I’d request a makeover…if I cared. August 27, 2008

   This morning I was walking down the hall with a coworker, and I caught a glimpse of us in a window. 

   She was wearing tailored, black, cuffed slacks, 3 inch heels, a cute tweed blazer, and pearls.  Her hair and makeup was impecable.  She’s about 5′9″ and somehow a very volumptuous 115 (or so) pounds.

   I’m wearing brown twill capris with a drawstring waist, an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt, and orange Birkenstocks.  The only jewelry I’m wearing is my engagement and wedding ring, I have no makeup on, and my hair needs a trim and a wash.  I forgot to shave my legs, my lips are chapped, and my eyebrows need to be tweezed.  I’m 5′5″ and more than 300 pounds (and bloated).

   We were like the before and after shot of “Extreme Makeover.”

Mixed Nuts August 25, 2008

   I just found out that a good friend of mine here at work was pregnant.  Was.  She was 10 weeks, went to the Dr. for something else, and they asked if she wanted to hear the heartbeat.  The heart beat wasn’t there.  The ultrasound showed a six-week gestational sac.  She’s devastated, and to make it worse, the drugs they gave her to miscarry the “products” didn’t work, so now she has to schedule a D&C.

   My first emotion was gut-wrenching sympathy.  I remember my miscarriage, and while it was different from hers, I’ll never forget that intense emotional and physical pain.  It made me nauseous again just thinking about it.  I listened to everything she said, she told me who knew and that she didn’t want anyone else to know, and I told her that I was here if there was anything she needed, either for personal or for work.

   My second emotion, once I sat back at my desk, was anger.  First, I was angry that she hadn’t told me sooner that she was pregnant.  She was number 2 on my list of people to tell once I get pregnant.  That obviously has to change now, but not because she did it to me.  It’s more because she’s gone through this miscarriage, and it would be too painful for me to tell her now, assuming I get pregnant within the next year.  But I hate being left out, and I wish she had told me sooner.  She told me that she didn’t tell me sooner because she knew about me being infertile and all that, and she didn’t want to upset me.

   Then there was more anger, but of a different kind.  She wasn’t even trying to get pregnant.  Her BF is ready for kids, but she’s not quite yet.  They just bought a house together, and were planning on waiting about another year before trying.  But she got pregnant anyways.  I want to get pregnant, damn it!

   Now I’m just sad.  I’m sad for me, and I’m sad for her.  It’s an awful thing to go through.  And I feel bad that I can’t help but feel sorry for myself when all I should be feeling is concern for her.

All-Day Good-Time Pityfest, 1st annual August 20, 2008

   I’m feeling very sad today.  I cried on the way to work, and feel like crying now, although I’m at work so it’s not exactly practical.  I’m feeling frustrated and alone.  I don’t know where to go next.  What I thought was my period the other day was really just spotting for a couple days, and my temps are still up, and I get to stare at a fresh BFN every morning.  I don’t know if I ovulated two weeks ago or not.  Probably not.  We’re officially starting to try in a couple weeks, and I really wish I could just take some Provera and start a fresh cycle.  But I don’t have an another appointment with my RE for 6 weeks, and I don’t think my PCP will give me anything now that she’s passed me on to the RE.

I’m so ready for a baby, so ready to be pregnant, so ready to just try.  But how do I know when to try when I keep looking like I’m about to ovulate, then my temp goes up for a couple days so it looks like I did ovulate, but then my temps go back down?  Over and over again this happens.  Maybe we’ll set up a plan of sex every other or every third day, and not beat ourselves up if we skip a day here or there.  I figure if we can get into a groove like that, we’re covering the bases.  Assuming I will ever ovulate.

   And of course assuming we have no other problems.  I’m considering asking the RE when I go back in October if we should go ahead and have the other basic tests done (sperm analysis, HSG, etc) so we can get them out of the way, but she probably won’t yet because “we’re so young and have so much time.”  She’ll probably want me to be ovulating and us trying for at least 6 months before she requests those tests.

   And how long before she wants us to try Clomid?  Will she order the tests before prescribing Clomid?  When I saw her before, she made it sound like she’d start me on it as soon as I lost 5-10% of my weight.  But I’m not sure I want Clomid, mostly because of the risk of multiples.  I’d love it if we could do this on our own, with only the metformin.  It seems like Clomid is just thrown around all willy-nilly to anyone who’s having the slightest problem conceiving, like it’s an easy fix.  But I know how crazy my Mom got on Clomid, and I’m not sure my husband could handle me like that.

   The other issue is the weight.  I’ve always struggled with losing weight, but I thought that as soon as something was seriously threatened, such as my health or my fertility, I’d be able to get my ass in gear and lose the weight.  But I’m finding that’s not the case.  I’ve lost about 7 pounds since starting the metformin about a month ago, and I’m not really putting any effort into it.  I know that if I tried, even a little, I could lose more.  I’d love to lose at least 5% (17 pounds) by the time I go back to my RE, but I just can’t seem to get off the couch in the evenings to walk, or to give up the ice cream.

   So I’m sad, and frustrated, and confused.  I’m also lazy and impatient, but that’s nothing new.  I can’t wait until I can go home and get a big hug from Paul, and from the kittens.

Confessions. August 18, 2008

This weekend, I actually growled at my husband “I want ice cream!”  He promptly went out and bought me some.  Heath Bar Crunch, to be exact.  It was delicious, and I don’t regret it one bit.  Well, maybe the part where I GROWLED at my husband.

