There's Weenie Juice on my Cookie!

Four years ago today

2012-01-12T09:20:00.002-06:00

Four years ago on this date, I lost something precious. Something that, to me, was irreplaceable. Every New Years celebration reminds me that this date is coming, as macabre as that is. And it's really hard to believe that four years have gone by. How did I blink and miss four years?

When did she meet me?

2010-02-18T21:40:00.003-06:00

who needs capital letters or punctuation i dont know do you

2010-02-17T10:11:00.001-06:00

I'm frittering away time today going over vendors' W-9s, and have come upon one that has me boggled. They used no punctuation or capital letters. None at all. Not in their name, address, etc. I had three thoughts burst into my head:

1) Who in the world thought that was appropriate for a piece of business paperwork? And,

2) Unless it is secretly Archy doing business in the new millenium. Then,

3) I realized how long it had been since I read any of the "archy and mehitabel" collections. I need to rectify that immediately!

So.... yeah. I'm still alive.

It's all mine!

2009-09-03T15:01:00.001-05:00

Today I am experiencing a mixture of overwhelming excitement and stomach-churning dread. In the wee hours of the morning, I made the final payment on my car. It's actually a month early, but I went ahead and paid the balance just to be finished with the darned thing. I feel like celebrating and throwing up all at the same time. With my luck, the engine will just drop out of the thing while I'm driving home tonight.

Smoking and lippy, the remix

2009-09-02T09:59:00.001-05:00

Not long ago, I wrote an entire post about two things: my lip-product addiction, and smoking. Apparently those things are quite important in my life, because once again they have been on my mind enough that I feel the need to revisit the topics.

I have, unfortunately, fallen off the wagon with smoking. I can no longer proudly say that I'm a non-smoker. I can say that I smoke much, much less than I did in my previous smoker incarnation, but I am nonetheless a smoker again. Rather than smoking over a pack a day, over the last couple of months I have settled into a 2-3 packs per week habit, with the majority of that happening during weekend socializing.

But the one or two that I smoke during the workday has had a huge impact. And by that, I mean my work socialization has jumped like crazy. Since I'd quit smoking before I started this job, taking a smoke break here is a new thing. I'm generally quiet and keep to myself at work, and had forgotten how smokers' camaraderie could be. There are people I've seen almost daily for over a year now, and we've barely done more than nod to one another. But now that they've run into me in the smoking area, they've struck up conversations, made little jokes, talked about work, etc. I've learned more about the insider workings, machinations, and gossip in this company during smoke breaks in the past month, than I have in a year.

~*~*~

Since I began smoking again, I noticed that my lippy addiction grew again. I mean, I've always had it, but it did get less when I wasn't smoking. But the return of moisture-sucking cigarette filters meant a higher need for oral emollients, and I was back on high levels of the stuff. It hit me this past weekend, when I realized that I had more lip products just in my bag than some people own.

At this very moment, this is what I have on me: an Avon "Sweet Spells" lip balm (smells like candy corn); a Kiss My Face cranberry orange spf 15 lip balm; a Blistex Fruit Smoothies strawberry-banana spf 15 lip balm; a Body Shop hemp lip balm with beeswax; a Mary Kay apple berry lipstick; and a Mary Kay sugarberry lip gloss.

Six lip products. Seriously. And I have more at home; those 6 just happen to be in my bag right now. In my defense, the Kiss My Face just joined me last weekend as a gift from a fellow lippy addict... who also gave me the most delicious butter crème lip gloss for my birthday a couple of weeks ago. Of course, I can't complain, since I often gift her household with lippy as well. Ah well, it is what it is.

Do you hear that?

2009-08-25T22:09:00.002-05:00

I giggled a lot. A lot. Then I looked behind the shower curtain...

Shit!

2009-07-14T10:00:00.001-05:00

I swear I will post all about how wonderful Hootenanny was before the month is up. Really. But something else has happened. I didn't go in to work yesterday because I'm sick. I came in today, even though I'm still hacking and blowing and feverish and all, only to discover that 43 employees here at HQ were laid off yesterday. And that more lay offs are expected.

!!!!!

Let me reiterate: 43 employees HERE, not company/worldwide. Right here at corporate headquarters. Which is roughly 10% of the people working here. Holy shit. I might be unemployed again before the week is up. Fuck.

Invisible woman part 2, or "Her Giant (Baboon) Ass"

2009-06-24T11:56:00.001-05:00

Okay, now back to Gluteus Giganticus: So, yeah, I need to lose a stupid amount of weight, because I have gained a stupid amount of weight. It is negatively influencing my blood pressure, edema, and my menstrual cycles (WHAT menstrual cycles?!?).

I have not had regular cycles since my miscarriage, which is normal for a bit. But it never improved, and now I know it's because of the weight gain. My new ob-gyn is increasing my metformin to 1000mg, as I was on a super-low dose of 500mg. She wants it more like 1500-2000mg, but doesn't want me to blow out an O-ring, so we'll gradually increase it over the next few months.

When I thought about my upcoming vacation, I thought, "Well, as weird as it is, I'm kinda glad I'm having mega 2-3 month cycles right now. Since I just got my period at the end of May, I won't have to worry about the Red Sea when I go on vacation over Fourth of July weekend."

Guess who increased their metformin dose around cd11? Guess who unexpectedly ovulated around cd23? Guess who, by their best estimate, will not only have their period, but will be having their heaviest flow on the same day as an all-day, outdoors in the middle of nowhere music festival, whilst on their first vacation in two years?

Yay me!

So, keep an eye peeled for a post-vacation update featuring embarrassing moments like baboon-red asses from bleeding through while waiting in mile-long porta-potty lines. Huzzah!

I'm the invisible woman!

2009-06-24T11:36:00.001-05:00

The image in my head is the second scene of "Connie and Carla", where the fearless singers/performers are giving their all as they perform in front of a listless and uncaring –not to mention sparse-- crowd in an airport lounge.

I'm fairly certain I hear crickets. I know that by now there very few people who bother to check in here anymore, seeing as I update about as frequently as Pepe LePew scores with that hot little black pussycat. I just seem to be caught in a weird state of apathetic mediocrity: I'm neither terribly sad, nor freakishly happy; I'm fairly bland and blah. And when I think about writing about that bland and blah, I just kinda go… ehhhh.

At Work:

There have been scary layoffs at work in the last couple of months. It seemed like every Monday, we'd hear about people who left the previous Friday for the last time. Thankfully, I haven't heard of any recent layoffs in the last two weeks, and I'm really hoping it's over for now. Even though our VP/Controller told us in Financial Reporting that our department had no planned staff reductions—seeing as we're already stretched stupidly thin—I've been the victim of layoffs before, and know that no one is safe, no matter what someone says in a meeting.

At Home:

I have a new ob-gyn, an older Indian lady who works in a labcoat-covered sari. I wasn't sure if I was going to like her, as she is so blunt and to the point about everything that it is almost—almost—offensive. But I decided that I could handle that, and even like it a little bit, having someone I know isn't going to sugarcoat things or beat around the bush. This woman tells it like it is, and if you don't like it, tough. The fact that she has an incredibly thriving practice should tell you something, though.

My General Health:

Is shit. I can't believe I'm going to actually put this in writing, set in stone so to speak, for all posterity. Since my miscarriage 17 months ago, I have gained 40 pounds.

40.

Forty.

Yes, that's a 4 with a 0 behind it. And seeing as I was already generously-sized, this is just ridiculous. Apparently depression + quitting a pack a day + apathy= an even bigger ass. Who knew? I have been smoking more lately, probably in shock over the size of my ass, but it's still a fairly small and manageable addiction at a pack a fortnight. I don't think the smoking will increase much more, since I will not smoke inside and it's too blazing hot to go outside too often to smoke.

***

A quick aside, speaking of the weather: We skipped the end of spring. One day it was spring weather, and then we had tornados a couple of weekends ago. When the haze of the tornados passed, it was suddenly freaking, full-blown SUMMER. It was 100 degrees yesterday, I kid you not.

I'm going to California on vacation next week, and was looking at weather projections and averages. Dude. Their so-called HIGHS? Um, yeah, they're about equal to our LOWS. And out there, I won't be struggling to breathe air that's like steam. I can't wait.

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

2009-05-06T23:52:00.004-05:00

I went book shopping tonight and stumbled across this little promising gem. Here's the official blurb, 'cause I (obviously) haven't read it yet myself:

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains."

So begins Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, an expanded edition of the beloved Jane Austen novel featuring all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem. As our story opens, a mysterious plague has fallen upon the quiet English village of Meryton—and the dead are returning to life! Feisty heroine Elizabeth Bennet is determined to wipe out the zombie menace, but she's soon distracted by the arrival of the haughty and arrogant Mr. Darcy.

What ensues is a delightful comedy of manners with plenty of civilized sparring between the two young lovers—and even more violent sparring on the blood-soaked battlefield as Elizabeth wages war against hordes of flesh-eating undead. Can she vanquish the spawn of Satan? And overcome the social prejudices of the class-conscious landed gentry? Complete with romance, heartbreak, swordfights, cannibalism, and thousands of rotting corpses, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies transforms a masterpiece of world literature into something you'd actually want to read.

The music in my head

2009-04-22T22:41:00.002-05:00

This is the music that's been in my head, that makes me dance in my cubicle. It's the opening of a kid's show called Pecola. It's so addictive. Won't. Get. Out. Of. My. Head!

And now, I'm going to bed!

I wish I was at a Hootenanny in Harlem! Or in CA...

2009-04-22T21:35:00.006-05:00

In the interests of not being passive about enjoying this whole temporary (?) happiness, I've been looking for stuff I would like to do. Since Memphis is a HUGE music town, of course I looked to see what bands were going to be playing in the near future.

Oh. My. God. There are so many good shows, both here and elsewhere, that I almost had a conniption fit. But what just about sealed my coffin was The Hootenanny. Three of the bands I'd give my left lady-nut to see this summer will be there: Rev Ho, Horrorpops, and Nekromantix. And there are several others I'd love to see as well. Of course, something this cool isn't in Memphis. Nope, this is in California, on the 4th of July.

Guess where I'm spending Independence Day? No, really, guess. I'll wait while you think about it.

I dithered, going back and forth, for about 72 hours about whether or not I would go. Not whether I wanted to go; that was never in doubt! But my practical, staid side was arguing against the crazy expense of a holiday weekend in CA just for a show (even a hella-sweet show); my girls-just-wanna-fun side was saying that I deserve an effing vacation, the first in over two years, after dealing with a miscarriage, unemployment, joyless employment, and a mental breakdown. So yeah, I finally decided for good last night that for once in my life, I can get nuts and just do something I want to do for the hell of it.

And for those of you playing the home game, here are some other shows coming up in the next couple of months in this general area that I'm considering:

May

8: Horrorpops- Jacksonville, FL

9: Horrorpops- Atlanta, GA

9: The Veronicas- Nashville, TN

June

3: Detroit Cobras- Memphis, TN

5: Detroit Cobras- Birmingham, AL

6: Detroit Cobras- Atlanta, GA

14: The Veronicas- Memphis, TN

19 & 20: The Gories / The Oblivians- Memphis, TN <-- yes, the fucking Oblivians and the Gories are doing reunion shows here!

19: Reverend Horton Heat- New Orleans, LA

July

3: Nekromantix / RevHo- Tuscon, AZ

4: The Hootenanny (see luscious goodness above)

10 & 11: Nekromantix / RevHo- Seattle, WA

Happy, happy, joy, joy

2009-04-22T21:11:00.003-05:00

I have felt so hesitant to post this past week, and it's for the exact opposite reason than you think: I've been happy. I know that probably sounds nuts, but I've felt so emotionally okay that it's almost been scary. Like, "what's waiting around the corner, because there's no way I could actually feel this good for too long without it all crashing down."

I guess it's because I don't have a freaking clue from whence it came. If I didn't know any better I'd think someone was slipping E--or prozac-- into my water bottle or something. It happened a couple of weeks after I wrote the emotional vomit post: I just woke up one day, and it was a good day. I was humming and singing at work, even doing a little dance step around my cubicle every now and then. I wanted to hang out with friends. I thought about trying to recreate a social life, and started looking for bands and things to do out and about in the city. I felt good, and it didn't go away the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not on perma-grin or anything. I've had pissy moments, and impatient moments, and sad moments. But they've been fairly fleeting, and the happy has been far outweighing the sad. I have even-- get this-- not completely fallen apart at the thought of being childless. I don't know, maybe this is the upswing of some massive emotional seesaw that's going to bust my ass once Fat Albert jumps off the other end. Maybe it is, but I've decided to just roll with it, and enjoy feeling fairly happy as long as it lasts.

Thursday quickie

2009-04-09T12:00:00.001-05:00

I keep snickering to myself as the sickest song in existence keeps rolling through my head: Prom Night Dumpster Baby from "Family Guy". I keep humming it, too, and I really hope no one knows the tune, as it completely ruin my quiet, sweet & meek reputation here at work.

Heh.

PSAs for the day

2009-04-03T12:28:00.001-05:00

Seeing as I'm a product of the times-- ie, I can only seem to retain about five phone numbers in my memory—I no longer have phone numbers for most of you guys, since the Glorious Mugging of '09 resulted in the loss of my cell phone… and the accumulated numbers of the last 15 years or so.

So I'm sending out a general plea for phone numbers and contact info to those of you who know me in "real life": please drop me an email at any of the addresses you have, and give me your info. And if you have info for mutual friends, feel free to send it, too.

For the fertility-challenged: is there any word from Cali today??? I can't go to blogs while I'm at work, but I get my comments via email, so PLEASE leave a comment if you know anything!!!

Carmex and Cigarettes

2009-03-30T11:45:00.001-05:00

Ever since I was a teenager, I have had two addictions that I cannot shake: smoking and lip balm. Okay, so lip balm isn't so horrible; I mean, I know I won't be checking in to Betty Ford because of my lippy obsession, but I really do have a thing for lip balm. I guess it actually started before my teen years. I can remember being quite small and getting really excited whenever I got a cherry Chapstick or a Lipsmackers, which I suppose were my gateway drugs, so to speak.

But I really got strung out in junior high, when I got into band. Dry and cracking lips are no joke when you're a musician who plays any type of wind/horn instrument, and everyone seemed to be using the same thing at the time: Blistex medicated ointment, the white salve in the squeeze tube. The bandroom always had a special smell: a blend of sweaty teenagers, spit, and the menthol/minty tang of Blistex.

I used Blistex all through junior and high school, and always felt great on it. Then I went to college, and was introduced to a new lip high: Carmex. Oh, the joy of removing that yellow lid from the little white jar, and getting a whiff of that rich saffron balm! The ecstasy of dipping in a finger, smoothing it over your lips, and feeling the rush of the tingles that let you know you were alive.

But then I hit the time in college when a lot of people get a little crunchy, and I was no exception. My neo-hippy phase demanded its own lippy, which turned out to be Burt's Beeswax lip balm. There are four things that will forever more remind me of my sophomore year in college: the swish of a broomstick skirt around my ankles, the musky-dirt scent of patchouli, the soundtrack of "Hair", and the creamy feel of Burt's Beeswax on my lips.

I'm not really sure when it happened, but at some point after sophomore year I became completely indiscriminate about my lip balm. Before that time I had been staunchly loyal to whatever lippy was my chosen, but no more. Instead, I became all about quantity, needing to know I had it available at any given moment, at any location. There would be a lip balm in the car, one in whatever jacket or coat I was wearing, and one or two in my purse. If I were wearing jeans, there'd be a little something stuck in my pocket; if I had a backpack, you'd better believe there was a little jar in there somewhere. And let's not forget the one on my desk, and the other one in the bedroom.

I am not even carrying a purse right now, but I have 3 lip products within reach: a Mary Kay "Apple Berry" lipstick; a tube of Kiss My Face "Cranberry Spice" lip gloss; and my newest crack, Cherry Carmex in a tube. To be fair, the lipstick and gloss don't really count, since my addiction is for really balm, but you get the idea. And I can't believe I've just written almost a whole page about my lip balm addiction.

In a way, I guess my nicotine addiction went hand-in-hand with the lip balm, seeing as cigarette filters seem to suck all the moisture out of your lips. And when you smoke over a pack a day, that's a lot of dry lips to cure. Since I (mostly) quit smoking, I only use about a fourth as much lip balm as I used to, even though I still buy it as often because I can't help myself. Of course, now I have the excuse that I'm buying it for my goddaughter Chava, who is already hooked on the stuff at not quite four years old.

Yes, you read it right: I said I've mostly quit smoking. I had quit the day I found out I was pregnant, and was then completely smoke-free for 13 months. Not a single cigarette, not even a drag, for thirteen months. Then one night at a bar, back in December, I decided I really wanted one and bummed off a friend. It was about 80% disgusting, but that other 20%... Oh, that 20% led me to smoking another one in January, two in February, and now four in March.

So now I'm at a crucial point: do I go along with "I'm okay as long as it's only a couple on the weekend", or do I try to go back to none at all? I think I might be able to keep it to the weekend, but a small part of me is afraid that it will continue to slowly escalate until I'm a full-time smoker again, which I don't really want.

And now for something completely different

2009-03-26T19:50:00.002-05:00

On a lighter note, I decided to finally change my playlist. You know, that annoying thing down at the bottom of the page that scares you when music suddenly starts up. I've had the same one up for over a year now, and that's really just pathetic. Or apathetic, as the case may be. Anyway, it's a very small selection of stuff I listened to back in school days, so it's got me feeling happily nostalgic for a change.

I need a vacation, how about you?

2009-03-26T12:29:00.001-05:00

Do you know that overwhelmed feeling you get when a job is just so huge, and you don't know where to start? That's the way I've been feeling about blogging. So much has happened that, when I think about writing, I just feel swamped, like there's no possible way I could get it all down… so I don't write and get even further behind.

I've decided not to even try to give a blow-by-blow account of the last couple of months. Instead, here's a TV-style montage of the high(low)lights:

Feb 10: Mom had her other knee done (knee replacement) despite my disapproval and misgivings. You may remember that she had a "cardiac event" when she had the first knee done six months ago, so needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to another nail-biting surgery. Not to mention, on the purely selfish side, I wasn't ready to do that level of care-giving again. Thankfully, other than an episode of chest pain the day after surgery (that turned out to be nothing at all), everything has been going well with her recovery from surgery.

In other (crappy) news, though, she has been diagnosed with stage 3 kidney disease. This is on a scale of 1 to 5, where level 5 is the full-out deal with dialysis. This is on top of a degenerative spinal condition, bad knees, hypertension, and diabetes on a short and obese person who refuses to make any lifestyle or dietary changes to help her conditions. I am pretty much resigned to the fact that her health is going to deteriorate much faster than it needs to, just because she's stubborn.

~*~*~

Feb 25: Mom has a post-surgical check up. Her knee is doing fine, and her coumadin dosing is good. Of course, there has to be something wrong. Her blood pressure was stupid low, like 90/60. They checked it again about an hour later, and it had dropped to 75/50. They gave her a chance to hydrate and eat to see if it would rise; if it didn't, they weren't going to let her leave the hospital. Luckily, though, it turned out that her post-surgical lack of appetite and painkillers seemed to be the culprits, and her blood pressure improved. It was quite scary though, at the time.

Feb 26: I was mugged at gunpoint at 7:20 am, as I was walking to my car to go to work. I don't think I even have to describe how shook up I have been. This is the second time I've been mugged at gunpoint, once at night a few years ago, and now in broad daylight. Any remaining vestige of "innocence" has been shattered: there is no safety anytime; bad shit happens all the time, whether it's day or night.

~*~*~

I don't have a specific date—because I honestly can't remember—but I realized that my cycles have never truly normalized since my miscarriage last January. I'm sure my weight gain and PCOS aren't helping, but it's been frustrating to go back to having mega-cycles of 60+ days.

I have just about decided to stop trying to conceive. My head and body are both not in great places, and TTC just isn't what I need to be focusing on right now. I even let my membership to you-know-where expire a couple of months ago, for the first time since I joined a million years ago, if that tells you anything. I had even put down the thermometer, until I realized that with my cycles all wonky, charting was the only hope I had of having an idea of when I might expect to start my uncontrollable bleeding again. So I went back to half-hearted charting so I can at least semi-predict my periods.

I don't know; I'm all messed up. There have been some isolated moments of happiness, but they have been few and far between. Another reason I've been hesitant to blog is because if I'd been writing how I truly felt for the last year, my friends would have me on a suicide watch. Not that I would, but the deep depression would be so obvious that people might THINK I would.

I don't know "me" anymore. I don't feel comfortable with my friends anymore, or in social situations. I feel like I don't know what to say, how to act, what to feel, even with my closest and dearest. Imagine the social awkwardness of adolescence, but paired with the knowledge of an adult of how much life can suck you dry and spit out the husk, and it comes close to how I feel with people now.

I find myself just wanting to be alone and at home more and more, but I force myself to socialize with my friends. And then I realize how sad it is, that I have to "force" myself to be with the people I love. But I know that if I do, 90% of the time I enjoy myself, and it's worth it. Have I mentioned how screwed in the head I am? I know that it's a mix of trying to find "me" post-M, and the whole "there was a gun in my face and holy shit I could have died," and that it will pass, but right now I can't deny that I am fucked up.

