New Midlife Mommy

A Visit To Lemon Land

I am very bad at keeping my blogroll up to date.  Once upon a time, it really did match my Bloglines.  But now, well, it doesn't.  If you're not on there, but you know that I read you from the comments I leave, my apologies.  Someday, I will catch up, or at least I'd like to think so.

One of the blogs that I read is Toddler Planet.  WhyMommy writes about her children, as well as her struggle with inflammatory breast cancer.  I must admit, I just started reading not too long ago, so I haven't been following her story for very long.  She's currently in remission, which is wonderful, wonderful news.

In her latest post, she linked to the World Wide Breast Cancer site.  They have a page on the site that discusses the twelve warning signs of breast cancer in a simple way -- with a picture of twelve lemons in an egg carton, each illustrating one of the symptoms. 

I'm such a bonehead about this stuff.  I don't do regular exams.  In part, it's because I'm lazy.  But, my breasts are lumpy anyway, so it's hard for me to tell if there's a problem.  One doctor, once upon a time, said that the sides of my breasts felt like a sacks of rice.  Charming, eh?  My current doctor, who I've been with for longer than I care to admit, has a hard time as well.  He encourages me to have annual mammograms, and I generally do.  I did skip a couple of years right after I had DD, because I didn't think that anyone would do a mammogram on a nursing mom.  Turns out, I was wrong, though I did have to call quite a number of places to find someone who was willing to do it.  Part of the problem, I guess, is that the milk makes the tissue look denser.  And, let's face it, I guess it could be messy, though it wasn't for me.

Anyway, if you have a moment, take a look at the picture -- it might just save your life.

Sermon over.  Back to our regularly scheduled programming.  Hope you are having a wonderful weekend.

Mish Mash

It was a banner day in our house yesterday.  The Christmas tree is down!  The Christmas tree is down!  At this point, since we are half-way to next Christmas, it almost seemed like a waste.  But, you know, there's that 4th of July party we are having, and we thought that people would talk.  So, I just thought I would tell the whole Internet how absolutely f*cking lazy we are that we can't even take down our tree within any reasonable time table after Christmas.  I don't know what we are going to do with the extra space.

Moving on.  I mentioned that we were going to do back-to-back cycles.  And we are.  I'm still taking Lupron, I've started the dreaded Estrace, and our transfer is set for July 7th.  We are going to start with our PNs (pronuclei).  Thaw one straw, and if one or both survive, then stop.  If neither survive, then on to next straw of two PNs.  Same instructions.  Then on to the next straw of two.  Same instructions.  If none survive, then on to the straw of three, and we will take whatever comes out of that.

I've told a couple of people that I'm not feeling very positive about this cycle.  It just seems like it's never going to work.  We've had two FETs (that's all we got from our seven frozen embryos), one fresh transfer with a new donor, and now we are back to FETs.  Though, honestly, I prefer FETs -- more laid back, less expensive.  But the other thing that has happened with all of my morose thoughts is that I have come to believe that even if this all fails, it will be OK.  DD is wonderful.  She gets better all the time, even though she can be a complete jackass sometimes (but then, can't we all).  So, I'm kind of in a peaceful place right now.  Of course, I'm sure that will change during the two week wait.  But for now, it's OK.  I've been trying to squeeze in all of my appointments that I want to take care of, presuming that the cycle might work -- mammogram, hair appointment, eye exam, etc.

And, I've been thinking about the election.  I know that I don't generally talk about politics here, because I have always been able to agree to disagree with people, I have friends of all stripes, and frankly, it is silly to fight about this stuff.  Because really, when you think about it, separation of powers keeps the President from doing much of anything; we give him way too much credit.  I think Congress can have much more of an influence on what happens in the country than the President.  But, reasonable minds can differ.

But anyway.  What brought this to mind was a conversation I had with DH.  DH and I had a date night on Saturday, and in the middle of a discussion we were having, he said "you know, you really are a Democrat."  But, actually, when you break it down by issue, I don't know what I am.  Some issues have me purely in the Democrat camp, while other issues have me in the Republican camp (and no, I won't say which ones are which).  Unfortunately, there isn't a candidate for me.  I'm not sure that I can live with either one.  And I'm certainly not excited by either candidate, though I can say that I do respect them both for running.  It takes a lot of courage and stamina to do that.  So, a bit of angst in this area.

Finally, I think I've finally committed to a day to go to put flowers on my mother's grave.  I didn't want to do it.  I am not ready to do it.  But my father wants to go.  The cemetery is three hours away from his house, and two hours from mine.  He isn't supposed to be driving long distances.  So, it was either let him put himself at risk, foist it on my brother (oh so tempting, except that my dad asked me for help), or just do it.  My mother always tried to guilt me into promising to decorate the graves, and I would never do it -- because I didn't want to have more things to feel guilty about when I fell short.  (Though now, I feel guilty that I didn't just go ahead and make the promise, even if I couldn't always keep it, because it would have made her feel better.)  I told her if she wanted to make sure that I would visit regularly, she should plant herself closer to home.  But, she wanted to be buried next to her parents, and so she is.  It will be a quick trip, if a four hour drive can be a quick trip.  Flowers on her grave, my grandparents' graves, and my great-grandparents' graves (grandfather's parents).  Maybe I can distance myself from what I'm doing, and it won't be so bad.  But I doubt it.  I still find myself not accepting the fact that my mother is really gone, so I imagine putting flowers on her grave might be a dose of reality that will be difficult for me to handle.  And, no wine when I get home, because I've tentatively scheduled this for 7/12, which will be in the middle of my two week wait.  Ugh.

I guess that's about it for now.  I have more thoughtful posts in mind, but no time to be thoughtful at the moment.  I'm trying to find a computer store who will install more memory for me while I wait.  Do you think such a place exists?  I just hate leaving my computer with anyone, I go through withdrawal when I don't have it around so that I can constantly check blogs, e-mail, etc., and I always wonder if they are snooping at my financial information (though I'm sure that's paranoid).  In the meantime, I have to wait FOREVER for my computer to do things, and if I have more than a couple of windows open, it takes longer than forever. 

And, as we all know, patience is not one of my virtues. 

Which Would You Choose?

Interesting question at Metro Dad.

As for me, I would want to be awakened to say good-bye to my husband and my daughter.  My husband?  Not so much.  He would prefer to be left alone.  Of course, he added to the scenario by suggesting that he would be miserable once awakened.  So, let's change the scenario back -- assume that you would not be miserable.

So, which would you choose? 

My Thoughts Exactly

http://www.dooce.com/daily-photo/2008/03/12/one-winter

Winter, you are dead to me.  Please, just go home.

I Must Have Missed The Memo

You know, I'm kind of a news junkie.  I listen to a news radio station in the car during my very long drive to and from work (when I'm not forced to listen to Kindermusik, which is every time that DD is in the car).  I scan the national and local headlines every day when I arrive at work.  We sometimes watch a little bit of CNN in the evening.

But, honestly -- can someone please tell me when the heck our solar system went from nine to eleven planets?  The new ones are Ceres and Eris, and in order, they are:  Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Ceres, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto and Eris.  There is even a mnemonic for those of you who are interested:  "My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants."  I learned about this from reading someone's blog,* which I guess is as good as any other way of finding out the latest news, though it is kind of sad that I didn't get this information in a more mainstream kind of way.

Sheesh.  You would have thought that I would have heard about this.  I swear, when DD gets old enough to think I'm an idiot, I'm afraid that she probably will be right.