This weekend, I spent over 3 hours on Babies R Us dot com, adding to my shopping cart every conceivable item that I would need for a baby.  Everything from nursery decor to bottles to onesies.  It totaled over $3,000, and $500 of that was shipping and handling.  There’s something about fake shopping that’s so cathartic.

This weekend, I took a pregnancy test, because my period was more like 2 days of dark spotting.  It was negative.  I’ll take another one tomorrow, just for the hell of it.

This weekend, Paul and I adopted a kitten.  My MIL had found him at her work, abandoned at 3 weeks old.  She nursed him back to health, and now he’s ours.  We named him Maxwell, and our 2 y.o. cat Kira is slowly warming up to him.  I’m betting that they’re best friends within a week.

Now the cart goes where? August 13, 2008

   I’m pretty sure I’ve never been this excited about starting my period.  Not even my first period was this fraught with grins.  I celebrated by eating a very illegal Butterfinger.

   This time it was spontaneous, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve started my period all by myself since I was about 16.  Since then, I’ve either been on birth control, or pregnant, or miscarrying, or being ravaged by the joys of PCOS.  So maybe this means the metformin is actually working?  Ask me again how I feel in about 2 weeks as I’m waiting to ovulate.  I’m not expecting to be so giddy around that time.  Unless of course I actually do ovulate, to which I just might have to jump on my desk and do a happy dance for my whole department.  But they can just hold their horses, because I’m not selling tickets for that show quite yet.

Happy Birthday, Babycakes August 8, 2008

   Today is my husband’s 25^th birthday.  He’s just a babe.  At two and a half years younger than me, I’m practically robbing the cradle.  I love Paul very, very, very much, but it’s so hard for me to quantify that into words.  Instead, I think I will list some reasons why I’m so happy he’s my husband, and my best friend.

 

• The first time we said “I love you” we both cried.
• I still get butterflies in my stomach when I see him unexpectedly.
• We never run out of things to talk about.
• We never feel like we “have” to talk.
• He’s always the first person I want to tell everything to.
• Every time he looks at me or touches me, I feel gorgeous.
• I’m jealous of his thick, dark, wavy hair.
• He thinks his eyes look like poop, but I think they look like chocolate.
• I knew we were meant to be when we went camping, in a tent, for 3 days, all by ourselves, and didn’t drive each other crazy.
• He cooks me dinner almost every night.
• There’s only one person I know who cooks better than him, and that’s my mom.
• He takes out the garbage, does the recycling, cleans the cat pan, does the grocery shopping, washes most of the dishes, and (almost) never complains.
• He always calls me out when I snap at him or act like a bitch.
• My knees actually weaken when he kisses me.
• Last night when I got into bed, he snuggled up to me and rubbed my back until I fell asleep.
• He lets me hold the remote control.
• He talks about our kids like they’re already here, and says things like “when we’re old…”
• He hates beer, but likes girly alcoholic drinks.
• When we moved in together, he was hesitant and didn’t even tell his parents.  He was afraid to “grow up” and that it wouldn’t work out.  He quickly admitted he was wrong and couldn’t believe we’d waited so long (2 years).
• When we were planning our wedding, he was very distant and quiet, letting me and my Mom do most of the work.  But he loved registering for gifts.
• I’ve never seen him smile more than on our wedding day.
• He’s not big on public displays of affection, but every once in awhile he surprises me by holding my hand in Walmart.
• He loves vampires, and once wrote me a story about me and a vampire named Matthew McConaughey.  It was great, but would have been better if Paul had been the vampire.  

Weekend Update August 4, 2008

   It was a good, but busy, weekend.  Friday night I made 4 dozen cupcakes, complete with red, white, and blue sprinkles baked right in.  Saturday morning I free-formed letters (Bon Voyage Theresa) and anchors out of red and blue melted white chocolate, then made butter cream icing from scratch.  When the cupcakes were done, it was quite cute, and fit in with the patriotic/nautical theme of the party.

   The party started at noon at my in-laws, and we spent a couple of nice hours there before we had to hit the road.  I’ll confess that I was grateful for an excuse to leave, because otherwise we would have been there until, like, 7 o’clock, and that is just too much time for me to spend with some of my in-laws.

   Around 2:30 we hit the road for MA for a concert (Sarah Barelles, Counting Crows, Maroon 5), and I’m not sure what our TomTom was smoking, but it took us to Timbuktu and back before we finally got there.  Factor in Saturday afternoon Boston traffic, Red Sox game traffic, and traffic for the Springsteen concert at Foxboro, and it took us FOREVER to get there!  But we were right on time, and had decent seats.  The show was great (I heart Adam Levine), and the people-watching is always fun at concerts.  Paul was not overly thrilled, but this one was all about me, and he didn’t hate it.  He basically just focuses on the guitars.  The drive home was a little better, although we didn’t get home until about 3 in the morning.  I haven’t done that since college.

   Yesterday we just bummed around and got a lot done around the house.  We divided and conquered, with Paul grocery shopping and washing dishes, while I did 5 loads of laundry.  Now it’s back to (slow, slow) work.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

   In other news, I’m now up to 1500 mg of Metformin.  Most of my symptoms have dissipated, with the exception of the dreaded diarrhea.  Hopefully that eventually goes away too.  Now we’ll wait to see if I ever ovulate.