~*~*~

And that's enough. We go forward from here.

A Fat Tuesday Quickie!

2009-02-24T09:46:00.001-06:00

I will eventually get all deep and meaningful, and tell you all why I haven't been writing much. But until I can manage that, here are two quickies for the morning:

I. My cankles are going away again. I've gotten back on my medium-to-low sodium diet, and my giant swollen ankles are slowly subsiding. Diuretics didn't help, exercise didn't help, and nothing showed any difference except for me being vigilant about my sodium intake. So, I'm back on track again, after having gotten off 6 months ago when mom had her knee replacement surgery. Which reminds me, I'm gonna have to go into that later…

II. I know this will upset some of you, but I just gotta say it: I can't stand dogs. I liked dogs as a kid, and then I just didn't care for them much as I got older. I didn't hate them, but they just weren't my "thing", you know?

But that was before I started working for the crazy dog lady, who spends much of her workday talking about her dogs. And talking to other people about their dogs. And talking on the phone to make arrangements to go to dog shows. And giving advice about dogs: breeding, feeding, showing, training; you name it, and I've heard it. She's one of those people who never had kids, and so her dogs are her "babies". Except that she somehow couples that with the cold-hearted attitude of a breeder/shower. It's creepy.

It is so much, so often, and so annoying that my mild distaste has turned into active dislike. Seriously.

Have you ever...

2009-01-29T15:14:00.001-06:00

...had one of those days where you just want to stand up in the middle of the office, tilt your head back, and scream, "FUCK!" at the top of your lungs?

Yeah, me too.

We need a montage!

2008-12-12T12:31:00.001-06:00

Today feels like a math word-problem kind of day. As in, "It's 10 am on a Friday, two weeks before Christmas. Kim's boss left work at 4pm yesterday, and won't be back until Monday. How much work in the area of corporate finance do you think Kim will accomplish today?"

Answer: As little as possible.

# # #

Today—and maybe all weekend— is Montage Day. Let's play a little catch up, shall we?

On October 11, Calla was born in the wee hours of the morning. That same day, my best friends had a garage sale. I went over to help out by keeping an eye on their daughter (my goddaughter, Chava) while they were taking care of business. As I was running around with Chava in and out of the house and all around, my BFF Cheri was helping a couple of older black ladies carry their purchase, a vacuum cleaner, out to their car.

When they got out to their car, one of the ladies asked Cheri, "Is she your Saturday help?" Cheri didn't have a clue as to what they were talking about, so the older woman clarified, "That nice young black lady: is she your Saturday help?"

Cheri, aghast, quickly explained that no, I was her best friend and her daughter's godmother. The ladies were greatly impressed with how nice she was. Because she had a black friend. Ouch.

Gotta love livin' in the South.

# # #

Two of my male cousins, whose girlfriends are knocked up, are now unsure of the babies' paternity. Apparently, both girls have been exposed as two-timers who were possibly screwing other guys around the time of conception. Nice.

Gotta love livin' in the South (the remix).

# # #

Chava, who is now 3 ½ years old, has some very funny little-kid speech patterns. The word "she" doesn't exist in her vocabulary; everything is "her". As in, "Her went to the store with her mommy". It's insanely cute. She also mispronounces some words. Coca-Cola is Coca-Lola; yellow used to be lellow (but she has yellow down pat now). Oddly enough, she had no trouble at all saying "La Posada" the other day. Weird kid.

Oh, and she loves coffee, which she'll sneak out of your mug if you leave it unattended. She even likes her dad's coffee, which is black and unsweetened. And I hate to say it because it makes us sound like child abusers, but she also likes red wine. Before you start dialing the number for Child Protective services, the wine she'd had up until last weekend was just sips of communion wine in church… which she likes. A lot. As for last weekend, well, several of us were drinking wine at dinner, and Chava grabbed her mom's glass exclaiming, "I like wine!" After we all snickered for a minute at how funny it was to hear that coming out of 3 year old's mouth, we shared smug glances as we thought about how she WOULDN'T like that wine if she took a sip, as it was a Beaujolais-villages, and not the candy-sweet communion wine. It was like a silent adult conspiracy: let her take a sip, she'll be disgusted with the flavor, and won't try to steal sips of wine anymore.

We were so wrong. She took a sip, hummed in enjoyment, and started to try to turn the glass up again. Her mom quickly took her glass back, and we all spent the next five minutes talking about what a strange child she is, the 3 ½ year old who likes coffee and wine. We decided that she's a 35 year old trapped in the body of a toddler.

# # #

I'm going to lunch now (it's now almost 12:30), so I guess I'll take up the montage later. I've had so much going on in my head, that I'm almost afraid of how long it will take to catch up!

The old grey mare

2008-12-03T23:16:00.002-06:00

I'm breaking my radio silence to bring you a shocking and heartbreaking report. Tonight, while performing some personal grooming, I found a grey/silver hair.

In my pubes.

Just pass me a Geritol martini with a Metamucil chaser, and I'm going to try to forget it happened.

Happy Allhallowmas!

2008-11-01T19:26:00.001-05:00

An unkind reflection

2008-10-17T12:23:00.001-05:00

When I was about 26 years old, I began to write. Between personal
journals, fan fiction (Anne McCaffrey's Pern, in case you were
wondering), and being an extremely junior contributor on projects
belonging to writer friends, there was scarcely a day that went by
without me setting fingers to a keyboard. It felt so wonderful and
liberating: I was finally writing, something I'd always wanted to do.
I knew my talents fell firmly in the realm of the mediocre, but I was
doing it instead of just dreaming about it.

Writing had always been secret fantasy ever since I was a child. I
loved reading so much that I figured the only thing that could be
better would be if I were a writer, too, and gave others the same kind
of joy I found in books. Granted, my 12-year old thoughts probably
weren't so grandiose, but that was the main gist.

So what was the problem? Fear. I had writer friends who blew me away
with the eloquence of their words, their passionate thoughts; how
could I ever come close to that level of excellence? I could barely
speak in company for fear that something stupid would come out of my
mouth, so why would I think that I could write?

I have had a life-long battle with fear, and the Big F has won more
times than I can count. I've long had a reputation for being a
careful and deliberate person, very practical and mature. But I know,
in my heart of hearts, that a good 75% of that caution is really just
fear. Yes, fear can be a healthy and appropriate response, but not
when it's simply a fear of failure. That is the particular kind of
fear I've long tried to combat. The quote over to the right, near the
top of this page? Yeah, that's not so much something I live, as much
as it is something to which I aspire.

My mid-twenties were my breaking-out point. That time period was when
I finally began to know myself, to express myself, and to stop letting
fear win all the time. I tried my hand at writing, and loved it even
if I sucked. I discovered that my voice trends heavily to the
comedic, and it's very hard for me to be serious or grim when writing
non-journal type stuff. I guess it makes sense that one of my
all-time favorite writers is Terry Pratchett.

I let people other than my showerhead (yes, my showerhead is sentient;
he says he loves me and will never think my ass is too big) hear me
singing, and became known in my group as having a good voice. That
actually led to me doing vocals for a musician friend: yep, my voice
is recorded for posterity on a record, and I've even performed it in
concert. Even though that was a short little episode of my life, it
let me relive and remember the thrill of music and performance (I was
a symphony dork in school, playing flute, various clarinets, and
Elizabethan recorder).

I got past the feeling of being the fat-girl sidekick of the hot
chick, and just let myself be ME around people (especially the
male-type people)… and I discovered that I actually can be witty and
vivacious despite carrying major poundage, and that there are
male-type people who can see more than a dress size when they look at
a woman.

I began to walk with a confidence previously unknown to me. When I
entered a room, rather than trying to slink unnoticed into a corner, I
smiled and greeted and laughed. I didn't try to be an obnoxious
center of attention, but I wasn't afraid to be seen. I finally knew
beyond a doubt that I had worth as a person, and that I merited the
air I breathed. I had finally figured out that all I had to do was
just be myself, and I would be fairly happy. It sounds really simple,
doesn't it? "Be yourself." Believe me, that tiny statement is
fraught with more danger than a stretch of land in Cambodia, but I did
an okay job for a long time.

These days, I'm not so much myself. Or at least, I'm not the "myself"
that I used to be. But then again, I'm NOT the same person. I have
experienced soul-crushing grief for the first time; an emotional wound
that, while easier to handle everyday, still brings me to tears at odd
moments. I can honestly say that not a single day has passed that I
do not think of It. Not a single day, regardless of what I may
pretend. My miscarriage was more than just the loss of a baby. It
was the loss of a family, of a love, of a self-identity, of a future.
And now I feel like I am directionless, and I just don't know how to
find my way anymore.

While I've been overweight since puberty, my weight had been fairly
stable for ages and I had long been in a place of self-acceptance and
self-love. As Chris Rock crudely expressed while speaking for
confident chubsters, "Yeah, I have a gut, and there's some goooood
pussy under that gut!" But I've put on a lot of weight since
you-know-when. For the first time in over a decade, I do not like
myself. I do not like looking in the mirror. The person I see in
there is a gross stranger, and I don't want to know her. I have no
confidence, no sass, no pizzazz.

So I haven't been writing as much lately, and now I know why. While
part of it, in truth, is because I have little to report on the TTC
front and that I feel I am very boring, it is mostly because of
everything that is messed up in my head. For me, writing is a thing
of empowerment; even when I was sad and writing was a catharsis, I was
still in a place of "I am woman, hear me roar!" But now I am more
like the mouse than the lion, having emotionally regressed over a
decade.

I try to remember how I used to be, but that person seems like a
strange fantasy. I don't quite remember how to be her, how she felt,
how she acted. What made her think she was so great, anyway? I don't
know. I just wish I could remember.

2001: A Space Onion

2008-09-27T10:02:00.003-05:00

I can't freaking believe I just discovered "The Onion" on Youtube. I now have a new comedic addiction. Here's a little somethin' for you.

Twilight is coming!

2008-09-18T21:01:00.003-05:00

In all the crazy, non-stop drama that has been my life, I completely missed the release of the final Twilight book in early August. I picked it up almost a month late, but have read it cover to cover almost a half-dozen times since. I really like this series, and am sad it's over. I managed to get a extra mini-fix by downloading the partial draft of "Midnight Sun", but alas, it's over now.

But wait! There's even more proof that I've been living under a rock: I didn't know about the upcoming movie until about a week after I got the last book. And yeah, yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing the movie, but I gotta say that I've been laughing my ass off at some of the parodies I've found on Youtube. So of course I have to share! If you haven't read at least the first book, these won't make any sense, but if you have, I hope you bust a gut as much I have. Out of the billion I've watched, I like these two the best.

Nasty heifers...

2008-09-17T15:20:00.001-05:00

… are in my office everyday. For the second time this week (and come on, it's only Wednesday), I've been in the toilet and heard someone leave their stall, and walk out without washing their hands. I just wished that I hadn't gone into a stall yet, so I could see just who the women are that leave with pee-hands. That way I'd know whose little homemade treats to avoid, know what I mean? People are always bringing in muffins or cookies or things to share with the office, and I shudder to think of eating pee-cookies.

Okay, yeah, the pee ladies at least get a squirt of hand-sanitizer (there's a dispenser just as you walk out of the toilet and it makes a distinct sound), but I still feel icked out about people not washing their hands after using the facilities. I think of the sanitizer as an added bonus for paranoid people like me, not as a substitute for kindergarten-level hygiene.

And people wonder why I get so weird about things like washing up before preparing food (and then washing again after touching different types of food), or not letting people use my phone, or things like that. Some people are gross!

Look, Ma! No more blood!

2008-09-17T09:27:00.001-05:00

I went to the doctor last week, and am happy to report that I am fine and dandy. I had, as many had suggested, a withdrawal bleed. I had considered that possibility, but dismissed it because as a PCOSer, believe me, I've had many a withdrawal bleed over the years. The problem was the severity of the bleeding, and the nature of the blood. So of course, I had to have a twist.

Apparently, when my over-abundant lining began sloughing off, I developed an actual bleeding wound. As in, lining coming out, but causing a small tear where it was disengaging, and then me bleeding from that tear. Lovely.

It wasn't funny at the time, but looking back now—with a week's worth of time to see it—I can't help but giggle at my RE's plan. I go in with a complaint of severe vaginal/menstrual bleeding, and his remedy is to have me do a round of provera to induce a bleed.

What. The. Hell?!?!? I'd only just gone down to a spot or two, and he wants me to bleed some more? But it all made sense when he explained things, although I have to admit that I haven't started it [provera] yet. I was/am curious to see what my body is going to do, so I decided to give it a week or two and see what happens.

My biggest frustration about the RE visit was that he kept using baby-talk with me. I don't mean that he was telling me that I had an owwie and he'd kiss it and make it better. No, I mean that he spoke to me like I was a PCOS/infertility "virgin", using small words and over-explaining things the way he'd have to on an initial consult with a newbie. While I can appreciate how much it would help a newb, I just felt frustrated because it was wasting time. I didn't need a 5-minute explanation of how provera works, really. I'm the one who, by the time we were 10 minutes into our initial consultation, had him asking me if I were in the medical field. Seriously.

Anyway, that whole bleeding drama seems over, so I'm happy about that. But the major suckage is that my RE is leaving the practice at the end of the month. In fact, he's moving to the other side of the state to open his own practice. I'm sad that he's leaving, and very jealous of the women in Chattanooga who'll get to have him as their RE.

Bloody blood bloody blood blood

2008-09-08T20:21:00.004-05:00

Two days after my mom's surgery was my expected ovulation date, and even with everything that was going on, I wasn't going to let that egg go to waste. Well, my temps didn't really rise enough to indicate ovulation. I mean, they went up a tad, but nowhere near my usual levels. I figured that with all the stress and craziness, my ovulation was just delayed. Not the first time, wouldn't be the last, no big whoop. I wasn't on drugs, or even using opks; I was just going by fertile signs and my usual calendar, so it was all very low-key and laid back.

Fast forward another three weeks, and I start seeing fertile signs again. Ah hah! This must be the real deal. I decided to use opks this time, got my positive, spermed up again, and settled in for a two week wait. Except that 3 days past ovulation--the Sunday before Labor Day-- I began to spot. It was a little heavier than spotting, actually, but lighter than a light day, so I'm going with "spotting". That went on for four days, and completely freaked me out. I don't generally spot at ovulation, and definitely not that much or for that long. If only I'd known what was coming.

On the fifth day after ovulation, which was this past Thursday night, I passed a big strawberry-sized clot. And that's when I all started. I bled harder than I've ever bled before in my life. Except for once, on a Friday night this past January when I miscarried. My uterus can't be large enough to have held all of what came out of me: giant waves of blood that soaked pads every other hour, grape-to-strawberry sized clots popping out constantly. I didn't tell anyone what was going on. I was freaking out way too much.

In the back of my mind, I wondered if maybe I'd gotten pregnant that first time I thought I would ovulate, and was I miscarrying now? After the first day, I broke down and took a pregnancy test (even though I really didn't want to know), and it was negative. I'm still not sure how I feel about that: part of me knows I would go bat-shit crazy if I was/had been pregnant, but at the same time at least I'd have a reason for all of this.

So, for reasons unknown, I have been bleeding to the point of actually being afraid at night, that I am going to go to sleep, bleed out, and die in my sleep. And despite that fear, I could not bring myself to go to a doctor. Me, the person who'll go to a doctor over a hangnail, wouldn't go when I was honestly afraid I might die. All because I could not handle even the possibility that I might be told that I'd been pregnant, and was miscarrying.

How effing stupid is that? Don't answer that, really. I know how stupid it is. The weirdest part of the bleeding is that there was no pain involved. Massive bleeding, yes. But no cramps or contractions or jabs of pain.

Anyway, I decided to do a little self-doctoring, and stopped my aspirin therapy as of Saturday. Even though my doc had told me that it wouldn't affect menstrual bleeding, I figured it wouldn't kill me to lay off for a few days and see what happened. Well, I don't know if it helped or if my gushing was winding down on its own, but today saw at least a 50% decrease in bleeding, down to a fairly "normal" amount of menstrual bleeding. If I am menstruating, which I'm not sure about. I had either:

*A 7-week miscarriage, or
*A cd45 ovulation, followed by a mere 6 day LP and a massive period, or
*A spontaneous freak occurrence of unending, vaginal stigmata.

But now, I have pain. WTF?!? Big blood, no pain. Much less blood, and there's cramps and stabbing and so on.

So, I'm going to call around tomorrow and see if I can 1) find a doctor, since I fired my horrible ob-gyn after my miscarriage and haven't found a new one yet, and 2) if I find one, beg for an urgent care appointment. Bloody freakiness, and I can be all martyr-like and fear in silence. But pain? Oh no, pain means something's really wrong, and I need tests and ultrasounds and palpitating and all that.

I'm taking my crazy self to bed now.

4 weeks= forever

2008-08-28T22:58:00.003-05:00

A month. It's been nearly a month since I've set fingers to keyboard, and I can't believe how much has happened in four short weeks. I am still just kind of stumbling through the days, but it's getting better.

Last time I wrote, it was two days after Mom's surgery, and she was in SICU; it was also the day after my due date. Now, I know I said I wasn't going to dwell on the whole due date issue, but events conspired to make me think about it, albeit with more humor than I thought possible. Everything that happened seemed like a weird parallel of how I envision the first month of being a new parent to be, except that I was experiencing it with my mother rather than a newborn.

Right after "birth": I was at the hospital for ages, unable to tear myself away from my helpless and needy loved one. When I did leave her side, it was to eat and sleep, and not much else.

Maternity leave is over: Finally, though, after two weeks I had to go back to work (yes, I got the permanent position, and am gainfully employed!). I cannot begin to explain the guilt that plagued me at leaving her, even though she was out of the hospital and starting to slowly get better.

The daycare guilt: What made it worse was that, for reasons far too complex to go into now but that include having someone with her part of the time while I'm at work, mom is staying with relatives. So not only do I feel guilty about leaving her, but I'm leaving her with other people who couldn't possibly take as good care of her as I could.

New parent sleep deprivation and fatigue: I go to work. I get off work, and I go to someone else's home (cousin's house where mom is) and make sure mom has dinner. I do her laundry, run her errands, try to be good company, make sure she has all her medicines, check on her physical therapy progress, and all that good stuff. Finally, I go home myself and eat whatever's quick and easy, do household chores, and fall into bed far too late. Then morning comes and I do it all over again.

Oh, and let me remind you that I have a brand spankin' new job, too. Even though I've been in this department for about four months now, I had no idea that I had only been taught about half of what the job truly entails. Apparently they didn't want to go through the trouble of fully training temps, so all of us were taught bits and pieces-- different bits and pieces-- so that all together we sorta made a whole. Now, though, I've been tossed in the deep end and am having to very quickly learn how to tread water. The frustration I've been feeling at work isn't exactly helped by my worry about mom, or my fatigue.

My first week back, when everything was super-fresh and sharp? I nearly walked out of the building, and quit my job, the guilt and desire to care for mom were so strong. It's much better now, though. I'm getting a handle on my job, although I have no spare time at work. I am literally busy every minute from 8 to 5 except for my lunch hour. I have to admit, though, that the days go by remarkably quick, being so busy.

Mom is getting better. She's been pretty good about her therapy, and has good flexion in her knee. Her need for pain meds has decreased sharply, although she still needs our friend percocet a couple of times a day. My biggest worry is her appetite; she still barely eats anything, and frequently feels nauseous whenever she eats.

Anyway, I need to get to bed, it's getting late. So now you know why I haven't written in a while; it's just been crazy around here! I had my first "day off" in a month last Saturday, and even then I was helping friends move and going to a baby shower. I am a sucker and a glutton for it, ain't I?

And now for something cryptic: D, I haven't forgotten you, I swear. Gimme 24 hours, I promise.

My mother, the liar

2008-07-31T20:12:00.002-05:00

I found out last night that my mother lied to me about the reason she's in SICU. Yeah, sure, her medical history made it good sense to put her there, but something happened. After her surgery, while she was in recovery, she had a cardiac "episode". Tests showed that it wasn't a heart attack, but something happened. Anyway, she's doing increasingly better, but is still in SICU.

I am exhausted, mentally & physically. Every member of the family, my mom's friends, plus MY friends, have all been calling me to find out how things are going. While I appreciate the show of love and support, I do not have the time or energy to return the 10+ calls per day.

1) Cell phones are not allowed in SICU.
2) I am in the SICU with mom most of the day, and also in the early evening.
3) There is zero cell phone reception in the hospital, so even if I wanted to sit on the phone, I couldn't.
4) Seeing as this is (gasp!) an intensive care unit, there are no telephones in the rooms. People who are in an ICU ward aren't chatting the day away.

So when I stumble home after dark, fumble sleepily through the kitchen to try to find something to eat, curse because there's not much to have low-sodium other than a salad, etc., I might remember to turn on the cell phones and check the messages from the day. But at that point, I probably won't call you back unless you're family and it's been over 48 hours since our last conversation.