* -- I just can't remember which blog so that I could give the writer credit (sorry).

An Ungrateful Child

This post is not about my daughter.  She's not even old enough to be ungrateful.  Nope.  It's about me.  A rant.  A venting of sorts.

Every Sunday since the week after my mother was buried, I have spent the afternoon at my father's house.  Between work, caring for my daughter, a long commute, blah, blah, blah, Sunday afternoon -- during nap time -- was the only block of time that was mine.  All mine.  Now this time belongs to my father.  For a long time into the foreseeable future.

I really, really love my mother.  In life, she was my friend.  But she was human, like the rest of us.  With faults.  Procrastination.  Tardiness.  And hoarding, oh Lord, the hoarding.  Literally, I think my mother kept every magazine and newspaper that she ever received.   And she lived in the same house with my father for fifty years, with never an opportunity to move and purge.

My father was never allowed a closet.  And only part of a dresser.  My mother filled every other nook and cranny in their house with stuff.  It's a small house, about 1200 square feet.  But it has an attic and a basement, each of almost equal size.  You'd be surprised how much stuff you can put into a small house without much effort.  Especially when you have no qualms about piling things to the ceiling in the unused rooms.

I remember talking to her about this, and telling her that I knew that I would be angry with her for leaving us with such a mess to deal with after she was gone.  I told her that I wanted her to know this, because I knew that those feelings would come, and I didn't want to feel guilty for being angry.  She knew.  She said that she was trying.  But, she was sick with liver disease and other health problems toward the end, and honestly, I don't think she was capable of really getting rid of things even when she was feeling well.  She swore that she was going to "go through" all of these things.  Sometimes, there was evidence of that.  We have found thousands of clippings relating to nothing in particular, indicating that she did go through some of the newspapers.  And recipes, oh, the recipes.  She spent months of her life handwriting her recipes.  But she never got around to making them.

She made me promise that I would go through everything for her.  And she made my dad promise that he wouldn't throw anything out without my seeing it.  It really does make sense.  My father, and my brother, see very little sentimental value in anything, and they are so intent on trashing everything, that they wouldn't notice if there was an important legal document mixed in with the papers. 

They don't have the patience to sort through knotted plastic bags containing old bills, newspapers, magazines, recipes, and old photographs.  My mother didn't discriminate at all when it came to these plastic grocery bags -- there are always little treasures among the trash.  A picture taken on my godmother's wedding day.  Her note to my father as she waited in the hospital for me to be born.  All so precious.  All so carelessly kept.  And I have been angry with her for this, as I knew I would.  And I've screamed it out loud, when I'm alone in my car so no one can hear.  Because, after all, it's crazy to yell at your dead mother.  And it is probably unkind as well.

My brother and I still aren't talking.  But my father tells me that he's been spending his Friday nights there, trying to clear a pathway in the basement.  Doing all the really awful jobs, like removing the moldy, water-soaked newspapers and fabric from the storage closet under the stairs in the basement.  No one knew that the basement sealer had stopped working.  But it had.  And it ruined everything that was hidden there for lo these many years.  If there was treasure there, it is gone now.

In addition to the cleaning, both my brother and I do things for my father.  He might fix a pipe; I do things like research medical alarms, install an answering machine, and my husband and I have been taking care of some of his life issues.  My father is generally competent, but he has no reserves left.  He has some dementia due to hardening of the arteries.  It causes him to forget.  But he understands this, and he has learned to write notes.  Alzheimer's medications do work for his condition.  He's blessed not to have a progressive disease, and he knows it. 

I also call him every day, just as I used to call my mother.  It serves a multitude of purposes.  If I couldn't get in touch with him, then I know that there might be something wrong (because we haven't actually installed the medical alarm yet).  I can listen to hear if he is mentally slipping.  And I have been trying to get to know him better.  Because I never really did get to know him.  He spent most of his time with my brother when we were growing up partnering with him at Boy Scouts and similar father/son activities.  And, in a way, I always resented the fact that he didn't spend even a fraction of that kind of time with me.  I was his first born, after all.  But I wasn't a boy.  But, it is what it is, and the past is past.  We can only more forward.

Through it all, I have only asked one thing of him.  In keeping with our promises to my mother that I would go through her things before they are discarded, I've asked him that when he does want to throw things out to please put the bags in the garage for me to go through when I come over on Sundays.  Putting them in the garage means walking five feet further than he otherwise would.  But doing that for me means that these bags are segregated from the other bags containing things like kitchen waste, and they are also protected from the elements.  Believe me, I've found treasures in these bags.  Things that my brother didn't want.  Things that my father didn't want.  But things that were priceless to me.

And he absolutely f*cking refused to do it.  Each time my brother has filled bags for him, my father can't be bothered to put the bags in the garage.  In fact, one time, he'd taken them out to the curb.  And he told me about it when I called him that evening, starting with "well, I broke my promise to you."  An unpleasant conversation followed, but he brought the damned bags back into the garage by the time it was over.  I've talked to him about this.  Screamed at him.  Tried to reason with him.  Told him that it hurt my feelings when he treated me this way.  And it was to no avail.

Honestly, I couldn't see any other side to this issue.  What the hell did he care?  Garbage pickup is Friday morning, and my brother usually comes on Friday night.  So, quite frankly, I'm not even delaying the trash being picked up.  And, let's remember, this is stuff that he doesn't want.  What does it matter if I want something he's rejected?  When I've asked my friends about this, to see if I'm the one who needs to adjust my perspective, they've all agreed with me.  And wondered if he was losing his marbles.

The last time we argued about this, about a week ago, he said that he'd made a decision "as head of the household" that he was just going to throw the bags out.  In trying to see the other side of that, I think that he was concerned about me going through moldy, wet things, because they were cleaning the area under the stairs.  It took everything I had to tell him that there was no "household" anymore.  I left home at 18.  My brother left at 27.  My mother is gone.  The only thing that he is the head of is the one cat who lives mostly under his bed.  He's the king of nothing.  But I bit my tongue.

But, between you and me, I was growing to hate him.  And to resent that I mattered so little to him that he couldn't walk five feet.  Five f*cking feet.  And all the things that have happened over the years just bubbled up to the surface of my mind.  And I disliked him even more.  The way that he treated my mother unkindly, yelling at her constantly (they really did have a tumultuous marriage, so much so that I didn't think I would ever get married if that was what marriage was really like). 

My mother told me that he'd twisted her arm after she came home from heart bypass surgery while in the throes of anger with her over some stupid thing (though in fairness, that was the only time she ever complained that he'd hurt her, and I never saw anything while growing up).  The way he treated my grandmother after she was forced to move in with them after my grandfather died.  He was so unkind to her and made her feel like an outsider.  My mother said that she heard him refer to my sweet grandmother as an "it."  And a "thing."  And she'd only ever been kind to him. 

All of these things that had happened in the past were percolating in my mind and down into my soul.  And I was ever growing resentful.  There were things I thought, things that I shared with my husband, that I would never commit to writing.  In short, the fact that he'd kept a roof over my head, food on the table, and did try to be a good father to the extent he was capable stopped mattering.  I never wanted for anything growing up, honestly.  But I became an ungrateful b*tch who didn't want to see him anymore.  I decided that despite my seething inside, I would come over on Sundays, if for no other reason than to keep the promise I made to my mother.

