Well, now that we're here...

Uh-Oh

2009-08-28T14:29:00.003-06:00

Any use of the crock-pot in my house is hereby banned. I will be revisiting this issue in the second trimester. Possibly.

Yikes. Cooking beef all day yesterday was entirely too fragrant.

A Sigh of Relief

2009-08-27T23:25:00.003-06:00

So...

Levels are all looking good. I went in early this week for the 8 week appointment. It was so strange not to have been in the office already every two days. I'd been anticipating this appointment since that BFP and blood work and was shaky-nervous going into that sonogram room.

I had a (mostly internal, thank goodness) freak-out when my doc couldn't find the baby with the internal sonogram. He couldn't get a decent look at my uterus in general. Apparently, because it is freakishly high this time, it wouldn't work. We switched to the abdominal sonogram and (whew!) finally made out an adorable little blob with a beating heart. I'm sure other things were said after Dr. Awesome played the heartbeat for me, but I heard nothing else. I'm sure my sigh was audible several counties over. That's what I needed. A heartbeat.

I go back in two weeks for another scan to get a size measurement. The picture wasn't clear enough to do the estimate, although Dr. Awesome thinks that the baby is measuring about a week and a half behind. I'm not terribly concerned about that part, though, since The Bean was the exact same way, and it was never an issue with her.

So apparently, even when Clomid-coaxed, my ovaries take their sweet time with the ovulation thing. My doctor thinks that when I had my blood drawn before to test for it, I hadn't actually ovulated yet. That actually doesn't work out in my head, but for now, I'm taking the good happy news and running. I'll wrap my head around the details later.

For now, my days are generally filled with food aversions and nausea. But I can't really complain. Regular pregnancy symptoms indicate, well...pregnancy, and I'm not about to take the joy out of that. Nope, not a bit. I will, however, go have a ginger ale.

Surprise?

2009-08-11T01:07:00.003-06:00

Um....yeah.

I've not felt very well for about a week or so and haven't thought a whole lot about it. I've been working really hard at balancing housework with all the crafty projects that I need to work on. Sleep has been somewhat of an afterthought lately, although I've been doing better at getting into bed before 2am. Except tonight. No, tonight I can't seem to make my brain slow down long enough for sleep.

Mr. Mandolyn jokingly asked if I was pregnant after I mentioned feeling yucky this afternoon. We both giggled. No ovulation means no baby. Duh. Still, once that notion gets in your head, only a trip to the grocery store can get rid of it. The two week wait was over two weeks ago. I've been there, done that when it comes to crushing myself with negative pee sticks, and wasn't eager to revisit. So, at 99.9% sure that I was going to see a negative result (and just ready to clear that idea from my head and move on) I was all jittery in the bathroom. Still, pee on a stick I did.

And I'll be damned if a BFP didn't just announce itself within one full second. Tears sprung to my eyes. Then a brief second of elation. Then the oh-too-familiar freak out settled deep in my stomach. What an idiot I am for not checking. I should have thought about the last time, how nothing seemed to make sense, and yet, it did. I should have, I should have... maybe not had those several beers the past few weeks after the "no evidence of ovulation" call, maybe held off on some of the caffeine, maybe not have taken the migraine medicine last night. Hell, I stopped taking the prenatals after that. They make me nauseous and thought that I'd just pick it up with the next cycle.

So much to think (worry?) about before I can exhale. Hormone levels? Progesterone suppositories? Is everything okay? Seriously, how late DO I force-ovulate, anyway?

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled. I just can't wait to get into see my Dr. tomorrow for reassurance. It's not like we haven't been down a similar road before, but that whole "no evidence of ovulation" really had me buying it. And I thought I couldn't be surprised...

3rd Inning, Strike One.

2009-07-27T09:36:00.003-06:00

"No evidence of ovulation."

I admit that I'm not surprised at all. Really didn't expect for it to work the first time around, because really, would I know how to handle things if they worked exactly like they should? Not so much. It wasn't the sucker-punch that I felt two years ago, but it wasn't exactly two scoops of chocolate Blue Bell either. Next up: Clomid, 150mg. We'll see if it can succeed in coaxing an egg out next round.

Awaiting Day One.

2009-06-16T13:20:00.002-06:00

The recipe for hope:

prescriptions for Provera, Clomid

samples of a new blood pressure medicine

a calendar & sharpie

28 oz. Slurpee

Here we go...

Hey, look. I remembered my log-in!

2009-04-02T15:23:00.002-06:00

Wow, has it been a year? Hmm.

Funny. Provera didn't exactly prevail. Granted, Rosalie* hasn't kicked her heels up on my coffee table for months at a time, but she has popped in sporadically. Like, REAL sporadically. I've been experimenting lately to see what my body does on it's own. That was amusing. And here we are, almost exactly a year later, and there is a Provera prescription waiting for me in the pharmacy.

I wonder if I should buy a hat.

On another note, I've really got to stop having SuperIssues on my anniversary. (5 years tomorrow!)

*O-kay. Didn't realize that that little book I was reading was going to be so insanely popular. Hmm. My period is famous.

Hello, Provera. We meet again.

2008-04-04T09:30:00.002-06:00

I've decided to rename my Aunt Flo. She will be known as "Rosalie" from here on out. Rosalie was a character in a book that I just finished, and I think that a disgruntled vampire seems to fit Flo's description better.

So it is.

I was pretty used to the fact that Rosalie doesn't ever visit me, and was pretty damn okay with that for the year and a half that it lasted. Quite honestly, I was more than peachy to never give her a second thought. It was nice.

And then she decided to unexpectedly show up at the end of February. At first I thought maybe she was just going to ring the doorbell and run off. She dabbled with the idea of staying for a while before inviting herself in and unloading her bags. Rosalie, in her typical style, couldn't make up her mind. She disappeared for six days. But just as I was sighing in relief, she was boldly making plans to move in permanently. The last week she's been a thorn in my side. Ugh. I called my doctor again and he seems to think that an eviction notice might do the trick. I'm going to pick up the Provera Proclaimation this afternoon. Hopefully Rosalie will realize that a month is really too long of a visit. I need a break, vampire chick.

So Hello, Provera. Looks like you're the new sheriff in town.

Things I Learned Today

2008-02-27T19:10:00.003-06:00

1. A small bit of plastic from a grocery sack can make it through a baby's gastrointestinal tract relatively unchanged.

2. Even with the above mentioned plastic, a poopy diaper is an irresistible snack to my dog.

Happy.

2007-12-23T08:43:00.001-06:00

Happy Holidays, everyone.

I'm doing much better with acceptance of everything, especially my body and its limitations. I really just needed to realize (again) that ultimately it isn't about me or what I wish was reality. It's about my daughter. When I put my brain on that setting, things look much more okay. I have to remind myself that "the best I can" is in fact, just fine. And it is.

To all of my blog friends: Wherever you are and whatever you celebrate, may it be happy. Here's to a new year full of hope and happiness.

I know.

2007-10-21T23:39:00.000-06:00

I have a new three-day-old niece and have been (willingly) around my sister-in-law as she breastfeeds her sweet little one. I didn't realize that I was rubbing salt in an obviously still open wound. I was just so curious to know how the process works with a normal body. To hear what a "real" nursing baby's swallow sounds like. To watch my SIL put pressure on her breast to stop the milk from flowing out. To hear about the pain of engorgement. It stings a bit. Ok, a lot. And I have such a feeling of guilt and spite for my body. I know that I should be satisfied at this point that I've been able to make anything at all, but I don't feel lucky. And I hate that I just can't let go.

I would have literally starved my daughter if I'd relied on my body alone. I had a rough time with that, but thought that I'd accepted it. I needed help getting her in me and getting her out, so why should feeding her be any different? I had known something wasn't right for a while- my A's stayed A's throughout my pregnancy. I was never engorged...my milk took five days to come in, and I had a hard time deciding if it had indeed come in at all. The most I've ever made at a time as been one stupid ounce. Total. For five months, I've been offering my daughter breastmilk before a bottle, and for five months she's been the most patient baby on the face of the earth. I'm drying out. I'm now down to making less than a full ounce a day. And all those failure-as-a-woman feelings that infertility introduced me to are all back to the surface. I know that I've been desperately clinging onto breastfeeding. I know.

I know that my daughter won't suffer at all if she is exclusively formula-fed. I know that there won't be any physical pain when I stop. I know that I shouldn't feel guilty. I know that I've done the best that I could. I know that I shouldn't hate my body for failing me. Again. I know, I know, I know.

But it scares me. How can I teach my daughter to love her body when I hate mine so much? How can I teach her that being a woman is so much more than any physical limitation or imperfection? I want to be the kind of person that can just let it go and move onto things that I have more control over, I really do. I know that ultimately this isn't about me, but right now, right in this moment, the tears keep on falling. I just rocked my daughter to sleep and they streamed down my face. I want to shield her from all of this and yet, she's already been affected by it. I wanted so much to give her what most people have the choice to do, and once again, my body won't allow it.

I'll get over it eventually. Someday the sting won't be as fierce. I know that, too. I hope that someday the guilt fades. I know that this isn't as big of a deal for a lot of people. I wish that it was that simple for me. I wish I knew how to just deal with it. I wish that I didn't feel so alone with it.

I know, but I wish...

I knew I should have added more flour.

2007-08-30T13:56:00.000-06:00

Or possibly a bucketful.

So far, I'm digging this Stay At Home Mom thing from the 1950's. Obviously, I love being able to stare at my darling* child any moment I choose. It's pretty nice having the time to take care of things around the house so that it doesn't look like a tornado ravaged it with a Mack truck that it picked up from the nearby highway. I can actually make preparations the dinner that I think about at 2pm. I can vacuum cat hair and clean up doggy wizzle more than twice a month. I can wear clean clothes that weren't frantically washed the night before and still partially damp. My plants aren't in a constant state of Wilt. Hell, even the fish are getting fed consistently. It's pretty awesome.

I attempted to make Oatmeal Raisin Cookies! (my favorite, hence the capital letters and mid-sentence punctuation) this afternoon. I added some chocolate chips, let's not get stupid. And they taste pretty good. The problem lies in that "cookie" isn't exactly the appropriate noun for them. No, I made three dozen Oatmeal Raisin [Chocolate Chip] Gooey Mushy Globs! instead. No, it didn't stop me from licking the batter bowl clean. And the beaters.

*My darling child who sleeps through the night all the time. Except last night. She was in and out of sleep all night long. It was...hmm. Unrefreshing. Today, I needed cookies. Or globs. Whatever.

Look, I found five minutes!

2007-08-27T00:01:00.000-06:00

For what it's worth, I'm still around. I have officially decided to not go back to work and I think it was the right decision for me. "Stress" doesn't exist like it did before. People keep asking if I've been coping with the adjustment and I feel like I'm cheating somehow because it's been such an easy transition. We may be eating Ramen noodles every night for dinner for the rest of our known existence, but hey, don't they have a million flavors of that crap anyway? I haven't written much lately, mostly because I haven't had much time to sit at the computer for longer that five minutes at a time and also because everything has been pretty good for me. I have nothing bad to say about parenting so far. Nada. Still love it. Rory's smiling and sort of laughing now (it's a funny little inward noise). She's started to become very interested in everything around her. It's pure joy.