Nothing personal, friends; I'm just so. freaking. tired. I wasn't expecting to be off work this week, but here it is. I have no idea if I'm going to have a job anymore when this is over, and that especially sucks since I'd just been offered a permanent position at the company where I'm temping. Bah. I can't really worry about that now.

Yesterday was my due date. Sob sob, boo hoo, I was a bit emotional yesterday, being in a hospital and all, but it didn't last long. There's too much real drama going on in my life right now, for me to linger too long on the sorrow of a theoretical due date for a baby who's been dead for 6 months.

Mom's surgery update

2008-07-29T16:16:00.005-05:00

It's only 4pm, but I feel like I've been up and going for ages. Today was Mom's surgery, and we had to be at the hospital at 6am. It had originally been a leisurely 6:30 arrival time, but they called and changed it last night; she was going to be one of the first people taken in to surgery.

We got to the hospital, and were immediately sent off to the lab. Apparently her last-minute INR levels at yesterday's labs were wacky, and they wanted to do another check to see how it was to determine whether or not she should have surgery. Mom usually takes coumadin, but to prepare for this surgery they stopped coumadin 4 days ago, and had her take lovenox injections. And it was just funny to me, because as an infertile I'm used to women TTC using lovenox, rather than geriatric people. I joked with her that I was going to pimp out her dozens of extra syringes of the stuff, since I know so many TTCers using it.

Anyway, Mom had her surgery, and at some point it was over. I say "at some point" because I don't have a freaking clue, because the nurses didn't bother to contact me in the waiting room the way they're supposed to. I got the first call saying that the inital incision had been made at 9am, and then nothing until I got fed up after 2pm and went to hunt her down. I don't think it's exaggerating to say that I was quietly freaking out when I found out she was in SICU rather than a regular room.

Thankfully, her SICU stay seems to have been a preventative measure, rather than the result of an incident during the surgery. Because of her various and sundry health issues, the doctors and anesthetist thought it prudent to stick her in SICU to be on the safe side. So, that's where she is now. She's obviously very out of it, but is in a surprising amount of pain considering how fresh out of surgery she was. I mean, the really bad pain doesn't usually kick in that quick, but an hour out of recovery and she was already hitting the pain med pump.

I came home to get something to eat, as the cafeteria food is all heavily laden with salt unless I had a salad, and G-d knows I didn't want a salad today. So I've just had "breakfast", and will be heading back to hospital shortly.

Paging Dr. Feelgood

2008-07-25T10:43:00.002-05:00

Just back from the doctor, and I'm feeling pretty good. My blood pressure, while a bit high for normal people, is absolutely fantastic for me (130/90). And in the last three weeks, I have lost 5 pounds without even trying. I'm cautiously happy about that, and just hope it continues.

I'm not bothering with counting calories or carbs or anything like that; the only thing I'm really being vigilant about is sodium. I mean, I'm using some common sense, like not deep-frying my cucumbers in lard, or refraining from spreading an entire jar of jam on a PB&J sandwich. But it's kinda neat to see that at least a couple of pounds are coming off just from my healthier eating habits.

By the way, I found a great peanut butter brand, Krema, which is nothing but ground up peanuts. No added sugar, salt, or weird oils. Yes, the peanut oil separates out, so you have to stir it really well before you eat it; yes, it is a little on the runny side; yes, the flavor takes a little getting used to if you're a typical American who's used to super sweet peanut butter. But by gosh, I can have peanut butter on occasion without feeling too terribly guilty about it, and I'm happy.

I hate my job, and I don't even have it yet

2008-07-23T20:27:00.003-05:00

I've been so effing tired lately. The regular gal on my job-- not my crazy boss, but the other full time/non-temp type person-- was on vacation last week, so me and the other temp were so busy we barely had time to think. Not only was the "go to" person out, but the work load (of course) was about 70% heavier last week. I really don't care much for this job, but it's a paycheck. I can't believe I've been temping at this place for 4 months now.

So of course, since this is the last place I really want to work forever, guess what? I got offered the full time, regular job yesterday. Even though I feel sick to my stomach, I accepted. I figured, I would have worked here until they ditched me or I found something else, so I might as well keep working here and get benefits kicked in.

I feel so guilty, like I'm being ungrateful and surly when I should be lighting a candle and saying thank-you prayers. But I really don't feel excited, because I don't really want this job. I know I need a job, but this isn't it, you know? But it has to be "it" for the moment, because I ain't stupid. Although to be honest, it isn't so much the actual job I dislike, but my boss. She is nuts, and when I officially move into the permanent position, I won't be in my little file room anymore. Nope, I'll be in the cubicle right next to her. All. Day. Long. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. I can already feel the ulcer coming on.

To make it worse, the other temp-- whom I happen to like very much-- will be let go once I'm hired. I'm probably not supposed to know that, but my crazy, stinky boss let it slip that the other temp would not be kept on once I went permanent. So, I feel even more guilty that a single mom who just moved to town a few months ago is about to be released, while here I am not even really wanting this job that she so desperately needs. Not that I don't desperately need it too, but you know what I mean. And on a selfish note, I don't want her to get fired because, damn it, there's too much effing work for them to let her go! We're crazy busy with 3 workers plus a supervisor now; it's freaking me out to think of how busy it will be with just 2 workers and a supervisor. As if I wasn't already apprehensive about this job.

There's just so much going on. I feel a little (read: a LOT) resentful that I interviewed for this job nearly 3 months ago, and they're just choosing someone. Even though I'm the one they chose, and I secretly don't even want the position, it still pisses me off that it took them this long to make a decision. And they haven't even done background checks (the HR lady told me), so I don't know what was taking so long. As a job-seeker, it is hugely annoying when companies advertise a job, interview candidates, and then take months on end to make a choice. People are looking for work now, not a quarter from now.

And of course, next Wednesday is Ye Olde Due Date. Blah blah blah, same old whining, different day. Next Tuesday is the day my mom has surgery, and I am quietly terrified that she is going to die. I am just far too mentally committed to personal and family issues right now to be able to handle the added stressors of this job situation, but I gotta suck it up and wear my big girl panties for now.

Don't listen to me, I'm just a temp

2008-07-10T16:04:00.001-05:00

About two weeks ago, one of the IT guys came up to my little room and told me my computer had raised a "ding" and needed to have a mega-virus scan run on it. It took about an hour or so, but it came up clear. IT Dude advised me to clear my cache and cookies often, and if I do this, I won't come up on The List.

Now, I do that clean-up fairly frequently at home, but I honestly just don't think about doing it that often at work. One, it's not my personal computer. Two, I'm a temp. Three, I have nothing to hide, so compulsive computer cleaning isn't as much a priority as it was at my last job. You know, the job where my Big Gay Boss Friend would look up gay porn. A lot. Luckily, the two of us were the only people in the office, and our two computers weren't linked to any company network or anything; we were on a tiny little network of two. Still, seeing as I was the computer savvy one, you'd better believe I was doing some constant upkeep to keep those computers clean.

Anyway, while I was talking to IT Dude, I asked him why, if the internet was available to all the employess-- albeit with some sites "FORBIDDEN!" or "BLOCKED BY BIG MANUFACTURING COMPANY's IT GODS!"--- they didn't use something like McAfee Site Advisor. That way, the sites that aren't blocked would have a safety rating, and employees could engage in safer internet activities. He immediately fell into advanced Geek Speak (I only know beginner Geek Speak, so he left me in the dust), explaining how it wouldn't work and that it wasn't necessary with the current filters. I understood enough G.S. that I still wasn't convinced that it wouldn't be a good idea, but I just shrugged and went on with my business.

Now, two weeks later, you'll never guess what just landed in my email inbox: an inter-company email explaining how Site Advisor is going to be deployed on all the company's PC starting tomorrow afternoon, so that our browsing will be more safe.

OMFG <-- I generally hate IM speak (unless I'm actually IM'ing), so you should know just how much I mean that.

It could be a complete coincidence, but somehow I'm just not able to convince myself of that. I mention Site Advisor two weeks ago to one of the IT Dudes, who sorta puts me down for my silly plebeian notions, and then suddenly the "new, grand" idea at the company is to use it? Asshat.

TGI Humpday

2008-07-09T21:55:00.002-05:00

Thanks to the stellar suggestions of several friends, I've been looking into several dietary websites where you can keep an online food diary. I have, quite magnanimously, decided to join one of those to keep track of my sodium intake, so I don't bore you all to death with numbers and whining about how hard it is to budget out my sodium over the day.

While still swollen, my ankles are not as big tonight as they usually are by the end of the day. I don't know if it's a real effect from my lowered sodium diet, seeing as it's only been about 5 days, but I'm a bit stoked to see a reduction. I'm just hoping this is a real trend, and not just a temporary aberration.

::

On a completely unrelated note, I have to ask: am I the only person in America who is sick of all the reality and competition television shows in primetime? I can't stand any of 'em. I don't care who can sing, dance, cook, lose the most weight, do standup, or sashay Shante better than the other contestants. If this tells you anything, I have never watched an entire episode of American Idol. When people talk about the shows and the folks on them, I never have a clue who they're talking about. Most of the time, I'm popping in a DVD to save me from "Dancing with Hell's Biggest Survivor Top Talent Idol".

By the same token, I'm also sick of the 5 billion cop/lawyer shows out there. And of course, to make my life complete, my mum loves them all. Allllllll of them. I'm just waiting for there to be a "CSI: Graceland", where an Elvis impersonator-turned-cop specializes in investigating crimes while in full regalia, sneer not optional. As with all such shows, there have to be exciting opening sequences showing scenic landmarks, such as the gates of Graceland, the Pyramid, and Neely's BBQ. I would actually watch a show with The King-- or even a pseudo King-- solving crimes here in the BBQ capitol whilst sporting polyester & sequins.

The fat and salt of it

2008-07-07T22:13:00.003-05:00

So here's the part I didn't get around to in my previous whining, bitching emails: in the past 6 months (since you-know-when), I have apparently gained 15 pounds. Ho. Lee. Shite.

Now, since practically everyone reading is of the feminine persuasion, you might think it's weird that I didn't know how much I weighed until I went to the doctor last week. But see, here's the thing: I know I'm fat. I've been fat since the day adolescence kicked in. My weight--albeit far too large of a number-- has been stable for years, so there was no need for a scale. Between TTC and other medical appointments, I was weighed often enough in a doctor's office that I knew that my weight stayed within about a 5 lb range... until I miscarried, got depressed, and started eating poorly and too much.

Now I have the lovely situation where my doctor and the nutritionist he sent me to completely disagree. The (male) doctor is concerned about my weight & BP, and wants me on a low-cal diet to shed some pounds. The (female) nutritionist, on the other hand, is far more concerned about the typical Southern diet & sodium & BP, and wants me on a super low-sodium diet, screw counting calories. The nutritionist, a doctor in her own right, basically told me to use good common sense when it comes to fats and sugars, but not to freak out about counting calories, carbs, and all that stuff. My focus is counting sodium. She says that if I stay true to a good low-sodium diet as we went over, I will by default be eating healthier and making better choices, so worrying about counting calories & carbs would just be too much on top of everything else. I think I like the nutritionist's view. She's looking big-picture and long-term, and I like that view.

Here's what sucks, though: do you have any idea how much sodium is in practically everything we eat? Dude, it's everywhere. Even an 8oz serving of 2% milk has about 120mg of sodium. For me, as little sodium as I'm supposed to take in right now, that's more than 10% of my daily allotment. Eight ounces of milk. My personal ambrosia. Yes, I am a milkaholic, and I can't believe my sweet cow teat juice is so salty.

Anyway, I hesitate to say this for fear of running people off, but I may start a kind of sodium diary here, so I can keep tabs on how I'm doing. Hey, at least I won't neurotic and female and fretting about calories, right? Just geriatric and worrying about sodium.

Excuse me while I clear my throat

2008-07-06T12:46:00.003-05:00

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

After getting around to posting for the first time in forever, I decided to suck it up, and catch up on groups and blogs and whatnot, and see what's been happening in the world while I've been... whatever it is I've been doing.

The first thing I see on FF is Shadow Pregnancy's baby pic. Yes, her baby came a month early. Like me, she had BP issues. And as I always expected would happen to me, they took her baby early from IUGR. All personal anguish aside, he is a cutie.

::

On a good note, Cali is in her FET cycle, and ET is only a little over a week away. I'm keeping all my puffy toes and swollen fingers crossed for you, hon.

July: the month of hell

2008-07-06T10:43:00.004-05:00

My doctor's visit Thursday did not go well. The change in my meds that they were trying not only didn't improve my BP, but it made it worse. Another change, another two weeks, here we go again. I just keep having the macabre thought that hopefully I won't die before the next appointment.

No, I'm not exactly Miss Mary Sunshine these days. Not only do I have the stress of uncontrolled BP (again), but it's July, what would have been my due month. I keep thinking that right now, I'm supposed have an huge baby-belly, be cranky yet excited, and have swollen ankles for an entirely different reason. I'm supposed to be getting ready to bring a baby home at the end of the month, not getting ready to ovulate then.

And even though I cancelled all my diaper, formula, etc. website memberships, I still occasionally get baby coupons and things in the mail. But the last week? It's really ramped up, I guess since it's my due month. I've gotten coupons galore, free diaper bag offers, diaper samples, and two-- count 'em, two-- big cans of formula. As if my head wasn't messed up enough.

Ever since the calendar read "July", I've been back to the emotional tentativeness of this past bleak January, where a look or a word can send me off the deep end. Practically everyday has seen crying jags so violent that I nearly convulse with the pain and anger of it. Anger at myself, my doctor, at God, at the universe, I don't know. It's like my emotional-healing clock has been completely reset, and I'm back to ground zero, just dealing with this for the first time.

There's one group on FF with whom I've been friends for years now. So much so, that we're running away and setting up shop on a new site that one of the ladies is creating (which of course, I will plug shamelessly once it's out of beta testing). But I had already kinda deserted the FF group, because of the newer girls (as in, she joined our long-standing group about, oh, two months before she got pregnant) on there got pregnant almost at the same instant I did. Seriously, our due dates are/were 3 days apart. T-h-r-e-e d-a-y-s.

Do you have any idea of how much just seeing her pregnancy ticker seems to mock me? How jealous I feel everytime she writes about a doctor's appointment, an ultrasound, feeling her baby kick? Knowing that I was supposed to be at the exact same phase of pregnancy? It got to the point where I just didn't go to the buddy group much anymore. It's selfish, true, but it's also an act of self-preservation. I just can't handle it right now.

Oh, and just to put a cherry on top of the sundae, my 20 year old cousin has gotten his (also) 20 year old girlfriend pregnant. Completely by accident, of course. She's about 4 months along I think, but they waited to announce it because "it wasn't the right time". Independence Day is one of our family gathering days, so here I am trying to play nice to this pregnant 20 year old, when all I want to is slap her first for being stupid, then be incredibly jealous because she gets to have a baby. My Dark Side is slightly pleased because she is white, and my cousin's grandmother is the main one in our family who has color issues. It will make for interesting family gossip, to be sure, and at least it won't be about me for a change.

And what they really meant about "it wasn't the right time" to reveal the pregnancy is that they were letting things cool down from the fallout of another 20/21 year old cousin who accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant, and didn't tell the family until the day the baby was born, which was the day before Mother's Day. Can you imagine finding out that your son/grandson/nephew/cousin was becoming a father, but didn't bother to tell anyone until the freaking baby was born?!? It is just Not Done. It makes me so proud, to have my family fulfilling every negative stereotype imaginable right now. Multiple unplanned pregnancies by young people, wigger girlfriends, fights where men get put out of the house and they go home to momma. Ahhh, yes, I believe the children are our future, all right.

Giant balloon feet are NOT fun

2008-06-21T15:54:00.006-05:00

((I had written a long post, and lost more than half of it when my DSL went wonky. So, this is really abrupt because I didn't feel like being elegant and careful and rewriting it all.))

I can't believe it's been two weeks since I last posted. I've thought about posting, but that's about as far as it went. See, I suddenly started having the most ferocious peripheral edema ever. And yes, I like using proper names for things, but so you don't have to pull up the Merriam-Webster dictionary site, that basically means that my feet, ankles and legs have been swelling up like crazy.

Even though I've had hypertension issues for years, I never suffered from swelling up like a balloon. But about 2-3 weeks ago, I noticed that I had cankles in the late afternoon, and that my feet were puffy. I was a bit concerned, but it always went away when I came home and put my feet up, so I didn't rush off to the doctor right away. Plus, I was expecting my period and thought that maybe, just maybe, I was extra-bloated from PMS, the heat, and all that jazz.

Well, my period came and went (today is cd 10), and the swelling hung around. And then it got worse: it hadn't gone away when I woke up Wednesday morning. And by the time I got off work, my feet were barely fitting in my shoes. So, off to the doctor I went Thursday!

My blood pressure was completely out of control. So, my meds were readjusted, a diuretic added, and now we wait and see if I respond. My body is weird about blood pressure meds: my doc finds a good combo that works, and it works for about 2 years. Then, POOF! My body stops responding, and my BP shoots through the roof.

On the TTC front: this is a drug-free cycle for me. Since all this swelling and whatnot was happening right at the time I would have been taking clomid, I decided against that. I had enough going on without adding another drug to the mix, especially one like clomid.

::

My apologies to everyone participating in NCLM. I have been a dismal failure. I was already a couple of days behind before the giant feet kicked in; then once that happened, it was all over. The last thing I needed to do when I got home was to sit at a desk some more! I was online maybe 20 minutes a day after work, and that was mostly to check my email and pay bills. So, no comment leaving going on for me. Unless I manage to somehow hit, say, a hundred blogs in the next 4 days, I will failed NCLM. :P

Scattergory Saturday!

2008-06-07T11:10:00.003-05:00

Calliope has declared today to be game-day, and challenged us with Scattergories. Per Cali:

SCATTERGORIES - Use the first letter of your first name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, things - nothing made up. You can not use your own name for the boy/girl names.

(Note from me, the splendiferous Kim: Please note that my questions are numbered differently, as the original list had no #4. I can't have a list with missing numbers; it would be bugging me all day!)

1. What is your name? Kim
2. A 4 letter word: knot
3. A vehicle: Kia
4. A boy’s name: Kane
5. A girl’s name: Katya
6. Drink: Kool Aid (Oh Yeah!)
7. An occupation: king
8. Something you wear: kerchief
9. A celebrity: Kiera Knightly
10. Something found in a bathroom: KY Jelly
11. Reason for being late: kissing in the car.... at least, that was why I was late for curfew as a teen!
12. Something you shout: "Kitties!" (Okay, I don't shout that, but I've known plenty of toddlers that do.)
13. A body part: knee
14. Word to describe yourself: kinky

Crafts R Fun

2008-06-05T11:25:00.002-05:00

I have been crazed for crafts for as long as I can remember. I don't know where that love began, but I'm fairly certain it was nourished by two things: the "Little House" series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and a fabulous book called "Steven Caney's Kids' America". The first described life in frontier America, while the second actually showed you how to do all those marvelous things that are now considered crafts (rather than everyday life). The older I got, the more I delved into the world of crafts. To name just a few, there was: spinning, weaving, candle & soap making, sewing & embroidery, quilting, basket weaving, beadwork, leather craft, crochet, doll making, and various forms of unusual cookery.

But my one big failure is/was knitting; I never could quite get the hang of knitting. I haven't given up, though; I recently went out and bought some knitting needles and an instructional book ("So you're too stupid to knit, huh?") in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, this time I can get it. I am unbelievably jealous of all the blogs I've seen lately boasting gorgeous knitted masterpieces.

It's a bit odd, but my urge to create things, to play about with crafts, seemed to drain away around the same time that I began TTC. Perhaps my psyche became so focused on one type of creation, that I had no mental energy left to think about another. Lately, though, I find myself thinking more and more about wanting—no, needing—to make something. To sit down with raw materials, and through the labor of my hands and mind, turn it into something else. To feel the justifiable pride of a job well done.

Yeah, it doesn't exactly take a Freud to figure me out.

In random news, here are two comments overheard while walking in the hallway at work. The comments are unrelated, were heard at different times, and are proof that I am, at heart, still in 5^th grade:

1) "So, just how big is your bush?"

2) "I get just as much pleasure from watching, and then you don't have that pain at the end of the evening."

My pocket protector is better than yours

2008-05-29T22:08:00.001-05:00

Have I mentioned how incredibly anal-retentive I am sometimes? That I have created a spreadsheet for NCLM so that I can keep up with my commenting tally each day? Complete with color coding for new favorites, old favorites, people I know in real life, etc? I was born to be someone’s executive assistant.

Cd20 and randomness

2008-05-29T20:49:00.004-05:00

I am playing catchup tonight for NCLM; I felt so yucky last night that there was no way I could sit and read blogs and try to make sense of anything. So, you get a craptastic post from me because I really need to go and read what you’re writing and do double-duty on my commenting.