Last Sunday, as we were going through the bags that I'd coerced him to put in the garage, I told him that I'd had enough.  I wasn't going to talk about it anymore.  I wasn't going to fight with him.  However, I was going to take a day off this week, get a hitch put on my car, and buy a small trailer.  And, I planned to pick up the trash from his house every Thursday evening and take it back home.  Because I was going to keep my promise to my mother, and he wasn't going to stop me.  I told him that this wasn't about him.  And making it a "head of the household" issue was ridiculous.  It wasn't a power struggle.  And it was over.

And, in that moment, I think that he changed.  He apologized.  He told me that it wouldn't be necessary to drag his trash to my house (which really would have made me felt like a crazy lady, since I live 40 miles away -- can you just see me doing that every week?).  Later that Sunday, he asked me to go with him to visit a neighbor.  She is my honorary aunt, and I've known her all my life.  And, she apparently knew all about this ongoing struggle my father and I were having.  And she looked at him and said, "H, you were wrong to do that."  And he said that he knew he was.

Today, when we talked, he told me again that he knew he was wrong.  I don't care so much that he dwell on the fact that he was wrong (he certainly was); I just want the bickering to be over.  I want to put the past behind me.  And maybe get just a bit closer to my father and understand him a little more.  So I don't have to bury him with any regrets when his time comes.  Because I know oh so well now how hard it is to lose a parent.  Even though I was at peace with my mother and our relationship, it was the hardest thing that I have ever done.

So, here's to new beginnings.  I want to feel gratitude again for all of the things that my father has done for me.  And I sorely want to forget the bad things that can't be undone.  We can only move forward. 

And that's hard enough as it is, without dragging my father's trash up the expressway once a week.

"Bad Mother" Moments

This post is absolutely one of the funniest posts that I have ever read.  Finslippy asked her readers to share their worst parenting moments, and share they did!  I couldn't get through them all, but her "awards" capture the best of the worst.  Go there.  You will laugh, I promise.  And -- bonus -- you won't feel like such a bad parent after all.

Birds Of A Feather

I know that there are quite a few people who visit here because we share something in common -- we are moms, or moms-to-be, though the miracle of donor eggs.

It's still a rather small community, but I did want to mention that there is a Yahoo Group called FVED (families via egg donation).  There are also multiple groups with MVED (mothers via egg donation) in their titles (just search for MVED in Yahoo Groups and see what comes up). There is also a group that is just called MVED, but it is a very large group, and I imagine keeping up with the postings would be a full-time job.

It's nice to talk with people with the same background.  The main thing that I've learned is that we are all really just moms, and having used an egg donor is a very small part of the equation.  Nonetheless, there are some issues that are unique to us, and it is nice to talk with people who are dealing with the same things.

Just my small public service announcement for the day . . .

Over The Top?

There is a person that I work with that, for the most part, I get along with.  But, sometimes, we just don't connect on things (both personal and work-related).  We are both relatively new moms (her little one is somewhere around fifteen months old).

Like me, she likes to share child care responsibilities with her husband.  I pick up; she drops off.  We both feel that it keeps us connected.  We both use the same corporate day care, though our children go to different sites.

Recently, she told me that she had a "bad drop off."  She had tears in her eyes, so I thought that something really awful happened to her child.  I soon learned that nothing had happened to her child. 

Her child is in an early toddler room, and just transitioned there.  The ratio is four kids to one teacher, and I guess there are twelve kids in the room.  She said that she came into the room, and one of the teachers yelled across the room toward one of the children, "NO HITTING!"  She said that the teacher didn't realize she was in the room at the time, and the teacher looked kind of "sheepish" when she turned around to see my coworker there.  My coworker said that she gave the teacher a disapproving look.

At the same time that this was going on, apparently a child was crying.  And there was a teacher nearby, but she was more focused on writing something on her clipboard then comforting the child.  When the teacher realized that my coworker had noticed, she said that the child was transitioning to the room and this was a normal thing.

My coworker asked me for my opinion.  Honestly, I think that anyone can have a bad day.  I yell sometimes.  Not very often, and I'm not proud of it, but sometimes, I do.  And I think that even Mother Theresa yelled on occasion.  So, I would probably be forgiving of someone who was temporarily occupied yelling across the room to kids who were hitting each other, if I were otherwise happy with her as a provider.  It wasn't the best way to handle things, of course.  But I probably wouldn't have given it much of a second thought.  Especially if the teacher had seen me and had received the message that I didn't think it was the best way to handle the problem.

The crying child?  Would drive me ape sh*t.  I know that the teachers have to do a lot of documentation.  I'm certain that whatever that woman was writing on the clipboard was something that was required.  They have to do nose counts every half an hour.  They document diaper changes (and contents), food eaten, nap times, and summarize the activities of the day.  And they are supposed to chase the kids around, give them hugs, and provide an enriching environment.  But -- if it were me, I would have taken my clipboard over to the child and picked her up with one hand and documented with the other.  I don't think that children should be left to cry.  That was one of the issues that we had in the room that we are in now; the lead teacher is not very warm, and she has often left children to cry who were transitioning (and at other times).  We didn't realize that this was going on at the time, but I'm sure that my daughter was left to cry when she first came to the room.  The other parents will often be the ones who will comfort the new kid, and it has bothered all of us.  Fortunately, there haven't been new kids transitioning in lately, and the problem is short-lived (usually the kids adjust after about two weeks).

And that's essentially what I told my coworker.  She said that her husband had heard one of the teachers raise her voice to one of the kids the previous week; she didn't know if it was the same person.  My suggestion was to find out which teacher it was, and if it was the same teacher, then maybe there was a problem that needed to be addressed.

As it turned out, my coworker complained to the "lead teacher" in the room that morning, out in the hallway.  And then the center director came by while they were talking, and she complained to her.  And then, when I walked by her office around lunch time, she was clearly making a complaint to someone else.  (And no, I wasn't eavesdropping on purpose -- it was unavoidable.)  I honestly don't know what the point was, because between the lead teacher and the center director, the "errant" teachers would have received the message that my coworker was not happy.  After that, you can only go forward -- how do you undo a raised voice, or a missed hug?  These teachers are human, and they probably aren't paid very well, even though most have bachelor degrees.  And they do a far better job providing an enriching and fun environment that I would, if I'm honest with myself (even though I would love to stay home with my daughter until she starts kindergarten).  We do pay a premium to go to these centers, but they certainly seem to go the extra mile.

I have been thinking about this, and I just don't understand the reaction.  When my coworker came over to me to tell me the story, she said that she was thinking about quitting work or changing daycare centers because of what had happened.  She has been back to work for almost a year now, and this is her second daycare center.  I do believe that you should feel comfortable with your daycare center, but I've never heard a bad thing about the first daycare center that she went to.  (She became upset when one of the teachers seemed to be angry about something and yanked a drawer open to get out some extra clothing/bedding.  Her back was to everyone in the room, and there were no children around her at the time.  After that, my coworker didn't feel comfortable at that center.)

You know, this may sound crazy, but I've always made an effort to get along with the daycare providers.  We have talked about our issues when we have them, but I always worry that if I become too much of a pain in the a**, if I become the parent that no one likes, wouldn't someone take that out on my child, even if unconsciously?  For example, when DD whines about something, would they think that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?  Would they even want to interact with her as much?  I know that this has got to be a lot bit of paranoia on my part, because I have never, ever seen anything that would substantiate this, but I worry about human nature.

So I was just wondering . . . am I too laid back, or is my coworker just over the top?