Last I heard, my dad's cousin and his wife are doing okay. I keep asking around the family for updates, trying to get a gauge for how things are, and it seems that they are taking things one step (one breath?) at a time.

My husband's cousin and his wife told us last week that they are expecting and I couldn't be more happy for them. I had sensed that they'd been trying for several years, based on bits of conversations and judging by facial expressions when baby stuff has come up now and again. I knew by how honestly sympathetic they were after my miscarriage that they might perhaps know more than we'd realized before. The last time I saw them, I was pregnant and I could see heartbreak in their eyes. It was tough for me and I know it was worse for them. They've always been very private with it, though, so I never wanted to pry. At any rate, they were pregnant with twins and lost one in July. The other wasn't expected to make it, but so far, close to 12 weeks along, the baby's doing fine. She's currently having a ball with progesterone supplements- I'm pretty sure we've officially bonded now! I'm just so glad that things seem to be going their way finally- I know what wonderful parents they'll be.

I've been trying to catch glimpses of everyone's blogs when I can- it seems like there's lots of good stuff out there recently. I'll try to get better about leaving comments when I drop in to read. Here's to a good week!

And the heartache isn't over.

2007-07-14T14:04:00.000-06:00

My mom just called with horrific news. My dad's cousin and his wife were 8 months pregnant (IVF) and yesterday she threw a clot (pulmonary embolism) and lost the baby. She's in very critical condition. She had a miscarriage about a year ago. I can only imagine that they've spent the past eight months terrified that something might go wrong. She's 42. Sure, that can carry some risks as far as fertility goes, but you certainly don't think about this. Then again, I don't guess anybody really expects something like this.

I could ask why it's all so incredibly unfair, but somehow "unfair" doesn't do justice to what they must be feeling right now. I'm at a complete loss.

So please, if you pray, pray. If you think, please think. If you light candles, get your matches out. "S" needs all the strength and good thoughts and hope that the world has to give.

Great Cake Day!

2007-06-24T18:36:00.000-06:00

I sort of cheated. I didn't make my cake. It's from a celebration/shower that my church had for Rory this Sunday. We joined this church towards the end of my pregnancy and several sweet ladies have been dying to have cake and punch ever since. Neither Mr. Mandolyn nor I had been to church regularly in well over ten years, so finding somewhere that felt like home seemed like it would be a near-impossible task. Except that it wasn't. We only tried one church in our great quest, but we like this place a lot. It's a good fit for us. It's pretty small, and very close-knit without being pushy or overwhelming. We found out recently that our minister and his wife have Clomid twins, after four miscarriages. It's not like I consider infertility experience a requirement, but it sure makes things more meaningful then to hear our baby introduced to the congregation as an answer to prayers. We've heard over and over again what a blessing she is and how they love to celebrate babies. Amen, folks.

Happy Great Cake Day!

A View From the Infertile Window

2007-06-13T10:08:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I had a feeling of "I'm really not entirely sure how I truly feel about that" lurking around. We found out that my husband's cousin is pregnant. Not much out of the ordinary there (that we know about)- they wanted to have a baby and -poof- got pregnant. Good for them. But the weird part is that they have a website set up with several couples from their church. These people all got together and decided that they wanted to have babies this year and set up a joint website to follow everyone's progress. They use it as an open diary for each other and the world in general to view. Now, I can see to the non-infertile how this sounds like a fun, innocent idea. To me, it sounds like pure Internet Hell. Can you imagine? What if one of the couples has trouble conceiving? Or miscarries? Or they get to look at how nicely everyone else in their little circle is coming along with their pregnancies while sitting at home in a pool of tears wondering what is wrong with them and why can't it work for them like it does for everyone else. And then they can go to church and see all the couples in their little baby club, and try to pretend that everything is perfectly fine. It's not unlike what happens every single time infertility strikes, but I can't imagine that kind of gestational innocence. I don't remember it. I wish that I weren't so cynical about their. I wish that I thought is was cute. For their sake, I hope that it all works out for them. I hope all of their group members end up with a baby at the same time. How ridiculously adorable. How perfectly nauseating. I hope they never have to realize how close they are to the edge.

We watched Apocalypto a few nights ago. Well, "watched" is kind of a loose interpretation. I snoozed through most of the middle, which had nothing to do with the entertainment value and everything to do with the fact that it as after midnight. Mr. Mandolyn and I were both radio-tv-film majors and sometimes rent movies because we feel like we're supposed to. I realize the rationale is mostly ridiculous, but we do the rent movies through the mail thing so it doesn't cost extra to pretend that we got more out of those film criticism classes than we actually did.

At any rate, one of the story arcs didn't sit well with me. One of the characters is made fun of in his tribe because of his inability to produce a child. And not merely called names or made to feel like an outsider, but cruel, physical jokes. And everyone joins in- his peers, his mother-in-law, his elders, the children in the tribe. It took my breath away. I guess we've all kind of felt like that on the inside. Infertility makes you feel like you're the butt of a horrific joke. But to see it played out on screen so openly...and in ancient times...made it rumble around in my stomach.

It's not a new realization, but one that seems to be a recurring theme. Things are just different from the perspective of an infertile. Not worse. Just different, and it's a little shocking now and then to discover the view from another window.

The Rory Story- Long Overdue

2007-06-06T12:26:00.000-06:00

At 7:30am on May 11th we checked in on the labor and delivery floor. I wasn't nearly as nervous as I thought I might be. I was induced shortly after and realized that the cute little adorable tightening sensations that I'd felt prior to that moment were not in fact actual contractions. I decided on an epidural sometime around lunchtime (which for me was a tasty grape popsicle...who knew it could taste so good?), called my dad, who is a nurse anesthetist, and personally thanked him for every woman he's ever numbed. Mr. Mandolyn wanted to watch, which was apparently only allowed if he sat down. My doctor came in to check on my every couple of hours and it seemed like everything was progressing...sort of. He and the nurse had a hell of a time checking me out because of the placement of my cervix. Who me? Anatomical issues? Anyone surprised? I came in at almost 2cm dialated and progressed to 3, then 4, then 5. Then 5. Then still 5. The baby's head seemed to really enjoy the -2 position and didn't seem interested in engaging any further. Still, both my doctor and I preferred to have this baby without a c-section and she was never in distress, so we forged ahead until 7:30pm. My cervix was swelling, I was still at 5cm, Baby's head still hadn't come any farther down, and my doctor could feel a 5cm lump on my baby's head from her 12 hour effort. At 7:30, we decided to prep for a c-section. I was disappointed for a few seconds, but the whole staff was so incredibly great about making me laugh and feel comfortable and at ease with the process that it didn't last long. Mr. Mandolyn got to watch this process, too, but interestingly enough, was allowed to stand. Needles mean that men must sit to watch, but cutting his wife's flesh and retrieving a small human? No chair necessary. We were amused. It went very smoothly and very calmly and at 8:16pm I got a quick glimpse of Rory Leigh, the most beautiful baby girl in the whole world (yes, there is a bias there). We realized that her big ol' head wasn't going to fit through my inadequately sized pelvis. My awesome CRNA took our camera and took picturs for us and pulled back the big sheet that was in front of my face to give me a view of the nurses and Mr. Mandolyn cleaning up my daughter. They brought her over and the three of us just stared at each other and I forgot all about whatever was going on with my body beneath the sheet curtain. I heard "What a Wonderful World" playing on the OR speakers as I was wheeled into a recovery room. At that moment, everything was wonderful. It still is.

I did really well with my own recovery and we had Rory in our room every second that we could. Surrendering her for an hour or so in the morning (pediatrician) and evening (bath, weight check, etc.) was really difficult. I think most of my nurses wanted me to have her in the nursery overnight, but I just couldn't do it. I had to stare at her little face. Sleep, schmeep. I don't regret losing any sleep because I was marveling at my daughter. Yeah, I'm still a little guilty of that, too. My mom says it fades. I don't know, I have my doubts.

We've only had to overcome one major hurdle thus far, and considering what it took to get to this point, I've decided that we're still in the lucky category. She started out at 7lbs 120z. Breastfeeding was starting out as a nightmare. She latched on great, I wasn't cracked or sore or anything, but milk wasn't coming in. And my daughter was HUNGRY. I completely broke down in the hospital when Rory was so frustrated at my boobs and they're lack of nutritional content that she was screaming and shaking her little head back and forth. All the feeling of womanhood that I'd spent nine months delighting in fell apart in three seconds. It was awful. Helpless. Horrible. An angel of a nurse came to help out as two of the three members of our little family were in hysterics. She gave us some glucose water to try sprinkling on my nipples to get Rory to keep suckling and encourage my milk to come in. It sort of worked in that it ceased tears for a while. The nurse also brought some formula, "just in case we want to use it." "You don't have to," she said, looking at my red puffy eyes, "but I want you to have it here in case you want to try it, sweetie." Barbara. She was such a sweetheart. I knew when she told me not to blame myself that she was right, but I still broke down at the thought of not being able to provide the simplest need for my child on my own. I just wanted my body to do something that might redeem itself as an actual functioning female. Rory was discharged at 6lbs 15oz and we were instructed to see our pediatrician the following day. At home later that afternoon, we decided to resort to the formula. She was starving, poor baby, and I still had no milk. No engorgement. No soreness. No heavy feeling. No confidence in my womanhood. Lots of love for my tiny human, though, so through a fit of frustrated tears, my husband helped me realize that seeing her happy and calm with an actual full feeling was worth anything. She got down to 6lbs 11oz before slowly and steadily climbing back up. My milk finally has come in, although in pathetic supply. (Never any engorgment or other signs of a plentiful milk supply.) For now, I give her whatever she can get from me and supplement with formula. And I've also come to realize that it isn't about me, it's ultimately about my daughter and her wellbeing. I've done a lot of thinking about a Stirrup Queen's post that stuck with me. Mel says that "natural is nice. But any method that helps you reach your goal is best." And she's absolutely right. I know this. I try to consider that since we had to trick my body hormonally into getting pregnant, the fact that my boobs work at all is somewhat of a miracle. My doctor's wife had the same milk production issues with their kids, so I feel like he understands where I'm coming from. And hey, he knows Rory really well now, since we're in the office every few days. But it's all ok. Today at the doctor's office she weighed 8lbs 2oz, one day shy of four weeks. She's doing great and starting to be more and more aware of everything around her. And it's absolutely wonderful.

Half of the time I have no idea what day it is, what time it is, where my wallet is, and if my cell phone is charged, but I love this. I love all of it. I love her smile (even if it is just gas), watching her sleep, little fingers clinging to mine, the way she scrunches up to get comfortable, the sounds she makes and the smell of her breath. I love the way she screams during diaper changes, the funny faces she makes when she farts, cleaning her face after she spits up, waking up after a few hours to take care of her and trying to figure out what her cry means. I will never tell people that they don't want this, that parenting is something to be feared or unwanted. This is exactly what I longed for. I hope with all of my heart that everyone who wants to experience this so badly gets their turn. It should be fair. I feel a little like a cheater for having it so good lately. Surely I don't deserve this. I love it, I love it, I love it. I love her. It's a wonderful, wonderful world.