I’ve had two days of positive opks (Tuesday & Wednesday), and last night I revisited the horrific pain of clomid-induced ovulation. Actually, I think my ovaries were flipping themselves inside out in protest of the work being forced upon them. Or maybe they were playing jump rope with my fallopian tubes (Double dutch? Count me in!). At least, that’s what it felt like. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m still feeling it, at least a little bit.

Today is cd20, I’ve been spermed up, and now there’s just the wait. I really haven’t missed this part, the interminable two week wait.

::

Okay, I can’t get this freaking song out of my head. Partly because it’s just a kick-ass song. But part of it, I know, is sweet reminiscing about the first time I kissed a girl. I went through months of agonizing about whether or not I was a lesbian because I really liked it. A lot. But I really liked boys, too, so what the hell?!? It ain’t easy to be 17 and trying to figure out your sexual identity, especially when you realize that you don’t squarely fit into either camp.

19 weeks and (still) counting

2008-05-25T14:13:00.002-05:00

It has been 19 weeks since my miscarriage, and I do not understand how that much time has gone by. At least the first four weeks are lost in a haze of partial amnesia. I remember a few distinct events, but most of that time is a blur of sleeping, overeating, and watching both seasons of "Dead Like Me" on DVD over and over again. It was a time of feeling very fragile, as if a single harsh word could cause me to break down.

In that 19 weeks, a friend had a baby, and another girlfriend discovered she was pregnant; a friend's marriage almost ended, and a cousin got married; I overused semi-colons, and I slowly, painfully, began coming back to life. For all that I've been bitching about Supervisor Karol, I have to admit that I'm almost grateful for her. No more than two weeks ago, I was wondering if I'd permanently lost my fire, that certain spark that garnered me nicknames like Diva and Scrappy in certain circles over the years. Between clomid and Karol, though, I woke up. With a vengeance, true, but I'll forgive myself for going over the top just as long as I'm no longer in that funk, that boring neutral-beige haze of indifference that was coloring everything in my life.

Lately I find myself paying a lot of attention to time. Thinking about how long I've been trying to conceive, how long friends have been married, how long since the miracle who is my goddaughter was born. But I know the root of it all is the pregnancy-that-was. I still can't help but think how far along I would be on such & such day. Or about how, at this point, I would have an even bigger belly, bulging out with a baby, feeling kicking feet and poking elbows and mystery bits. Just last night, I had the passing thought, "If I hadn't miscarried, but went into premature labor now, my baby would have a pretty good chance at 30 weeks."

I really think it'll get a little better once my due date passes. Once I can get past the end of July, and stop counting the weeks of my non-existent pregnancy, perhaps I can let things go a little more. Of course, it doesn't help that my mom now has a surgery planned for my due date; it just gives me another reason to remember that date, another reason to stress out as the date approaches. The last time my mom had surgery, she nearly died. As in, me standing by her bedside and being pushed out of the way while alarms went off and people rushed in to work on her; leaning against a wall and watching as my mother struggled for her life, fought for something as basic as a breath.

Hell, is it August yet?

Riding the clomid crazy train

2008-05-22T14:57:00.003-05:00

I'm home sick today, and figured I'd take a moment before nap time to do a little catch-up. I had my interview two weeks ago (well, it'll be two weeks as of tomorrow), and there's been no word, announcement, or job offer. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it all. Supervisor Karol has opened up a big can of crazy, and I don't know that I'd be able to work under her as a "real" employee even if a miracle occurred and I was offered the job. I mean, I just can't even begin to describe the crazy that wafts off of this woman. So much crazy that random people in the building comment sympathetically when they realize just whom I work under. It's really nuts.

So I called in to my agency this morning to let them know I was taking off for illness. The agent assumed I had cold bug, and I just along with it because it was easier. Besides, I really didn't want to have to explain the agonizing pain of having an abscess in the crease of my armpit, and that moving that arm causes shafts of agony to lance through me. And I don't even want to go into what will happen in the next 24-48 hours, when it bursts open.

Anyway, I hate the timing of it all, because I know this will all end up looking really suspicious: that I just happen to get "ill" starting on Thursday, and will probably be home tomorrow on Friday, too... right before a holiday on Monday. I've been the boss before, and I know I would secretly be thinking that someone just wanted an extra-long holiday weekend. Oh well, I can't help what people think. If anyone gives me shite about it, maybe I'll hike up my shirt, peel back the gauze pad that will be covering the healing wound, and let them get a good look at the raw hole in my flesh.

The moods I've been in lately, I'd do it, too. I decided I wanted to give clomid a try for a few months, to hopefully get me ovulating regularly again post m/c. I've been not-pregnant longer than I was pregnant, and my body still isn't back to normal. Back when I was anovulatory, a few cycles of clomid are what kick-started my body, resulting in somewhat-normal ovulation even when I wasn't on meds; I'm hoping it works again.

But of course there's a drawback: the side effects. I've done clomid, femara, and even a couple of soy cycles, and never felt the raging moodiness that so many women talk about getting with estrogen-tinkering drugs (especially clomid). Five previous clomid cycles, and the worst I would say about them is that I experienced quite painful ovulation. Never had the whole emotional thing, though.

I can never say that again. Last week was clomid week, Monday cd3 through Friday cd7, and by the time Friday rolled around, I was certifiable. Worst part, though, is that it took me several days to figure out why I was such a crazed bitch. Don't get me wrong; I fully accept, embrace and celebrate my inner bitch. But Clomid Bitch is another animal entirely, and no one is safe from her wrath, breakdowns, and hysteria.

Last Friday was the day when Supervisor Karol showed her ass. I know I wasn't overreacting by being upset by her words and actions, because the other 3 people in the area were also aghast and upset. But I, or rather Clomid Bitch, was so pissed and offended that I nearly walked off the job and quit.

Saturday morning I was expecting a phone call from my BFF Cheri to go to the zoo with her and my goddaughter Chava. Well, the phone never rang. And of course, I didn't call because something in my crazy-brain told me that I bother my friends by calling them and wanting to see them, and that if they wanted to see me they would call ME (I know, it makes no sense at all). I moped around the house for hours, getting progressively upset, convinced that no one loves me, no one wants my company, and that I am going to die alone in a horrible retirement home where they tie you to the bed. It turned out that she had indeed called, but that there was something funky going on with either the network or my phone, because I didn't get a message until the next day.

You may think I'm joking, but I am deadly serious: I was honestly on the verge of quitting my much-needed temp job, and writing off my best friends of 15 years, because I was emotionally unstable from freaking clomid. I seriously became the Mayor of Crazytown. Luckily, though, once I realized how much more intense things were and that it was because of clomid, I was able to keep myself on a more even keel. If I decide to take clomid again, I think I'll warn my BFFs so they can be my support system.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, weeks 5-6

2008-05-09T11:31:00.002-05:00

I can't get into Blogger/Blogspot from work, but I discovered the nifty email-a-post function, and it has set me free. Thank you, Blogspot, for giving me a way to post to my blog instead of working! Sometimes the font and whatnot are a little funky, but I can always fix that later.

April 28-May 2: week 5
Two new temps arrive, and I don't even have the energy right now to come up with imaginative aliases. Let's just call them Gigi and Ellen. I see them long enough to say hello, then I'm off to my little fileroom/office/hole. Thankfully, it's pretty calm and there isn't much work to do, so Andrea can concentrate on starting to train the newbies. Of course, both those "newbies" have years of accounting experience, so they're way ahead of me there.

I decided to toss my name into the hat, and ask to be considered for the permanent position. Accounting work might not be exactly what I wanted to do, but it's a job opportunity; those are scarce enough that I can't let it go by without at least making an effort! I talked to the HR director, and she put my resume into the dogpile.

One of the temps, Ellen, left about halfway through the day; then, she didn't show up on Tuesday. By Thursday, she was asking if she could work part-time until the workload increases. Her reasoning was that she prefers to be kept busy, and there just isn't enough work right now for a supervisor, a senior clerk, and three temps.

Now, Ellen is correct. There are periods where there just isn't any real work to do. But here's the thing: the company is anticipating more work coming our way in the next couple of months, which is why "they" insisted on hiring so many of us temps. If there are days where I have a couple of hours where I'm just counting the holes in the ceiling, that's just fine; I'm still getting paid.

That's the part I don't get about Ellen: regardless of whether we're being loaded down, or are sitting around relatively bored, we're getting paid. Every hour we're here, we're on the clock. And as a temp with no benefits or paid time off, I'd prefer to be here and bored, than at home and not making any moolah. But that's just me. See, Mama Kim needs a new pair of shoes. And to pay her rent, and to put gas in her car's tank.

May 5-9: week 6
So, I'm finally mostly caught up, as I'm at least writing about the current week. Ellen continues to work part time, and complain to me when she's bored. I have become something of the "listening ear" for everyone, and I think it all has to do with location, location, location. Because I'm away from the A/P area, and in a mostly private little room, everyone likes to come down here occasionally to "get away" for a few minutes. And when they "get away", that usually includes venting to me about whatever is going on back in the cubes.

I'm doing okay with the A/P work; Andrea and Karol both say I'm learning well and quickly. Now, while that was enough with the temps that were here before, I can't help but wonder how I'm doing in comparison with Gigi and Ellen, both of whom walked in the door with years of A/P experience. The reason I'm a little bothered/worried is because I know that Gigi is going for the permanent position, too, and I have to be honest and say that she's more qualified than I am.

Damn, I hate being honest like that. But really, if I were the boss, I would pick her over me. And of course, neither she nor I are the only applicants for the position; there are others in the running as well. But both of us were recommended by Supervisor Karol, so I'd like to think that we might have a small advantage over the other applicants. What I'm praying for now is that the one position magically morphs into two, so that I'll have a better chance of perhaps getting one of them.

My formal interview is this afternoon at 2pm, so wish me luck. Of course, I think it's absolutely ridiculous to have scheduled an interview on a Friday afternoon when both parties are in the same building. Heck, I'm on the same floor as the head of accounts; I pass her cubicle a thousand times everyday. And now, on a Friday --the day I usually do icky physical stuff, like filing, messing with storage boxes, shredding papers, etc.—I have to try to remain extra-presentable and sweat-free. Not to mention dreading an interview all day on a Friday, when my thoughts should be heading in the direction of weekend freedom.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, week 4

2008-05-08T16:05:00.002-05:00

April 21-22: week 4, Monday & Tuesday
My actual training in A/P began, although I had been shown a couple of things the previous week. It's a little frustrating for me, because I'm the type of person who HATES not knowing what they're doing. I mean I often would prefer not to do a thing, than to take a chance and do a thing incorrectly. This makes new jobs a huge pain in the ass for me. One good thing, though, is that I'm not afraid to ask questions.

Beryl—the temp who got hit on the arm—is showing off her insanity to the world at large. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Supervisor Karol was right to hit her; not at all, and there's no excuse for it. But Beryl is just going over the top now, and it's clear that she's just trying to make a big enough stink that the company won't get rid of her out of fear of some kind of suit.

Supervisor Karol scarcely dares to say a word to Beryl, for fear that it will be taken the wrong way; almost anything Karol says is met with barely disguised animosity from Beryl now. Even though their cubicles are right next to one another, 90% of the time Karol communicates with her via email. And even that doesn't work, because Beryl prints out the emails, and if they're corrective in nature or constructive criticism, Beryl says that "she's trying to set me up!"

Beryl is almost spending more time in the HR office than she is in her cubicle actually doing work. She snips back whenever Karol dares to speak a word. She corrals Andrea and myself every chance she gets, trying to get sympathy for her "cause".

On Tuesday, Beryl actually called the EEOC to report her incident. Supposedly, someone there told her she could call the police and make report the incident as an assault. So with that in her ear, she began to talk about calling the police. Great big ole can of crazy.

On a side note, the needed third temp, Coco, started on Tuesday as well. Now the A/P department has all the people that the high muckety-mucks say it'll need once all the work from the acquisitions trickles down.

April 23: week 4, Wednesday
Crazy Beryl does Something. I don't know exactly what, but everyone has had enough. Her temp assignment is being terminated, and she is being asked to leave the premises. In the meantime, I think she might have called the police and asked them to come out. Supervisor Karol was told to leave the A/P area, but to stay where she could be contacted in case the police needed to speak with her.

Some boss, bless their soul, decided to send Andrea, Coco and myself out to lunch on the company's dime. We took a long lunch, ate far too much, and didn't have to witness any of the yuckiness that may have occurred while we were out. All we know for sure is that Beryl is gone, gone, gone.

And to top everything off, Karol gets a phone call that her mother is terminally ill and fading fast. So now Karol is not only worrying that she might end up getting arrested, but also trying to make travel arrangements out of state to see about her mother. Somehow, I have become her sounding board and she tells me all this stuff; I really have no idea how that happened.

April 24: week 4, Thursday
Just around lunchtime, Coco gets a phone call. Like most of us temps, she's still "shopping" for a full-time gig even while temping somewhere. Well, she'd interviewed with a company the week before she came here, and they called to offer her a job. And because she's not stupid, she accepted the position.

A/P department scorecard: down 1 because crazy Beryl was fired yesterday. Now down 2, because Coco (who was here all of 3 days) won't be back after today. Karol has arranged to be out next Monday and Tuesday, since she's headed out of town for a long weekend for her family affairs. This leaves Andrea to oversee me… and the two NEW temps who will be starting on Monday. Poor Andrea. She's done most of the training for all the temps that have come through (except me), and now there are going to be two more. When the only backup person she has is little ole me, who has all of 1 week's experience in the job.

Karol mentions to me that even though the company uses temps a lot, and prefers to do so, there is an actual, permanent A/P position that has posted. You know, just in case I might want to apply for the job. She mentions this a couple of times. Gee, I wonder if it's a hint or something?

Is there a baby?

2008-05-04T19:42:00.003-05:00

Holy crap, if there's not an update on Dosmamas soon, I'm going to bust a gasket. Blow a gasket? Well, whatever you do with gaskets.

Feeling Snarky

2008-05-03T14:28:00.003-05:00

I visited my goddaughter this morning to take her a birthday present; I couldn't wait for her party later today! It was magical to see her little face light up with excitement when she saw her very own tricycle. It was a lovely morning visit, complete with the requisite first spills onto the concrete.

Then I came home and got on the internet. And started feeling more and more snarky the more I read on one of the IF boards I frequent. It seems like most of the posts are rubbing me the wrong way today. I know that a part of it is me; yes, I'm happy that today is my goddaughter's birthday, but I'm a little sad because before the m/c I had figured out that I'd be moving into my third trimester when this day rolled around.

It was all coincidental, but it was really neat: I'd have just moved into my 2nd tri about the time Mama Shel's son Miles was born. I'd be moving into my 3rd tri when my goddaughter turned 3. My little one would be born right around, or maybe even ON, one of my BFF's birthday. Now, instead, all of these joyous occasions will be slightly dimmed for me.

But back to the IF bulletin boards! Yes, I'm a little off-center, but this isn't all me; I was bent out of shape about some of these issues long ago, so I know it isn't all personal issues making me ticky.

Private-- even password protected-- forums
This particular site now offers completely private forums. You can create your own little place, not appear in the directory, and even set up a password so that even if someone accidentally managed to stumble upon your little group, they couldn't enter.

Now that this is possible, every group that feels like it's been persecuted, gawked at, or just plain doesn't want anyone else to see their board, can create a secret-squirrel forum. What. Utter. Bullshit.

It's very simple: If you don't want anyone to see what you've written, then don't write it on a semi-public internet message board, idjit. If you want to have a truly private place to have your high school-esque clique, where no one can join without your approval & no one else can see what you write, then go somewhere like Yahoogroups or MSN groups and make your own little place for free.

You see, I paid my membership fees to this site (yes, it is one of those you pay for!), and that is supposed to give me access to all the bulletin boards. But now, suddenly, there are going to be countless boards that my $$$ can't get me access? Look, if I want to go and read the forum about "Raising & Milking Goats for Fun, Profit, and to Feed Your Newborn," I should be able to. Even though I don't have a goat. Or a goat-milk drinking baby. Or a baby at all, for that matter. It's a forum on the boards that I paid to be on, and therefore I feel I should have access to it.

I know that some people feel like they've gotten more attention than they'd like, or that they've gotten negative attention, on "their" board. So they think this privacy thing is super-de-dooper. But I really just think that:
-It isn't "your" board, even if you created it; it's just a board where a topic you relate to is discussed. The board belongs to the website, therefore any paying member of the website has a right to read and comment there.
-Yes, one would hope that people would be respectful of certain situations and of others' feelings, but let's be real. A bulletin board is just like life: some people will be wonderful and supportive, some will stand on the sidelines and just watch, and some will be total & complete asshats. And because it can be fairly anonymous, the asshats often feel free to be even more asshattier than they would in Real Life. (Asshattier? Did I just make up a new word?)
-If you like to be on "your" board because you get support and help from the others there, WHY would you take it private and deprive others of the opportunity to get that same help?!? As you can see, this whole thing is just punching all my buttons.

Swaying for Gender
There are a lot of women/couples who are not only trying to have a baby, but who are trying to have a baby of a specific gender. I've always thought this a little silly, but can somewhat understand a mom of 4 boys wishing she had a girl. Okay, I'm lying; I really don't understand it. Or, rather, I can intellectually see it, but it just doesn't make any emotional sense to me.

I know that my views are slanted because of my own experiences and circumstances, but I kinda think trying tricks and popping pills to have a certain gender is somewhat arrogant and ungrateful. Having the arrogance to assume that you definitely will conceive no matter what, so it's fine to "sway" with positions, pills, potions and intercourse timing. Being so ungrateful that you're not excited enough about possibly having a child, but that it needs to be a certain gender to make you happy.

Not to mention that this whole TTC business is often involved enough without adding in another variable in the form of gender selection. Is it really such a horrible thing to have 4 boys, instead of 3 boys and a girl? In the modern industrialized world, where rules of masculine primogeniture are no longer important, is it really that vital to try for a son after having 2 girls? Again, even typing that makes me feel slightly ill, as someone desperately wishing for just a child, period.

I will be fair--which is not very easy today-- and say that I don't think that all swayers are horrible people. I really don't. But the horror cases I've seen, coupled with my own background, make me cringe whenever I look at those kinds of boards. And with the mood I'm in today, I don't know why I went there. I always have this voice in my head growling things that Are Not Nice.

But you know what? I'm an adult, which means I didn't write anything snarky there. That's what I have a blog for.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, week 3

2008-05-02T21:27:00.001-05:00

April 14: Monday, week three
When I got in, there was a new person in Joanne’s cubicle. Yes, the axe had fallen on Friday, and they hadn’t even had the decency to tell Joanne that she was being let go. Karol fell back on the thing of, notify the agency, and they’ll call the temp and let them know not to go back.

I know it’s the way it goes sometimes, and that it works in the temp employee’s favor as well. Like, if you get into a situation that really isn’t working out for you, you don’t have to tell the employer that you’re quitting; no, you tell your AGENCY, and they contact the employer to tell them that you’re “declining further work on this assignment” and that they’ll fill your shoes right away.

I still think it’s shitty to look a person in the eyes on Friday and say, “Have a nice weekend,” knowing all along that you’ve basically fired them and didn’t tell them. Once again I will say, I am SO happy that I’m in the file room.

The new temp girl’s name is Beryl. She seems nice. The other A/P clerk, Andrea—who is great but barely got mentioned in the previous post—is a little frustrated. Apparently the brunt of training the temps falls on her shoulders, and Beryl is the third one in about two months. Supervisor Karol keeps running through them, or running them off, I guess.

April 16: Wednesday, week three
Beryl is very upset. Reportedly, on yesterday. Karol became frustrated while trying to teach Beryl something, and hit her on the arm to make her stop moving the mouse. Beryl says that her arm hurts still, a day later, and that she is uncomfortable with Karol. Beryl went down to Human Resources and reported the incident.

Karol admitted that she hit Beryl, but claimed that it was a slap on the arm, rather than the punch that Beryl is reporting. Either way, she now has an adverse record in her employee file.

I am in disbelief that there is more drama happening in this teeny-tiny department. And am glad that I’m only here for this week to do more filing, and then I’m outta here!

April 18: Friday, week three
Once again, at barely past 8:00am, while I was fixing my first cup of Joe, Karol approached me. And again, she asked if I’d like to learn A/P, and stay on for a while. She’d had a meeting the day before, where it had been divulged that the company had recently acquired several new companies, and the A/P department here would be taking on their work when things get settled over the next couple of months. As a consequence, not only do they need temp Beryl, but the Powers That Be have stated that she should hire two MORE temps as well. I still think Karol is kinda nuts, but also think that if the universe threw this at me twice, I should pay attention. I told her I would accept the assignment, and we both got to work making it happen.

Even though I had some grave misgivings, I reminded myself that it’s a temp assignment: if I end up disliking the work, or finding that I absolutely couldn’t work with Karol, then I could always quit and get another assignment. My agent knew about Karol, not only from me, but also from Beryl (who came through the same agency as I).

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not someone who just quits things on a whim. In fact, my temperament is stubborn enough that I’ll often stay at something long past the time I should have stopped; but I’m just too stubborn to “give in”. But in this case, I had to give myself the mental relief of a possible “out” to feel comfortable with taking on the A/P job.