Earth To Martha

This is a bit off topic, but . . .

We needed a new ironing board cover.  I bought one.  It had a nice, calming pattern on it.  It happened to be a Martha Stewart brand.  No issues there.  I generally like Martha's things.

After I got it home, DH pointed out a little note on the packaging, which said (and I am so not kidding):  "For occasional ironing only (once per month)." 

WTF?  What planet does she live on?

The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get

Or so my mother used to say.  It's so true, so true.  It seems like I am always rushing around, but nothing ever gets done.  And I do try to focus.  Someone in my management chain at work is constantly multi-tasking, ineffectively, and I see how well that has worked for her (it hasn't). 

I sent off a resume to a company that is only about 10 miles away from home to try to eliminate that two-three hour a day commute I have, but my cynical side tells me that I probably wouldn't have regular working hours there (so I would still be away from home just as long).  I shouldn't prejudge, but it is really unusual (I think) to find a professional job that allows an eight hour day.  We'll see if they even call me.

Nothing much to report with regard to the FET cycle.  I've been bumped up to six Estrace pills starting today -- three in the A.M., and three in the P.M.  We're still looking at August 20th as a transfer date, provided that my lining is thick enough.  I have an ultrasound on August 16th to check it (but my Lupron stops then -- yes!).  If not, then they will delay transfer by a few more days.  This seems like the forever cycle, with all the delays.  And, the nurse told me that if I want to try again, I have to repeat the protocol -- one month rest, one month pills, and one month with meds.  I will ask for a different pill cycle, if there is a next time.  I think that DH is ready to stop the Lupron.  I'm always roasting; he's always freezing.  Last night, he had a sweatshirt on, and I had a wet washcloth on the back of my neck to cool down.  We are totally incompatible, and the Lupron-based hot flashes are not helping (smile).

DD is having good days, and bad days, though fortunately, last week there were more good days than bad.  She has started acting up at school, and even though we have authorized it, they will not put her in time out.  The just withdraw attention, or they redirect.  As far as I'm concerned, when she's kicking in the direction of the teacher and spitting at her classmates, she deserves a time out.  Early last week, on the same day as the kicking/spitting incident, she took her shoes off and refused to put them on.  Rather than put her in time out, the whole class couldn't go outside (because they couldn't leave her alone).  She lost several privileges that day at home, and she seems to be on a more even keel now.  I just hope that it was a fluke.

They think that my mother's right lung is filling up again (it's only been about three weeks since the first time they drained it).  They're also not sure if she has fluid in her abdomen (another common side effect).  She says that other than that, she feels OK, and I should "live my life and not worry about her."  Um, sure.  I'll just set aside the thought that I can't imagine life without her and move on.

Her doctors have scheduled a ton of tests to find out what is going on with her liver.  None of it sounds good.  I did do some initial research when I found out that she had cirrhosis, but I think it's time to do more.  I've joined a number of listservs that focus on the disease in the hopes of learning more.  Lately, I've been really depressed about it.  It is so very, very unfair.  If she were an alcoholic, then it would be more understandable.  But she didn't do anything wrong!

I always believed that I would have her at least as long as she had my grandmother (my grandmother lived to be 93 with a number of health problems).  Now, I'm not sure if we're looking at only months for my mom.  And her doctors won't tell her -- when she's asked if her problems mean that she is going to die soon, they all say "not necessarily."  I guess, in fairness, they are correct.  The little bit that I know about this disease tells me that the focus is on how long the liver functions, not on the side effects of decreased functioning.  So, the number of tests that they have requested do make sense.  I just pray that the results come back favorably.

And, if you pray, please put in a good word for her.

Round 2

As I mentioned before, after I provided my clinic with the information from my Medications and Mother's Milk book for each of the drugs that would be prescribed for my FET, the doctor said that he would approve of a cycle while I was breast feeding.  He did make a couple of substitutions that he believed were more breast feeding friendly, one of which was a change in birth control pills.  Instead of a run of the mill pill, he prescribed a "mini pill," which was a progesterone only pill.  They didn't tell me that I should take the pill at the same time every day.  I also didn't read the package insert, where I suppose I could have become aware of this.  The only thing I did was verify that it was a safe drug for breast feeding.  Unfortunately, I missed taking a pill at my normal time on July 4 (because I was preoccupied with the party we were having, I ended up taking it around midnight), and my period started the following Monday -- it was worse than normal.

Not knowing what to do, I called the clinic.  The nurse said that if I didn't have a second period within 5 days of finishing the pill package, then I should call and they would create an artificial cycle for the FET transfer cycle.  When I called yesterday, the doctor decided that he wanted to wait another week to see what would happen.  This would make August 1 cycle day 1, and they will plan to do the transfer on August 20.  And, the nurse noted, August 20 would start my 3 days of rest.

Ah yes, the 3 days of rest.  I've been through that before, once during the IVF with my own eggs, and once during the IVF cycle with donor eggs.  The first IVF was not successful; the second gave me my beautiful daughter.

I hated the 3 days of rest.  They want you to be a couch potato with bathroom privileges.  It is exasperating.  And, it burns sick days that I would rather save for my maternity leave.  I asked the nurse why they require this, and she said that the thinking is that they just want gravity to help things along.

Well, difficult patient that I guess I am, I did my own research in advance of my conversation with the nurse.  And you know what?  I didn't find even one study that indicated that this kind of forced rest was helpful -- out of approximately 10 different studies that had considered the utility of this practice.  In fact, some studies suggested that forced rest actually had a negative effect on pregnancy rates.  All of the studies are from other countries, however, I didn't find one clinic in the U.S. (of the sites that came up on my "bed rest embryo transfer" search) that required enforced rest for such a long time.

So, as before with the breast feeding issue, I told the nurse that I had researched the question and had come to a different conclusion about the necessity of the rest after transfer, and I asked her if I could forward the information for the doctor.  I am confident that he will actually read it.  And, this decision really does belong to me, since I doubt that they would cancel a cycle based on my decision not to rest for three days.  I will be very interested to see if he changes his position on this issue.

I'm sure that they just love having me as a patient, don't you?

To Everything, A Season

I mentioned that my parents had celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary recently.  They threw their own party.  They didn't decide until the last minute that they wanted one, and then they threw things together rather quickly.  Very typical of them.  And, even though my mother said that she would be at the hall at 5:00, she was late.  My brother and I were there on time, and as usual, we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  People started to arrive before my parents finally got there.  And then my mother wanted any number of things set up.  It was kind of embarrassing.  Her excuse for being late this time (excuse number 5,126) -- She claimed that her "sugar" rose so high that it made her dizzy (registering at 190).  She also claimed that she had to work out on a stationery bike for awhile to bring it down to 170.  And that supposedly made a difference.  My question was why was she eating sugar/carbs when she wasn't supposed to?   But I digress.

Fifty years for them.  It is absolutely amazing.  They fight like cats and dogs; no physical abuse, just constant arguing.  When I was growing up, I used to wonder if they loved each other, and I swore that I would never get married if it meant that I would have to be in a relationship like theirs.  They always had their favorite arguments.  For my mother, it was the fact that my father never picks up after himself.  For my father, it is because my mother saves newspapers.  I swear -- she literally still has newspapers from before I was born.  And we are not allowed to throw them out.  We need to leave them alone, so that she can "go through them."  Their house is literally piled from floor to ceiling with crap.  Neither of them will throw anything out.  I truly believe that I will have to take an extended leave of absence after they go just to close up the house and sell it.  And I will have no idea what is important and what is not.  Because they have saved it all.