L-O-V-E

2007-05-17T15:41:00.000-06:00

Details coming soon...

ETA: Friday!

2007-05-07T10:24:00.000-06:00

May 4th, 2006 was one of the most heart-wrenching days of my existence. My husband and I went to the sonogram room and came out changed people. At that point, we learned that our baby would not end up in our arms and we were asked to think about scheduling a d&c very soon.

May 4th, 2007 was a remarkably better date. My husband and I went to the same sonogram room and learned that our baby will end up in our arms very soon and were asked to think about scheduling an induction date very soon.

Maybe this is what it means to come full-circle. I think I understand the meaning of "bittersweet" now. (I keep hearing song lyrics in my head, "if you never stop when you wave goodbye, you just might find if you give it time, you will wave hello again...you just might wave hello again.") How can I be so lucky?

I'm excited! And nervous. But mostly excited! The sonogram estimated her head measures 40 wks, while the rest of her is between 37 and 38 weeks (thank you, husband). She's somewhere in the neighborhood of 7lbs 9oz right now. My blood pressure was elevated (I'm medicated, so it really shouldn't be) but there were no traces of protein in my urine, so the doctor wasn't immediately concerned. I go back this afternoon to recheck it, and if everything looks okay, we'll go in Friday morning and have this baby! (If not ok, we'll have her sooner). The reality of the situation hasn't really hit yet. We spent the better part of the weekend marveling to each other, "Wait, but next week we'll actually have a real baby here."

A Departure from the Bitter Train

2007-04-10T11:23:00.000-06:00

I need something else at the top of my blog page. Something not whiny, not bitter, not unhappy. Because I am incredibly happy. And delighted. And thankful. I have mentioned before how much I hate that so many people tend to want to make pregnancy and caring for a baby a negative thing. It's remarkable. My husband teaches middle school and comes hope exhausted from ignoring all the "You're life is going to be over, dude." comments. "You'll never see your friends after this." I get it, too, especially now that I'm obviously pregnant to strangers and coworkers. "I hope you enjoy your sleep now, because you'll never get it again." "Can't wait to get that baby out, huh? Don't you hate when the kid kicks you in the ribs?" Blah blah blah.

Call it being naive, I don't care, but we're thrilled. We're thrilled at the chance to lose sleep, thrilled to anticipate disgusting diapers, thrilled to have the opportunity to change the focus of our lives to someone else. When my rib cage gets a jolt, I try to remember exactly how it felt. I'm so afraid I'll forget and I want to relish every chance I have to feel this baby in me. (What if I never get to feel it again?) I know it's mildly irrational, but I have a real hard time allowing myself to complain about anything. Getting up twice in the middle of the night to pee? Having to go every two seconds? Ligament/groin pain? Anterior placenta? My impressive display of stretch marks? Honestly, it's fine. All of it. Bring it on. It means that there is a baby thriving in me. How could that be bad? Sure, my life will change, but in the perfect way. I expect to be tired. I expect to be frustrated at times, I expect to be so completely overwhelmed every now and then that I don't know what to do with myself. I wouldn't have it any other way.

For a while, I felt bad because I was causing my husband to toss and turn at night. I started snoring (glamorous, huh?) and changing positions seems to conjure up images of elephants (I'm so graceful it's scary). My favorite comment so far has been, "You tell that husband of yours that he can just sleep somewhere else if your pregnant sleeping habits are keeping him awake at night. Please, it's not like you asked for this!"

Um...yes I did. A lot. I begged for this. Not just the cute, sweet, adorable parts either. Nope, all of it.

Guilty Confessions

2007-03-19T12:24:00.000-06:00

Last Tuesday we celebrated my sister-in-law's birthday. She's seventeen. (Insert appropriate comments here). She opened a card from my husband's brother, sister-in-law, and our nephew. It was signed from all of them along with "Baby #2."

(Insert forced happy reactions, giggling and expected smiles here.)

That was hard. And everything that whizzed around in my head was also swirling around in my husband's as well, although we both did a fairly good job of masking it. We are happy for them. Babies are good things.

I hate that there's a "but." I suspect it's almost entirely a jealously thing on my part. But...I know that they got pregnant the first time they tried. They have the ability to stop taking the pill and instantly get pregnant. She's told me as much. They have no problems announcing their news at 6 weeks, before they've even seen a doctor. (My husband said later, "Wait, so they don't have levels checked or anything?" He can't fathom it. Frankly, neither can I.)

But we did our best to react like we think "normal" people would. When they left, my mother in law asked me what I though about the news. Instead of launching into a three-hour long discussion of my true feelings, I squeaked out a "um, I was pretty surprised, actually."

When we got to the car that evening, my husband turned to me as we both exhaled and said, "So, what was your first thought?"

"That I hope our daughter enjoys her 5 month spotlight. Isn't that terrible?"
"Probably, but I was thinking the same thing. And your second?"
"So, first try, huh? Again. Damn, I bet they had sex once. Bitches."
"Bingo."

We realized that our daughter's firsts will largely be shared by her younger cousin. I realize that my thoughts aren't entirely rational and that the inner bitch in me is quickly surfacing, but still...I feel like we watched the family ooh and aah over my nephew so much during our ttc periods and it was hard at times, especially knowing how easy it was for him to come into the world. I want my daughter to have the same VIP treatment. And that's not to say that she won't, but her first Christmas, etc, will also be "Baby #2's" first. Our baby had to fight to get where she is now- it surely hasn't been an easy road for her. Even typing this I feel pangs of guilt and ridiculousness, but still. We feel like we are forced to compete with them unwillingly so often, that this tends to feel that way, too.

It's not that I cringe at all pregnancy/baby news, because I don't at all. I can't only be happy for infertiles who get pregnant, that's just dumb. I can't pinpoint it exactly, but it's just...different. It's them.

(Insert shower of guilt and childishness here.)

(A Tiny Bit Of) Superficial Whining (By Me)

2007-03-07T10:43:00.000-06:00

Yesterday afternoon we learned two things about my sweet little womb occupant:

1. She's definitely a girl.
2. She's definitely stubborn.

We were supposed to have the new 4-D scan done but she wouldn't move her arms and hands from directly in front of her face. She did wave her fingers a little and gave us a good clear gender pose with the regular sonogram, but wouldn't let us see her face for anything. I was honestly a little disappointed at first and then felt guilty about it while Mr. Mandolyn and I walked out. He laughed and said that he'd wanted to see the cool scan, but that he is very happy that things are still going well. She's not facing the right way, but that isn't cause for concern right now. Everything else was fine. Fine. I realized that I should take that fact and all that it means and be overjoyed. And I truly am.

But it would have been cool to see her chubby cheeks.

A Shallow Examination of the Not-Infertile Brain

2007-03-02T09:14:00.000-06:00

Ivy at Our Forever Family posted an update yesterday about her wonderful family. She also mentioned the uterus transplantation surgery that is being researched right now and how the infertile woman in the scenario is labeled as "defective." I think Ivy's "rant" about the word choice is right on target- especially when she mentions that it's another example of how people outside of the Infertility Ring of Fire don't get it, and often choose to ignore the human aspect of it.

I have a guilty little secret. I go to babycenter at least once a day and read the message boards for "my birth club." I have to confess that I feel kind of like a cheater when I go there, or maybe like I have a big dorky nametag that identifies me as not a true member. I think I go to catch a glimpse of what the Fertile Brain is like; to see what blissful pregnancy is like. And that's not to say that I am not happy at the moment. Hell, I'm more overjoyed than I know what to do with, but it doesn't make me part of the club. And I'm ok with that.

Now I'm sure that pregnancy outside of infertility is not always a picnic, but to me and my brain, it is. I envision it as going through nine months of life through a soft focus lens, just a tiny bit in slow motion. Like the obligatory "happy memory" scene in every chick flick. The things that concern these women blow my mind- some are "going to be very pissed off" if their baby is born in June as opposed to May because June's birthstone is far uglier." They talk about having too many appointments, how they've seen their doctor so many times it's just ridiculous. They start threads asking how many people got pregnant while on birth control, or on the first try, and how many are having unplanned pregnancies? One in particular caught my attention the other day. Someone was asking for advice on how to deal with the strained relationship she has with her best friend, who has had a considerably hard time conceiving. She felt that they were drifting apart and was afraid to share any pregnancy/baby news with her for fear of making her angry/jealous/hurt. The responses were mostly pretty good advice, I thought (they were mostly prefaced with, "I've been in your friend's situation..."). Good little infertiles jumped in to share personal experiences. But what caught me off guard was to hear how many people responded with something like, "I'm in the same situation, I don't know how to talk to my best friend/SIL/girl at the office who can't conceive/just had a miscarriage, etc..." One response recalled that while she was pregnant with her first child, she had several infertile friends. She said that she lost a lot of friends during that time, but that you really find out who your true friends are- the ones that stick around.

That last comment really got me thinking. I think I've settled on "upsetting." It sounds like she's angry with her infertile friends for not "sticking around" during her perfect pregnancy. She can't think about what it must be like on the other side of the fence...or won't think about it, I'm not really sure. Is that the SuperFertile! brain? Do they think of us only as bitter, selfish bitches who can't be bothered to recognize the joy in anyone else's life? Are we just defective to them?

I think we represent something far bigger than they choose to process. Infertility isn't something that anyone wants to think about having to deal with, so it's easier to ignore it. That philosophy has never worked out well for me. Pretending that all the problems in the world don't exist isn't a valid way to eradicate them. Bad things and heartache don't dissolve into thin air because you can put heavy blinders on. I'm not hinting that we should all live in fear of the worst, constantly looking for the opposite of joy and happiness. But when it's presented to you, you can't just turn around and decide that you've escaped it. So, SuperFertile! Lady, I'm sorry that your infertile friends had a hard time with your pregnancy. I'm sorry dealing with them might have made both of you uncomfortable. I'm sorry that you chose to let friendships fall apart because it was the easier path to take.

I'm mostly sorry that infertility has to be such a hard thing to actively talk about. I'm sorry that people would rather see it as purely clinical. I'm sorry that it can be easily ignored by people who don't consider themselves to be directly affected by it. I'm sorry that it has to be so damn hard. Communication and better understanding has to be a priortity, although I'm not exactly sure how to get that ball rolling...

Eff Harvard

2007-02-28T09:00:00.000-06:00

Who funds this shit?

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/wireStory?id=2910092

Why I have a new pomegranate string on my wrist.

2007-02-25T09:19:00.000-06:00

Or, Why my husband recently said, "Babe, with you it's never a dull moment."

On Saturday, I painted little kid trains on the wall of a "big boy" room for one of my sister-in-law's friends. On Friday night, I figured I'd go grab some paint on the way home from our weekly CiCi's pizza trip and be good to go. We headed to Wal-Mart (of course) and managed to add several non-painting items to our basket (also, of course). After discovering that the line of pre-mixed paint that I like to use was discontinued about a year ago, Mr. Mandolyn and I decided that we'd have a few pints of paint mixed in the paint department. There was no one at the paint counter (of course) so we took turned looking pathetic and asking other departments to please page someone for us. After almost half an hour, a nice lady from Lawn & Garden came to give it her best shot- she'd only mixed paint once before and it had been six months ago.