So, bwahaha, the joke’s on me. For three weeks straight I’ve told myself, “It’s just two (three) weeks; no matter how nuts it is around here, you can put up with it for a couple of weeks and a paycheck.” And now I’m going to be working here for a bit. Yep, feeling all kinds of mixed up.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, weeks 1&2

2008-05-02T21:23:00.001-05:00

Sweet readers, you probably won’t want to bother to read this post, as it is mostly a “Dear Diary”/journal type entry primarily meant to document the last few weeks at my current assignment before I forget it all. Very long, and very boring, to anyone but me, really. Not to mention how terrible it all is, switching tenses every other sentence!!!

March 31, 2008: Monday, week one
This assignment is way out on the edge of nowhere. I have, quite literally, never driven on the expressway as far as the needed exit. Am seriously starting to wonder if the low pay I’ll earn for the two weeks of filing is worth it, considering how ridiculously high gasoline prices are.

Met the boss, a woman named Karol (names changed to protect myself, as none of these people are innocent!). Met the other A/P person, a young woman named Andrea. And there was one other poor unfortunate, a financial temporary employee named Joanne.

Quickly discovered that Supervisor Karol has absolutely zero patience with Joanne. Despite the fact that Joanne is old enough to be Karol’s mother, Karol talks to her as if she is a child. No, I take that back; I wouldn’t speak to a child this way! Very scathing, very condescending, and showing no patience at all. Am very glad that I’ll be half a building away, working in “my” solitary fileroom.

April 1-4, rest of week one
Spent at least half of each day OUT of the fileroom, accomplishing nothing at all. There are issues with the computer in my theoretical cubicle, and I have to be on hand as the computer tech works on it so I can repeatedly try to sign on and log in to various things.

Felt very frustrated, as I am getting next to nothing done. Kept wondering two things: one, why can’t the tech log in using his own identity to see if the programs are loaded correctly? Is it really necessary to keep me standing—yes, standing, as there are no extra chairs anywhere around here—for hours while he works? And two, why is it so freakin’ important for me to have full computer access? I’m here for two weeks, filing, and then I’m out of here, suckers.

Karol stinks. She actually stinks, as in a bad smell. I can’t figure out what it is. It isn’t funk, like someone who didn’t shower. It isn’t pee or feces, or anything like that. It isn’t that weird mildew odor I’ve smelled on some people when they have super-thick hair, and don’t dry it completely (and it stays vaguely damp and gross all day and evening). I have no idea what is causing her odor. I found out she’s a dog person, and wonder if it has something to do with that. But you know, I’ve been around plenty of crazy dog & cat people, and have never smelled anything like this before.
At first I thought it was just my imagination, because surely no one could smell that bad and not know it. But the other temp made it clear in our private conversations that yes, Karol does reek. I nearly gagged one day when she stood too close to me for several minutes in conversation.

April 7-10, week two
The denigrating behavior continues towards Temp Joanne. Karol’s mouth is really something. She’s one of those people who just doesn’t know how to talk to people, you know? I don’t see how Joanne takes it. I would’ve told her off ages ago if she’d been talking to me like that. I know that we all have to suck it up sometimes on the job, and take crap we’d rather not, but Karol is really beyond the pale.

Oddly enough, except for one comment last week, I don’t get any lip or attitude from Karol. I’d asked her if she could help me with a question I had. She snarkily said, “No,” very flatly. I just shrugged, and said I could just go back and do my work in the fileroom, then, instead of this special thing she’d asked me to do. I think I shocked her, just calmly stating what I was going to do. She kinda sniffed, and mumbled something about me having a lot of lip, especially for a temp. But you know what? I haven’t had a real problem with her since. Still, I’m sincerely looking forward to the end of this assignment.

I found out that Karol just got promoted to the supervisor position about a month or two ago. I tried to take that into account, that maybe she’s nervous and uncertain about her new job, but that still doesn’t excuse the way she talks to people.

April 11, Friday of week two
Karol ambushed me at the coffee machine at approximately 8:03am, while I was fixing my first cup. She came right out and told me that temp Joanne wasn’t working out, and that she was going to let Joanne go. Then she asked me if I’d be interested in staying on to take Jo’s place, and learning accounts payable.

I was completely taken aback for so many reasons. First of all, I hadn’t had a single sip of black nectar, and I don’t function well without a tiny bit of caffeine. Second, the few pistons that were firing in my brain were appalled that she was being un professional enough to tell me—a temp—that she was dismissing an employee, to see if I’d be interested in her position. Third, I absolutely, positively, did not want to work for this woman, and my poor brain was at a loss for a way to refuse. I finally came up with, “Um, I have to talk to my agency,” and escaped as fast as I could to my hidey hole (the fileroom).

Well, she didn’t wait to get further word from me. She just went right ahead and told the head of HR that she wanted to keep me on, and asked HR to talk to my agency. When she told me that, I was like WTF?!?!?!?

So I hurriedly went to talk to my agent on a break to give her a heads up about the situation. That I did NOT want to work closely with Karol, not the way I’d have to as an A/P person. I had been fine working in the fileroom, but would be driven mad if I had to have constant contact, being in the next cubicle over. My agent assured me that she would take care of the situation, and I didn’t have to worry my pretty little head about it.

Of course, I couldn’t leave it at that. I decided to nip everything in the bud as soon as I got back to the office. I calmly and quietly told Karol that I didn’t feel comfortable taking an A/P job since I had practically no experience in that area. The accounts payable that I’d done on a previous job was such a different process that it really didn’t count at all. Karol accepted it, saying that it wasn’t going to hurt her feelings if I didn’t want to do A/P.

But then, just to add another twist to the story, Karol offered me a third week of fileroom work. Even though I’d finished up my two weeks and assigned tasks, she had more she wanted done. I felt weird about it, but Mama needs a new pair of shoes (so to speak) so I accepted the assignment.

The rest of the day was surreal. I interacted with Temp Joanne, with whom I’d developed a great rapport over two weeks, knowing all along that she was going to let go. The part of me that is subconsciously involved in the Black Conspiracy urged me to tell her, or at least hint, that her job was ending. The part of me that insists on keeping to certain codes of professional behavior even when others around me are not, urged me to keep my mouth shut and stay out of the whole situation.

The universe decided to take pity on me, and gave me an out. I overheard conversations of Karol’s where she was speaking to someone, in despair about the resumes she’d looked over. Apparently, even though they had been using temps in the A/P position, they were advertising inside the company for someone to take on the job as regular/full time, and she hadn’t really cared much for the applicants she’d been presented with so far.

Then Joanne came to the fileroom to talk to me; she needed to vent, bigtime. She told me about the latest fracas, and how she was having a hard time Remaining Christian and keeping quiet and meek, when Karol spoke so badly to her. She then confided that she’d called her agency that afternoon, asking that they start looking for another assignment because she wasn’t going to be able to take Karol much longer.

And that was when it all came together: a way to give a bit of warning to a fellow temp, without (fully) compromising myself. I casually said that it was probably good timing on her part, as I’d overheard how “They” were about to hire someone permanently for the position. I felt so much better. I’d managed at least a little warning, without telling her she wouldn’t be there much longer. TGIF.

In Limbo

2008-04-24T22:43:00.002-05:00

I haven't been writing much because of two things: one, I've been really tired from work and the last thing I want to do when I get home is to try to write coherently; two, because everything in my life feels like it's in limbo.

I'm working (and boy howdy, are there tales to tell there), and have been at the same place for a month now. Well, technically, it'll be a month tomorrow. It's late and I'm tired, so I'll dish about my job later. But it's still a formless temp job, no matter that I've been there a month. I could get a phone call in the morning from my agency telling me the assignment has been ended. Limbo.

My body is still working on getting back to "normal". My miscarriage was on Jan 12th, and I have only bled once since then. Nothing is predictable or reliable; I have no real idea what my body is doing/might do. I think I'm about to ovulate, actually. It's really late (today is cd 39), but my ovaries are killing me tonight. It actually feels like clomid-type pain, for those of you who know/remember that particular hell. Will I ovulate? Will I have to take provera for the never-ending cycle? Will I decide to and/or manage to have a nodding acquaintance with semen before summer comes? I don't know. Limbo.

To me, though, the worst is something that I really don't know how to describe. Self perception, perhaps? I was a woman going through all the nine hells of infertility. Then I got pregnant, and fell completely in love with a ball of cells that grew enough to have little arms and legs. In my mind, I took off the platform boots of Infertile Woman, and put on the cardigan of Someone's Mom. I had a teeny tiny baby, and I was the mom. My heart was completely won over the first time I saw a blob with a flickering heartbeat; in that moment, I became a mom.

Except that.... I'm not anyone's mother. The little person to whom I talked and sang, doesn't physically exist anymore. I never touched or held the person for whom I ate boatloads of whole grains and vegetables. My primary self-identifier became a lie, and I have not yet managed to figure out who I'm supposed to be now.

Apache vs. Voodoo People

2008-04-15T22:15:00.003-05:00

This is for the three whole people reading who actually know the song "Voodoo People" by the Prodigy. I laughed so hard I thought I might choke on my own spit.

Just call me Dilbertina

2008-04-14T19:18:00.001-05:00

The last couple of weeks have been both boring and eventful at the same time. I’m still temping at the same company, even though the assignment was technically supposed to end last Friday. I am, in fact, making my virgin foray on the internet for “play” right now, testing the boundaries to see what I can get away with. ((ETA: Well, apparently I CANNOT go to my blog from work, so this will have to be posted tonight. Crap. Fraggin’ strict internet policies!))

It’s going to sound absolutely insane, but I discovered a wondrous sense of peace and solitude working in the file room. No crazy phones to answer; not having to greet every person who walks in the door; being sorta locked away and pretty much unsupervised since the person who is my actual supervisor is half the building away; practically no human interaction at all except for the occasional file request. The only drawback is that my computer—THIS computer—is in “my” cubicle block that’s half the building away from the file room. The only reason I’m sitting here now is because I’ve worked so swiftly that I’ve run out of work to do until more supplies are delivered today. Go me!

I feel very Dilbert-esque here, in my first real experience in the stereotypical Big Business Office, filled with cubicles everywhere. I worked for big companies before, even some very swank ones, but this is the first time it’s been the type of thing you see on television, where every floor is just a maze of cubicles. It’s interesting, I’ll give you that.

Here are the top 5 things I’ve learned (or had reinforced) since working here:

1. If you look like you belong somewhere, and walk with purpose, no one will challenge your right to be wherever you are. It’s especially helpful if you carry some folders or a handful of papers around with you.

2. People in Big Offices are apparently allergic to making coffee. Or perhaps they have a phobia to the sound of the water rushing through the coffeepot, as it reawakens memories of their grandfather’s unfortunate and freakish demise in the Folger’s Laboratory in the ‘60s when he worked on those marvelous freeze-dried crystals. I don’t know. All I know is that I use two different break rooms to fulfill my coffee needs: one is close to my file room, the other by my rarely-used cubicle. At least 75% of the time, I’m putting on a pot of coffee whenever I make a pit-stop. I drink one cup of regular first thing in the morning, then switch to decaf for the remainder of the day (I maybe have 2-4 more cups of decaf throughout the day, interspersed with straight water). I make 3-5 pots of coffee everyday. What. The. Hell.

It was one thing at my old job when I was just making coffee for 2-3 people; I knew that I was the one closest to the pot and would most likely end up making all the coffee. But here, there are dozens of people on this floor, and it doesn’t make sense that hardly anyone can be bothered to make a friggin’ pot of coffee. I’ve actually seen the pot placed back on the heater with about 4 Tablespoons of coffee left in it. Pathetic.

3. People who work in cubicles forget basic scientific properties of the physical world. They apparently believe that 5.5 feet hollow chipboard cubicle walls, covered with a colored open-weave burlap-like material that makes me want to cross-stitch, are soundproof. That no one can hear their conversations, whether person-to-person or on the telephone, as long as they’re in a cubicle. An open-air cubicle. Even when they don’t bother to lower their voices, those cube walls are believed to be magical, like Adora’s sword that transforms her into She-Ra. Yeah, I know that came out of nowhere, but I spent the weekend sick and playing on the internet for entertainment; I watched a lot of 70s & 80s cartoons online. Sue me.

4. Chivalry and good manners are not completely dead, at least not at this company. I have never had so many men practically running to open & hold doors for me in my life; waiting for me to enter and exit elevators before they do. Even women will go out of their way to hold doors and elevators for others. It’s a nice thing to see basic human consideration being practiced. And isn’t it a sad commentary on today, that basic etiquette arouses such excitement in me?

5. I am working too quickly and efficiently, and must learn to slack off more. Everyone seems completely shocked that I have accomplished as much organization in the file room as I have, and apparently they all truly thought it would take much longer than it is. I… must… slow… down, and guarantee another nice full paycheck for this week. I am quite literally working myself out of a job with my hearty work habits, and that is a weird position to be in. The boss thinks this work will last out the week, and maybe another week. I think I’ll be done by Wednesday if I don’t affect a go-slow.

2008-04-01T07:11:00.003-05:00

I hate effing birds that start chirping at effing 5 am right outside my effing window. It was still effing dark, and there that idiot was just chirping away, all by himself. Effing bird. There's two hours of sleep I won't get back. Today is gonna suck; I am super grouchy when I'm sleep deprived.

Bored Like Me

2008-03-31T19:34:00.003-05:00

I am working the most boring job in the world for the next couple of weeks. My job is simple, and can be summed up in one word: filing. I am in a 20x20 room, most of which is filled with a mobile filing system. Apparently the A/R department decided to stop filing, and just hire a temp once or twice a year to get things caught up. I'm not kidding when I say I'm filing reports as old as from 7-8 months ago. Absolutely pathetic. There were three desks completely covered in stacks of papers, the smallest stack measuring in at about 18 inches high.

Don't get me wrong; I'm glad to have an assignment/work/pending paycheck. I just think it's wrong that there's a need for me to be there, you know? I kept thinking of George from "Dead Like Me" all morning long.

Family time is not always a good thing

2008-03-26T17:48:00.003-05:00

The last week or so has been consumed by family. I have had more quality family time in the last 10 days than I have in the last 10 months, as one of my male cousins got married on Saturday. It was a lovely affair, but I'm really glad it's all over. Between meet-and-greet dinners between our family and the bride's family, rehearsal dinner, Easter, etc., I am family-ied out for a while. It's always weird for me to be around my family. I have such mixed emotions that no matter how pleasant a time I have, there is always some tension underneath that leaves me wrung out.

I have scars from my family, emotional wounds that go back to childhood. Yeah, I know, who doesn't, right? From the fairly mild childhood teasing about my lighter skin and "proper" speaking, to the harsher adolescent jeers about my weight. Constant verbal pokes about my taste in music and my rainbow coalition of friends. Being molested repeatedly by an older male cousin, which not only left me sexually confused for a long time, but also left me with a lasting subconscious impression that my family, the ones who are supposed to protect and cherish me, cannot be trusted. I'm known as the outspoken one in the family, the one who'll say anything to anyone; the one who will cry "bullshit" (altho not actually using profanity, mind) at the drop of a hat. I guess I was quiet for so long, that the moment I turned 18-- and thus invulnerable to childhood punishments-- I decided that I wasn't going to be quiet anymore. I refused to remain a victim.

My tongue is sometimes sharper than it has to be with my family, but at least I can say that its edge isn't being used to hurt someone. No, my whole deal is that I point out uncomfortable truths, those things that people don't really want to hear, but that need to be said. The snarky things that people try to slip in, I will openly call them on it. By now, my family knows that I will say anything to anyone, that I will discipline your kids if you don't (and don't even think of giving me any attitude for it), and that I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my mother.

Jeez, I have no idea where this gush of emotional vomit came from. I really just meant to say that there was a wedding and I had fun. I cuddled my 1 year old cousin Jalen, who fell asleep on my lap at the reception. I nuzzled his little head, felt those crisp little curls against my cheek, and thought about how wonderful it was to be holding the future of my family in my lap. And of course, there were the obligatory tears at the wedding; happy tears for the couple, melancholy tears for myself and my single state, sorrowful & selfish tears at their new beginning when my own new beginning was derailed.

I cried a lot this past weekend. A whole freakin' lot. Between issues with those certain family members who always piss me off, and happy/sad wedding tears, and loving on my baby cousin, and missing my own baby, and wondering if I'll ever have a "take home" baby, and dealing with the expressions of sympathy from family members I hadn't seen in a while (but who apparently had been told about my m/c) my tear ducts were kept busy.

It comes and goes, the sadness. I can go for days at a time, feeling fine and everything is okay. And then seemingly out of nowhere, my heart is this heavy lump in my chest and my eyes are watering. It's like some kind of unpredictable cycle: will I have 5 good days before I break down, or will I get 7 this time? Then I really mess with my own head, wondering: if a twelfth week m/c can eff me up this bad, how in the world will I stay sane when my mother passes away? Very macabre thoughts sometimes.

Sometimes I feel so stupid

2008-03-20T17:49:00.000-05:00

Today found me helping with more nitpicky details for the summit meeting: I was double checking and confirming spa appointments. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like that kind of task to make my jaw drop to the floor. The cost of the treatments was in pesos, but even doing a rough mental conversion, my estimate is that the total is going to be somewhere in the region of $20,000 US. To be honest, that’s probably a bare minimum, really. And here I am in the bracket that worries about a $200 ultrasound.

So, I’m going down the list, double checking dates, times, and treatments: pages and pages and pages of details. I was completely fine—if perhaps bored—until I got to one lady’s entries. This woman was having a series of massages, one every day, for the length of the summit. Prenatal massages, to be precise. I read that little fact and actually murmured out loud, “Oh, isn’t that nice? J is pregnant.” Then I felt very foolish for having congratulatory thoughts towards a woman I don’t know.

About 10 seconds later, I was desperately trying not to cry. And feeling even more stupid. I felt like someone had walked up to me, slapped me in the face, called me fat, and insulted my mother. I think the only thing that kept me from completely losing it was the fact that I’m right out in front and highly visible.

I felt silly then, and still can barely believe it, that I got so emotional over a pregnancy on paper. All I could think about, though, is how much I wish I were having a prenatal massage, or rather, that I had a reason to have a prenatal massage. That I would have a nice extra thickness in my middle at 21w1d. And yes, don’t you think for a minute that I don’t still know how far along I’m supposed to be.

::

I’ve had very strange dreams over the last week or two. Not strange because of what happened in the dreams, but more because of the people in them. I’ve been dreaming about old friends and acquaintances, people I’ve lost contact with over the years and haven’t seen in ages.

Now I feel like I want to turn detective, and try to track a few of them down. Maybe my subconscious is trying to give me a new hobby; I don’t know. All I know is that with a couple of them, it actually feels urgent that I find them. Like, I can look or not for the others as I please, but for these two, I need to find them NOW.

So, I guess I’ll start trying to find my high school BFF, and the chef who used to hang out at the coffee shop. Yeah, it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. :P

I'm a-workin'. And a-bleedin'.

2008-03-19T21:37:00.004-05:00

Boy oh boy, I'd forgotten how it felt to be tired after work! Every night for the last 3 days I've thought, "I really should write in my blog. Maybe after dinner." Then of course, I'd rather read or watch a movie. And then the next thing I know, another week has gone by without me writing. Bad me!

My job assignment isn't exactly exciting, seeing as I'm doing receptionist duty again, and in another rather nice office. But I have to say, being a receptionist in these top-lofty companies is giving me quite an education, even if I'll never have a chance to use any of it. I've spent hours reading up on these companies, and the notables therein. It feels very strange to actually be able to put a face and a voice to the names of these high-powered individuals. And even more strange to know things like, even though Mr. X is a grump in the mornings and doesn't seem capable of opening a door without assistance, he's a really nice guy. Especially to be the CEO of this business that does about $800 million annually. Yeahhhhhh.

Just as at the other posh office, everyone here has been very complimentary of my performance. The last 2 days I've been helping the #2 executive assistant with grunt work for an upcoming summit meeting, and she's been grateful to an extent that I really wouldn't expect. It makes me wonder what kind/quality of help they're used to having around the office, if I'm being seen as so exceptional. Oh, and #1 executive assistant (to CEO) came by today to tell me how great I've been as a receptionist, and how much they've appreciated my willingness to "do a little extra" to help with the summit arrangements. #3 executive assistant told me that I'm nicer and better spoken than the lady for whom I'm filling in, and that she really wishes I wasn't leaving at the end of the week. #4 assistant told me that people in the office are talking about how great they think I am, and that there was an impromptu discussion in the ladies room (!) about me and that they think I'm a better office worker than the lady I'm temporarily replacing.

Thanks are nice. Compliments are nice. Really. I'm very proud that I've been praised by my temporary employers, especially at such high profile places. That I'm seen as being friendly yet professional, well dressed (yeah, my friends won't believe that I've gotten used to wearing a suit everyday), skilled, and willing to go beyond the scope of my duties. But you know what? I'd be much happier with a permanent job. The nice words make my heart warm, but I'd prefer a steady paycheck to keep my belly filled.

::

St. Paddy's day a couple of days ago brought me a very special present: my first period since the miscarriage. After an agonizing nine weeks, my body is finally starting to get back to normal. Yay me! Of course, now I face the inevitable dilemma: do I do the financially responsible thing and wait a couple more months to start trying to conceive again when my $$$ will be in a better state? OR do I start right away because of my advanced age, and the fact that I need as much time as possible to try to get pregnant since it took me several years this time?!?

What a thrilling video!

2008-03-13T22:08:00.002-05:00

Dude. Dude, man, dude. Inmates at a prison in the Philippines getting some very special exercise.

I went to the ball!

2008-03-06T22:02:00.002-06:00

I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since I wrote. I mean, I’ve looked at my blog, I’ve thought about writing, but for one reason or another I just couldn’t do it. I was either too tired, or couldn’t find the right words. I still can’t find the right words, but the web silence is making me feel guilty.

I decided to sign up with temp. agencies; I figured even a little $$$ coming in was better than nothing. And of course, there’s always the possibility, that 1/100 chance, that a temp. position could become a permanent situation. It doesn’t happen as often in real life as it does in movies, believe you me, but one can hope.

I went out on my very first temp. assignment, as a receptionist, last Friday to a business located in one of the most prestigious buildings in the city. And this is the part where words fail me, and I can’t be witty and cute; all I can do is list stupid-sounding details like a country cousin, and hope it all comes across: the word “swank” is the best I can do, and it seems inadequate. I have never in my life seen an office like this one, and I only saw MAYBE a tenth of the place. I have been in 5 star luxury hotels that look like roach motels compared to this place. Rich, dark woods everywhere; gorgeous furnishings; lovely crown molding; wall tapestries here and there to break the “monotony” (hah!) of the paintings; marble floors. Wall sconces. Yes, freaking wall sconces.

The restrooms. Good grief, the restrooms. Even the stall walls were of the same dark woods throughout the rest of the office, rather than the usual metal or laminate. Pewter fixtures, full-length mirrors. Marble countertops. Crystal and pewter counter accoutrements filled with amenities, everything from specialty soaps (in case you didn’t want to use the common liquid soap) to breath mints. Towels embossed with the company’s logo. I could go on for another four paragraphs, but I think I’ve gushed enough about how gorgeous it is.

So I worked there last Friday, and was deeply disappointed that they didn’t need help for longer. I fell for this place hard. Even though I initially felt a little out of place, seeing as I’m more used to a business-casual environment rather than a 1st class, wear a suit everyday, Number 1 and Number 3 of this international giant company work in this location kind of environment. But for some strange reason, my usually carefree nature began to thrive over the course of the day. I fell a little in love, only to get dumped when five o’clock rolled around. (sigh)

I feel really bad saying this, but I got lucky again. The receptionist got ill yesterday morning—like, go to the hospital ill—and I was specifically requested to come out to work for a couple of days, as they really liked me last week. I happily accepted the assignment and worked Wednesday and today (Thursday). As the day went on, it turned out that they needed me Friday as well, but I have an interview scheduled in the middle of the day, on the extreme other side of town, and just can’t work at Fabulous Office. You cannot imagine how disappointed I am that I can’t go back tomorrow.

It isn’t just the posh office, it’s the people. Everyone with whom I’ve spoken has been extremely friendly and helpful. It turns out that the office manager and I have a mutual friend/business acquaintance, and that broke the ice like crazy. She ended up deliberately introducing me to the property manager whose assistant will be leaving in a few months, and really talked me up, pointing out my property management experience and praising me like she’s known me for years. She also said she’d keep me in mind if they have any suitable positions become available in Fabulous Office, even to the point of maybe seeing if she can manufacture a position for me. I know there’s only a 1% chance of it happening, but I feel really proud that I obviously made a good impression on this woman who is the backbone of this classy office. And of course, I’d jump if a position came my way. Heck, the maintenance workers there make more than I did as a property assistant. Yeah, I really said it: this place pays the cleaning ladies more than I made as a college graduate with a professional license.

As I mentioned, this company which shall not be named, is an international giant. There are several offices in the US, as well as in Zurich, St. Croix, London, South America, and I can’t remember where else. Amongst the employees, there is a senator and another politician of some sort (I can’t remember what he is); there could be other notables, but frankly I don’t know enough to spot Who’s Who in local society. In just the three days I was there, I saw a mayor, a semi-famous clothier to celebrities, and four of the top men of yet another fabu company that shall not be named. As stupid as it sounds, I have been feeling like Cinderella at the ball, getting a glimpse of a world that I knew existed, but is so far “above” me that I never thought I’d see it up close. But it really is over now, unless a miracle happens.

::

As I’m sure is obvious, I did NOT get the job I interviewed for two weeks ago. It sucks, because I thought it would be really neat to work for a company that did clinical trials. But I’m over it and moving on, and looking towards my next possibility. I have another interview tomorrow after lunch for an admin. position at a law firm. I’m honestly not very excited about it, but right now, I have to be excited about ANY job.

::

Last and actually least, it’s been nearly 8 weeks and I’m still waiting for a post m/c period. For the last two days, I’ve had some hellacious stabbing pains around my right ovary. Either my body is trying to ovulate, or I have a cyst; those are my guesses. I’m doing basal temping again, hoping that I’ll see a temp rise if/when I ever ovulate again. I’m not actually TTC yet; I just want to know what the hell is happening with my body, and when is it ever going to get back to “normal”.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2008-02-22T00:22:00.004-06:00

I had a job interview Monday, and I felt pretty good about it when it was all over. Now it's the lovely waiting period, as they interview all the other people who want the job, too. And again, the skills tests were a joke. Apparently 90% of office workers are idiots, because the tests I've taken are so simple that I can't believe that they're some sort of qualifier for even an entry-level position. And this was not an entry-level position.

Believe it or not, I actually think this company's business is neat-o, and would like to work there. I was told that it would be 1-2 weeks before they contact any short-listers, so I have my fingers crossed. And my toes crossed.

::

There have been a lot of life transitions going on lately, not only in my life but also in my friends' lives. On the one hand, there's been loss, the most recent being the mother of my friend J. I feel so strange about it, and I never even knew the lady. I guess that, with my own freaky half-acknowledged grief going on, I don't know how to feel about someone else's loss.

And on the other hand, there's new life coming along. My friend Cat is pregnant after like, one month trying. Yeah, yeah, I know; one of "those" people. But I thank God that there are some people out there who DON'T have to go through the hell that is infertility!!! I'm very excited to have another little one joining our strange extended family.

Cat, bless her heart, was a bit apprehensive about telling me she was pregnant, and enlisted our mutual friend Cheri as a go-between. Silly kitty! As if I'd be upset over someone I love getting a cool present like a Kogojira.

::

I babysat my nephew Miles for a few hours today, and I am a puddle of warm, melted sugar after having a newborn cuddled against my chest. Smelling that little place on his neck by his shoulder. Feeling those tiny fingers curling around my own. Heck, even now I feel nostalgic about having the scent of curdled formula on the sleeve of my shirt after an unexpected spit-up incident; it's been a long time since I had that smell on me. Although I admittedly like older kids better, there IS something about teeny babies that's very sweet.

::

It's always a little weird to me, how few of my friends had any exposure to babies before they had their own. And then there's me, the woman with no children, who actually knows about them. I grew up with a close relationship to my younger cousins, and helped to care for most of them. An older cousin lived with us when I was in high school, and she got pregnant and had a baby. Believe me, when you're 17 and there's a newborn in the house, you get a fast and thorough education on childcare because you're a built-in alternative caregiver; I knew about colic and teething long before I lost my virginity. And then I was a nanny/nurse for a year to a newborn, for a married couple who were friends of mine. The irony is never lost on me that, as a non-parent, I'm assumed not to have any "real" knowledge about kids, when I actually know quite a bit.

TTC dream?

2008-02-17T12:42:00.003-06:00

Last night I dreamed about an ex-lover, that we went to a porn theater together. Now, I mean the old-fashioned places that were actual small movie theaters that just happened to play dirty movies. So we sat next to one another, and covered up our laps with a fleece blanket. Why fleece, I don't know; maybe it was cold.

Anyway, no, it WASN'T what you're probably thinking. There was no hanky-panky going on; we both kept our hands, and other various and sundry body parts, to ourselves. However, unbeknownst to me, he was keeping his hands to himself, but they were very busy hands. After a few minutes, he shoves back the blanket, hands me a specimen cup with a semen sample, and leaves. I remember that it was a fairly large sample, being 6mL. And yes, somehow this spec. cup had gradient markings on it, so small as to show mL, that I could read. And in a dark movie theater, to boot. I remember feeling quite happy in the dream, because I could rush home and insem. now that I had this lovely fresh sample.

My subconscious is at work, and it isn't even being subtle. I'm 36 days past my miscarriage, with the never-ending cycle. I know the spiel: things aren't normal after a m/c, especially one that was nearly a 2nd trimester loss. I might not ovulate for a couple of cycles. If I do ovulate, I could have a totally short, messed up luteal phase. Etcetera. But I just want to bleed, so I can start a nice fresh cycle, one in which I could TTC, if the stars and planets and life are aligned correctly. And for about 5 days now, I've had a snail trail of fertile cervical mucous, which makes me wonder if this cycle might be getting close to finally ending in the next couple of weeks or so.

I haven't really thought much about sex, nor had an active libido, until the last couple of days. Yes, Ye Olde Libido has returned, and with a vengeance. But the thing is, I feel slightly guilty about it, like having a sex drive is somehow disrespectful. How weird is that?!?

I swear I'm not drunk

2008-02-15T22:41:00.002-06:00

Today's random thought #109: Wouldn't it be cool to see a psychobilly or gothabilly band where all the members dressed like luchadores?

Rock Lobster Jello?

2008-02-15T12:12:00.002-06:00

Am I the only person who thinks that Jello Biafra (Dead Kennedys) and Fred Schneider (The B-52s) sometimes sound eerily alike, both while speaking and singing? I'm just sayin'.

::

About 10 years ago, I took a pleasure trip to Atlanta with my best gal-pal, Cheri. The friend we were staying with (Drew) is politically active, and had a Green Party function the same night we were arriving. Thankfully, our arrival time would be too late for us to attend; so, we were given directions to a nightclub where an after-rally party would be held. Cheri & I would meet Drew there, and start our mini-holiday revelry.

By the way, I'm not a horrible, evil person who despises the Green Party, or anything green. I just think that political rallies are right up there with old-fashioned tent revivals. With both, there are a lot of orators making pretty speeches and/or hollerin' hellfire and damnation. Both the preachers and politicians make promises they can't personally keep, and tell you that their way is the only way to true happiness and security. I'll pass on both, thanks.

Anyway... So Cheri & I get to Atlanta, find the nightclub, and meet up with Drew. Drew practically drags us the back of the club, where there is a semi-private little alcove. He quickly explained that Jello Biafra was a speaker at the event and so had come to the party/club. And since Drew was one of the organizers, he could introduce us to Jello. Of course we were a bit excited; I mean, all of us had been little punk freaks in high school, and getting to meet Jello Biafra sounded really cool.

That is, until I actually saw him. The reed-slender, hot, angry punk god of my teens had been replaced by a plump, middle-aged man wearing the most god-awful paisley shirt I'd ever seen in my life. Really, there's just no excuse for paisley, is there? And then he opened his mouth, and began channeling Fred Schneider. Except Fred's not dead. I had startling visions of him singing "Love Shack Uber Alles" or something like that.

We were introduced to Jello, and Cheri got an autograph on a Camel bar napkin, the only paper product to be found in the place. I declined an autograph, as I don't really care about them unless they're in a book. We did polite chit-chat for a few minutes, then Cheri & I wandered off to check out the dance floor and shake our groove thangs.

I thought that was that: we'd met a punk icon, had a new anecdote in our repertoire, and were now poised to get on with our mini-break. But I was oh so wrong, as the "best" was yet to come. It was now quite late, and we were thinking of finding someplace to get some grub. Drew had apparently suggested this to Jello as well, and received a favorable response, because the next thing I knew a small group of us were arranging carpools to go and eat. We were going to have Jello for breakfast. (To be continued, as I have to go pick up a youngling from school!)

I got a callback

2008-02-14T18:58:00.005-06:00

Good Lord, I can't believe it. At 5pm-- yes, people, at the end of the typical business day-- I got a phone call from one of the companies to which I sent my resume. The lady who called asked if it were a good time to do a telephone interview... of course I said yes! We talked for about 10 minutes, and at the end of it, she asked if I could come in Monday afternoon for another interview, and to take skills tests.

Everybody, cross your fingers, toes, eyes, etc. that this thing goes well Monday! I feel a teeny bit hopeful, since I obviously at least passed her 1st hurdles in the phone interview, and get to go in for a face-to-face. I know there's no guarantee, but I'm at least getting to put my foot inside the business' door.

::

Oh yeah... Happy Valentine's Day. It's really a meaningless day for a singleton like me, but I suppose some of you might be looking forward to romantic dates tonight. I'll be watching movies about love gone wrong; kinda appropriate for a bitter single gal, don't you think?

Catharsis

2008-02-11T14:47:00.000-06:00

Last Wednesday I poured out a great gush of emotional dirty dishwater. I got an outpouring of love and support in return, and I am deeply appreciative. Thank you, my lovelies. Something even more amazing happened, though, the next evening.

My mom picked up both seasons of "Dead Like Me", and we've been watching a couple of episodes every night. One episode had ended, and before I started the next one, she asked if we could talk. The next thing I knew, my mother and I were going in deep, much deeper than we've ever gone in my entire life. The last person I ever thought would be my sharing ears and ready shoulder, was on spot. We talked for about an hour or so, and it was absolutely fantastic.

I feel purged. I mean, I know I'm not "cured", because my issues are still there. But the act of sharing my fears and feelings with someone who cares has eased me more than I thought it could. Since last Thursday night, I have felt so much more relaxed. My emotions, while still high, are a slightly more manageable high instead of being so tumultuous that I feel like I'm drowning in them.

The whole experience was surreal. My mother is an old-fashioned repressed kind of woman, in that she doesn't go around saying "I love you" and giving hugs & kisses; she shows her love in the things that she does and the thoughtful gifts she gives to her friends and family. I know she loves me, even though I can't remember the last time she actually said the words.

I, on the other hand, am a toucher. I make her very uncomfortable with my constant attempts to hug her, give her smooches, and my near-daily statements of love for her. Yes, I try to do things to please her out of love and respect, but I believe that saying the words is important, so I try to do it just about every day.

Can you imagine the two of us sitting down and having that super-charged conversation? Talking about my miscarriage, and how sad, angry and helpless it makes me feel; how it makes me feel like any future pregnancy will be filled with fear; the fear that perhaps there won't be another pregnancy. Talking about my unemployment, and how much this continuing situation chips away daily at my sense of self-worth and confidence; it's like the feeling of being the last kid chosen in gym class, when you go out for dozens of jobs you're qualified for, but don't get any of them. Talking about how hard it's been NOT to use alcohol or cigarettes as a crutch, and how I struggle each and every day not to give in to the urge to smoke.

To be precise, I can't really say my mom and I talked. It was more like, she gave me an opening, and let me talk at her until I ran down. Oh sure, she inserted the right sounds when appropriate, but what she did was let me vent and rant, all in the safest of environments. It was absolutely perfect, and just what I needed.

Of course, I thought the timing a bit suspect, coming as it did the day after my post. I suspect that she either has found my blog, or that one of my RL friends gave her a call or shot her an email to tell her that I was cracking up. I don't know, but whatever it was, it was just right this time.

Seven long days

2008-02-06T10:42:00.000-06:00

I can't believe it's been seven whole days since I've written anything. I've looked at my blog, read other people's blogs, but when I contemplated writing myself, I just got a squicky feeling in my stomach and had to quickly go watch another episode of my latest comedy addiction, Goodness Gracious Me, to bolster my mood.

As I said in my last post, I've been sick with the crud. I finally felt okay and up to going out, so I went over to my cousin's house Sunday to watch the Superbowl. It was just a small gathering, being my cousin and her husband Jim, one of their teen sons, and Mum & me; just a little family get-together with food and The Game. And when I say "family", I don't mean the kind of family that you have to put on your best manners when they're around. No, I'm talking the kind of family who wouldn't even blink an eye if I suddenly sat on the floor of their den, took off my shoes and started painting my toenails. That kind of family, comfortable and well-loved.

For some reason, we were to arrive several hours before the game. So we went over around 3pm, and so it began. There was far more food than six people (the son had a friend over) could eat, but we did our best. And as Jim is addicted to golf, we watched that before the Superbowl started. As usual, I poked fun at the golf announcers and made my cousin giggle. As usual, the boys were off playing "Guitar Hero 5 Trillion" (number may be exaggerated), and making me feel old by popping out to ask me, "Hey, do you know this song by, uh, Pat Benatar/ Rev. Ho./Ramones/etc.? Was this, you know, popular when you were a teenager?"

Sidebar: See, I'm the "cool" cousin--okay, I'm really just the "weird" cousin-- who listens to all kinds of music, so even though my cousins have never heard of most of the music in GH, they know I probably know most of it. And I do. Even the grotty speedmetal stuff.

Anyway, it was a typical low-key visit, hanging out waiting and killing time until the game started. Then finally, it was on. I was watching hot guys in tight clothes sweat, run, and jump on one another. It was great. I mean, people kept talking about "downs" and "incomplete passes" and silly things like that, but I didn't let that distract me from the important task of finding out which team the hot mocha-skinned guy whom I spotted during the national anthem played for, so I could cheer for them. Yes, I am that shallow and uninterested in football, that I chose my team based on a pretty face. Most of the time I don't even know which teams are playing in the effing game until it starts. But I loooove watching the Superbowl. I know it makes no sense at all. I know.

All was fine. The game was on, excitement in the air, yadda yadda yadda. Then a good bit into the second half, I started feeling antsy. Jim was drinking more than usual, and I could tell he was quite tipsy; it started really irritating me for some reason. Everything started irritating me. I was nervous and on-edge, and felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I quietly went and told my mom that I really needed to leave soon, and that perhaps I could leave and then come back for her when she was ready to come home. We only live about 10 minutes away, so it wouldn't be a real hassle. But she wouldn't go for that, and since we were in her vehicle, it was her call. She insisted that it wouldn't be all that long, since there was only xx minutes left in the 2nd half.

I was quietly, and completely, freaking out, and I have no idea why. Then I started thinking about my m/c, and it got worse. The effing wall of control was shattering, out of the blue, while I was at a mini-Superbowl party. And I hear my mom get the bright idea to make a cake. A cake. An effing cake that they have to send the teens out to get some of the ingredients for. I point out that I really need to get home ASAP, and that if they do this cake thing, we'll be there for at least an extra hour. I get hushed and shushed, and told to be patient.

I guess in a way, it was my own fault. I should have made it clear that I REALLY needed to go, that it wasn't just one of those, "I think I'm ready to go," kind of things. That I was on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown. I found the most isolated spot I could in the den, and closed in on myself. The game ended, finally; my team lost. I didn't really care at that point. Now I had to wait out the great cake experiment.

I closed my eyes and just tried to chill out on the giant leather couch. I could feel tears burning in my eyes, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Then my face felt hot, and I somehow knew there someone standing over me. My eyes popped open, and there was tipsy Jim, waggling his fingers over my face the way a teenager would to be annoyingly playful. I screamed out, "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" and everything went quiet. I covered my face with my hands and just sat there until I regained my composure. We left shortly after.

I am emotionally raw. I can still summon up the wall, but it has huge, jagged cracks and holes in it now; its integrity has been compromised. I just don't feel like I can deal with people very well right now, unless everything is very superficial and non-personal. I want to talk, but at the same time I don't. When I do want to talk, I don't know who to talk to. As much as I love her, my mother is so repressed & uptight that she could swallow coal and shit out diamonds. My friends are all so busy with their own drama and grief that I feel selfish and uncomfortable talking to them. I'm so financially screwed right now that I'm literally lucky to have a roof over my head, so going to a councilor isn't even remotely an option.

And what would I say, anyway? "I feel really sad and angry all the time and I don't know what it's all about. I don't sleep anymore. I've never eaten this much before in my life. If someone looks at me crosseyed, I feel like I'm going to burst into tears. Yes, I had a miscarriage 24 days ago, but how can I be this messed up from that? Is that it? Is it more? I don't know. Can you help me to fix me?"

I am so screwed.

Repeat beta at 18 days after

2008-01-30T23:16:00.000-06:00

I've come down with a cold, and so actually managed to sleep last night from sheer exhaustion and illness. Part of me thinks that's just funny. Anyway, I scraped myself out of bed this morning and headed to the RE's office for another follow-up beta. My result was an irritating 10.

Irritating because if even though I know it's a great number--down from 135 result from twelve days ago-- I really wanted it to be truly negative, in the range of 0-5. I know the hCG is almost completely gone, but it's just hanging on too long. I need the closure of a post-m/c period, and the longer it takes my hCG levels to drop, the longer it'll take for my period to come.

Because I'm a nerd, here's how my beta levels have dropped; ie, I've done the reverse of the usual doubling calculator, to see how quickly my numbers are halving.