Anyway, back to the party.  My brother's youngest child is six, and DD just loves her.  They had a wonderful time running back and forth and around and around.  I remember (vaguely) when I was a little girl and did the same thing.  Now, I wish I had even half of that energy.  DD ate some roast beef, which was a surprise, since we didn't think our picky eater would eat anything.  And, of course, she enjoyed her ice cream dessert.

After dinner, when the DJ started playing, DD just got up, went onto the dance floor, and started dancing -- all by herself.  And she was pretty good, for a two year old.  She looked so pretty in her purple dress -- the only color that she would wear to grandma and grandpa's party.  A group of us did the chicken dance and the hokey pokey, and DD enjoyed dancing with us.  I wish that I had just a little bit of DD's self-confidence.  She has absolutely no self-consciousness at all.  It is wonderful to see.

The attendees consisted of family and friends.  DD was the youngest child, and the only other children who came were my brother's kids.  Everyone else was either my age or my parents' age.  And I was struck with an overwhelming sadness in the middle of this happy event. 

You see, many of my parents' friends have died.  They had a small wedding party -- the matron of honor, the best man, and one other couple.  The groomsman, a cousin, couldn't come -- he is too sick with leukemia.  My mother's maid of honor (also my godmother) couldn't figure out why my mother wanted her to sit at the head table.  My mother reminded her that she was the maid of honor, so of course, she should sit at the head table.  Her response?  "I don't remember that -- you would think I would remember something like that!"  My mother had to pull out her wedding pictures to prove that this woman was her matron of honor, and even then, she didn't recall.  One of my mother's best friends, who has known me since I was born, asked me what my name was.  And another woman, a cousin whom I've known since I was born, asked me if I was R's daughter.  I said yes, and she explained that her mother was my father's aunt.  I told her that I knew that, and then she asked who I was.

Most of these people are part of the fabric of my life.  They are my rocks.  They are supposed to be there always.  But they are slipping away.  And I don't quite know what to do about that.  Obviously, there is nothing that I can do about it.  Time marches on.  But I don't quite know where I am supposed to anchor my life, without these wonderful people to brace upon.  I know that my parents will be gone soon, and I simply cannot imagine my ability to continue breathing in a world that I don't share with them.

I hope that we will be blessed with another healthy baby, and I hope that my parents can see him or her.  You know, I was so overwhelmed when DD was born.  My mother asked to come over, and I told her no.  DH stayed home with me for about three weeks.  I thought that my mother wanted to visit and I would have to entertain her.  DD and I were sleeping in the guest room (with what little sleeping we were doing).  Since DH was sleeping in our room, that left only the couch.  I couldn't imagine asking my mother to sleep on the couch, and I didn't think that I had it in me to even hold a civil tongue in my head during that difficult time.  But I later learned that all she really wanted was to do was to help me, like her mother had helped her.  And, she told me that I had really hurt her feelings when I told her we could manage on our own.  I just didn't know.  And I hope that I get another chance to let her come over and help me, even if she drives me crazy. 

Please God, give me another chance.  Before I have to let her go.

Evil Has Moved In

My husband has registered to receive alerts from the National Sex Offender Registry.  They send us an e-mail whenever a sex offender moves near us.  I highly recommend it.  You can tell them your address, and you can see a map with home locations of sex offenders within a couple miles of your home -- green boxes are sex offenders who have abused adults; red boxes symbolize sex offenders who have abused children.  You can find out where they live, and what they've done.  I think that's a good thing, because I could care less about the 18 year old who had sex with his 16 year old girlfriend.  It's a crime, but it doesn't keep me up at night.  People who would abuse children, on the other hand, are my worst nightmare.

My husband recently received a notification that an offender moved just down the street from us, less than a five minute walk away.  He was convicted of abusing a child, and on further research, DH learned that this man didn't even serve any jail time after his conviction.  I was livid.  I printed out the information about him, and I passed it out to people who lived near us with small children.  Fortunately, the web site will also give you a photo.

DD and I also visited the local police department.  I wanted to make sure that they were aware that this slime bucket had moved into the neighborhood, and I wanted to make sure that they were going to keep an eye on him.  The police officer seemed absolutely delighted that we paid him a visit.  Why?  Because Mr. Child Abuser hadn't bothered to register, which is likely a violation of his probation.

Gee, that's too bad.  It's really a shame that he might actually have to serve some time for having ruined that child's life, whoever he or she is.  And you know what?  I am going to sleep much better tonight knowing that I've done something good.

I Would Die For That

A friend sent me this link to a song that deals with infertility that I thought I would share with all of you.  It did such a good job, I cried the entire way through.  But it is pretty.

Eating Crow (And Not Minding A Bit)

I was really, really frustrated this week after hearing that my doctor was flat out refusing to help me with a medicated FET cycle.  The message from the nurse sounded so condescending (this was the same nurse who went running to the doctor to tattle on me after I'd told her that we'd researched the medications and believed that they were safe to consume while nursing).  I told her that I would bring over the excerpts from my "Medications and Mother's Milk" book for the doctor to review, and I drove it over to them the next morning.

Because of the doctor's schedule, they told me that he wouldn't be able to get back to me until Friday.  Which just happened to be the last day that we could start the process (one month of birth control pills, and then the cycle month).  Waiting a month would have required that we cancel our vacation.  And you know, I went through four years of not being able to have a vacation because of cycling -- I just didn't want to do that again, you know?

I was feeling desparate.  I felt like things just needed to start happening now.  I finally got to the point where I really believed DH when he said that he was going to be supportive of this, even though he wouldn't choose it himself.  And, I keep watching the calendar months fly by, with DD getting older all the time.  I really wanted to start trying to get pregnant right after DD turned two.  Now, she's getting ready to turn three!  I want her to have a sibling that she can actually play with when she's younger and not just someone that she becomes close to when they are both older.  If I got pregnant this instant, DD would be about three and a half when the baby comes.  Some people think that's a good spread -- I always thought two-three years apart was better, rather than three-four years.  But all kids and families are different.  My own family was different, with a five year spread.  DH has even a larger age gap with his sibling (and they are not really very close at all).

I just about went crazy waiting for that call.  I was so very, very angry about the whole thing.  I know that my anger was disproportionate to what was actually going on.  It was like I was taken back to that dark infertility hole in an instant.  Feelings that I never thought I would feel again reared their ugly heads.  The only way that I can try to explain it is that I felt such a betrayal from my body -- and from God -- during that awful time.  I grew up thinking that pregnancy was mine whenever I wanted it, and I learned the hard way that is just not true.  I became angry at everyone and everything during those four years of treatments.  And here I was again -- with an anger boiling up that felt like it came from the pit of hell.  Because I have no control over my body.  I have to rely on the doctors to help.  And this particular doctor was trying to blackmail me into weaning, into giving up one of the sweetest parts of my relationship with my daughter.  That's honestly the way that I saw things.

It was an overreaction.  I understand that.  And I understand why it happened.  But by the time Friday rolled around, I was on pins and needles.  I hadn't slept much Thursday night.  My stomach churned.  Things were slow at work, so I didn't have anything to throw myself into to forget about it for a moment.  At 2:30, I called the receptionist and reminded her that I was waiting for the doctor to call.  She said that he was dealing with an emergency (WTF?  It's not like they are doing anything life-threatening there.).  And he had three more patients to see.  She did say that if he committed to reading what I brought, that he really would do it.  She also told me that she understood exactly what my breast feeding relationship with my daughter meant -- she had a long-term breast feeding relationship with her child and it was very, very hard to give up.  At that point, I just burst into tears.  She promised to get another message to the doctor for me, and I knew that she would.