It was a bit of a joint effort, but she figured it out and matched the colors perfectly (the machine wasn't one of the new computerized ones). We were all making pleasant conversation as I grabbed the last pint of paint and set it down in the basket. Except that it didn't quite make it. It slipped from my hand with about an inch to go before hitting the bottom of the basket.

And then it happened.

It must have hit with just the right amount of force in just the right spot, because bright green paint EXPLODED. It didn't spill, it exploded. Six feet in the air. Mr. Mandolyn felt drops on the top of his head first. I, on the other hand, felt oozing latex paint dripping down the side of my face and before opening my eyes to observe the scene, thought, "Oh yeah, it's everywhere." And oh, it was. It was splattered all over my face, my hair, my shirt, my jeans, my shoes, my string bracelet, Mr. Mandolyn, the shopping cart, everything in the shopping cart, my purse, my windbreaker that had been crammed in the cart, and the floor at the Wal-Mart paint counter. You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone within sight stood with mouths hanging open. If it was caught on the store camera, I have no doubts it's on YouTube somewhere.

I didn't know where to start. I knew my clothes were ruined. There was just too much to try to race to get it off. Mr. Mandolyn happened to be wearing a shirt that was the exact color of the paint. (We thought he'd escaped relatively well, until we took a look at his undershirt that night. It looked like he'd been in a horrible accident and bled green.) Everyone rushed to help. It came off of my purse pretty well (thank you, $10.45 Sam Moon purse...I knew that purchase would eventually be justified) but everything else was not so lucky.

I could feel the hot tears welling up just from the sheer lack of control over the situation. A very unhelpful employee told the Lawn & Garden lady that she must have not put the lid back on right, although I saw her pound it with the mallet. The same employee also looked at me in disgust as she said, "Um, I need to get past you..." Right lady, and I need to NOT BE COVERED IN PAINT. Deal. I headed to the bathroom to try to save face- from embarrassment as well has from the goo that covered it and tears started to fall. A couple of people looked at me in shock and I answered their wonderment with, "Uh, disaster in the paint department." I pulled myself together, washed myself as best I could, and headed back. Maintenance teams and managers were helping my husband transfer what could be saved into a new cart and grabbing new products as necessary. One manager took me over to the clothing department and told me that they would give me a new outfit. He was so sweet, and was really trying to do the right thing, so I tried on some clothes. I just wasn't in the mood. Shopping for clothes for me is always a stressful adventure and at that point, I didn't want new clothes. I wanted my own to not be ruined. My sweet husband took one look at me and realized all of this and asked if we could have store credit instead. We'd use it to pay for the things we would by that night and he would take me to get new clothes later. No problem, they gladly gave us a gift card.

And then we laughed...because, well, damn. It was funny. We're the biggest thing to happen to that Wal-Mart in a long time. At least we gave countless people a good story to go home and share. We've been telling everyone about it, and so far, everyone has said, "Mandolyn, you do realize that this could really only happen to you, right?"

Oh yeah. I do.

A Call for Assvice!

2007-02-14T13:05:00.000-06:00

I graduated from college at a not-so-good-if-you-actually-wanted-a-job time. I kind of knew it would be like that, so it wasn't a huge step to move in with my parents for a while. They had just moved 600 miles from where I was raised and were now about an hour away from where I'd been living. In an attempt to make a little money, I decided to try to start making greeting and notecards out of these little angel characters that I doodled. I had a teacher in high school suggest it and laughed him off (while continuing to draw in the margins of my college notebooks as well). This was also not a huge stretch for me. I'm (obsessively) crafty and was always the kid on the corner with a lemonade/Kleenex flower/yarn doll/pet rock stand. I'm pretty sure that I never made $5 total in the years that I tried to sell crap to the neighborhood, but somehow that never discouraged me.

So back to the cards. My parents were ultra-supportive and helped me dive a little deeper into it. I actually trademarked a logo and booked myself at a few craft fairs. It has been kind of hit and miss from there. (Sometime I'll have to go into my craft fair soapbox...) I did eventually get a job, moved out, got married, etc, but have kept it going. I honestly do enjoy it. My husband is the best supporter ever. I have a website, but it isn't always up-to-date or cool (but I do have a friend who is doing it for free, so the complaints kind of have to end there.)

And now. I'm looking at trying my hand at not working in an office after this baby is born. I have a lot of reasons, but one is definitely that I don't feel like anything I do at work really matters. And it doesn't, that's just a fact. But I can make people happy with the cards, so I figure maybe I'll try concentrating on that some more.

Here's where you come in. I need some suggestions, opinions, and assvice. Mel has brought it up before and I've been a part of discussions about it. So let's revisit, shall we? How do we feel about cards specifically designed for the infertile? Pregnancy loss, Hopeful Wishes, Congratulations on _______, etc, etc... My husband and I talked about it last night. We had a difficult time handling people in the aftermath of our miscarriage. He said that he would have liked to receive one that said, "You don't want to talk about it. We won't make you. We love you." That's what he wanted to hear.

What would you like to hear? What about pictures? I do a lot of custom stuff, and that would certainly work well in this case, but should I look into a Special Collection? And how can I make it mean something? Should I put a blurb about the pomegranate string? Include one? Is this something you would be interested in?

Please deposit any thoughts- comment here or email me (mandolynblog@hotmail.com). Tell me what other people think, too. If I'm going to try this, I want to do it justice.

If you want to get an idea of what I'm talking about, my website is www.moosangels.com. Most of the designs there are based on requests that I've gotten along the way. For the record, though, I did give you fair warning as to it's up-to-dateness...yes, I realize that aside from what the snowman on the front page says, Christmas really isn't just around the corner.

Inside Mandolyn's Head, Episode 1: Religion and Infertility

2007-02-09T16:28:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, long blog posts need an introduction. Without further ado:

Melissa at Stirrup Queens had a great post on Wednesday- Sermony that really struck a chord with me. She has several questions from a woman planning on writing a sermon designed to reach out to the infertile congregation. I thought I’d leave a comment on her blog, but it turned out to be a little lengthy (ahem). So…in response to her post and a few of the questions Melissa has posted on her blog:

My husband and I have been talking about finding a church lately. I’ve always said that I want to raise my kids with church to give them a basis to form their own beliefs from, just as my parents did. It’s a hard thing for me, organized religion. I haven’t had any specific bad experiences per se, I just don’t feel like I fit in. Yes, I realize how much of a lame excuse that sounds like. I haven’t been to church (other than a few special occasions) in almost ten years. I fell “out of practice” in college. I went to a private college that was once affiliated with a certain denomination (that I grew up a member of, and actually do like, based on beliefs) but found that church services were something that everyone did because they were supposed to. It was beyond cliché, it was sickeningly hypocritical. I realize that happens on a much larger scale than just a college campus, but I suppose the exaggerated environment really struck me.

I don’t believe that religion and spirituality exist in the confines of walls and stained glass windows. I haven’t attending a church service in years, and yet I think I have felt closer to God and more in touch with what I believe since…not that the two are directly related. For me, stepping back and diving into myself and my beliefs and wrestling with it made me truly comfortable with my own spirituality. I felt in touch with religion when I took the time to notice things around me- the crisp morning air, my husband’s sweet touch, the togetherness I feel every year at a family reunion, the sun on my skin, a big sloppy dog kiss. It worked for me. Until infertilty...then I had to reexamine it all over again. I'm a work in progress.

How has dealing with IF changed your view of God (if you had one?)

I don’t know that my IF changed my view of God and religion, but it made me very aware of how differently infertility is perceived through the (religious) eyes of others. I have never been completely comfortable with the thought of God’s Plan for me. Do I have a say in it? Don’t my actions make a difference in what happens? I like to think of it more as God’s Big Flow-chart. Free will has to play into the game somehow. (This is the part where my brother turns red in the face and starts reciting verses, sure that he can make me understand that I’m dangerously mistaken.) So many people gave me religion-based advice and thoughts about my inability to conceive and my miscarriage. I wanted to scream.

“It’ll happen on God’s time, baby, not yours.”
“Let go and let God.”
“It just meant that the baby wasn’t perfect in God’s eyes.”
“We can’t question God’s Will. It was just meant to be.”

If all that is true, then God consciously chooses which babies make it and which don’t. Which wombs and which cycles get to carry a baby to term. And then how is that based? Obviously not on merit, the world has far too much evidence of that. I hardly think it's a lottery. But we’re taught to think (however simplistically) that God rewards good people, and that children are rewards, precious gifts. And then guilt sets in. If all that is true, then I must be doing something wrong, this must be a consequence of my actions, of the way I’m living my life. Maybe I don't deserve a baby. It goes on and on….and I can’t understand that. Maybe I just refuse to. I don’t think that God decided to finally let a baby implant itself in my uterus and then decided he needed to die in a matter of weeks, any more than I think God causes the terrible, horrific things that happen to people all the time. The truth is, my infertility has led me to think that God doesn’t necessarily cause or authorize all the pain and suffering on this Earth, but rather that He’s there to help us through it.

Would it cause more pain to hear it talked about in church or be a comfort to open a dialogue?

I would love to have discussions on infertility at church. I think that it’s one of those messy, uncomfortable issues that people shy away from. It can test your understanding of religion and life in general and it’s easier to ignore it. I’d rather take hard subjects like infertility, roll my sleeves up and talk about them, expose them make them real, and I think church is a wonderful setting to do that in.

Which brings back the question: can someone outside the experience ever speak as honestly and as eloquently as someone inside the experience? Is it the speaker or the personal experience that truly has the power?

While I think that the perspectives from both sides of fertility are important to hear, I don’t think that one side could speak about the other and do it justice. We can speculate and try to empathize with what we don’t know personally, but it isn’t the same. I think the power lies in the personal experience. I've been trying to expand on that thought for the better part of an hour now and haven't come up with anything profound to add. It's just that. If anyone can talk with heartbreaking honesty and absolute eloquence about infertility, it's an infertile, whatever her/his experience and perspective may be. I guess that's all I have to say about that.

Good Idea # 8672 (give or take)

2007-01-30T10:44:00.000-06:00

If you haven't already seen this on Melissa's blog, go check it out. The Help Registry is a great idea. I wish this had been around last time I needed it. We had people offer their help and we couldn't muster up enough brain power to think of anything that someone could help us with. We got phone calls that ended up in hurt feelings when we didn't call them right back.

I'm working on mine right now. It's so much easier to do this when you aren't in the midst of complete chaos.

6 Weird Things About Me (In no particular order)

2007-01-18T15:13:00.000-06:00

Michelle tagged me for this little doozy. I'm at work and love nothing more than to avoid actually doing anything that might be construed as "productive" so here we go...

1. I'm an obsessively crafty person. As in artsy craftsy. At any given time, I've got at least 3 projects going on...knitting, sewing, drawing, you name it. I have to physically restrain myself from watching tv without yarn in my hands. My fridge is currently crammed full of these super fun magnets!