1/12/08 beta= 3,535
1/18/08 beta= 135 (1.27 days half-life)
1/30/08 beta= 10 (3.19 half-life)

And now, I have to go to sleep, because the Ny.Quil is kicking in.

Doin' the Infertility Shuffle

2008-01-29T10:11:00.000-06:00

I remember one episode of "Good Times" where Wilona was talking about how they were all doing the 'Harlem Shuffle': whenever you take a step forward, The Man knocks you two steps back. I laid in bed giggling maniacally last night (because I don't sleep anymore) about how that reminds me of infertility. And no, I have no idea why Wilona popped into my head. I've been suffering from some extreme insomnia for the last two weeks, and I just don't sleep much anymore, which leads to all kinds of weird thinking.

Anyway, infertility: it seems like every time you figure out a problem, it only leads to another problem. There never seems to be an end in sight, at least not a happy end where you get to take home a live, healthy baby. You add another drug, another test, another treatment, but each one discloses some new condition that has to be conquered.

Can't get pregnant? Let's check your hormone levels to see if you're ovulating. Nope, not ovulating, so take this clomid/femara. Okay, you're ovulating, but your progesterone is low & you're still not getting pregnant. Let's add progesterone shots/suppositories and check to see if your tubes are open. Yep, you have open tubes, so let's try some more clomid/femara, but this time we'll do an IUI (repeat 3-6 times). Not pregnant yet? We'll try some injectable drugs next... It goes on and on and on. And I didn't even get into the problems like endo, adhesions, premature ovarian failure, failure to respond, etc.

And of course, let's not forget the other end of the infertility spectrum: able to get pregnant, but unable to carry to term. Let's try: progesterone, aspirin, check for antibodies, etc. After going through miscarriage once, I truly cannot fathom how some women are able to go through this over and over, and not completely, permanently, lose their minds. The weaker sex? I think not.

::

So I mentioned I'm not sleeping lately. I think that's how my grief/depression is expressing itself, through insomnia. Between lying there in bed, feeling the mushiness in my belly where it had been firm to worrying about finances, sleep just doesn't have a chance.

There's only been one time in my life that emotional issues interfered with sleep, and that was when my mom nearly died after surgery due to a mistake made by the anesthesiologist. I was in bad enough shape that my doctor actually suggested, and prescribed, drugs to help me sleep. Drugs which I took once, discovered that I could barely wake up from them, and didn't take again.

I really want to sleep more than 3 hours a night. Thankfully, my cardiologist is amending my meds, and putting me back on BP drugs that bring me down a bit. They always made me sleepy/helped me sleep before, so I think that within a week or so, I'll actually know what sleep is again.

Introducing Miles

2008-01-26T19:00:00.000-06:00

My newest nephew was born today! My friend Lila had a c-section this morning, and Miles Palani was born at 8:10am.

Miles weighed in at an impressive 8 lbs, 12 oz. and is 20.5 inches long. New mom and dad, you guys did good, and I'm wishing Lila a speedy recovery from her surgery.

The end of pregnancy(ies)

2008-01-23T22:54:00.001-06:00

Earlier today I had the distinct sensation of an ovary twinge. My reaction was something along the lines of, "WTF?!?" I remembered that I had 1 lone $tree pregnancy test left in the house, so I decided to do a little recreational pissing to see what would turn up. My beta hCG five days ago was 135, so I was wondering how a hpt would look today. There is only the most vague suggestions of a line on the test, so I know my hCG level is really low. I don't go back for bloodwork until next week, so I figured playing the home version might be interesting. Every single pregnancy symptom I had is gone, so I know the level is tiny.

Anyway, I have no idea what was up with the random ovary twinge, but I still have some--even if only a little-- hCG, so I don't know what my body is going to do, or how long it's going to take to do it. I guess I just think it's too soon for my body to be going about "business as usual" so soon. I feel roughed up and delicate, so how can my body just go on like nothing is wrong, like nothing has happened?

At least the bleeding has stopped. Six days of bleeding, then 4-5 days of spotting, and I can finally go without extra pad-passengers in my panties.

::

My friend Lila's EDD is today. She called me earlier this evening, and I could immediately tell that something was wrong. She's in pain, and I think it's the beginning of labor. I didn't say it to her, because she was in a state, but I couldn't help but think it was funny that she started having pains on her EDD; sure, the baby ain't coming tonight, but it's still something that on her doctor-appointed date she starts a-hurtin'.

She's a stubborn Leo just like me, so she won't let me help her or comfort her. But I hope she doesn't let that stubbornness keep her from taking advantage of my offers to do... well, whatever she needs, even if it's just to drop off some bottled water or hold her hand. I'm both excited and worried, all at the same time. But her husband is a great guy, and I know they'll be okay as long as they don't panic. Right?

I just realized why this is so weird for me: this is the first friend I've been in contact with who has started labor completely naturally. Everyone else has had a planned induction, so it all started quite calmly and deliberately, sitting in a hospital bed. But this thing with Lila, this is Mother Nature waving her wand o' pain and getting things started unexpectedly. Intense.

Wacky birthday movie night

2008-01-23T22:20:00.000-06:00

Today marks two months (by date) since I discovered I was pregnant. I can't believe it's only been 2 months, with everything that's happened. I feel like I've lived a year in the last two months. It's also been two months since I quit smoking. I've been so tempted to fall on my old comforting "friend", but I've managed to hold off so far, even with the social gathering that happened last weekend.

This past Saturday my friends hosted a "Wacky Movie Night" so I decided to get out of the house for my first real social outing post m/c. I was surprised when I got there, because other than the hosts, I only knew two people there. My social group has been very enclosed for years, so seeing new people is jolting. Not bad, just totally unexpected at a type of gathering that is usually the old gang. Can you guess what was one of the first things I saw? The hugely pregnant belly of one the women I didn't know. On the outside, I made nice, shook hands with Belly Girl and smiled, and all that jazz. On the inside, I was screaming and freaking out like Daffy Duck on smack.

I still don't completely get it. My friend Lila (more on her later!) is due any minute now, and her pregnant belly doesn't bother me in the slightest. But seeing this pregnant stranger? Oh. My. God. I made a crafty strategic move: I claimed a seat close to the TV, so that I wouldn't be able to actually see Belly Girl once everyone sat down. And whenever she walked by me to get to the kitchen, I suddenly took an extreme interest in the floor, the candy bowl on the table, my shoe, anything to avoid actually looking at her.

I know that Lila doesn't bother me because I know and love her, and she is one of my oldest friends. I cannot wait for her son to be born. I think her pregnant belly is a thing of beauty. But Belly Girl at movie night? Threw me for a loop. The best rationalization I've been able to come up with is that subconsciously I was considering my friends' house a "safe" zone for my first outing, but then my safety was gone as I was immediately faced with Belly Girl exactly one week after my miscarriage. I didn't like myself very much that night, but I did what I had to do to cope.

Somehow, though, I still did NOT smoke. Yay me!

F/u beta results

2008-01-18T15:10:00.000-06:00

I went in this morning to get my beta checked, and the nurse called about a half-hour ago with my results. My beta is already down to 135. My beta went from 3,535 down to 135 in just six days. Since my level is going down very nicely, I go back in two weeks for another check.

My head is all over the place. Part of me feels like I can't give up now, that I have proof that my body can get pregnant; that I could still have a chance to try to have a child. Sure, it took about 70 years for me to get pregnant, but it happened, right? That means it could happen again if I don't give up out of despair.

Then there's the other part of me that thinks that I might lose my effing mind if this happened to me again, if I got pregnant and had another miscarriage. I already feel guilty for my theoretical-future-pregnancy, wherein I'm sure I will feel detached for most of the pregnancy, not allowing myself to bond out of a fear that it too will end prematurely.

If there's anything positive happening right this moment, it's that I've not taken solace in alcohol or smoking. I've neither gone on a bender, nor picked up the ciggy habit again. Although I'll admit, my stress levels right now make me really want to smoke. I think about smoking a lot. But I'm trying to keep it going, the whole not-smoking thing. I have a feeling I might relapse this weekend, which will be my first social gathering/outing with close friends. Keep your fingers crossed for me. It's really sad, that I can so easily, almost effortlessly, not-smoke for a baby's health, but have so much trouble not-smoking for my own health. I'm sure there's something deep there, but I don't really want to open up that barrel of trouble right now.

Thank you

2008-01-16T22:09:00.000-06:00

First of all I want to say thank you to all the lovely people, old friends and new, who came by to leave messages of comfort and understanding. I really appreciate the outpouring of virtual hugs and offers of virtual shoulders. I've just been taking it easy, and doing my best to follow a great piece of advice someone gave me: to be kind to myself.

On the TMI, physical front: I haven't had any cramps in over 24 hours, and my bleeding has slowed from a medium to a light flow.

::

A very special thank you to Mrs. K, my friend Lila's mom. (Sidebar: Yes, even though I'm nearly 40, I cannot bring myself to call friend's parents solely by their first names.) Lila and I have been friends for about 15 years or so, and her mom is just fantastic. Mrs. K, you rock, and I'm so glad that my "nephew" is going to have you for a grandma!

1 day post m/c

2008-01-13T17:21:00.000-06:00

My unborn baby died. That's the first time I've been able to express that without euphemisms. I still can't say it out loud, but I can type it. I don't know why I can't say it. I can say he's gone, I can say I miscarried, but I can't say he died.

I had great beta numbers. I'd seen a heartbeat. I'd seen the progress from a fetal pole to an identifiable human-like body. I saw that little body moving on a screen. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I wasn't supposed to pace the floor, breathing through cramps, for another 6 months. It wasn't time for me to have to reach between my legs and catch what came out of me. To have strawberry-sized clots coming out of my body, blood alternately gushing and dripping constantly like a leaky faucet. (Isn't it messed up, the way everything to do with pregnancy is compared to the size of fruit?) To get to have the maternity pads to soak up the blood.

I had my first "big-girl" ultrasound (abdominal rather than transvaginal) while they were checking to see if my uterus was retaining any products of conception. I almost asked the doctor if he thought Juniper had been crocheting in there or something, and had left behind a scarf. What an effed up term, "products of conception".

Although I'd already passed the "POC" before I had my u/s, it was clear that Juniper had already died long before even the spotting started. My beta was only 3,535, which is nowhere near the levels it should have been for me being 11w3d. Juniper had died sometime in the 3 weeks since my last u/s, and I'd been walking around with deadbaby inside me.

Except for a couple of incidents, I have been eerily (and I know unnaturally) calm. I know this for the coping mechanism that it is. When I'm ready to be able to grieve, I will. I just can't right now, I don't think I can handle it right this moment, while I'm still cramping and bleeding and wanting to just eat Raisin Bran.

And that's messed up, too. Every morning when I'd have my Raisin Bran, I'd pat the little firm place on my lower belly, and tell Juniper how Mommy was eating healthy just for him. And then I'd snort at myself for talking to a fetus who couldn't hear me yet. Eating Raisin Bran today just wasn't the same.

Because the remains of what had been inside my womb passed into my hands while I sat on a toilet in triage, and basically looked like a 3-4 inch, cylindrical mass of bloody grey and red tissue, I don't actually know what gender Juniper had been. I still feel like it was a boy, and had a name picked out for him: Samuel Alexander. I love those names, and now I can never use them. Even if I get pregnant again someday and have a boy, I feel like I already had a child who bore those names, as stupid as that might sound. When I wrote online, I called my baby Juniper; in the privacy of my home and in my thoughts, I called him Sam. So how could I have another Sam?

This entry is as disjointed as my thoughts. I guess that's appropriate.

The worst

2008-01-12T08:39:00.001-06:00

As of the wee hours this morning, Juniper is no more. I'm exhausted and numb and going to bed.

Damned spot

2008-01-10T13:36:00.000-06:00

There was bright red spotting this morning. I am quietly freaking out, although I'm trying to calm myself with the reminders that:

1) I do have a subchorionic hematoma. Just because I haven't spotted in the last 3-4 weeks, it hasn't disappeared yet. It could well be the source of the bleeding.

2) I had an internal exam two days ago, and did have slight brown spotting yesterday.

The problem, though, is convincing that little voice in my head to be quiet. The one that keeps reminding me that although I spotted before, it was never bright red. The good (?) news is that it is now brown, and that it really is spotting. As in, there's nothing on a pad, and it only shows up when wiping.

The word is that if I'm still spotting tomorrow I'm to go in.

Swollen crab claws, balloon feet, and hypertension

2008-01-09T12:33:00.000-06:00

Last week, my OB changed my hypertension meds to kinder, gentler pregnancy safe meds. I questioned her at the time, making sure to point out that I have gnarly hypertension, and the normal happy-fun-time pregnancy drugs might not be enough to control it. She was confident that the new meds would be enough.

Three days later, on Saturday night, I began to have aching pains in both my arms, from shoulders to fingertips. It started out like the pain you get when you’ve helped a friend paint, that “I’ve really worked out and now I’m sore” kind of pain. By 3am, I was crawling out of my sleepless bed to go get some pregnancy-safe acetaminophen (the only drug I DIDN’T have on hand), hoping it would possibly ease the pain.

The pain came and went in waves, and I had to live on the couch. My arms hurt so bad that I had to keep them in curved positions, resting on a pillow across my belly. My fingers were curled up like little crab claws, and extending them or my arms sent fire racing through my arms. My fingernails hurt. I could barely eat because it hurt too much to use my hands and arms. The muscles hurt, the joints hurt, everything hurt.

Sunday morning I peeled myself off the couch to go pee, and realized that my feet were so swollen that my toes didn’t touch the ground as I walked. Now I realized that this was a blood pressure issue, and not just an over-exerted muscle group: I was retaining gonzo amounts of fluid. I broke down and took a percocet so I could try to sleep that night. I slept for about 3 hours before the pain woke me up again.

I called my OB’s office first thing Monday morning at 9am, talked to a nurse and explained the problem. Silly me, I actually thought I might get a swift response from the doctor. I called again at 1pm, reiterating the horrible pain and concerns about my blood pressure. Finally, at about 6pm, my OB called me back and told me to come in first thing in the morning. I ended up taking another percocet that night. Again, it worked for 3-4 hours before I was up again.

Long story short (yeah, I know, too late) my hypertension just can’t be controlled by the pussy meds they usually give pregnant women. My doc prescribed Lasix for 5 days to get rid of the excess fluid. Apparently, I do not tolerate one of the meds, and it was a main cause of the muscular and joint pain. It was deleted, and a Big Girl med was added to my regimen.

It’s been about 24 hours since the change in my meds, and it is amazing. I have about 85% of my mobility back (versus the 20% I had), and almost no pain at all. I’ve eaten a full meal, and actually have real clothes on today, even though it took a while. Something I really resent is that I barely had any feelings of sickness during this pregnancy, and now I’ve felt horrible nausea and the threat of vomiting during all this hoopla, and it hasn’t completely gone away.

My OB didn’t truly listen to my concerns about the medicine change. She did not contact my cardiologist to consult with him, even though I stressed and double-stressed the severity of my hypertension and that I even HAVE a cardiologist. I’m probably going to get a new doctor.

Anyway, that’s what’s been up with me. My hands hurt now. It’s taken me a couple of hours, including breaks, to get this typed up. Except for a brief foray last night to check on a friend, this is my first time online in almost 4 days. Enough.

10 weeks today

2008-01-02T18:38:00.000-06:00

Hi, my name is Kim, and I'm 10 weeks pregnant today. (Hi, Kim!) I have always been interested in pregnancy & childbirth, and actually considered becoming a midwife when I was younger. But even with all the books, films and websites I've devoured, there are some things that people just don't tell you. I never knew that:

By 4.5 w, my breasts would hurt enough that one night I seriously wondered if I could convince my doctor that I didn't need them (and would he please cut them off?). Books describe this as "breast tenderness" or "soreness". The books lie. Soreness is not the same as agonizing pain. Thankfully, though, the seriously horrible pain only lasted about a month. They're still tender (hah!), but not Freddie-Krueger-is-slashing-me painful.
By 7-8w, I would already have gone up a cup size. I guess that explains the tit agony, eh? And considering I was already a D cup, I'm really afraid to see what will happen as this pregnancy progresses.
Being out of breath was normal for early pregnancy. Everyone assumes that hugely pregnant women might have trouble breathing because they have a big ole baby taking up their whole torso, but it seriously freaked me out to find myself panting slightly after a bit of mild exercise in my 1st trimester.
My stomach would turn into an unstoppable machine so early. I'm not having morning sickness or anything like that, but I have the opposite problem: I seriously cannot stop eating and grazing and snacking. Luckily, even with all this extra eating, I've only gained 1.5 pounds. And I've been conscious of my eating, and trying to make good/better food choices. Oh, and because I'm drinking so much water, I don't eat as much at each "meal". But I know that I seriously need to get ultra-vigilant about my intake, and be careful. I'm already carrying enough extra weight to equal an anorexic teenager, and there's a history of diabetes in my family.
Relaxin production actually peaks in the first trimester, so it's not my imagination that my lower body feels weird and loose. I'm very aware of my pelvis and hips, as I have pins in both hips and a plate in one as a result of 4 adolescent surgeries. Anything different down there, especially anything that causes discomfort, and I notice it.
"Fatigue" could equal complete debilitating exhaustion. Where you must nap or kill. Have you noticed I talk about naps a lot? Those of you who call me on the phone, have you noticed that if you call between 1-3pm, there's a good chance I'm napping? That's when I hit the wall, so to speak.

I could probably think of more, but it's after 7pm and dinnertime, and my stomach demands to be filled again.

It's Time for Timer: Hanker for a Hunk o' Cheese

2008-01-01T12:55:00.001-06:00

This is for my girls, who went there with me last night.

Happy New Year's Naps!

2008-01-01T11:52:00.000-06:00

Another new year, another month of accidentally writing the wrong date on everything until I remember that it's 2008 instead of 2007.

Last night was a wonderful low-key evening with friends. We hung out, talked a lot of schmack, cracked jokes, the usual. I stayed out way too late, dragging my tired self home at 1:30 am. No wonder it's only noon and I want a nap!

By the way, I think napping is wasted on the young. Little kids fight naps like crazy, as if they will DIE if they have to sleep and miss something. Meanwhile, moat adults I know would KILL to "have" to take a nap midday, everyday.

"Hey, Bob, can I get that report from you a little early? I have that meeting with Diamondcorp at 3, and I need to go over it before the presentation."

Bob winces and replies sheepishly, "Gosh, Joe, I'd love to have it for you early, but I need about another hour to finish it... and unfortunately, it's naptime."

Joe smacks himself on the forehead. "What was I thinking?!? Hey, do you mind if I stretch out on your loveseat? I don't really want to have to wait for an elevator to get back to my office for my nap."

Anyway, cracked-outness aside, I wish you all a very happy new year, filled with love and health.

::

Oh! Last but not least, a very special congratulations to Cali, who is pregnant after a very long, very trying journey to reach that point.

Dreaming

2007-12-29T12:30:00.000-06:00

In my dreams, if there’s ever a sex scene, what usually happens is like a PG-13 movie: there’s kissing, touching, maybe a bit of skin showing, and then everything fades to black. The next scene is the “after” bit, where we’re in bed with the sheets pulled up. All the good bits are left to my imagination, but it’s obvious that some hot monkey love took place.

Not last night. Last night I had my very first ever full-on, no holds barred, orgasm in a dream. Absolutely fantastic. The weird thing is , though, is like in a lot of my dreams, I was aware that I was dreaming. So I KNEW that I was dreaming and getting busy, and I was wondering if I’d actually O before the dream scene changed… and I did, and it was good.

My libido has been super-charged for a couple of weeks now, and I guess it’s all that extra blood flow and whatnot going on down below. I find it quite ironic that I’m not sick or nauseous, I actually have an crazy energetic sex-drive even though it’s not that mythical second trimester yet, and I’m single. There’s no lover lucky enough to get to take advantage of my slut-level randiness.

::

Last night was the first O dream, but I’ve had some really interesting dreams in the last week or so; at least, they were interesting enough to me that I remembered them upon waking, which is sometimes really hard for me.

Some of them were those realistic-type dreams. You know, the kind that’s so banal and everyday that it truly seems real? Well, in one, I dreamt that I woke up sneezing and got a bloody nose in the middle of sneezing. This led to me blowing mini-streams of blood all over my white sheets and pillowcase (even though the sheets at that time were actually green). I woke up for real a second later, and immediately reached one hand up to my nose, while turning on the light with the other hand so I could see how bad the blood was on the linens. There was, of course, no blood.

In another dream, I’d gotten up from bed and gone into the kitchen to get something to drink. There was a little bit of orange juice in the fridge, so I finished it off, then went back to bed. Flash-forward to my real awakening in the morning, when I was going to the kitchen to peruse my breakfast choices. Before I opened the fridge, I was mumbling about there being no more orange juice, and I really wanted some orange juice. Lo and behold, there was orange juice in the fridge. These dreams really mess with my head sometimes, but I find them interesting. In that, sometimes my brain is processing the most basic occurrences, but they still get a full cinematic event.