Within minutes, I received a call from the same nurse who'd called me on Tuesday to say that they weren't going to go ahead.  She said that the doctor had approved a medicated cycle, but he was going to change a couple of the medications because he thought they would be more breast feeding friendly.  And, apparently the doctor had given me the green light much earlier in the day; she'd just not had the time to call me back.  And she apologized.

Imagine that!  I was speechless.  I take back every bad thought that I had about this man (and that office generally).  I had assumed that he was biased against breast feeding, because many, many doctors are.  He apparently just needed more information.  And I'm glad that I was able to provide it to him.  Hopefully, I have paved the way for other patients in that office.  And maybe he will mention it to his colleagues, so that they can learn something as well.

Like I said in the title, I'm eating a little crow.  But it doesn't taste so bad with a dash of salt.

Protecting Me From Myself?

I am really, really angry right now.  I mentioned that both DH and I reviewed the Medications and Mother's Milk text and studied the report for each of the drugs that I would have to use during a medicated FET cycle.  We had discussed breast feeding with the doctor and one of the nurses when I came in for my visit on Friday, and at the time, I mentioned that I believed that I would have to wean DD.  When I came into the clinic this morning for a blood draw and ultrasound, one of the nurses asked about weaning.  I told her what we'd learned and said that I was really glad that we looked at the research before assuming that weaning would be necessary.

Today, I received a message from the nurse that the doctor would not do a medicated cycle with me as long as I continued to nurse my daughter.  She claimed that he went on the internet, checked the PDR (Physician's Desk Reference), called a couple of pharmacies and determined that Lupron and Estrace were not compatible with breast feeding (my guess is that he did none of these things -- the nosey nurse did).  In addition, the only way that they would continue with me if I wanted to nurse would be in a non-medicated cycle (where they do the embryo transfer about four days after ovulation, and there is only about a 10% success rate, compared to 30% for a medicated cycle).  However, she added that if I had any additional information, the doctor was more than willing to be "educated."

I called back and told her that I would drop off copies of the pages from the text, but since one of the other nurses told me that the office had the book, I was rather puzzled regarding why they didn't bother to consult it.  I also asked if I would have to forget about this cycle, since they came up with this new requirement on the day I was supposed to start taking birth control pills.  She told me that I could start taking the pills as late as Friday of this week.  (They start with one cycle of birth control pills to insure that there isn't any ovulation before they suppress the ovaries with Lupron about 20 days into the birth control pill cycle.)

I looked again at the information from this text to make sure that I wasn't crazy.  And, there is absolutely no risk whatsoever if I continue to breastfeed DD while taking Estrace and Lupron.  The author specifically states that the PDR is practically worthless in making any decisions regarding whether there is a risk to the breast feeding infant, because it is concerned with legal risks, as opposed to medical risks.

Part of the reason why I am so p*ssed off at the moment is that my daughter is not their patient.  I am the patient.  They didn't bother to check the authority on the subject.  And, this whole thing smacks of extreme paternalism.  I have had it with doctors giving lip service to breast feeding.  On the one hand, they will all tell you how wonderful it is.  But when it comes right down to it, they are not supportive of breast feeding at all!

Sometimes, I just hate the know-it-all medical establishment.  They just don't want to be confused by the facts.

Sometimes, A Silver Lining

We had our visit with the RE yesterday to talk about having another child.  I've mentioned before that we have three sets of three frozen embryos.  What we didn't know until yesterday is that they are all frozen at different stages of development, from just fertilized (before dividing -- I can't remember the name of that) to eight cells.  And, I learned that they transferred three eight-celled embryos when we did our fresh transfer, one of whom was DD.

We had our blood tests for HIV and Hepatitis.  I guess that's an FDA requirement.  Not that they would stop you from having a baby if you were positive.  I think that it's just to encourage counseling.  I don't need an internal exam to look for polyps or fibroids, as I had a normal exam in December.  I don't need another "sounding" (to find the angle of my cervix), because they will assume that nothing has changed.  I had my PAP in December, and they will probably waive the mammogram requirement, since I'm still breast feeding.  (As an aside, my internist told me that I don't really need to worry so much about mammograms until after 50, based on statistics.)  My doctor told us that there is approximately a 30% chance of a pregnancy with three embryos transferred.  Of those pregnancies, only 8-9% would result in twins, and 1-2% would result in triplets.  The rest would be a blessed singleton.  That would be my hope.

They gave us the sheets that tell us what to do on each cycle day, and all we have to do is wait for my period to start -- cycle day 1.  There are a variety of things to do, and medications to take, and the frozen embryo transfer wouldn't happen until around cycle day 12 of my next cycle.

I don't have to start with this period, but I guess if we are going to do it, we should just do it, right?  Still very nervous about this.  The closer I get to deciding "just one child," the more I long for another.  The closer I get to having another, the more I think that DD is perfect, I'm ecstatic just having her, and why do I want to mess things up?  It's been my own private hell for quite awhile.

And the bright side to all of this?  One of the things that I was really concerned about was having to wean DD at some point before starting the frozen embryo cycle.  And I really don't want to do it.  It's the one thing that we have together, and we both really love it.  It's our snuggle time, our together time, our quiet time, our bonding time.  It's something that daddy is not a part of.  It's just us.

Now that we have a list of medications that I will need, I pulled out my handy dandy "Medications and Mother's Milk" book.  It is a really helpful book that gathers all the research and gives you an idea regarding what is safe to take while breast feeding, and what isn't.  I will be taking Ortho Novum, Lupron, Estrace, Progesterone (Crinone), Medrol, Valium (just one pill on the day of transfer) and Doryx (not sure about the spelling of this last one without looking it up again -- it's an antibiotic, which I need to take because we used ICSI [intercytoplasmic sperm injection]).  Anyway, I looked everything up.  And it looks like the worst that could happen is that my milk supply would be affected.  I don't think that there would be any harm to DD at all.  I've asked DH to look everything up and give me his opinion.  I pray that he agrees, because I would really like him on board with this.  I would never do anything that I thought would harm DD, but it does seem like the first thing that a lot of doctors want you to do is wean when there really isn't a need to.

Keeping my fingers crossed.  About everything.

Nothing Is Easy, I Guess

I finally screwed up my courage and called my RE's (reproductive endocrinologist) office to ask about an FET (frozen embryo transfer).  I'd called a few months or so ago, but they really didn't give me a lot of information.

This time, I said, "what would I need to do if I wanted to have an FET right away?"  And then the truth came out.  We will need blood tests for HIV and Hepatitis again, because our tests are over a year old.  I have no idea why DH needs to be tested, since he's not contributing anything at this point.  I have a feeling that it is some sort of a regulation.  And then they might need to do a "sounding," which is sticking a small catheter into my cervix to see which way they need to go to get into the uterus.  Like it's changed in any way since they did the last one.  And they might need to do some other test where they pump water into my uterus to see whether or not I have fibroids.  Not like I've ever had them, or that my gynecologist noticed any problems when I had my exam in December.  Sometimes, I wonder what the point of all this crap is.