2. I believe in Slurpees. Seriously, these things are magical. I ALWAYS prefer a (Coke or cherry flavored) slurpee above any dessert. And I love dessert. Chocolate cupcakes? Cherry cheesecake? Pumpkin pie? Cookies? Nope. None hold a candle to my frozen domed-lid heaven. My husband has learned that pulling into a 7-11 and getting a Slurpee is the same to me as saying "I'm sorry" or "I love you." I can be red-faced angry, and it gets me every time.

3. When I was little, I used to think that my stuffed animals and dolls had true feelings, and that they came to life when I was away. I'm pretty sure there was a Jim Henson movie about that, but I can't remember the name of it. I still can't go down a store aisle and not pick up a fallen doll or toy. Sometimes, if no one is looking, I'll tell it that I'm sorry it was mistreated.

4. I pick my cat's nose. Wow, that looks worse typed that just in my head. I don't root around or anything, but one of my little beasts just needs a little help..um, clearing things. I also clean the eye-crusties from the rest of my pets. Does that make me the crazy pet lady? Hmm...that might be rhetorical.

5. Like Michelle, I hate tags. (I really thought I was the only one, Michelle, I'm glad the club has two members.) I've gotten better with clothes, but I still have to remove them from towels, pillows, blankets...ok, pretty much everything.

6. My husband and I have decided that I am a "beverage purist." I don't like all the fancy-pants flavors that are added to drinks. I drink my iced tea without sugar, black coffee and plain Coke (no lime, vanilla, or berry flavors. The ONLY exception is the amazing Cherry Coke). I like the original Kool-Aid flavors like cherry, orange and grape. (My husband loves all the crazy flavor and color changing Razzle Dazzle Mountain Berry stuff....ew). As much as I adore the Slurpee (see #2) I only super-love the Coke and cherry flavors. Maybe I'm just a flavor-purist. Who decided that the green SweetTart should suddenly be apple? What was wrong with lime?

And there you have it. Welcome to my nutty little corner of the world. According to the very official rules posted below, I'm supposed to tag six others. I'm sure that some of you have already done this, but here goes nothing:

A at A Somewhat Ordinary Life
Mel at Stirrup Queens
Heather at BigP and Me
Mrs. C at It Could Take 3 Months
Ivy at Our Forever Family
Murray at Remaining Products

“According to the rules, each player of this game starts with the '6 Weird Things about You.' People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says, ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog!”

More Than I Deserve

2007-01-10T14:07:00.000-06:00

Mr. Mandolyn and I went for our "big" sonogram appointment yesterday afternoon. Other than once, I haven't really felt any movement, which has been a concern that I've been trying to push further and further back inside my head. I'm at the end of 20 weeks, based on baby measurements (22 wks if you go by LMP). Fears were quieted about two seconds after the doctor put the goo on my belly (which was warm, by the way- a detail much appreciated). Anterior placenta. Of course. But Baby was squirming all around. Right as the doctor was pointing out the eyes, nose and mouth, we got to see a big (Drama Queen) yawn and then a hand appeared on the screen waving at us. My heart exploded with love and happiness. I swear, a rainbow popped out of my chest and illuminated the room. Birds started chirping, butterflies appeared out of thin air and a wreath of daisies suddenly adorned my head. All signs currently point toward a girl. Mr. Mandolyn's response was, "YES!"

The doctor told me how he and The Best Nurse Ever had a rough morning. A couple that reminded them of us had been in. Conceiving had been especially difficult, they'd come in for the first sonogram and been devestated when a heartbeat was not detected and measurements were behind. He said the Best Nurse Ever commented to him as they left, "Maybe it'll be a Mandolyn case." Ah. My heart breaks into a million pieces for this couple and their baby. I wish I didn't know what they are currently going through, the waiting, the hanging on by a frayed thread of hope...possibly some of the hardest several weeks to emotionally endure. And still. While as not to downgrade their pain in any imaginable way, I found a small part of me smiling. I know that the doctor can now say, "it's a longshot, but I've seen this turn out well before" with confidence. I don't know if that would have had any effect on my emotions when I was in their position, but I smiled at the slight chance that it might.

Right at this moment, I'm not overly worried about anything in particular. I realize that probably won't last for long, but for now at least, I am almost calm. Almost relaxed, and every now and then, 13 weeks ago and all the panic it held seems like another lifetime. I can't help but think that surely I don't deserve this. Surely I'm cheating the universe somehow, right? I must have slipped through the cracks of the Entirely-Too-Much-Goodness Police files. Not that I plan on turning myself in or anything. Nope. I'm taking my daisy tiara and my bursting rainbow and I'm going skipping through green pastures or something. Happy rocks.

A One-Way Ticket to 2007, Please.

2007-01-04T15:20:00.000-06:00

I wrote this in February and I think it works in terms of this last year:

Erosion

Wearing away. It's different than wasting away. Wasting away is giving up, throwing in the towel, being completely numb and indifferent. Wearing away is stronger, more beautiful. The underlying structure remains firm, even defiant in the face of the inevitable erosion. Although constant weathering may alter the initial layers with each pass, it does little to disrupt the core. Nothing rolls off without consequence. However large or small, distinct or subtle, it leaves its mark.

It's 2007. Seriously. Someday I'll catch up.

I think it's time, though. I was pretty ready to be done with 2006. At a quick glance, it was a pretty lame rollercoaster that had a pretty cool last dip and curve. But then I scanned over all the stuff that I've written on my blogs this past year and realized that maybe the ride wasn't all that lame after all. I don't know that I'll be running to get back in line for the same one just yet, but I might pause and take a look at the picture that was snapped as I exit.

In 2006 I realized that driving seems to calm my soul. Not commute, big city driving, but the kind where I take a little detour, get a teensy bit "lost" on some backroads, and wander around. It's not too hard to do on my way home where I can pass through tiny little towns and wooded areas. I discovered how freeing it can be for my head to think beyond the obvious, right-in-front-of-me things and just breathe. That's where "me" and "the real me" can stop and have a conversation. I need to do that more often. I realized that lost animals will somehow find me and that I really don't mind helping them out, that pregnancy is really the only cure for my migraines, that the bathroom at work will always stink (no matter how you combine them, "flowers", "old lady", "spices" and "ass" will never be pleasant). I learned that I really can keep a fish alive for over a year, that I super-heart big ridiculous sunglasses, that I can't ever actually give up Coke and all other sugary and delicious carbonated beverages, that shrinky dinks still exist at Hobby Lobby, that sometimes the only thing that will make everything better is a 32 oz. Slurpee, and that no matter how dorky it is, Mr. Mandolyn and I will always consider dinner at CiCi's Pizza and a trip to Wal-Mart on Fridays an acceptable night out. I exercised the art of the Open Letter on my blogs: to The Uninvited Zit That Is Currently Residing In The Corner of My Mouth, My REM Sleep Cycle, Certain People Whose Emails Are Currently Residing in My Inbox at Work, The New Girl Working at Taco Bueno, Jell-O Pudding Pops, My New Blogger Account, and My Blog. I've discovered how invaluable blogs are to me- mine and all the others that I love to visit.

Although I knew about my own infertility before 2006, I could have never been prepared for what it had in store for me. I played with cocktails of IF drugs, had countless vials of blood taken, bought my weight in pee sticks, and I'm still not sure how my husband and my pets survived with my emotions. When I saw my first BFP in April, I was so sure that it had all been worth it. And then we had the devastating sonogram. I learned that crying an ocean of tears and dipping into depression scares me. I also learned that strength comes, even when I thought it wasn't possible. I tied a pomegranate string on my wrist and truly believe that I'm a better person because of it. I learned that the gummy bear inside of me now defies all logic. We got several BFN's after another dreaded two week wait. We were ready to look at the next cycle, then after having horrible cramps while out of town, bought a test and a box of tampons. (The tampons are still in my bathroom cabinet.) My heart was nearly broken again at our first sonogram, where no heartbeat was detected, and then again two weeks later as the baby measured 2 week too small. I celebrated my first baby's would-be birthday right as I heard this baby's heartbeat again. The dates make no sense, this baby couldn't have happened as the dates at the doctor's office suggest, but I'm finished trying to make sense of it. I'm learning to accept that no milestone of pregnancy will come with the ease and lighthearted glee that those outside of the Infertility Fire get to experience. I'm still learning.

So I'll go ahead and take that ticket to 2007. I hope that it will bring more good things than my hands can hold, than my head can comprehend and that my heart can handle. I hope that the goodness spills out into the hands, heads and hearts of everyone that needs it in the IF community. I want there to be enough to go around, with options of second helpings and dessert.

2006 definitely left it's mark. I'm a different person because of it, and the more I consider that, the more I realize that I might actually be ok with it.

To Whom It May Concern:

2006-12-24T11:19:00.001-06:00

Have yourself a Merry little Christmas!
(And a Happy New Year, too.)

Happy Birthday

2006-12-15T01:25:00.000-06:00

Dear Sweet Pea,

Today is the day that I was supposed to finally meet you. Instead of it being an ultimately joyous day, it feels bittersweet. I only had eight weeks with you growing inside of me, and maybe a little less, but Sweet Pea, I have enough love for you to last beyond a lifetime. I thought I had experienced life before you, but in such a short span, I realized how little I really knew- how little I understood myself and the power of my emotions. I thought once I met your dad that I had more love for one person than most people ever have the chance to experience. From the moment I saw a faint "+" I knew I'd thought wrong. And when I learned that you were gone, I sank to deeper depths of sorrow than I'd ever thought possible.

Today, my heart aches and my eyes spill over with tears for you- for how much I miss you, what could have been. Would you have had your dad's red hair, his good heart, his love for chocolate? Would you be as excited about finger paints and play-dough as I am? Would you love animals and Cowboy games? Someday I suppose I'll find out. Sadness aside, you were my ray of hope. You were the impossible. And you were mine. Happy birthday, Angel. I miss you.

Love,
Mom

Love (Pregnancy) Is A(n) (Apparent) Battlefield.

2006-12-14T11:00:00.000-06:00

Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. (Tempo slightly less than lightning speed) Y'all...this might actually be real.

Mr. Mandolyn and I got to hear the Gummy Bear's heartbeat on Tuesday! We tried to pressure for a sonogram, but it didn't work. I even baked dessert breads for the office staff in efforts to butter them up (ok, also to spread holiday cheer, but whatever). But we'll have to wait until January 9th to take a peek, mostly because having it covered by insurance outweighs my sheer curiosity.

My heart is happy.

And yet, I have to complain about how so many people living on this planet disregard the need to think before words fly out of their mouths. Ok, to be fair, I know that I'm extra sensitive being an IF'er. I also know that it isn't entirely fair for me to get bent out of shape over comments that people make when they don't know the full story. Still...you'd like to think that enough people would consider that pregnancy isn't a breeze for all women and think/speak accordingly. Well, that's how it works in MandolynLand, anyway.

Most people ask me if I've felt the baby move yet. Well no, not really. I respond with that, sometimes adding something like, "Yeah, I really can't wait for that part- I imagine it's so reassuring." Inevitably, I get to hear, "Oh sure, you say that now...just wait until the baby is kicking you in the ribs and you can't breath. You won't be saying that when you're uncomfortable and miserable." Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Because right now, this baby can shred my insides and I'd smile. I need the reassurance that everything is ok. Movement = life. Punt my organs, sweet gummy bear, it's fine.

I'm just barely beginning to show. It's only slightly obvious if I wear something with an empire waist, and let's be honest, I'm not convinced it's not just my normal pudge. My mother was over a few days ago and I showed her the maternity tops that my MIL had gotten for me. I mentioned that they just look silly right now because I don't really have a bump, and I welcome the time when one shows up. (Disguising fat rolls sounds like a pretty awesome fringe benefit.) My mom reacted immediately with, "Oh sure, you want to look pregnant now. Just wait until you're huge and nothing fits and you're awkward and uncomfortable. Then you'll wish for your old body." Ok. This is my own mother. Who has been informed of my infertility. Who has been around for the roller coaster ride that was this pregnancy through the early stages. Who (I thought) understood, to a degree. Apparently not. She also told me (repeatedly) that I "totally look pregnant. Oh yeah, totally." SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

WHY WHY WHY do women feel the need to make pregnancy seem like the most horrible, awful, worst experience you could ever ask for? Why do they insist on making it sound like a punishment? Is it to scare us? Is it pity? What the hell? Because, especially for those who've longed for the opportunity to carry a child, all of these twist and turns, quirks, and inconveniences are entirely insignificant. We dream of throwing up, baby bumps, awkwardness, clothes that don't fit, ribs being kicked, peeing constantly, and every other cliche of pregnancy. Those things are normal. Those things indicate that you will end up with a child in your arms to love like you've never loved before. Those things make you think that someday, if you can just feel them and embrace them for all that they represent, the pain of infertility will lessen, even if just for an instant. Why can't we be allowed that luxury?

The Sky is Falling!

2006-11-30T11:34:00.001-06:00

Weather Alert! Weather Alert! Right now in Dallas, TX there is actual falling snow. Freezing precipitation, coming down with some serious gusto. Yesterday is was 75 degrees. According to my computer, it is currently 28. The news stations last night were buzzing with warnings of this Artic Blast that was sure to come. Everyone- stock up on batteries, milk, canned goods, bottled water! Find your ice scraper and your big huge jackets! It's cold, it's frozen, it's Armageddon, it's...WINTER!

Well, at least for the next week.

An Open Letter to My Blog

2006-11-28T16:40:00.000-06:00

Dear Blog,
Hi, it's me. Ahem. Mandolyn. Remember me? Sorry I haven't been around much lately. As much as I love the holidays, (fine, I long for them all year long) the workload here at the office is always ridiculous. I'm in a good place this year, right now. My Thanksgiving was considerably better than last year and I really wanted to come here and pour out all of my good things in the form of an amazing blog entry. And then I didn't. I'd think about it while at a football game or the grocery store, or when I was knee-deep in craftiness (read: Mandolyn's Heaven) and I just never got around to it. I'd start playing with ideas in my head, but I never thought any were blog-worthy. Still, for the record, I am insanely thankful for so many things right now: for pumpkin cheesecake pie, football games, days off from work to spend with Mr. Mandolyn, seeing my brother and his furry children (wishing I could add another creature to my zoo...his foster kitten is too cute), sips of Dr. Pepper, for getting a teensy weensy bit better at not worrying about the Gummy Bear, having the Gummy Bear at all, Mr. Mandolyn's patience while untangling stands of Christmas lights, and on and on and on.

Good catching up with you, Blog. I hope all is well with you. We'll talk soon!

Love,
Mandolyn

In my head, it was a clever idea.

2006-11-15T14:08:00.000-06:00

So I made the official announcement today at work. It's rather frightening, being exposed. I baked cupcakes and put them in a pan with a sign underneath that said, "I'm having a baby!" The plan was for my coworkers to take the cupcakes and then discover the hidden message. I thought I was so clever...

Well, the two people that already know went ahead and got their cupcakes, and everyone else followed suit, getting a cupcake and telling me thanks for the sugary, delicious, healthy breakfast. No one saw the sign- no one saw past the chocolate frosting. The two that knew and I had to lightly encourage people to grab a second. It soon turned into heavily urging, followed by, "Tim, are you sure that you don't want to reconsider having that second one? Ahem." That worked, we all cracked up, the girls squealed. It was a little odd to be the center of attention and more odd with the inevitable questions.

Q: "So, how did you tell your husband?"
A: "Huh? Oh, he knew. It wasn't a surprise at all."
Inside my head: "When did I tell him what? Which part? He's been around for all the betas and pills and hormone surges, the failed cycles, the BFNs, the heartbreaks, the BFPs, the scary ultrasounds. Dude, he read the pee stick before I did."

Q: "How did you tell your family?"
A: "Um, we surprised them with paper mache balls that had messages inside."
Inside my head: "Well, that's what we did last time, anyway. This time lacked the fun because we were all on vacation together and I had to POAS in my parent's hotel room after a round of severe cramps during lunch at a nice restaurant. Then I got into a huge fight with my parents because they didn't wear the appropriate kidgloves that the situation required."

Q: "Are you showing yet?"
A: "Not really enough for anyone to notice that doesn't already know."
Inside my head: "Oh Dear God, let's all just look at my stomach now, shall we?"

All good. Well, at least for the Gummy Bear.

2006-11-15T01:03:00.000-06:00

Today's appointment went well. I'm still not sure exactly how it happened, but I haven't yet gained weight. I was sure after all the mac and cheese that I've had lately that I would get a lecture rather than a thumbs up, so I'll just take it and be happy. The doctor came in we listened for the Gummy Bear's heartbeat with the doppler. At first he said, "There it is, can you hear it?" To which I sheepishly replied, "Um...no." He found a place where the sweet melody of whoosh-whooshing was unmistakable. And I let a big sigh out.

I still feel like an oddball in the waiting room. Once I get behind the door and start joking around with Awesome Nurse, I'm good, but for the ten or so minutes that I'm waiting with the Other People, I feel like an alien. Is that strange?

I called my parents to tell them that we still have good news and my evening quickly deteriorated. Quick back story: my dad does anesthesia and is opposed to the methyldopa (aldomet) I take for hypertension. He says that the way it works can interfere should something go awry with an epidural. Ok, fine. My general doc (he is incredibly amazing) and my OB (ditto) have decided that it's the safest for me and for Gummy Bear. That's good enough for me. So, upon my dad's insistence, I brought his issue up today. My doctor acknowledged it and said that he'd never had any issues with anything happening, nor had anyone that he's ever worked with. Again, good enough for me. NOT apparently good enough for my father, who immediately elevated his voice to SHOUTING and called my doctors "yay-hoos" who need to "get with the program and read some damn research." That's an abridged, censored version, but suffice it to say that it made me absolutely pissed. My mother quickly tried to do damage control. (And when I say "damage control" I of course mean "made ridiculous excuses and wrote me an email with more vomit-inducing powers than Chicken Soup for the Soul.") I realize that he's my dad and therefore overprotective of me and my well-being, but this has really escalated lately. I also know that my dad has an I-have-to-be-right-and-there-are-no-exceptions complex. He and my mom suggested that he talk to my doctors (that got a loud HELL NO from me, thankyouverymuch.) Apparently, he knows absolutely everything and that's the end of the story. Right. I'll do some internet research (always dangerous, I know) but I just don't think the man gets it. He's concerned right now with my pills and an epidural. I'm just trying to get through this thing one day at a time without completely freaking out. We simply aren't on the same page. Anyway, I've decided to avoid my parents for today (and tomorrow) and cool down, because I need to step out of Soap Opera World for a bit.

Oh, I just finished a batch of cupcakes to bring to work tomorrow. I made a sign that says "I'm having a baby!" and put the cupcakes on top of it. Tomorrow I'll offer the coworkers cupcakes, and they'll eventually get the message. Hopefully that will go smoothly...

Wednesday should be interesting.

2006-11-13T16:09:00.000-06:00

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Provided all goes well, I plan on telling my boss and co-workers that I'm expecting on Wednesday. I have a few issues with this:

1. Right now, very few people at work know. Honestly, I don't care about anyone else outside of that small circle. I also don't care if that makes me a crappy human.

2. Outside of those very few people, no one knows about pregnancy #1. It's still too hard for me to be completely "out" at work. In my department of nine people, there are two "whoops, we didn't mean to get pregnant" babies and a recent "we were actually trying not to have a baby" baby. Call me bitter.

3. My boss (the big boss, in NY) likes me well enough, but historically doesn't take pregnancy news well. There have been occasions when a friend and I have been told that we "simply can't get pregnant." I think it was a backhanded compliment, but still... Also, I plan to ask if there is any way I can work from home, which is a complete joke, but I figure it can't hurt to try. I've been brushing up on my eggshell walking skills.

4. I still want to come up with some creative way of announcing this pregnancy. Part of me wants to avoid the awkward round-everyone-up-and-blurt-it-out method because that would be, well...awkward. My normally active creative juices are in hibernation.

For now, I can really only worry about tomorrow. And when I say "worry" it's really with a capital "W." Ok, and capital "O", "R", "R", and "Y" as well. I can't help it. Most of the time I just don't feel pregnant outside of feeling a bit "pudgy" (thanks to mom for that lovely adjective), and I need validation that all is well. I'm hoping that hearing a nice strong heartbeat tomorrow will sooth me for a little while.

As if the fire needs any fuel

2006-11-07T09:07:00.000-06:00

I opened my daily free paper, skimming all the contents before landing on the crossword puzzle, as I do every weekday morning. This caught my eye:

Vacay = baby

Miami- A vacation made Lucinda Hughes sick. Hughes is sick every morning and expecting her first baby in April.
She got pregnant after she and her husband went on a three-day Procreation Vacation at a resort on the Grand Bahama Island.
It's part of a trend in which hotels around the world are luring couples who are trying to have a baby. Resorts are offering on-site sex doctors, romantic advice and exotic food and drink calculated to put lovers in the mood.
Even some obstetricians are promoting the trend. Dr. Jason James of Miami said he often encourages couples trying to have a baby to sneak away for a few days, and he often sees it work.
"One of the most easy, therapeutic interventions is to recommend a vacation," James said. "I think the effect of the stress on physiology is truly underestimated."

Seriously? For a good ten minutes, all I could think of was, "Ugh." (in a real frustrated tone) You know, infertility issues aside, this is ludicrous. All the money in the world spent on a "Procreation Vacation" to the Bahamas, including famous love doctors and delicious aphrodisiacs won't force a crazy little thing like ovulation to happen during the three-day window. I wonder if they tell the couples to plan for that, give them a calendar, thermometer and an OPK before officially booking.

***UPDATE
I found it referenced online, too. Part of the expanded article:

"My husband and I thought that we would go on the vacation and learn all these nice fertility secrets and we'd be practicing them for a number of months for them to work," said Hughes, 35, who conceived the day she got back from the trip. "We were stunned. There's definitely some truths to the foods and the elixirs."

The couple had been trying for only two months, since their wedding in May. But like most couples they have hectic schedules in Washington, where she is a freelance writer and he is a city employee. Cell phones are always ringing, day planners are jammed. "We're all overscheduled," Hughes said.

Excuse me, I'm going to throw up. For the whole nauseating experience, here's the article.

National Infertility Awareness Week

2006-10-31T14:47:00.000-06:00

It's here, and while every day should be equally dedicated to raising awareness about infertility, this week is highlighted. I feel like I should do be doing more to contribute my part to the cause. It's several days in and I feel like I haven't moved any mountains, broken any significant boundaries. Patience has never been something that I have an abundance of.

I'm going to make a real effort this week. So far I've tried to gently pass along IF blogs and pomegranate strings to an infertile couple who might welcome the support that they are bound to find. I've talked with my family a little more deeply about my personal infertility. I congratulated a college friend on Saturday who was giddy with news of a BFP following her first IVF attempt. (I'm working on spreading some pomegranate love there).

But it isn't enough. I feel like I'm still skipping around in my comfort zone. I feel like I should do something deeper, more significant, more meaningful. Mel had some really good suggestions for taking immediate action. Maybe I'll roll my sleeves up and dig into some of those. It doesn't have to be hard, right? And who says we can't work together? If every single one of us found a way to pass along a pomegranate string (and its meaning) to JUST ONE PERSON this week, think of the effect it could have. Single candles contributing to the collective warmth.

The challenge?

1. Keep some #814 thread with you throughout this week (and beyond).

2. Print out "The History of Infertility's Common Thread" from Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters. Or write your own. Or be creative and make it into a card or bookmark...

3. Find an opportunity to share them.

4. Repeat.

The Proud Sister

2006-10-27T08:22:00.000-06:00

I had a long conversation with my brother this morning (which I will probably get in trouble for when the cell phone bill arrives). He's in college, studying nutrition (which, yes, makes eating in front of him a lovely adventure) and told me about a three-day presentation he's doing about nurtrition through pregnancy. He had questions, I attempted to answer as much as I could. We talked about this pregnancy vs. the last which brought up a mini discussion about infertility. I've been pretty out with my family about my IF for about a year now, so it wasn't new territory, but at the same time, has never been a subject that he's wanted to dive into. Until today. He was curious, and for me a curiousity about IF is fuel for my informational train. (Is "informational" even a word?) He mentioned that his girlfriend's sister has been struggling with IF for several years, and have begun to deal with IVF and possibly adoption. He said how heartbreaking it has been for them and also that he felt for them a little deeper because he knew a little about Mr. Mandolyn and I and our BabyQuest.

So I recommended the IF Blog World to them. He was happy to pass along the information, and thought that it would really be something that might help. (I sent him straight to the Headquarters- Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters.) I told him that for me the IF Blog World is like a raft in the turbulent sea of infertility- it reminds you of hope and helps keep your head above water when you feel like the world is against you. I tried to tell him how much it means to have the support of so many others who are also struggling with IF in so many different ways. When I explained The Common Thread project, he said he'd be proud to wear a pomegranate bracelet in support. (I'll be sending him some #814 this afternoon.) I know that reading a blog won't take their pain away, or lessen the blow of infertility, but I still felt good being able to pass along something positive. I felt proactive, and sharing what has helped me felt a little like lighting a candle. One candle may not bring immediate warmth, but it sure as hell beats sitting in the cold.

Me vs. My Hair, Outcome Undetermined

2006-10-26T10:03:00.001-06:00

This morning I had what I think is a pregnancy-related freak out that for once does not involve the well-being of my child.

It involved the well-being of my hair and possibly my husband, who watched the events unfold with completely helplessness. This week I've had a problem that has gotten steadily worse. After I get out of the shower and blow-dry my hair, I realize that the area of my scalp right in front looks oily and feels tacky. (It's ok, I gross me out too) We're talking at least a 4 inch diameter circle. Yesterday I freaked out, put some baby powder on it and tried to comb it out- I ended up putting my hair half-up in a sad attempt to mask the sticky powered mess. Today it was worse. I washed my hair twice and seriously scrubbed the area. I rinsed super-extra well. Then I started blow drying and freaked out. It was like tree sap. In my hair. RIGHT IN FRONT. I combed it and the hair just stuck there, defiantly mocking me. I tried to pull it into a ponytail, but that seemed to showcase the spot. So I jumped back in the shower about the time that I should have been leaving for work and washed my hair three more times, conditioning twice for good measure.

It finally worked, and I have the softest hair around, if not also the least volumized. Whatever, as long as it doesn't look like I poured a bottle of Aunt Jemima on my head. It this as bizarre as I think it is?

For everyone who crossed fingers (and toes...)

2006-10-17T19:51:00.000-06:00

You are the absolute best! Thank you so very much- I felt the positive thoughts that came my way today. At the appointment, my blood pressure was normal (I'm medicated, but I guess the environment usually makes it skyrocket). I got a quick annual exam, lucky girl that I am, and then did the sonogram. There Baby was, a little squirmy gummy bear. We saw movement and heard a heartbeat! Baby grew two weeks and a few days, which is a little more than we were hoping. The little grape-sized fighter is a feisty one, thank goodness. We got our pictures, I got a flu shot, and then made an appointment for a month. A full month. I'm not sure that I know how to stay away from the doctor's office for that long.

Another office visit, another happy departure. I can seriously get used to this.

Hoping for No Whammies at 2pm today...

2006-10-17T09:47:00.000-06:00

I have the Second Sonogram Jitters.

Mr. Mandolyn keeps reassuring me that everything is fine. It's not that I don't believe him. Most of me does. There's just that little part of me that is scared to death. Maybe it's because I've never made it this far before, never had reason to go for another sonogram. Maybe it's because that little beating heart was so amazing to see that I'm afraid to not see it again. I liked leaving the doctor's office feeling good. I know a good visit/bad visit lottery isn't in play, so why do I still feel like I'm watching the lights race around the huge gameboard? "No whammies, no whammies, c'mon....no whammies and STOP!" I want the grand prize: another heartbeat to watch and good significant baby growth. Maybe it's because I feel like after this time, if everything looks good, I can feel more confident about thinking of myself as pregnant. I've made it a benchmark, although I have a feeling that for me, clearing one benchmark just opens the door to another. Whatever works.

Wait, don't touch that dial!

2006-10-04T10:01:00.000-06:00

The past week has been emotionally hellish. I've admittedly left most of the hope and good thoughts in the capable hands of everyone else. Yesterday we went for another sonogram. I opted to wear glasses instead of contacts because then I couldn't rub out a contact while sobbing on the way home. Mr. Mandolyn and I trudged down the hallway to the sonogram room with heavy feet and heavy hearts. The nurse quietly asked if I'd had any spotting. A defeated "no" from me. The doctor came in and gently said hi to us, and that he had been a bit puzzled by my 43,000 HCG level last week. I just wanted to get this over with.

"Well, let's just take a look."

Two seconds later a pregnancy sac was on the screen. And HOLY SHIT there was a white blob in it! The doctor looked at me and said, "You saw that didn't you?" He twisted the view again and got a better look...a yolk sac and baby blob with a heartbeat. Actual moving parts! Mr. Mandolyn was so excited that he jumped up to the screen (right in my view, but I quickly took care of that). Our mouths must have hung open for a full 5 minutes. That was certainly not the outcome we had been expecting. Measurements show the baby at 6wks 4 days. According to everything else, we should be at 8wks 2 days. So there is still cause for concern. And while we aren't out of the woods yet, we are taking our good news and running with it. We know that good news isn't something you carelessly sling around. Oh no. We took our good news and let ourselves smile. And it felt good.

Part of me (ok, most of me) is afraid to get to used to the goodness. Like at any moment the world might fall out from underneath me. So far, whenever those thoughts creep in, I try to shove them away. I really don't want that fear to get the best of me. We go back to check on progress in two weeks. Two long weeks.

Emotionally Shipwrecked

2006-09-26T19:37:00.000-06:00

I'm glad I exhaled last week because right now it's hard to breathe. We went for the first sonogram of this pregnancy this afternoon. 7 weeks. I've been trying with everything in me to think positively, and why shouldn't I? I've been feeling increasingly nauseous, most all food sounds terribly disgusting and my boobs are still tender. But my heart was scared.

It had every right to be. From the moment the sonogram view was up on the screen, Mr. Mandolyn and I knew something wasn't ok. It took a long time for the doctor to see anything. (Apparently I'm adding disgruntled tilted uterus to my growing list of dysfunctional parts.) Every now and then we could catch a blurry glimpse of a pregnancy sac, but couldn't see anything in it. Nothing. The sac measured 6 weeks. I know that isn't a good sign. So I'm going back next week for another go around. Basically, it doesn't look good, but we're holding onto a sliver of hope. Just in case. Fuck me. The All Time Best Nurse in the world came up to us as we were making the appointment. She gave me a hug, looked at me through teary eyes and said, "I'll pray for you." One of these days I'll let her know how wonderful she really is.

Damn it all to hell, this hurts. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel- how much hope to hang on to versus not setting myself up for disaster. But if that tiny tiny chance is right and there is a baby in there fighting with everything she has, I can't just emotionally check out. Not yet. Most of all, I'm afraid to listen to my heart. It's trying to protect me, I know that...and I know that I'm thinking worst-case scenario, but that's all that I know. I needed good news today. Desperately. I needed to know that everyone else and their "good feelings about this time" trumped my guarded thoughts. I needed my prayers to be answered, to feel like they were listened to. And I don't. I feel empty, angry, confused, hurt...shipwrecked. I need a damn lifevest.

A slight exhale

2006-09-19T09:23:00.000-06:00

The Awesome Nurse B just called with the latest news. Progesterone is up to 16.1 (it was around 12, then down to 10). HCG is now over 5000.

I let out a tiny sigh. I smiled. For one full minute, I didn't freak out. Don't worry, no one was looking.

And then I settled back into my normal knot-in-the-stomach and nervous breathing routine.

smiley face with a straight line mouth

2006-09-14T13:12:00.000-06:00

I went in to donate another vile of blood to analysis yesterday afternoon. The shirt that I was wearing wouldn't roll up past my elbow, so I took it off. Stellar planning on my part. Everything was normal- gauze and pressure, then new gauze and tape, shirt back on. I was exiting the lobby when I thought my arm felt wet. Yeah, clotting? Not so much. I had blood running all down my arm. Apparently my vein felt cheated having to stop at just one vile. (Bonus Tip courtesy of my OB office: hydrogen peroxide gets blood out of a dark purple shirt.)

Today, good news/not so good news. I just got a call from the nurse that I've been anticipating all day. My HCG levels seem to be behaving themselves, but my progesterone is down. Delightful-sounding supplements are currently waiting for me at the pharmacy. (High Fives for the details on what to expect from Stirrup Queens Operation Heads Up.) Nurse B (who I love- she's a no-nonsense kind of girl with personal knowledge of IF) said that the baby's levels are fine, but we need the progesterone to help sustain the pregnancy. Those last three words send me into all kinds of nervous fits.

______
And now for something completely different...

aah0424 at A Somewhat Ordinary Life tagged me earlier today and I'm supposed to list what I think of when I see the following words:

Development
My biggest concern. Now that I finally have something alive in me again, I am overwhelmed by the wait to find out progress and the emotional weight that this process brings.

Energy
Can I get a definition and origin for this word? I slept over nine hours last night and should have some serious energy. Um...no. I still had to verbally abuse the alarm clock this morning. Possibly because I only got three hours the night before, but whatever.

Revolution
The song I heard this morning on my way to work.
"You say you want a revolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world..."

Image
The picture on my desktop cracks me up. It has three drawings: Rock. Paper. Scissors. The caption underneath says, "Choose Wisely."

The Dark Side

2006-09-13T10:17:00.000-06:00

It never ends. Tabloid reports of Britney's new baby seem to all lead to her quote about how the baby wasn't planned, how it "just kind of happened." I think of Mel's sliding scale of happiness and sigh. I shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter to me at all. And yet.

Yesterday Mr. Mandolyn anxiously called me to find out what they said about my blood. So far, so good. I go again this afternoon again so they can compare levels. I want to be genuinely excited. I want to be grinning ear to ear. And yet. I can feel myself trying to build a wall around my delicate heart. Just in case. I loath "just in case." I hate that it keeps reappearing in my head every time I think I've kicked it out for good. Mr. Mandolyn and I talked yesterday about it. While I'm comforted that we are going through the same emotional ups and downs, it truly breaks my heart to hear how it's hard for him, too. He is also somewhat involuntarily guarding himself, trying to strangle out thoughts of doubt. Yes, so far everything is good, but it was all fine at this point last time we made it this far. A close friend joked that I'll be uncomfortably pregnant in the hot summer months and I choked back tears. We have a room empty at the house, painted for Someday Baby. My mother was asking decor questions the other night. We both avoided eye contact and rapidly tried to change the subject. We're so afraid to think ahead. We're afraid to let ourselves imagine something that might not come true. We're afraid to be thoroughly happy. Maybe it's that we've never been down the smoothly paved highway of fertility. We got diverted to this unnamed dirt road, littered with rocks and tumbleweeds. At any moment, the scattered debris might cause you to blow a tire, but it's familiar.

"Think positively" is something I keep hearing. Damn. I try, but these thoughts simply won't go away. It's all just so unfair, and I know that I haven't experienced anything compared to some. "Fair" is something that only exists in fairy tales. But sometimes I like fairy tales with their sweet innocence and nicely packaged storylines. I'm thrilled to be at this point, don't get me wrong. But that happiness comes with strings attached. I'm still angry that Mr. M and I won't ever get to experience the joy of gestational naiveté. I hate that we've realized the fragility of our hearts and that we have to cloud this pregnancy with emotional cautiousness. I hate "just in case."

Um...Hold Please.

2006-09-11T09:55:00.000-06:00

Apparently, the roller coaster ride was not over.

I called my doctor's office last week and had a conversation similar to this:
Doctor Awesome: "Ok, I want you to call us and make an appointment next week."
Me: "Uh, ok. Am I waiting for a period that isn't going to come?"
DA: "No, we know that probably won't happen. I want to wait until then so that we can do a test and make sure that you aren't pregnant. I don't feel comfortable giving you Provera until I am confident of that. There could be a chance you just ovulated later than we both expected."
Me: "Fine."

I went out of town this past weekend for a wedding. I had a beer on Friday night because I was absolutely certain that this cycle had been a bust, too. I had already cried my tears. And then at lunch with my family on Saturday I started to have strong cramps. I couldn't eat the deliciousness that was the enchilada plate in front of me. Mr. Mandolyn leaned over and asked me if it was as bad as last time. Yeah, it was. So we stopped by the drug store on the way back to our hotel. I'm sure the cashier's odd look was directly attributed to my purchases: a pregnancy test and a box of tampons. Well, it was bound to be one of them. We soon saw a faint blue line. And after another trip to the store, two plus signs.

The element of surprise was so far from my head that it was actually nice to be caught a little off-guard. We didn't get a solidly good reaction from my parents. We got a reserved, cautious response, along with a "I don't know, cramping like that makes me worry" from my dad. I fumed to my brother about it, letting him know that about my mom's statement the first time I was pregnant, "Well, we'll see if it gets to three months, and then we'll celebrate." Apparently my mother had been at the door to hear all of that. So my (selfish) joy was interrupted by a damage control session with my hysterical mother. I felt like shit. She shouldn't have heard it that way, but it needed to be said. But damn it, this was not how it was supposed to play out. I know at one point I told her that "anything and everything you could possibly be thinking about this, we've already thought about. We are painfully aware, thank you. Leave that to us. We need you to be absolutely supportive right now, even if it's a false front." I wish that Mr. Mandolyn and I could have had the experience alone, so that we could inform everyone else on our own terms, but apparently that wasn't meant to be. I'm upset that we won't get to see that thrilling excited reaction that you dream about when breaking BFP news. Damn you, IF.

Still, in this world, a positive is a positive. Today's calendar date has such potential to be a sad, mournful day. I'm more than thankful to have something smile about.

"Happy" doesn't do it justice. But then again, neither does "Terrified."

Big Bad BFN

2006-09-05T08:09:00.000-06:00

Per yesterday morning:

Womb status: Vacant
Thought status: "Fucking A, Man."

You know, by this point, a BFN shouldn't shock me. It shouldn't send me into a sobbing fit, shouldn't make it hard to smile, shouldn't make me feel defeated, even if temporarily. It shouldn't steal my sunshine. Oh, but it did. Again. It stole my sunshine and made a quick getaway, laughing and pointing at me. Big Bad BFN threw my sunshine out the window and then made a U-turn, scattering dust, just to come and run over it. With a Mack truck.

Again. Damn it.

I'm not looking forward to calling the doctor today. I will soon though. It's not like I'm waiting on a visit from Aunt Flo. That saucy bitch hasn't so much as called without excessive force since I ditched the pill.

An Open Letter to my 2WW

2006-09-01T11:42:00.000-06:00

Dear 2WW,

I've tried to largely ignore you lately. It hasn't really worked out for me. You've got me analyzing every stomach twinge. Was that a slight dizzy spell? Oh! I had to pee in the middle of the night again. Wait, I've been starving and I only ate two hours ago. I have a headache again but it isn't a migraine...and I'm afraid to actually take anything. I'm almost finished with you, so if you wouldn't mind, could you possibly BACK OFF? You know, just slightly. Look, I've already embraced the fact that Sunday morning will bring me to my knees either in a state of raging anger/disappointment or happiness a la nervous wreck. Isn't that enough for you? Why the two week torment? I'm exhausted trying to keep a semi-normal front for the world when my insides are constantly debating whether or not I think I might be pregnant.

I need a nap. For about three weeks.

Regards,
Mandolyn

Give me an "S"..."U"..."C"..."K"!

2006-08-28T14:24:00.000-06:00

We got a call last week from Mr. Mandolyn's aunt. She and Uncle had extra tickets to an out-of-town football game that they knew we wanted to attend. We'd cheer for opposite teams, but they wanted to offer two of their season tickets for the game-- a nice gesture nonetheless. We already made plans to go with my parents, so we graciously declined. Most of Mr. Mandolyn's family went to the opposing team's school, so we thought his brother, SIL and our one and a half yr old nephew might be invited (they had expressed interest in going). Turns out they were ultimately told Uncle didn't want to invite them because he didn't want children in his area. They might be loud and rowdy and squirmy and crawl on the seats. At a football game.

This won't exactly do wonders for the already strained family relationship.

I infer three things from this unfortunate situation:

1. I feel sorry for his grown children and future grandchildren. Sounds like he'll make such a tender, warmhearted Gramps.

2. I hope that everyone around him is loud, obnoxious and under the age of four.

3. I realize that we were only invited because we don't have children. And although I'm sure it wasn't meant as such, that stings.

I normally don't like egg whites

2006-08-21T15:19:00.000-06:00

Or yolks, really. I'm not a picky eater, I just can't handle eggs. Scrambled, sunny side up, poached, fried, etc. I'm especially disgusted by bits of eggs hiding in tuna fish and salads. My nose turns up at eggs. And milk. Unless they are baked into something...then it's usually ok.

But I digress.

I've heard of this "consistency of eggwhites" sign of ovulation but always filed it under my "another thing that somehow doesn't apply to me" mental folder. Until three minutes ago in the bathroom at work. (TMI? Well, tough.) It wasn't intentional. I was tending to business as usual and then was caught off guard by this clear stretchy stuff that resembled, well, eggwhites. I smiled. That's supposed to happen. That's a sign that things are working. That's (gasp) normal.

After my first round of Clomid, blood tests showed that there was no sign of ovulation. Second time around, same result, but with a fantastic twist. Intense cramping and no period (again) made me POAS just to be able to answer the doctor's office with an exasperated "YES (damn it)" when prompted. We were surprised. So that time, we beat the odds, threw a finger up at the blood test results, and put some pretty good pregnancy hormones on the board. Until...

But now I feel confident that an egg (or two?) is chillin' just waiting to be fertilized. Actually, I hope that she and Mr. Mandolyn's contributions are already doing the tango in my womb, but it is Day 16, which means that we've got at least two more chances to start the music this go around. So thanks for the reassurance, eggwhites, the chaos in my brain appreciates it.

Season Two: A Projected Winning Streak

2006-08-11T08:36:00.000-06:00

Mid-August. That marks the official one-year mark of attempted baby making. What a trip around the sun. I've felt excited, nervous, disappointed, emotional, elated, in complete disbelief, blissful, devastated, shocked, teary, thoughtful, calm, and now...hopeful. 365 days. Five (give or take) rounds of Provera, two rounds of Clomid, one conception & loss, and a lot of healing. It could have been better. It could have been worse.

Yes, the innocence is long gone. One of my best friends was talking to me not long after the D&C and trying to understand. She paused and then said, "So you're saying there's not a single day that goes by that you don't think about it?" Nope, not a single moment. (I know she had to be thinking, "Wow, that's effed up.") But now I'm realizing that doesn't have to mean negativity. In the past month or so, I've begun to make peace with it. I feel a million times lighter and a little bit stronger. Reasoning and logic has been thrown out the window.

And again, I'm ready. I've got a pomegranate string on my wrist. I'm in the middle of my third round of Clomid. Mr. Mandolyn and I are excited to start taking it again. Woo-hoo! Now we feel like our game piece is on the board. So here we go, team...Game On!

A Tentative Love Letter to My New Blogger Account

2006-08-09T10:02:00.000-06:00

Dear Blogger Account,
I recently set up an account with you. Truth be told, I just wanted to leave a comment on a site that required a log-in. I have to admit, it feels a little like cheating on my MSN Spaces account. But Blogger, it feels pretty good. I notice that you have spell check. (For that, I could kiss you. In fact, I just did.) Now, don't get too excited, I plan to keep up my other blog. In fact, I will probably treat it as if you never existed. But I think you'll be the one that I will spill my TTC guts to. From now on, you'll get to hear about the relief of "day one" after a layover in Provera Park. You'll have to suffer through the bitchiness that will once again follow the 5th-9th days of our vacation to San Clomid. You might have to endure the emotional tidal waves along the way. Heads up, Blogger, I haven't seen calm soothing waters in quite some time. Welcome to my head, my body, my world. Make yourself comfy, New Account...we could be here a while.

Love (I think),
mandolyn

P.S. So as not to repeat over and over, I'll let you visit my Mandolyn'sBabyQuest background story over at the other blog if you so please. It's in a nutshell, but you get the idea.