::

Slightly more interesting, but still weird, was the dream I had about me and my dream-fiance. We were college students, and the dorms were co-ed. The dorm rooms also happened looked like rows of stadium seats, and there’s just no way for me to explain that and have it make it any sense.

Anyway, the “rooms” were for 3 people, so my fiance and I were looking for a likely candidate to share a room with us. Apparently my fiance was bisexual, and we were into threesomes, because we were checking out all the cute guys to find one who appealed to both of us, obviously hoping that our close proximity would lead to more than just a friendly relationship.

I found a really cute guy, the three of us became roommates, and all was well… for a dream-while. Then I discovered that my fiance had decided he was just gay instead of bi, and wanted to be with our roomie exclusively. I had a big ole country fit, threw his ring at him, and left them still naked and going at it while I looked for another dorm room. Weird.

First OB Visit

2007-12-28T13:36:00.000-06:00

My first official OB appointment went well this morning, except for the fact that it was about -40 degrees F in the office. The initial tests showed NO signs of infection, not even a yeastie beastie. Yay! However, the NP is sending specimens off to the lab just to be absolutely sure.

Because I like free stuff, I signed up for the Sim.ilac baby club thing. As a first trimester sign-up, I was supposed to get a free pregnancy journal, but my doc's office was out of those, so I got the third tri sign-up gift of a travel/toiletry rollbag. And it had a big bottle of RTF formula inside, which will thankfully still be good when Juniper comes along.

This is still so surreal to me, people. It's like I told the nurse today, "I'm an expert in TTC, but this whole pregnancy thing? This is a completely new ballgame." I'm 9 weeks pregnant, have had 2 betas and 3 ultrasounds, and still don't quite 100% believe that there is a baby inside me. It still just doesn't seem completely real. I'm stupidly happy, but still somewhat stunned.

I think that my starting to sign up for pregnancy and baby clubs/offers is my first step towards true acceptance and belief. At first I was too afraid, as if I would be jinxing myself if I started that stuff too early. Now, though, I've decided that I am pregnant, and so deserve to indulge myself in all the silly things I've always wanted to do. Coupons, samples, free baby stuff? Send it my way! I want it all! If Something Bad happens, then I'll have a lot of free stuff to pass on to Lila. See, it's all nice and macabre and normal.

A Christmas review

2007-12-27T16:08:00.001-06:00

When the family was gathered and socializing on Christmas, in that nice pre-dinner chatting phase, my mother looked at me and whispered, "Can I tell them my news?" HER news. Ahem. Right. This is the same woman who told me straight out, if not quite in these words, that my inherent value as a person had diminished, and that my greatest worth now was to be an incubator for her grandchild.

I arched my eyebrow and retorted, "Do you mean MY news?" And then, without any plan, ceremony or ritual, I hollered out, "By the way, I'm knocked up. I'm 9 weeks pregnant." It wasn't quite how I'd planned to share my news with the family, but then again, I wasn't sure I was going to tell them just yet. Because despite the perfect Hal.lmark moment of telling the entire family I'm pregnant on Christmas day, I'm still only around 9 weeks. And have had pieces of paper that say "threatened abortion" in my RE's office. And now have a possible weird infection (more on that later). So I was feeling apprehensive about sharing the news, but with my mom's stage whisper about "news", I pretty much felt pressured into telling.

Hence the super countrified, red-neck announcement. I felt like that blonde actress on "My Name is Earl": "Hey, y'all, guess whut? I missed my monthlies, and now I'm all pregnified."

::

In my family, I'm in a weird, solitary position. I'm quite a bit younger than one group of cousins, and a bit older than the other group of cousins; so, I was in the middle and never quite fit in with either. One group babysat me, while I babysat the other! But the younger set is in a branch of the family that doesn't really come to the family dinners, so I remain in the minds of everyone something of a "baby" of the family.

After my announcement, one of my male cousins-by-marriage-- whom I adore, and is a cut up-- whispered to me, "You're pregnant? Ewww, that means you've been doing it." Throughout the evening he would pop into whichever room I was in and sing, "Kim's gonna have a baaaaaby!"

While my news was met with joy, that joy was accompanied by disbelief. No one could quite believe that I was pregnant since I'm the "baby"--despite me being closer to 40 than to 30-- and I don't think that anyone wanted to think of the "baby" having sex. My family has no idea of my infertility struggles, or that I used known-donor sperm to get pregnant. I see/speak to most of them 4-5 times a year, and it isn't exactly a topic you discuss with acquaintance-level people, even if they're relatives!

::

I had two female cousins, at different occasions, ask me what color the baby would be. One male cousin (the same one I mentioned earlier, who sang to me) tried to come to my defense--even though the defense was about as lame as the questions-- saying, "Well, she's black, so her baby will be black. It doesn't matter what the father is; if one of them is black, the baby is black."

Ouch that not only one, but TWO, relatives even asked such a thing. A part of me understands. I am different from my family, have always been different. Imagine being 16 years old, deep in the heart of Dixie. You happen to adore "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", Dead Kennedys, Poison, and A-Ha. And you've just gotten a Mohawk. Oh yeah, and you're black. If you want to be around people who like the same things that you do, your friends are going to be mostly white.

So over the years, my family has gotten smart enough to know that there's a pretty good chance that if I ever had a child, there's a 50% chance the father would be not-black. Still, I couldn't believe that I was asked the question, that it should even matter enough for the idea to be vocalized. Since I never said anything about being with someone, it should have been clear that I was having the baby on my own; so, to me, it doesn't matter what/who/where the father is, it's MY baby.

Want to know what's really sad-funny? I have had moments like this many times over the years, where members of my family have asked questions about the race of my friends, significant others, etc., or made comments about "those" kind of people. Yet I have never had a comment like that from my not-black OR black friends, not in all these years.

::

The night before Christmas eve, I had the mother of all BMs, and it was lovely. I know that sounds gross, but anyone who is/has been pregnant knows how magical a good BM can be sometimes, when vitamins and nature have you slowed down and stopped up.

Anyway, I was doing part one of the wipe, where you do the front bit. Having been a TTCer for many long years, I'm still in the habit of checking to see what's on the tissue. Well, there happened to be a huge gob of mucous, which I assume had been dislodged by the all the pushing action going on. Problem was, it was yellow-green. I know that yellow-green= double plus ungood when it comes out of your vajayjay.

There was no weird smell, no itching/burning, no pain. I've been having some mild cramps, but then again I'd been having those all along. Other than that one episode, there's been no more weird cootchie-snot. Still, the worrier in me is now half-convinced that I have some strange infection that's going to give my baby flippers for arms.

This of course had to happen over the holidays, when everything is closed. My OB office finally opened up today, and I called and begged/cajoled an appointment for tomorrow morning. My OB is on vacation (of course!) for about a week, but I'll get to see someone else in the practice. I really don't care, as long as they can do the procedures to check me for infections.

Ultrasound pics to date

2007-12-21T19:42:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I've talked about the various ultrasounds, but haven't posted any pics. I finally scanned them, so here they are.

12/4/07, 5w6d. Heartbeat= 102 bpm

It looked much cooler live. I could see the membrane, yolk sac, and the flickering of the heartbeat.

12/11/07, 6w6d. Heartbeat= 115 bpm. CRL= 5.8 mm.

I had no idea what I was seeing, other than recognizing the flicker of the heart.

12/21/07, 8w2d. Heartbeat= 169 bpm. CRL= 18.3 mm.

I love today's pic! Juniper is all spread-eagle and like, "Whoohoo! Look at my junk! You can't tell what it is yet, but lookit!"

It is so unbelievable, how much has changed in just a couple of weeks. There are arms and legs in there! And a Big Giant Head, over on the right.

I think Juniper looks like a gummy bear, with that big head, and little stubby limbs.

Third u/s

2007-12-21T11:26:00.001-06:00

I had my last appointment with my RE this morning, and it was weird to realize that I won't be going back to that office for a long time, if ever.

Baby Juniper surprised all of us, and proved that I was right about how far along I'm supposed to be. Both the RE and the u/s tech said that a measurement at this point (7-8 weeks) would be more accurate than the measurements a couple of weeks ago. If you remember, the measurements two weeks ago put me almost a week behind, and would have made me 7w5d today.

Well, Juniper was nicely spread out, head and bottom clearly seen (not to mention arm and leg buds), so the sonographer got a great view to measure CRL. She also did the sac size, yolk sac, and checked out my hematoma. She even looked at my ovaries, which the other tech hadn't done in my previous ultrasounds.

The final verdict was 8w4d, with a variance of +/- 2 days. I reminded my RE that by ovulation I should be 8w2d, and he agreed that that was a perfect dating for me; he also gave me back my original due date. So here's all the info I remember from today's final RE visit:

8w2d ultrasound
CRL= 18.3 mm (measuring 8w4d)
FHR (fetal heart rate)= 169 bpm
EDD= 7/30/08

My hematoma is below the baby, close to my cervix, and is smaller than it was 2 weeks ago. My RE is completely unconcerned about it, but says that I'm free to come in or call if I experience any more bleeding or spotting. In the last 2 weeks, I've only had 1 solitary dot of brown-tinged cm, so I'm feeling pretty good. RE also says that at this point, considering growth, heartrate, and all that good stuff, I have a less than 5% chance of miscarriage, even with my spotting episodes, so that's reassuring.

So now... it's off to the OB!

Embryo nicknames

2007-12-17T12:10:00.000-06:00

In response to some name comments: I have no idea why, and of course there is a 50% chance I'm wrong, but I have been feeling "boy" from the moment I discovered I was pregnant. That's why all the nicknames I come up with are masculine; feminine names don't even register in my mind, because of course it's a boy.

I always thought I'd prefer a girl if/when I ever had a child. Now that I'm pregnant and for some reason think it's male, I'm excited about the prospect. I guess, to be honest, I don't really care about gender as much as I thought I did. I'll want to know what the gender is, of course; it just won't be a disappointment, whatever the tech says!

Notes for readers!

2007-12-17T11:17:00.000-06:00

I've been out of town on a family holiday trip, and it was marvelous. Upon my return, I knew I would immerse myself into another glorious holiday celebration for the entire weekend, and was looking forward to it like crazy. In the 12 hours or so between the two celebrations, I decided to glance briefly at my email, and really wished I hadn't: some self-righteous (yet cowardly, since it was anonymous) person had decided to leave a message of vitriol on my blog.

The main focus of the diatribe seemed to be because I mentioned massive drinking on Thanksgiving, the day before I knew I was pregnant. The big worry was about FAS, as said Commenter apparently works with young children who were born with FAS and FAE. The problem was, it wasn't just concern being aired; it was a vicious attack on me by someone who, once again, hasn't the balls to identify themselves or engage in discourse.

So to any and all who were wondering, I have one word for you: hyperbole. If you don't know what it means, then get a dictionary and learn something about language and writing.

And not that it's anyone's business, and I feel ashamed that I'm defending myself, but anyway--- if you actually know me, and/or have read my blog over time, you know my "drinking & partying" habits. Which, in effect, basically means I have 1-2 drinks, if any, at all events, and am then done. Because I am single, and always have to drive myself home. Which means I can't overindulge, because I always have to make sure I am safe to drive.

And speaking of being single, Commenter mentioned that, as well. It seems that because I am single and currently unemployed, not to mention being an obvious alcoholic, I am apparently unfit to become a parent. Well, I don't really feel like being literary and mature anymore, so I'm going to say FUCK OFF.

I am pregnant for the first time in my life, and am emotionally high-strung. If you are a stranger and don't have anything nice to say to me, then keep your fucking mouth shut. If you're a friend and have unkind things to say, then do it privately in a one-on-one situation, not in my "journal".

Either way, there will no longer be any anonymous comments allowed. All comments will be moderated. If nastiness continues, then I will disable comments entirely. My emotional state is easily shaken right now, and I just don't need this kind of bullshit right now.

Does Commenter actually think that I am not aware that this is not the most economically propitious time for me to be pregnant? Of course I know that; I don't need an anonymous slag pointing it out like some 19th century do-gooder trying to show the poor tenement women the errors off their ways.

I also know that the cycle that I became pregnant was the least likely cycle for success in ages... and yet it was the one that worked. All the cycles I did while employed, and using fancy doctors, and drugs, and expensive tests, none of them worked. But the time I decided was the last cycle, where nothing more intricate than a vaginal insemination occurred, and I got pregnant? I tend to really hate it when people put hints of "otherness" on everyday events, but part of me can't help but think that I was supposed to get pregnant when I did; that even if Something Bad happens, there's something I'm supposed to learn from this.

I don't know, I'm rambling again. Anyway, even though Commenter pissed me off for several hours, I had a fantastic week, both with friends and family. It's Christmas time, one of my favorite times of the year, and I'm enjoying it. It doesn't take money to share love.

Second u/s

2007-12-11T15:44:00.000-06:00

Irony of all ironies: even though I KNOW when I ovulated and have been dating my pregnancy accordingly (6w6d today), today's u/s, CRL and heartrate measurement all date Li'l Cooter's age as 6w2d... which actually corresponds to my LMP date. So, according to Dr. McHottie, my new due date is August 3, instead of July 30. Dr. McH says he really doesn't know why there's a discrepancy, but that nothing about this process is exact; that even women who do IVF and know EXACTLY when their embryos are transferred, have discrepancies when they have dating u/s. The most likely scenario is that Cooter was a late implanter, but we'll never know.

Because I've had some issues-- namely, pains & cramps, spotting/hematoma, low progesterone, and Bubba Jr. being a bit smaller than expected, I'll see Dr. McHottie one more time, in two weeks, before he releases me to the ob-gyn. I know that it's a technicality, and that it's helpful in working the insurance company, but it's freaky as hell to look at my paperwork and see the words, "Threatened Abortion".

On a happier note, Tripp is 5.8mm, has a heartrate of 115 bpm (up from 102 last week), and is measuring 8w2d. As soon as I have a chance I'll get the pictures scanned and posted.

Last but not least, since I have no idea what I want to nickname this little one, I've just decided to call it whatever pops into my mind. So far, it's mostly southern nicknames, but who knows?

BFP pics

2007-12-10T16:13:00.000-06:00

Even though this is really late, here are my BFP pics for posterity's sake.

This is the first one, which was peed upon at the crack of dawn, the day after Thanksgiving. It was also the day after generous gin & tonics, but that's a story for another day. Like, when I'm explaining to little Rutherford why he was born with his heart outside his body. Anyway, this is on Friday, Nov 23rd, 16dpo, with FMU (first morning urine):

The next day I was still in shock, and peed on another test "just to be sure". Here's the test from that Saturday evening, with something like, the sixth urine of the day:

I Heart Raisin Bran & Healthy Bowels

2007-12-10T16:05:00.000-06:00

I realized that I unknowingly lied the other day about cravings. I didn't really see it as a craving, but it hit me this morning: I've been satisfying a "craving" for almost two weeks now. I am addicted to Raisin Bran. Also oatmeal to a small degree, but the main culprit is Raisin Bran.

If I do not have Raisin Bran for breakfast, then I will have it for lunch. If not for lunch, then it will be dinner. I don't think I've gone more than 36 hours at a time without getting a RB fix. That stuff is like crack to me. And to think I've been wondering why I haven't had any problems with my bowels. Hah! With all the oat & bran fiber I'm eating--coupled with the 4 million ounces of water per day that I'm drinking-- it would take a miracle for me to get backed up.

(knock wood)

Cravings?

2007-12-08T23:21:00.000-06:00

Dinner= vanilla milkshake + BBQ pork rinds.

That even sounds nasty to me, but it sure was nice going down. Here's the thing, though: I didn't crave pork rinds with a shake. I wanted a shake AND I just happened to also want some pork rinds. I didn't want to choose, I wanted them both equally. I do believe this was my first instance of craving.

Now I understand that pickle-and-ice-cream legend. Eat up, baby; soak up the southerness! All I need now is a Moon-Pie, an RC cola, and a bag of Funyuns to send my unborn child right on the road to being nicknamed something like "Cooter" or "Bubba".

~*~*~*~*~*~

On an unrelated note: I have a super-nose now. I don't know if this is simply a side effect of quitting smoking, if it's because of the pregnancy, or if it's from both. But I am super-sensitive to the scent of cigarette smoke, and in a weird way: I like the smell of someone smoking, but the smell of them AFTER they've smoked is completely repellent.

As in, if I'm on a patio and someone is smoking, I find the scent of the smoke wafting on the breeze wonderful. But the moment the cigarette is put out, the person who was smoking suddenly smells like they rubbed a dirty ashtray all over themselves, and it's very icky to me. Weird.

Tummy sleeping

2007-12-07T10:51:00.000-06:00

Sometimes the most silly things pop into your head. Last night as I was about to drift off to sleep, I thought, "Wow, you'd better enjoy this while you can. Before you know it, you won't be able to sleep on your tummy anymore."

Yes, I am a dedicated belly-sleeper. 60% of the time I sleep on my tummy; 39% finds me on my side. And that rare 1% is back sleeping, which usually only happens when I have a cold and can't breathe, so I sleep on my back, propped up on 19 pillows.

Honestly, though, it's already somewhat uncomfortable to sleep on my tummy, although it has nothing to do with my uterus: it's the boobs. They've gone from my normal huge, to gigantic and sore, and I have to do some creative pillow positioning to be able to sleep on my tummy without the weight of my body causing horrific agony as I crush my own breasts.

The tiniest heartbeat

2007-12-05T13:12:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a busy day. I had a cardiology appt. in the morning, then had to work in a nap, and finally the u/s at 3pm. The u/s went well, and I saw a little blob: one gestational sac, one yolk sac, and one baby-blob. The little blob-- already showing off advanced skills-- was showing a heartbeat at a mere 5w6d. What a gifted little ink blot! I've toyed with calling "it" Rorschach, but too many people mispronounce it, and it drives me nuts.

Anyway, things look good, except that I have a subchorionic hematoma. Of course, that explains the spotting I've been having: some of that blood is making its way out. My RE was supremely unconcerned and very optimistic about things, telling me that at least 25% of normal pregnancies have spotting and bleeding, and are just fine. Of course, I still worry about what percent of pregnancies have bleeding that AREN'T normal pregnancies. But for now, I'm trying not to worry to much, and just to coast on the feeling of a good early u/s.

Because of the bleed, my RE is allowing me to go back next week for a follow up u/s. Of course I'm taking him up on it! I know that once I leave the world of fertility specialists, and enter the world of regular ole OBs, weekly/bi-weekly ultrasounds become a thing of the past!

MoM: Depeche Mode (remixed)

2007-12-02T21:27:00.000-06:00

So, this one does double duty as it not only pays homage to one of my favorite groups since I was about 16, but also is a great example of the techno I love(d) so much. Oddly enough, I like this remix of "A Pain that I'm Used To" much more than I like the original. Go figure. I'm a whore for a good dancin' tune.

So freaking tired

2007-12-02T21:10:00.001-06:00

We got some new DVDs in the mail the other day, and one of them was "Ocean's 68", or 13, or whichever number the new one was. As it's been a while since I last saw O11 & O12, I decided that a rainy Sunday was perfect for a marathon of testosterone.

I got halfway through O11 and nearly gave myself a concussion when my noggin began to dip as I fell asleep, and it headed for the surface of the coffee table. It's really sad when you're falling into an uncontrollable sleep at 1pm. And that's after sleeping a full 8-9 hours, too. Well, minus a couple of bathroom breaks, and the obligatory punani-pessary insertion.

Two days until my first ultrasound, where I'll get to see if there's really something in there. I know that sounds completely stupid, but I honestly don't think I'll believe that I'm pregnant until I see something on the ultrasound screen. I know I've seen two positive home pregnancy tests, had two positive--and properly increasing-- hCG betas, have achingly sore breasts, and can barely stay awake more than 4-5 hours at a time. Still, there's a part of me that won't relax until I see a splotch on the u/s. Two more days.

Month of music: Duran Duran

2007-12-01T19:31:00.000-06:00

I still get slightly breathless watching them (and Adam Ant, of course) in action. Good grief, when I was 12, I never noticed how much dark-haired Simon LeBon looked like Elvis... but I sure see it now. I guess he lightened his hair so much after this that the resemblance was lost, and that's a pity. There's nothing wrong with lookin' like the King, nothing at all.

Simon couldn't really dance, British boy that he was, but he had the lips and a bit of Elvis swivel going on, and that was enough. Here's "Planet Earth".

A month of music- Day 1: Nekromantix

2007-11-30T22:22:00.000-06:00

I have no idea why, but I'm going to put up a lot of music/videos for a bit. I guess I just feel like giving you all a little more of a clue of who I am, as defined by my music. ;-) So, even though it's not officially December yet, I'm going to get started on my personal countdown for the month. Seeing as I've been listening to an older Nekromantix's cd lately, it's only appropriate that they're the first ones out of the gate.

Although I very much like "Gargoyles over Copenhagen", I think my fav from this cd is "Nice Day for a Resurrection". Unfortunately, I can't find a decent quality of that for your listening pleasure. So you get "Gargoyles" today, which is still a damn fine (& fun) bit o' psychobilly. Did I mention that I can't sleep at night?