. (man did my wrist hurt!)

Carb Conundrum Continued...(this gets personal)

So I made cheeseburgers for dinner last night with homemade buns and big salad on the side. That sounds relatively healthy right? Especially considering what I had eaten earlier in the day. The patty was a quarter pound and the bun was small. The salad consisted of lettuce, spinach, carrots, onion and homemade yogurt blue cheese dressing.

I feel good about what I ate yesterday.

Brett wanted to go get ice cream around 8:30 and I told him no, which was hard. I wasn't hungry and I wasn't craving anything sweet, so passing up on the actual eating of the ice cream wasn't difficult. But just SAYING no, was difficult for a couple of reasons. One of them I just recognized as I was typing this paragraph.

So first- it was hard because I'm not his mother. He is a grown man and he doesn't need my permission to eat ice cream. Telling him no made me feel controlling and bitchy. I mean, I knew it was the best decision for both of us, but I'm certainly not his boss. At the same time, it makes me mad that he asked in the first place.

During dinner I expressed to him how I was feeling all day. I told him that we seriously need to CONSISTENTLY make better choices. We do good for a few days but then as soon as we find an excuse to make a bad choice we totally take advantage of it.

We really like the words of Michael Pollan. "Eat Food. Not very much. Mostly Vegetables" He says it's okay to eat junk food as long as you make it yourself. I agree with this...and long as you remember to eat "not very much".

So last night, as I'm mixing up the hamburger bun dough, Brett says, "We having french fries?" and I about lost it. "NO! We're having hamburger buns!"

"What else?"

"Salad"

"That's all?"

"YES!!!"

Little did he know, I had made up a new food rule just minutes prior to this conversation. ONE CARB PER MEAL Makes sense right? So why was he questioning me?!?!?! He should know!

At this point I was fuming, thinking to myself, "Potatoes AND buns! What the hell? I've told him a hundred times! Potatoes are NOT a vegetable!!! Dammit!"

Sitting at the table in silence, we began eating our cheeseburgers and salads when finally I realized...he had no idea that I'd made a new food rule.

"I'm sorry. I'm in a shitty mood...I just--" tears begin forming, "I'm just so frustrated. I want so badly to have a baby. And every time I eat a carb I feel like I'm feel like I'm choosing food over being a mother". I continued "And the other night, when you told David that we're off the wagon because now we're going to adopt, it really upset me. Adoption has always been an option, but it certainly isn't as excuse to abuse our bodies. I would love to have a four year old right now, but I don't want to be a fat mom to any child".

"So I've decided that we should limit our carbs to 1 per meal."

Done.

Back to the ice cream dilemma. Now that he knows the rule. He knows I'm upset that we've "fallen off the wagon", he knows I want a baby, he knows I hate being fat, he knows, he knows, he knows...and yet he still asks, "you wanna go get some ice cream?" AHHHHHHHH!!!

Like I said, avoiding the temptation wasn't hard since I was satisfied from dinner and not craving anything sweet. But the more I sat there and thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Not because I wanted ice cream, but because I wanted to share that experience with him. Which brings me to the epiphany I had while writing the second paragraph of this blog.

That's what we share...food and bad choices. It's how we spend time together. It's what we do. We love being gluttonous together-- whether is food, laziness or spending money we don't really have. We've talked before about how we enable each other. We are aware that we make bad decisions together. But it wasn't until 15 minutes ago that I realized, it's what actually bonds us. It's like our hobby. And me saying "no ice cream" felt like I was saying, "I don't love you. I don't want to spend time with you."

What the frigg!?