They will also tell us what their success rates are.  Apparently, that was top secret information that only the doctor knows.  Never mind that they have to report their success rates to the CDC; I guess if you want to know the score for this clinic, you have to visit in person.

And, once we're finished with that, we need to decide what to do with regard to transfer.  We have three sets of three embryos.  We don't want to transfer any more than three (scared to death of multiples).  If they thaw one set, and only one survives, do we want them to thaw three more?  And, if so, how many would we want to transfer if all three of the second set thaw?  Would we be willing to risk four?  Personally, I would just like them to transfer the one in that circumstance and come back another month if it isn't successful (I just need to have a period and I can try again).  Since I would never want them to "throw away" an embryo, I think that is the only way that we can do it.  I think that DH is in agreement on that point.

Very complicated stuff, I guess.  And I'm still pretty nervous about it.  DH still has no interest in another child, but the other night, he told me that I should just try to understand that even though he doesn't want another, he is willing to do this for me.  And he won't be resentful.  And a new baby might be fun.  I want to believe him.

Lots of things to think about.  My appointment with the RE is on 6/15.  I will keep you posted.

The Miracle That Is Breastfeeding

I could not have said it any better than she did.

Sounds Of Silence

DD was a bit under the weather last weekend.  She had the sniffles, but whenever I asked her if she felt sick, she said no.

Well, apparently she had a cold, because sure enough, I caught it yesterday.  I felt pretty bad yesterday.  Today, I'm just stuffy, and, as usual, I'm losing my voice.  I have no idea why I always lose my voice as a cold passes through my body, but I do.  I'm sure DD will just love this when she gets older.  If she's anything like me, she will try to be especially annoying during the times she knows that I can't talk.  What goes around, comes around.  I used to do it to my mom, too.  So, DD and DH get to enjoy the "sounds of silence" around our house.  Or squeakiness, which is how I sound if I absolutely have to say something.

I ordered some really nice flowers for my mom for Mother's Day.  We were going to celebrate Mother's Day and my father's birthday (which was only a few weeks ago) this weekend, but since I'm probably contagious, I've canceled the plans.  My family is like that -- we usually avoid sharing our germs.  We can always have a dinner out another time.

As for me, I still feel kind of strange celebrating Mother's Day.  At some level, I cannot believe that I am someone's mother.  I wonder if it will ever feel real to me.  I often just bask in the glory of hearing someone call me "mama."  I will never, ever get used to it.  It was so very long in coming.  DH doesn't seem to have this problem.  He knows that he's a daddy.  And that's that for him.  I still have to pinch myself sometimes.  I am so very, very blessed.

On another, very sad subject -- I can't seem to get Madeleine McCann out of my mind.  Every time I think of her, I say a prayer that she will be found soon.  For those of you who haven't been following the story, she is the little British girl who was kidnapped from her hotel room in Portugal, as she slept between her infant brother and sister.  Now they suspect that she may have been taken by a pedophilia ring who take children on an "as requested" basis.  She will be four this weekend.  If you pray, please, please keep Madeleine and her parents in your prayers.

And, I just heard a bit of really good news.  Rae is pregnant!  I am so very, very happy for her.  This will be an extra special Mother's Day for her and her partner.  Congratulations!

Happy Mother's Day to all of you who are moms.  And to those of you who are trying to become moms, I pray that next year, your arms will be full.

If I Plant Them, Spring Will Come

Hmm.  It's been awhile since I've been back here.  I've been kind of busy, and kind of depressed about work.  Plus, there really hasn't been much to say.  I've not even been very good about my blog reading, much less my blog writing.  I just wish that I could go back to my old employer, but they are moving so slowly.  I would like to get pregnant right now, but I have to wait until I find out what is going to happen with my job.  If an opportunity doesn't materialize at my old employer, there's nothing stopping me.  But if I go back there, I have to wait a few months before I go ahead, because I don't want to have a baby without being eligible for at least FMLA leave.  If I had a baby where I'm at now, I really wouldn't want to go back.  I would at least be willing to give it a shot if I were with my old employer.  I just hate it when my fate is in the hands of someone else.  And yes, even though it sounds like I'm full steam ahead with the idea of another baby, I still have some reservations, not the least of which is DH's strong desire not to have another one.  I must be crazy to keep holding onto this dream.  And, of course, I'm assuming that an FET would actually work!

On another note, we finally "bit the bullet" and bought some flowers.  Not many, mind you, but you wouldn't know that from the Visa bill.  We go to a large, well-known nursery near our house.  But yikes!  They are expensive.

We have a wonderful porch on our house and it has some really cute white railings.  I bought some planters from QVC that hook on top of the railings, and they look great.  We picked up some pink and some salmon colored double petal Impatiens today.  They're kind of stripey, with some white running through them and are a lot prettier than they sound. 

But it was $12.99 for six plants!  They better spread out and look great, I'm just saying.  We also bought some hanging Fuscias again this year; we always put them on the hooks at the top of the porch.  What is the total bill for four planters, two hanging baskets, one pair of gloves, and two bags of potting soil, you might ask?  $169.99.  That just seemed like a lot to me.  But hey, they have a discount program where they give you $5 off for each $150 you spend (except that you can only spend the discounted dollars as in September, and you have to spend twice what you save, so it's not that great of a program).

I'm just hoping that if I act as though it is spring, spring will stay with us.  The weather has been getting better, but it's still sweater weather.  Today would almost be hot, if it weren't for the fairly strong breeze.  I just hope that we don't get any more frost.  I'm not quite sure what to do to protect our plants if that happens.  Do you have to bring them indoors, or can you cover them with plastic bags for the night?  I guess we will have to call the nursery for some advice if that happens.

And with the nice weather, the a**holes come out.  We have some really jerky neighbors behind us.  We have kind of a large yard, which abuts their small yard.  They just presume that they own our yard as well as theirs and act accordingly.  Normally, I don't mind that their kids play in the yard, even though it drives DH crazy, but they leave all their stuff behind for us to pick up.  These are older kids that look to be between 9 and 13 years of age, so they know better.  And even if they didn't know better, we've told them to pick up after themselves.  They do it if they feel like it.

But, they take their cues from their parents, who, for example, just decided they were going to take a large tree down on Thursday.  Do you think they bothered to tell us that they were going to knock the tree down so that it would land fully in our yard?  Not a chance.  So, between the mess in the yard and the chain saw, DD wasn't able to play in her sandbox or playhouse this weekend.  When DD gets a bit older, we are just going to fence off the yard.  And we won't be discussing it with them ahead of time, either.  We'll just extend the same courtesy that we have always been given, which is no courtesy at all.

On the other hand, our neighbors on either side of us, and even those across the street, are all pretty great.  So, that makes up for it.

Otherwise, all is quiet here.  Lately, DD has been saying that she's a "big girl," even though she's not using the potty regularly.  She'll pee in the potty a couple of times a day, but no luck with the other end.  She seems to think that she has to stand up to poop, so I don't know how we are going to convince her to sit down on the potty.  The funniest thing that she's done lately is to begin her sentences with "When I was a little girl, I . . . "  I have a hard time not laughing when she says that, since she's still knee high to a grasshopper.

Ugh.  It just occurred to me that this time tomorrow, I will be at work.  What a horribly depressing thought.  Time for another glass of wine, I think.

Unacceptable "TFI"

When I was an undergrad, I took an Abnormal Psychology class with a really awesome professor.  He had an actual clincial practice, which was common at the school that I went to.  It was hard to get into his classes, which were always packed.  And, we were all willing to meet after the final exam, because there were other things that he wanted to teach us.  I don't recall any other professor that I've ever had that had that effect on the classroom, and I had lots of them.

Anyway.  One of the things that my professor taught us was that everyone has "unacceptable TFI," or "unacceptable thoughts, feelings, and ideas."  Everyone.  The difference between illness and health is our ability not to act on these thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

I thought about this the other day, with some relief.  Because on that day, DD had decided to have a horrendous tantrum.  I kept moving her to the living room, and she kept following me back into the den.  She just wanted to stand at my elbow and scream.  I don't mean scream like she was testing her "outside voice"; I mean scream as in a tantrum.  She wouldn't stop, no matter what I did.  It was long, loud, and getting into every fiber of my being.  I know that you know the kind of tantrum that I'm talking about. 

In addition to moving her to a different room, I tried ignoring her and hugging her.  Nothing worked.  It was at the end of a long day, and I didn't have any more patience.  I was starting to get really p*ssed off.

And then I had a flash thought in which I saw myself throwing her against the wall just. to. get. her. to. stop. screaming.  A short while later, I imagined duct tape across her mouth.  And a while after that, I imagined locking her in the bathroom and walking away. 

I did none of those things, obviously.  I just continued to ignore DD, and I turned the television up in a futile attempt to tune her out.  The tantrum lasted for 20 solid minutes, and then like sunshine after a bad storm, it was over.  And she was my sweet little girl again.

But if no one had ever told me that sometimes bad thoughts will come into my head, I would have thought I was going crazy.  What was actually happening is that my patience reserve was running on empty.  I have never hurt my daughter, and I never would.  I almost thought about not posting this, because I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.  We don't even spank our daughter, though once I did pop her on her diapered butt (believe me, she didn't even notice).

I mentioned this to my mother, and she nodded, admitting that she had those same thoughts when I was little.  So, that gave me some comfort as well. 

I've been giving this a lot of thought lately, not because I'm afraid of losing it -- I'm not -- but because I wonder what it is about some adults that makes them actually act on the thoughts that come into their head.  Or maybe they don't have any thoughts at all, like as might happen with shaken baby syndrome.  I can't imagine hurting a small child.  My rational being just takes over and wouldn't allow it to happen.

I used to have a secretary who was a single mom to two small children.  She had a constant battle with migraines.  And even though I didn't have children at the time, I did understand what it must have been like to a small degree.  I remember asking her what she did when the kids were screaming and her head was pounding -- she told me that those were the times that she locked herself in the bathroom and trusted God that the kids would be OK for the time that it took to regain her composure through the stabbing pains in her head.

I wish that I could say that I never had these thoughts -- ever.  I am not proud of them.  But from time to time, I do.  If, for even a moment, I feared that I would act on them, I would definitely get help.  Sometimes, it kind of reminds me of the craziness that was those first few postpartum weeks, when I thought that I wanted to give my daughter up for adoption because it was just too. effing. hard. and. I. just. wanted. some. effing. sleep. and. God. did. she. have. to. poop. every. two. hours. after. every. feeding. round. the. clock. Fortunately, these thoughts are much rarer than that.

This parenting gig is really hard sometimes.

BMI, Schme-MI

I am so unhappy with myself.  I never understood what people meant when they said they were carrying around "baby weight."  I thought they were just making excuses.

But, as I found out the hard way, it is so true.  I am just not one of those women who snap back.  When I started ramping up for the IVF that became my daughter, I weighed 148 pounds.  I wasn't happy at that weight (I would have preferred 10 pounds lighter), but it was in the normal weight range for my height, with some to spare.

Since we were going to do a fresh transfer with donor eggs, they had to bring my cycle in line with the donor.  So, after I took enough estrogen to thicken the lining of my uterus, I had to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And gain.  And gain.  And gain.  My clothes were tight from all the waiting.  By the time they did the transfer, I already weighed somewhere around 158 pounds.  Yikes.  And, I gained another 37 pounds during the pregnancy.  I felt like a beached whale at the time of delivery -- at 195 pounds.

To make a long story short, I've only lost about 25 pounds from the pregnancy.  And nothing from the pre-pregnancy.  (Hey, I've just told the Internet how much I weigh!  Not good.)  I don't even want to tell the Internet what my clothing size is, because it could be any one of three different sizes, depending on the clothes.  And I didn't wear any of these sizes before.  So, all of my old clothes are unwearable.  I have never weighed this much in my whole life.

Every time I've tried to lose weight since DD was born, it comes back the second I stop eating chicken breasts all the time.  And, I've only ever managed to lose about 8 pounds before the scale jumps right back.

Now, I do know that extended breast feeding has something to do with keeping weight on after a certain point (though it does work wonders in taking it off at first).  Even my OB/GYN agreed.  It has something to do with elevated estrogen levels or something like that.  And, I'm hopeful that extended breast feeding has something to do with my huge chest, which I totally hate.  (My OB/GYN suggested reduction surgery!)

To make a long story short, I feel like crap about myself.  I can't live with WW -- a pat of butter is three points, as I recall.  Three points!  Out of 32 total for the day, since I'm still breast feeding.  If I weren't, I would only get 22 total points for the day.  Totally, totally unworkable for me.  I like fats too much.  Which is why Dr. Atkins is so near and dear to my heart.  But, I haven't given over to him completely, I'm afraid.  What I have been doing is cutting out a lot of the carbs, and most of my little treats.  But it hasn't worked.

It doesn't help being married to someone who hardly ever fluctuates in weight.  DH is kind of slightly built, and his weight is completely proportional.  Sometimes, I feel like Mr. and Mrs. Spratt.  Well, not quite that bad.  I'm overweight according to my BMI, but I'm not obese by any stretch.  Still, not healthy.  And no time to exercise.

I don't know where I'm going with this post, other than I just wish that I could feel better about myself right where I am.  I think that if I didn't have all this self-loathing, I might not feel so bad about things when I do have a piece of chocolate or something like that.  As it is now, I just berate myself for having no willpower, and then whatever resolve I had just goes away.  Vicious cycle.

And, I can't help but wondering -- if I do get pregnant again, will I gain another 37 pounds?  Or will I gain less because I weigh more?  I can't even imagine ending up weighing more than I do now.

Perish the thought.

Workin' For A Living

I just read a post recently that talked about how unfair it is for women in the working world.  Since I read a ton of blogs, I can't remember where, or I would give it an attribute.  In that post, the author thought that it was very unfair that women who take days off to take care of their children are not given the same promotional opportunities as others who aren't primarily responsible for young children.  It's a familiar theme, I think.

This is kind of a hot button topic for me.  Maybe I hold a different opinion than most people, but quite frankly, I think that this is an area where men and women are treated equally.  My husband and I are both living proof of it.

After receiving my graduate degree, signifying the official beginning of my second career, I started working for a large organization that rewarded people for hours invested.  The more you worked, the larger your reward.  They didn't care about your personal life; they only cared about how much you worked.  (It was kind of a soul-less place.)  The formula was simple, everyone was treated the same, and overall, they paid more than anyone else in town.  I began working at this place because I graduated first in my class, and that was one of the attributes that they valued.

After working there for about a year, I was diagnosed with a spinal cord tumor.  It wasn't cancer, but it caught me up short.  For a short period of time, I thought I was dying -- and I was only 39.  It gave me pause, and I remember looking in the mirror and thinking if I could only be allo