My Purse

My husband has very strong opinions about my purse. We'll be out, and he'll say, "Do you have any nail clippers?" I'll say, "No." He'll get huffy and say, "Well, that is something that should be in your purse." Like it's my job in life to carry around nail clippers.

He rarely ever compares me to his mom, but the few times that he has, it's been concerning my purse. "Do you have any gum?" "No." "My mother always had gum. Women should always have gum in their purse. If you don't have that, then why even carry one?" Among other things that should "be in my purse," there include Kleenex, bug repellent, Tic-Tacs, gummy worms, a decent pen, checkbook, no cash ("If you have cash, you'll spend it."), cash ("I need three dollars for a tip....no cash?!"), film to be developed, address book, a Leatherman, camera and lip balm. Oh, the lip balm! Trust me, I just counted and I have six tubes of assorted lip balms in my purse.

Last time I went to buy a new purse, he went with me, offering his opinion. "No, it needs to be bigger." "Bigger." "Not enough pockets." "Bigger."

And now, the man has taken to sticking his stuff in my overcrowded purse. We went to Silver Dollar City last summer (for you non-American heartland folks, it's a theme park in Branson, MO, not far from where we live) and midway through, I realized that the weight of my purse was comparable to a bowling ball. Fine for an hour. Not fine after eight hours.

Today, when we went to see "Shrek 2", the man stuck his big bag of gummy worms in my purse. "Hey!" I cried. He said, "I spoil you rotten. I get to put anything I want in that purse." I thought about it, and I guess he's right. I am fairly spoiled rotten. At much as I proclaim differently, we usually do whatever I want to do. He took me to Cracker Barrel for breakfast, bought me some truly unneeded Burt's Bees lip balms in the gift shop and then took me to "Shrek 2", when he'd rather be at home playing PlayStation on his day off. I guess he can put stuff in my purse.

Although, I still get a little miffed when, throughout the movie, he sticks out his hand and demands "Worm, woman."

My Six Year Old

I don't deal well with disappointment. Ever since I was little. I remember one time, when I was in kindergarten, I think, I woke up to find it raining on the day of a class field trip. Maybe it was the zoo. I can't remember that part. All I knew was that the trip would be canceled and I started crying. I'm still like that on the inside.

I had my heart set on going to the drive-in tonight, but Jason called from the psych hospital and was too tired. I came unglued! I felt like a six-year old inside. Thankfully, I prayed about it before Jason came home so I managed to not "punish" him, as I am apt to do. It wasn't his fault. I really didn't care about missing the movie, to be honest. It is just a natural reaction of mine to disappointment. Anger. "Not fair!" my six year old self cries.

That's part of the reason that this infertility thing has been so hard. Whenever I take a look at that negative pregnancy test (as I gazed upon just this morning), my little six year old gets riled up. But I think I am getting better at it. Today, I got more upset about not getting to eat popcorn in my car than not being pregnant. Maybe it was displaced disappointment. Who knows.

"Nipple Nose"

Cynical Influences

Today, my boss said to me, "I need to move you away from K because you've changed." K is my male cubicle-mate. We have "lived" together for about two years now. We actually get along really well; we both like cartoons, comic books and pop-culture. It's sort of like having a brother (I imagine...I've never had one). I'm even the one who told him he should ask out one of my best friends, to whom he is now married. We've only had one major fight in two years, and that was because I was switching meds, and in full-on Rage Mode, insinuated that he was fat. I still feel really bad about it.

So I asked my boss, "How?" He said, "You used to be so laid-back and flexible. Certain things set you off now." I will grant that K has probably influenced this change. He is even more cynical than me. He doesn't trust authority, so I've heard every company conspiracy theory and gossip that floats his way. He gets riled up at the drop of a hat. "They're going to move the company to Kansas City!" "Mabel is gunning for Tony's job!" "Everyone is getting food poisoning from the Company Picnic!" (that one was actually true. Bad turkey.) I listen to a constant running commentary for eight hours a day. It's never bothered me all that much because, frankly, K is pretty funny. Sort of like sitting in a box with Al Franken. I know that some of it has rubbed off on me, but I really don't think it's all K. It's also the small town, religious culture I live in, mixed with a little infertility, work boredom and Everclear music.

I know that change is good, but sometimes change happens because you aren't minding the gap, so to speak. I've just let a lot of crap knaw at me for several years, and the changes in my temperament blind-sided me.

I need to chill out.

Prolapse Pondering

Couple more heart thoughts before I go to bed...

I talked to my parents and apparently my mother and grandmother have the same heart thing! Mom said that she didn't have any other "symptoms" though--her prolapse was just found on accident. Back then, in the 70's, I guess it was called Barlow's Syndrome, or something like that (or as my formerly-physician-turned-minister father called it, "mid-systolic click/late systolic murmur.") Mom was concerned about the chest pains, though, because she never had anything like that.

I found a bunch of other random symptoms that, for some odd reason, seem to go hand in hand with the heart thing:

-unusually flexible joints (my mom can bend her thumb all the way down to her forearm/I am eerily flexible in yoga despite minimal exercising)

-palpitations (I've had these for a long time, like "heart flip-flop flutters." I always thought they were normal. "Um...NO." said my soon-to-be brother in law.)

-high anxiety levels (you guys already know that)

-low body weight

-easily fatigued, low energy level (well, I've always just considered it laziness. Nah. I'm just lazy.)

-low "surprise" tolerance (my friends have always commented how jumpy I am, and how I over-respond to the slightest shock to my system.)

-low exercise tolerance (again, I'm pretty sure that's just the laziness.)

-chronically cold hands and feet

One more thing, I started thinking about it, and God really takes care of me in weird ways. It's really important for people with this prolapse thing to take antibiotics for several weeks before they have dental work or go under the knife (Otherwise, the dying thing might possibly happen.) It makes me so thankful that my laparoscopy was postponed until this upcoming month.

Mitral Valve Prolapse

Well, if I do have mitral valve prolapse, it certainly explains a lot of questions that I've had about myself. Here's what I've found:

"Mitral valve is one of the valves of the heart, whose function is to keep the blood flowing in one direction through the left side of the heart, and to prevent backflow of blood when the heart contracts. When the heart contracts, the two leaves billow up to close off the opening between the upper atrium and the lower ventricle on the left side of the heart. "Prolapse" means that the two leaves are a little loose, a little floppy, so that the valve doesn't close as firmly as it might. It may close with a faint click, or may permit a tiny amount of blood to leak through, producing a heart murmur."

and the interesting part:

"Curiously, most of the abnormalities seem related to an underlying instability of the autonomic nervous system. People with mitral valve prolapse seem somehow to be wired differently. Their autonomic response can be much more volatile and unstable, as if set on hair-trigger, so that normal stresses and surprises set off an exaggerated response, flooding their systems with stress hormones. This leaves them alternately innervated and exhausted--"wired but tired" is a common feeling.

If the sympathetic nervous system of a person with MVP is aroused, they can suddenly feel crushing chest pain, with heartbeat racing and pounding. There can be sensations of burning chest pain, a feeling of doom or detachment, a fear of dying, or a desire to flee. Depression and anxiety often accompany MVP.

Women are far more likely than men to be diagnosed with mitral valve prolapse, and oddly, there is even a typical body type. The typical profile is a slender young female with long, tapering fingers and a model's figure. [Note: I'm not implying that I have a model's figure.]"

I know that you guys don't really care about this stuff, but I feel like I am getting enlightened suddenly.

Back From the Doc

Well, Wade was wrong. I'm actually having heart problems, believe it or not. It's never a good sign when your doctor is listening to your heart and says, "I've never heard anything like this before" and goes to get another doctor for a second opinion. They gave me an EKG, chest x-ray and an echocardiogram (which was way-cool. It's like an ultrasound for your heart.) Dr. B was hearing a clicking sound, followed by a "growl."

At the very least, I have Mitro Valve Prolapse (which I am headed right over to WebMd to learn about). I won't know anything else until Tuesday.

Before Dr. B came to see me, I sat in his waiting room, racking my brain trying to remember when I first felt the chest pains. The very first time, I've decided, was right before my senior year of college, in 1996. I had been in Italy for a year and I was stressed about going back to my old college life. I had the burning feeling, but wrote it off as stress. I'm thinking back on other times, and I remember complaining to Shelley about it when we worked together...so that was over two years ago. And I've definitely had it more often than not since then.

Actually, despite the still burning, crushing chest, I feel really good. Soon, I'll finally know what the problem is and that will be such a relief.

Caution: Old Person-Type Ailment Discussion Ahead

Have you ever had a physical ailment sneak up on you? I just realized this past week that my chest really hurts. It’s like a tight, burning feeling right behind my breastplate. It’s a mixture of constricting pressure and a burning sensation. It feels a bit like a large boa constrictor is crushing my sternum. I started thinking about it and I can’t remember when it started. Years? Months? Weeks? I don’t know. Like the frog in the boiling water, it’s finally at the “Ow” point. I guess I figured it would go away eventually. That's my school of thought on most ailments.

I’ve been taking antacids for it for awhile now….maybe since Christmas? But then I realized that I feel the burning consistently, antacid or no. It’s there when I wake up in the morning; it’s there when I go to sleep at night. So I’m thinking that it’s not heartburn. But just in case it is, I went to Wal-Mart this morning and spent $15 on antacid products. Tums, Maalox, Rolaids (Rolaids taste okay, Maalox is unpleasant, Tums make me want to vomit.) I’ve been dousing myself with it all day, but to no avail.

So, as my slightly-hypochondriac self is apt to do, I ventured over to WebMd (which is a great site upon which to kill a few hours) and started researching. Here are my guesses, by degree of freaking-out:

1) Heartburn. Maybe I’m just not using enough antacid. Maybe I need the gallon jugs of it and I’ll just drink it in a glass with my dinner.

2) Some sort of reflux thing. I don’t have an acidic taste in my mouth, though.

3) Peptic ulcer. I don’t think so because I don’t have the nausea that is supposed to accompany it.

4) Stress. Highly possible, but then why do I have it first thing in the morning?

5) Variant Heart Angina. Would be yuck, but could be possible. It occurs in women mostly, and when you are at rest. The symptoms exactly describe what I feel.

6) Coronary Artery Disease. We won’t even go there.

7) Multiple Sclerosis. Yikes.

I guess I’ll just go to the doctor. Feel free to voice your opinions.

Those Nutty Message Boards

In the world of trying to conceive (TTC, for you non-procreation attempters), you find yourself spending a lot of time reading and lurking on message boards. In the beginning, I'll grant, they were extremely helpful. I have learned buckets of information from women who are venturing down the same path. Any question that you have, there is a woman out there who is happy to impart her knowledge with you. On these boards and forums, there are different places to lurk--"TTC," "Interpret My HPT" (women post pictures of their peed-upon sticks,) "Pregnancy," "Pregnancy Loss" (no one wants to have to end up here,) and the dreaded abyss, "Infertility." I knew that I had passed a milestone when I discovered that the "TTC" board held nothing for me anymore, and I was a frequent lurker on the "Infertility" board. It wasn't that the "TTC" board didn't still have useful info, but the questions started seeming pretty newbie to me... "What does it feel like when you ovulate?" "I sneezed blue popcorn out of my nose last night, could I be pregnant? and my particular favorite, "My period is two weeks late, do you think I am pregnant?" Honey. TAKE A PREGNANCY TEST. It started irritating me that most of these women would be over in "Pregnancy" board land in a few short months, and probably never have to venture into "Infertility" board territory.

Anyway, these boards are pleasant 90% of the time. But every once in awhile, a topic thread will get started and it will become a war zone. The most controversial topics are:

1) Primary infertility vs. Secondary infertility...whose pain is worse? This usually starts with a comment like "Be thankful you even have a child." It soon escalates into a emotional pain competition..."You don't know what it's like to have your child beg for a sibling!" "You're right! I DON'T know what it's like because I don't HAVE a child!" etc. etc.

2) "Just relax." Someone says something to the effect of "Just relax" to a hysterical poster; the "Just Relax" Gestapo appear and all hell breaks loose.

3) Support for pregnant women. Some infertility strugglers feel that it is asking too much to be expected to attend baby showers and such. Some feel that we need to move past our pain and be supportive of others in their joy. I'm sitting on the fence on this one.

and finally...

4) "How can a just God not give me a baby?" This topic is the most sensitive of all because there are a whole lot of women out there who are really, really angry with God. I can understand; I have my bouts it. But what these angry women hate above all else is being told that God loves them. Second runner up is being told that God has a plan for their lives.

Whenever any of these discussions get going, you can be sure that a few particular posters are gonna be embedded right in the center of it. They remind me of vultures. They don't answer any of the harmless, tame questions like "How do I extend my luteal phase?" or "Should I start drinking green tea?" But get a "Just Relax" discussion started and they are smack dad in the middle, hurling seething remarks left and right. In fact, on my message board, there is a poster that I actually look for. Whenever she gets involved, you know you are in for a good ole' rowdy time.

I used to get frustrated and angry whenever these discussions got going. I tried to stick my two cents in. But now, I just sit back and watch it unfold. I read some of those women's comments and it makes me sad, because I know that they are drowning in their anger. I pray that I never get that angry when it comes to this infertility business.

I'm Mad!

Arrowhead fell down the stairs last night. Well, two stairs. We found him there this morning. It didn't seem to phase him any, because he was sound asleep. I came home at lunch and he had wedged himself behind his crate. That sucker is gonna be a handful. I am going to write a little book someday called The Adventures of Arrowhead, A Wiggly Puppy.

Do you ever fear that you are turning into a nasty, bitter version of yourself? On a blog I just read, the writer called herself a "villain." Sometimes I feel like that. Some days, like today, I get overwhelmed by jealousy and anger. And the off-putting thing is that it's not directed at anyone in particular. It's just jealousy and anger towards the whole human race. I feel like the Avril Lavigne parody that Amy Poehler does on Saturday Night Live. "Oooooo! I'm mad! Look at me! I'm MAD!"

Jason asked me the other night, "Aren't you ever satisfied and happy?" That's where I feel I am going nuts and being irrational. My whole life, I've been like this. I have a great life and yet...happiness eludes me most of the time. My husband is pretty happy. He loses his temper sometimes, acts like a patootie (see last Thursday's entry), needs to be alone quite a bit...but basically, he's happy. In every job that he's had since I've known him, he's been content. He was content when he was at UPS, waking up at 4 am to unload trucks. He was content working in a grocery store, coming home smelling like spoiled milk. He loves the jobs that he has now (that's right-- "jobs"-- he also has a part-time counseling gig on the weekends.) It drives me crazy that I just cannot let things go and enjoy life. He said to me once, "I sometimes wonder if I'm going to come home one day and you'll have checked yourself into a psych ward." He doesn't say this with fear, just an observation. He actually sees that a lot ("A LOT") in his weekend job. Normal, rational, slightly depressed, middle-class women suddenly snapping and deciding that they can't take it anymore. They check themselves in, talk to my husband for awhile, then return to life as usual. Jason says that these women are some of his best patients, because they truly want to be happy and work on it. But (as Shelley once said) their lives are like frogs in a boiling pot of water. They don't realize that they are boiling with discontentment until they snap.

So my husband thinks that this is going to be me. I'm going to wake up one day and say, "Well, that's that. To the looney bin I go." Actually, I've always secretly thought a trip to the psych ward would be a nice vacation. To lay there for a few weeks and not be responsible for a dadgum thing. I wouldn't have to pick out my clothes, much less iron them. I could read comic books all day. If I said or did anything odd, it would be written off as "crazy." I'd even enjoy the Psych Ward Jello.

"Alot"

I have been informed that I use the word "alot" a lot. This deed, apparently, has been irritating one of my readers to no end. For this, I apologize and vow that I will try to keep my grammar in check.

Side note: In my defense, I am usually a grammar stickler in real life. I am an avenger of the Their/There/They're casualties. I try to undangle my participles as much as it is possible to do without sounding like I am from a Charles Dickens novel. And I try not to start sentences with the word "and."

Oh Danny Boy

Well, can I just say thank goodness that Daniel Radcliffe is turning out to be a good-looking chap. I was seriously worried. I have certain images of Harry Potter in my mind, and Daniel, so far, has fulfilled them. I was hoping that he wouldn't go Macauley Culkin on us.

The puppies are also staying pretty cute. We have one, who we've named Arrowhead (because he has the outline of a perfect arrow on the back of his head), who is the funniest. He cracks me up. You leave the room for five seconds to return and find that he has managed to squirm his way clear across the room and wedge himself under a bookcase. I don't know how he does it. His eyes aren't even open, but already he is Evel Knievel. The others are The Fat One, Little Girl and The Other Spotted One. Guess they lost out in the name department so far.

Watched Love, Actually on DVD last night. I saw it before in the theater and liked it. I still like it but here are a few observations:

1) Whole lotta boobies in this movie.

2) Why is Colin First (as delicious as he is) proposing to a Portugese woman that he hasn't even been able to communicate with? She could be psycho, for Pete's sake.

3) There's gotta be some way for Laura Linney to have a reasonably normal life AND a schizophrenic brother.

4) Emma Thompson is a saint (either that, or crazy.) I would have kicked Alan Rickman's cheating butt outta that house.

Thoughts on Recent Happenings

I have been having some really good conversations with my sister-in-law, Alice, recently. She's also trying to get pregnant and having some problems. Every time someone new in our lives get pregnant, we call each other to commiserate. I've already prepared myself for the fact that she might get pregnant before me. For some reason, the thought doesn't bother me much, probably because I know how she is feeling and what she's going through. She's at the point in trying that I was at last September or October...starting to get bothered by pregnant crack whores, getting sick of charting, venturing into the doctor's office, wondering what in the blazes is going on.

We're also both on basically the same page concerning how far we'll go, treatment-wise. I've always said that I'll have a laparoscopy, HSG, take hormone shots, pills...but that's as far as I'm going. No IUIs (intrauterine insemination), no IVFs (in vitro fertilization). I've read too many stories about the devastation that women go through when the procedures fail. Emotionally, I just can't do it. I'm having a lap done next month, and they say that the following three months are the most fertile, but you'll pretty know after six months whether it "worked" or not. So last night, lying in bed, I decided that next Christmas is the end of the road. It will completely suck, but at least I'll know and I can start moving on.

Alice and her husband decided a long time ago that they will adopt whether or not they are ever able to get pregnant. They even have a country picked out--Korea. Me...I'm not so sure adoption is our path. Jason will be content whichever path we choose. Kids, no kids--he'll adapt. I just don't know how I feel about it yet. I don't know if I'm the right kind of person for adoption. Maybe I'm the "no kids" kind of person. Except that last night, holding Claire in the hospital, it felt so nice and I felt sad knowing there was a possibility that I might not ever have that for myself.

...I know that I am talking about babies and infertility and pregancy alot lately. I'm sorry if it's annoying and whiney. But it's pretty much continually on my mind.

Two Sides to Every Story

The Black Couch.

Hard Day Yesterday

I am having a much better day today. I had a crap day yesterday. I was in a negative "why me" funk, which is never a good funk to be in. When your mind is in a muddle, you desperately want someone to say the right thing to pull you out of it, but it is an impossible task. I was crabby to Jason all evening, then we went to Sonic and hashed it out. "Life is not fair," I declared, "Say something." He shrugged. He said, "If you can't see all the good things in your life, I certainly can't help you." Which is true, but it pissed me off even more.

Before bed, I ended up reading a Henri Nouwen devotional book. I don't know why I picked it up. I was huffily curled up in bed, playing my electronic Solitaire game, which I do every night. I thought, "Well, this isn't helping anything" so I tossed it aside. I rummaged around my husband's nightstand and found the book. It's ironic....I named my first cat Nouwen, but I've never actually read any of his writings. I guess I picked the right book, because I read it and sat there and cried.

I read a couple of devotions about perseverance and heartache and acceptance and found tears streaming down my face. One thing he wrote about was being spiritually flexible in your circumstances. The seasons that we get everything we want are not the times that define us. It's the times when we are shoved into unfamiliar territory that make us into who we are. You can either change and grow, or be inflexible to the way you think life should work. One brings maturity and peace, the other brings bitterness and anger. Well, you can guess which one corresponds to the other.

Then today, my boss did a devotion on exactly the same topic. (Okay, God, I get it.) He passed out a sheet that he had jotted down some thoughts on. Here are the ones that hit me:

-God's perfect. We're not.

-We need to be in a place of recognizing His hand in our lives. If we can have a soft heart and be receptive to him, He will make up for the injustice and bless way beyond our expectations.

-Above repairing injustices, God wants to give above and beyond, but He is waiting for us to acknowledge our part.

And this verse...

"Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives...?
You do not stay angry forever, but delight to show mercy."
(Micah 7:18)

and

"It does not, therefore, depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy."
(Romans 9:16)

New Baby

My friend, Stephanie, had her baby girl this morning. By C-section. A 9-pounder. Rebekah and I speculated yesterday that we sensed an impending c-section. For one thing, they induced, and apparently there is a greater chance of a c-section with inducing. Also, Steph is not great in the pain department. I kind of wondered if she would be able to push it through. I talked to her husband and he said she was feeling pretty defeated. I've heard about that alot with c-section women...like it's some sort of failure to not have a natural birth. I hope she's feeling better now that she's had some rest.

But Claire is finally here, so we'll probably go check her out after work.

Readability

I've been informed that my blog is now hard to read, which is what I was afraid of. Sorry. I will try to remedy that later. On the whole, I think it looks pretty good, so kudos to my husband.

Flat tire at lunch. Urg. I got almost to my house and heard the thumping. I was charging my cell phone at work, so I was sans communication. Rebekah and I trudged over to a nearby radio station and used their phone to call my husband, who was less than helpful. I already gave props to my husband in the last paragraph, so I am going to let off a little steam about him in this one. One frustration that I have had with my husband since we have been married (not really during the dating process, since males act completely different during that period) is that he cannot be inconvenienced. My car breaks down? "Sorry, deal with it. I have a meeting. And no, you cannot borrow my car. Find another ride." Today was not different, except that I didn't just blow it off like I usually do, since I got the exact same attitude LAST week when I had car problems. This time, I was fairly miffed.

My issue is not that he couldn't come help me, it is the attitude. What I perceive when he is blowing me off is that I am not worth his time. If he just acted like he really wished he could help me, that would probably be enough. Instead, I am just being a nuisance to him...when I wouldn't think twice about being late for a meeting if it meant he needed my help.

So I (and my pregnant friend) changed the tire out for the spare by ourselves in the 90 degree heat, drove slowly to Walmart and sat there for two hours, thereby being extremely late for work. When I got back I noticed that Jason had tried to call me eight times on my cell. He did send his secretary to drive us back to work, but by that time, we were already "dealing" with it. I sent a nice little note back with her. He's probably pissed at me, but I don't care. I am still fairly miffed.

Waiting

It hit me today that my blogging life has become what my journaling life used to be. I used to be a journal addict. I'd have a new thought, and in order to process it, it would have to be jotted down on paper. I am a pretty visual person and it helps me to focus. My prayer life has always been that way, too. In high school, I would try to pray but end up falling asleep in my bean bag chair after five minutes, so I started writing my prayers down. I stopped journaling about six years ago, and my prayer life has been more of a constant conversation with God all day long. I find myself even asking Him what shoes to buy. "The red or the blue, God?" I don't know why I stopped journaling. It happened around the time that I started taking anti-depressants, so whatever that means.

Blogging is like journaling except with a commentary track. Or not. Depending on how your comment engine is feeling that day.

Anyway, on to my thoughts. My precious precious thoughts. (That was supposed to come out very Gollum-like.)

I took Rebekah to get her repaired car after work today and we started talking about a missionary friend of hers who will be moving back to the states in the summer. Rebekah and Chad are going to buy a new car since they have a baby coming, and give their old one to her friend. I asked if she had a job lined up and Rebekah said, no, that the perfect job will probably just pop up for Laura; it always does. I asked her if it bothered her that life was like that for her friend-- easy, with the perfect thing always falling in her lap. Rebekah looked at me sheepishly and said, "No, because my life has always been like that also." She mentioned her husband, house, baby, past jobs.

I thought about it and realized that my life has never been that way. I have a pretty long history of asking and waiting and waiting and waiting....and waiting. I'm not really the type of person, either, who has to "learn things the hard way" (i.e. make some poor decisions in order to "get it.") I'm extremely practical and responsible, and can see the consequences of most actions miles ahead down the road. I want pretty basic things, and know my limitations. I know that I can pray to God to be a Broadway singer, but that would just be delusional. For most of my life, however, every major step has been met with a good deal of waiting, repeated disappointments and heartache...and silence from God concerning the reason.

Is it so I will "appreciate" it more? I have no idea. I don't know if it will mean any more to me to get pregnant than it does to Rebekah, whose pregnancy was dropped in her lap. Is it so I will learn patience? If that were the goal, I learned it a long long time ago. Do I want things too much? Am I wanting the wrong things? Am I bullheaded? I don't know, I don't know and I don't know. But after much introspecion, I truly don't believe those are the case.

I don't know why God repeatedly sits me on a log and makes me wait, while others get what they want before they even know they want it. I will admit, I am jealous of those people.

Resolved and Unresolved Issues

Like my new look? Blogger has new templates, finally, so I'm trying something new. I think I'll switch the color, though. Although I found out at the NY Stationery Show what the name of this color is-- pistachio. Pistachio is this year's pink. It's everywhere. So is the color combo of light blue and brown, which is all fine and dandy, but I wonder if all the brides who are currently picking it as their wedding colors are going to regret it ten years from now. I'm sure the 1960's avocado brides are.

There's nothing like being back at home to catapult you into reality. My house smells like nine animals live there. Oh wait! Nine animals do live there. I've got to finally become okay with the fact that I am never going to have a hairless, poop-free potpouri life. I love animals. In fact, I got really excited in the plane on the way home, just thinking about being greeted by a home full of needy fuzzy creatures. I love animals more than I love having a designer house. So I've got to get okay with a slightly stinky house. And I've got to get rid of my off-white carpet.

There's a lady named Vivian who works at our Animal Shelter. I've never had a real "role model" but she could definitely be one for me. She's probably 70 years old or so, and she has rescued animals her whole life. She was one of the main instigators in getting the shelter built in the first place. She and her husband never had kids; instead, they rehabilitated eagles and hawks and took in every stray animal that came their way. Her husband is gone, but she still has a very full and happy life. AND she has five cats and two dogs, and her house is always slightly stinky. She'll probably die scooping cat litter with a smile on her face. She'll just keel over PLOP right into the box.

Reality is also being back at work. I've realized that I don't feel burnt out like I used to, but part of that solution was working through some issues that have been eating at me for several years now. And I've only just realized that I have resolved them. Firstly, I have accepted that life does not become perfect once you become a stay-at-home mom. If anything, it becomes more difficult. Secondly, I have accepted that this is not where my heart is--it's not my passion, it's not my calling. It's just a job. And it pays the bills. I truly believe that God is going to let me live my passion at some point, maybe sooner, maybe later. Until then, I just paddle away at my day job and work on my own projects on my off time. (Actually, as my husband pointed out, my current job is perfect for me because it's so brainless and easy, I have plenty of time to secretly work on my own stuff. Ha ha, system. I am beating you.)

Unresolved issues: pregnancy/motherhood. Well, of course. The thing is there is a difference between simply trying to conceive and joining the Pregnancy Race. Trying to conceive is where the sane, rational, normal trying couples reside. And then there is the Pregnancy Race, which is where most of us infertiles are. You may say to yourself, "Eh, screw this, I'm quitting and getting a Gatorade." However, at the sight of a big round belly or baby stroller, you realize that you are still in the Race and, most of all, you are losing. You ain't drinking Gatorade, you are still sweating bullets. Anyway, I am still there. I'm unresolved on this issue, as much as I would like to think otherwise.

My Crazy Ass Dogs

Puppy Pictures

New York, New York, It's a Hell of a Town

Hello. I am back from the Big Apple. Actually, just back. As in, a half hour ago. I have a bunch of thoughts, so I wanted to get them down while I was still thinking properly. This might be long.

[Sidenote: My dog had her puppies early Saturday morning, so I got to canoodle them for a little bit before I left. She had four--all black and white. Thankfully, it all happened without a hitch while I slept.]

Thought #1) When I was a kid, I used to watch musicals all the time. It never seemed weird to me that people were suddenly breaking into song at the drop of a hat. I think I've hit a new era, because I went and saw "Mamma Mia" (the ABBA musical) and everything struck me as really odd. Hello! He's singing "S.O.S." into your ear and you're staring at a wall! Duh.

Thought #2) I like myself better when I am in a city or travelling. Maybe that's not the way to put it...I feel a lot more like myself. Here in Arkansas, surrounded by hand-shaking churchgoers in a small town, I feel like the dark, brooding cynical one, standing out from the rest. Everywhere else in the world, it seems, I am actually a ray of sunshine. I crack jokes to strangers, pick up napkins other people drop, smile at the cranky subway guy, tell the punk chick that I like her hat. I do that stuff normally, but in the "Real World," I think it shocks people.

Thought #3) I am thankful for my job and my co-workers (well, most of them.) One night, two co-workers, my boss, my boss's boss and I all sat in a Starbucks and played a card game called "Scum" for two hours. I haven't laughed so hard in a very long time. Not chuckled. I mean, laughed. Man, I miss that. I used to laugh like that with my family.

Thought #4) New York is both over-rated and under-rated. It's not the sexy, sophisticated metropolis that movies and TV want you to think, but it is unlike anyplace else that I have ever been. My head is still spinning.

Thought #5) Everytime I travel someplace new, I am reminded that, in the words of Depeche Mode, "people are people." We are all just trucking along, hoping someone thinks we're special. Even if you are plastered all over Times Square, you are still just one of us. Even if you are Steve Martin (who I saw filming The Pink Panther next to my hotel! Sorry. Just had to throw that in.)

Thought #6) I've got a better idea of who I am going to be when I grow up.

Thought #7) Kids are funny. I was watching this 10 year old Korean girl do a little dance on the sidewalk, to ward off boredom. If you do that as an adult, people think you have a mental illness.

Thought #8) Ground Zero is a huge gaping hole in the earth now.

Thought #9) Even if you aren't afraid to eat or travel by yourself, thinking you've been left behind feels like crap.

Thought #10) It always helps to have a sense of humor. It makes life a whole lot nicer in the long run.

Thought #11) The New York Stationery Show is boring. Been there, seen it. The only interesting part was going to see the temporary booths of the little tiny artistic stationery companies. I like it because it's a whole room full of people who are chasing their dreams, even if they are dirt poor.

Thought #12) In life, you can choose to be happy or choose to be bitter. I'm not saying that we don't all have down times and rough times. And sometimes, the fight to be happy is more difficult because of your body chemistry, history or current situation. But truly, it's your choice. I sat on a shuttle to the show next to a co-worker. A co-worker who has made the choice to be bitter and conniving and miserable. And she has everything she could possible want or need. Two feet in front of me, I watched our female busdriver loving her job. She couldn't get the bus out of the parking space because another dude had parked it too close. After finally manuevering it around, she opened the door and hollered at the offender with glee, "You aren't allowed to touch my bus again! Ha!" She was just a happy lady.

Thought #13) I love cell phones. I love 'em.

I have more thoughts but I got up at 4am this morning to get to my La Guardia flight on time, so my brain isn't making all the right connections. I'm going to go take a wee nap.

Pigtail Perceptions

I'm going to talk about something very controversial here. Pigtails.

Not on the actual pig, but on grown women. Now, I know that there are women out there who are going to adamently disagree with this, but here I go anyway. Pigtails on grown women give me the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps it is because I had a Southern male friend of mine tell me once that, in his opinion, all women should wear pigtails because it makes them look adorable. This is also the male that would love for the South to rise again, but that's another story.

Whenever I see grown women (and for this discussion, I am counting any girl above the age of 15) wearing their hair in pigtails, I want to sit them down and have a talk with them. First of all, men have a hard enough time not seeing women as "girls" or "gals" or delicate little cutsie waifs who desperately need a man to shelter them. Pigtails do not do much to help this stereotype. Second of all, I wonder if these women secretly want men to see them this way, in which case there is a whole jar of subconscious pickles to open.

Ponytails do not bother me in the least. In fact, it is usually how I wear my hair. But, for some reason, when you divide it in two, a new perception is born. Whether or not you'd like to admit it, you are a schoolgirl again. And there's a lot of men out there who have some not-so-innocent schoolgirl fantasies. The thing is, most of the "gals" that I know that keep wearing their hair this way, particularily on Fridays for some reason, don't seem aware of any of this. Maybe that makes it ever the more enticing.

Frankly, I don't know. But that's my opinion.

Other news: I'm leaving for New York City tomorrow. My dog hasn't had her puppies yet. I have bug bites all over my body, and I am out of anti-itch bug bite gel, so I actually dabbed Vagisil on my bites this morning. It worked, but I feel sort of guilty about it.

10 Ways My Life Has Changed

Inspired by Pest's list at Infertile Ground (which I thought was brutally and hysterically honest), here is my "10 Ways My Life Has Changed Due to Infertility":

1) I used to think that I was basically a nice person, but I have discovered that I have huge puddles of bitchiness and nastiness inside me. I not only get jealous when other women get pregnant, I get jealous whenever anyone has anything good happen to them.

2) Even when I tell myself that "when it happens, it happens," I am acutely aware of when I am ovulating and the thought of not "doin' it" during this period of time (and thus missing my chance "forever") sends me into panic mode.

3) I spend way way way too much time on infertility boards/blogs/sites. It's like an addiction, but it's my main link to others who know what I am really going through.

4) I know more about my body (and fertility in general) that 90% of the women that I know.

5) Birth seems like a miracle to me. Before, it seemed pretty scientific.

6) I love and appreciate my husband more.

7) I, like Pest, have succumbed to the pleasures of DINKYdom (Double Income No Kids Yet), mainly just to make myself feel better. If I want those shoes, then by golly, I'm gonna buy those shoes. Hey, screw this, let's go out for dinner.

8) I will never again go on birth control pills, and perhaps never even use birth control again.

9) I'm actually discovering that I am more okay with the "no kids" angle than I thought I was. Mainly due to #6 and #7.

10) I do more "sucking it up" than I have ever done my entire life, and I feel stronger for it.

More Thoughts on Fashion

A return to my discussion on fashion.

I put on my new Eddie Bauer khakis this morning and noted how comfy they feel. I realized that I have reached a new stage in life. The importance of comfy clothes. Shelley hit that point a couple of years ago (she's a few years older than me.) Back then, the gals at my work even had a phrase for bad clothes days-- "A Cranky Pants Day." I remember Shelley coming in one day and announcing that she had just bought some pants with an elastic waist and she didn't care who knew.

Maybe we can chart our stages in life by where we shop. During college, I was a grungey thrift shop girl. After I graduated, my mother threw away most of my clothes and told me A) I was not going to be able to get a real job wearing those ripped jeans, green plastic shoes and Hormel brand factory shirt and B) You can get body lice from thrift shop clothing. After much thought I decided that A) might have been true, but I doubt B) is.

I left American Eagle a few years after college. I started walking in and thinking, "I can't get away with wearing that baby tee!" and walking my 24 year-old butt right back out. Old Navy and the Gap were next to go, for different reasons. I caught myself saying on a regular basis, "Didn't Old Navy used to have better clothes than this?" They just took the retro movement too far. Baseball tee-shirts? Kinda cool. Velour rainbow halter tops? Kinda gross.

With the Gap, the clothes were fine but I found myself heading straight to the sale rack in the back, because I was not spending $40 on a new shirt that would probably fall apart the second go-round in the wash. It's not even worth it to me to walk all the way to the back of the store anymore.

Never even tried the Abercrombie/Banana Republic route, because who am I kidding? Those people barely let me in their store, much less buy their clothes.

So here I am at Eddie Bauer. Boring old Eddie Bauer. You know what people shop at Eddie Bauer? Yuppie fly-fisherman and their khaki-wearing wives. And me. So I guess I've officially hit the Adult stage in my life. Hoorah.

Sucker

I am a sucker for the "violins and pianos addition" thing to a good rock song. A few examples: "November Rain" by Guns-N-Roses. "Wonderwall" by Oasis. "Epic" by Faith No More. I swear, they crank up a violin or piano, and I am putty in their hands. For some reason, it gives it a bittersweet quality. I turn the radio up, zone out and feel melancholy for awhile. My latest is "I Miss You" by Blink 182.

Another similiar quality to all of these songs is that they also have lyrics which don't mean anything. HOWEVER, same thing. They just get me and I sit there teary-eyed feeling like they are speaking right to me. Examples:

"And after all, you're my wonderwall." (What the hell is a "wonderwall"?)
"Don't waste your time on me, you're already the voice inside my head." (Doesn't really mean anything but Blink 182 says it so passionately that I believe them.)
"If you could heal a broken heart, wouldn't time be out to charm you?" (Axel, sorry, but you are smoking crack.)

And I've never understood "Epic" but dadgum if those pianos at the end make me listen to the entire song.

Fashion Purgatory

I am in fashion purgatory. Like Britney Spears put it so eloquently, "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman."

I have been putting off buying some new khaki pants for awhile now. Let me preface this by saying that khakis are practically my uniform. In my regular off-hours, I dress very very casual. Jeans (I don't even like shorts) and usually a plain colored t-shirt that doesn't attract attention to myself. I hate spending more than $20 on any article of clothing. I even went through a phase where I just wore plain white men's undershirts from Walmart (not the wife-beaters; the V-necked tees.) I like it this way. However, I work at an office building with the whole "business casual" thing. The artists in the building do everything possible to get around this, but the one strong-hold we have yet to break is the "No Jeans Except on Fridays" rule. So I wear khakis. Every single day.

I have been avoiding buying some new ones, because I kept thinking, "Well, if I get pregnant, then I'll just buy maternity clothes." But I finally decided screw that.

So I went shopping. First of all, what is the !%#@$! deal with capris?! I hate them. But they are everywhere. I finally even said to a salesgirl (who was wearing those damn capris), "Do they even make PANTS anymore?" She giggled and assumed I was joking.

Second of all, what is the age cut-off for shopping in juniors? Someone please let me know, because I know that I can't keep browsing there forever. Misses is too old and teachery, but the juniors stuff looks like it is for skank whores. Even my old stand-bys (Old Navy, the Gap, American Eagle) let me down. Sure I found some khakis, in the women's section, but no way am I wearing elastic waistbands up to my boob line.

Third of all, Gap, you aren't kidding anyone. Just because you tell me that I am a size 2 doesn't mean that I am a size 2 in real life. In real life, 2=8. It's very confusing. I have to take 7 different sizes in the dressing room with me just to estimate the right size.

FINALLY, Eddie Bauer saved me. By that time, I would have paid anything for a pair of plain bootlegged, low-waisted khakis. (Well, except for a pair of Silver ones from the Buckle. $68, my ass.) So, I did. I paid way more than I should have, but I don't care.

To end my rant, I would just like to shout out to the clothing establishment that there are other women out there who don't wear matching sweater vest pants suits, but who also don't wear their thongs sticking out of their navel-baring jeans (and I am old enough to remember when "thongs" meant flip-flops). Would it be SO HARD to create a store for the late-twenty/early thirty woman who just wants to look her age? Please? I beg you.

Y'all Are Probably Sick of Me Today

I have one more thing to talk about and then I'll shut up for the weekend.

You know, thinking about grieving this week has hit me hard. I think that this is just a hard period in any woman's life whether you can get pregnant easily or not. Stacey from The Litter Box told me the other day that, even though it took awhile to conceive, she still found herself grieving once she finally got pregnant with her daughter. No matter which way you turn, you are saying goodbye to some aspect of your life. Maybe you are saying goodbye to your dreams of motherhood. Maybe you are saying goodbye to your work life/career. Maybe you are saying goodbye to a formerly carefree and independent life. Whatever the outcome is, there is a loss. Perhaps that is why there is still a part of me who fears actually getting pregnant.

I think back to two years ago, prior to "trying," and I marvel at how carefree I was. Okay, I know, rose-colored glasses. But it's true. I wasn't having to confront any of this. Motherhood was a far off dream, all Martha Stewarty and glowing. But now....ugh. It's anything but. It's up-close and grimey and covered in conflicting emotions. No matter what happens, my life is forever changed. And I think all women have to confront this, one way or another. It's just a difficult and scary time, whichever way you turn.

Small Things

I'm learning that when you are struggling with infertility, it's the little things that get you--small incidents that sneak up and bite you in your barren butt. Friends coming back with ultrasounds, that I can handle. I have no problem gushing about the indecipherable smug on the piece of paper. Seeing my 9-month pregnant friend as huge as a house? Not a problem. In fact, today, Steph even pulled down her pants to show me how she looked in her underwear and we laughed and laughed. Admiring someone's newly decorated baby room? Discussing possible baby names? Bring it on.

The things that get you are the ones that you didn't realize that you were yearning for. Like, today, my newly pregnant friend told me that she and her husband are driving to Illinois this weekend to surprise his family with the news. She bought a little baby outfit to give to her mother-in-law as a Mother's Day gift.

Off-guard sting.

I suddenly remembered last Christmas, when I had thought, "This could be it!" a few days before our families came to visit. At the time, my mind raced with fun "Christmas" type ways to tell our families. Now, however, I doubt I would tell anyone until I'm in my second trimester. It's been difficult enough having people know my failures in baby-making, I can't imagine having to tell the world about a failed pregnancy.

I have a friend whose first child died in utero at five months. She was devastated, to say the least. When she was pregnant, they were so joyful and told everyone before the stick dried. When she was pregnant with her second (which turned out fine, by the way), they were the most apprehensive couple I'd ever seen. She barely even let herself believe that she was having a baby until her 9th month. They refused to get the crib out until a few weeks before the due date. She wouldn't have a baby shower until after the baby was born.

I felt so sad for her, because as many children as she will have in the future, the experience is tainted. She'll never be a happy-go-lucky joyful preggo again.

I always wanted to have a "surprise my family" type of pregnancy. Well, with all the temping and charting and crying onto family member's shoulders, that probably ain't ever gonna happen. I guess that this is what I was talking about when I was talking about grief the other day.

My friend just stopped in to say goodbye and was upset. Apparently, her new boss (my boss--she recently agreed to transfer to our team) asked her if she was planning on staying home with the baby or working. Now, I understand their concerns, but it is completely illegal for them to ask her this. It totally pissed me off.

Ta ta, Friends

Well, I guess "Friends" is officially over. Fairly good finale. I just hate sappy crap. I wish these shows would end in the same manner that they performed. It's a comedic sitcom. No sadness! More funny! Like the "Newhart" ender. Does anyone remember that? It was beautiful, a work of art. The whole thing had been a dream from his prior television sitcom. Just because a show is ending does not neccesarily mean we need the characters to all delve into a new life. How about..."see you guys later" and the little world just continues on without us?

Maybe I get too involved with these stupid shows.

I think my dog is going to have her babies either today or tomorrow. She's just acting differently. When I left today, she had gone to hide under our bed. She usually follows me wherever I go. Anyway, we've decided to keep her. She just fits perfectly into our little menagerie. I think we're going to call her Bunny. I've been calling her Preggo, but I think she needs a proper name.

Apprehension

So, I guess I'm not having the laparoscopic surgery done next week. The nurse finally got back in touch with me yesterday and scheduled it for next week, with a couple of trips to Tulsa beforehand for pre-op appointments. Last night, I got home and just felt completely overwhelmed. It was scheduled for the 12th, and I need to rest for two days after the surgery, but I am supposed to leave for New York on the 15th in the morning. I always get stressed and worry for a few days before any trip. I didn't used to be this way, but ever since I lived in Italy and had a few "travel experiences from hell" (I'll tell you some whopper stories later), I just get all tightened up before a big trip. I am apprehensive enough about this surgery, I just don't think that I can do both at the same time. Last night, I found myself in anxious tears thinking about it all. So I'm just not going to do this to myself this month.

Plus (and I know this is probably a stupid reason) my dog is going to have her puppies any time between now and when I'm in New York, and I'm also worried about that.

On a completely unrelated note, I want to apologize to Liz Phair for calling her a sellout. Jason got me her new CD, and I was like, "Okay, I'll listen to it, but I'm going to hate it. Nyah." But, wonder of all wonders, it's pretty good. Not as good as "Exile in Guyville" (a really great angry chick album/pre-Alannis) but actually pretty good. She doesn't drop the "f-bomb" quite as much, but that might be a step forward for her. I guess we're all growing up and that's okay.

Good Grief

My husband and I had a long talk last night when we got home from work, about God and plans and purposes. We also talked about grief. I've always equated "grief" with death, but there's much more to it than that. Even within death, there's so many different levels. For instance, I grieved so much more when my cat died a few years back than when my grandmother died the very next year. Part of it was circumstances. My cat, who I dearly loved, died in a horrible accident. My grandmother, on the other hand, died peacefully in her sleep at age 94. I cried every night for a month for my cat, but I only cried for five minutes at my grandmother's funeral, and those were actually tears of joy remembering her great life.

But grief can be felt for things other than death. Every month, I think that I am okay with the infertility thing, but every month, I break down and sob for awhile also. Last night, talking about my friend's surprise pregnancy, I asked Jason, "What is wrong with me? I should be used to this, by now." He said, "No, you shouldn't. You are in the middle of grieving a part of your life. Every fresh sting shows you where you are really at in the struggle." It's true. It's not the middle of the cycle that tells me where I am at, regarding my infertility. It's when my period comes that I really find out. And I'm not okay. I am not even close to being done grieving. And every time that someone announces their pregnancy, it's another reminder that I might not get "what I want."

Maybe grief isn't just about losing something, maybe it's also about realizing that something may never be yours to begin with. Before we ever started trying to conceive, I still got a little jealous when other women told me that they were pregnant. Even though we weren't even trying yet! I was envious of their happiness. But I can honestly say that I had absolutely no clue what infertility would feel like. It's entirely different when you try everything you can and get your hopes up month after month after month, only to sit staring at a negative pregnancy test every time. You ask "why?" and have no answer. You start wondering if God has muted your prayer channel. That's grief, baby.

I read a book once called "Ambiguous Loss." It was about the most difficult of losses, and there are two types: One) presence is felt, body is gone (such as a soldier who is MIA.) Two) body is there, presence is gone (like Alzheimer's disease.) I'm not saying that what I am going through is anything as bad as those two examples, but I think that I can relate. I am missing something that wasn't even there in the first place. What is so difficult about these types of grieving is that there is no real end in sight. Those families might never find their son's body, the Alzheimer patient may live on for years and years. And I might not ever have a baby.

I asked Jason, "When do I become okay with this? When do I finally accept God's will for my life?" I guess I'll know when the month comes that doesn't produce this awful pain in my heart. I'm not there yet. Grief is a process, I guess.

Lucy and "Being Okay"

My new XM radio station is "Lucy." They have all kinds of rock stations; some others are "Ethel" and "Fred." (I'm assuming some "I Love Lucy" reference? I haven't found a "Ricky" but it might be over in the Latin music category.) I was listening to "Lucy" the other day and realized why it is such a fit for me. The announcer said, "Lucy...music for introspection and self-loathing." Bingo. No wonder I always love their music. A sample: Faith No More, the Cure, the Pixies, Radiohead, Oasis, Depeche Mode, Tori Amos, the Violent Femmes. Lucy is pretty much, "I am confused about life and loathe myself"-music. Lucy and I are a perfect match!!

I love the prego dog. We might just keep her. She's the dog I always wanted. Housebroken, mild-mannered, loving, loyal. By the second night, she was sleeping in our bed with us. I took her to the vet yesterday and he said she'd probably have the babies in a week or two. I also took Asshole Chihuahua to get his yearly shots. Bit the vet, bit me, peed and pooped on the table. Vet finally had to take him into the other room. He and another vet put huge gloves on and gave him his shots. Sigh. So embarrassing. Thankfully, the vet just laughed at him.

I discovered this morning that I am not pregnant, yet again. What is this...cycle 14 or 15? I lose track. I thought I was doing better about my infertility, but my friend at work announced that she was pregnant this morning. I truly am happy for her, but I have to admit, I am having a hard time this morning. About four co-workers came up after they heard and, with very concerned grave faces, asked me, "Are you okay with this?" What gets me about this question is that the person really doesn't want you to not "be okay." They're really making a statement rather than asking a question:  "I need you to be okay with this because if not, it will make me feel bad." So I have to plaster a smile on my face and say, "No, no. I'm fine" and "Don't you worry about me" or "Pish posh. I didn't want a baby anyway." Then, their face brightens and you see the relief. Ellen is okay. She is not a selfish, crappy, jealous friend. She is not going to lock herself in the bathroom and cry. She has followed society's rules.

I am scheduled for a laparoscopy for next week, if the doctor would just called me back to confirm it (very frustrating.) I am apprehensive about it. I try and be all Wonderwoman about it, but inside, I am scared. It might be a little more comforting if it was here in my hometown, but I have to drive all the way to Tulsa to have it done. And no, it's not major surgery. But yes, I am scared.

My sister is getting married in October. She was talking about bridesmaid's dresses. She said, "Well, I need to think about the fact that you and Emily might be pregnant." I said, "Please don't say that." The thing is, it just makes it worse sometimes to be hopeful. I start imagining myself all big and pregnant at her wedding. Then I get there, it doesn't happen, I'm standing there in the dress and it's just a reminder-- no baby. Gee, you look lovely, but you have a defunct uterus.

I had certain events set up in my mind. First it was, "Well, maybe I'll be pregnant at Christmas." