Who funds this shit?
http://abcnews.go.com/Health/wireStory?id=2910092
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Why I have a new pomegranate string on my wrist.
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
A Call for Assvice!
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.
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.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Inside Mandolyn's Head, Episode 1: Religion and Infertility
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Good Idea # 8672 (give or take)
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.
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.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
6 Weird Things About Me (In no particular order)
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!”
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!”
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
More Than I Deserve
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.
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.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
A One-Way Ticket to 2007, Please.
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.
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.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Happy Birthday
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
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
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Love (Pregnancy) Is A(n) (Apparent) Battlefield.
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?
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?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
The Sky is Falling!
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.
Well, at least for the next week.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
An Open Letter to My Blog
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
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
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
In my head, it was a clever idea.
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?"
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.
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...
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...
Monday, November 13, 2006
Wednesday should be interesting.
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
As if the fire needs any fuel
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
National Infertility Awareness Week
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.
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.
Friday, October 27, 2006
The Proud Sister
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.
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.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Me vs. My Hair, Outcome Undetermined
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?
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?
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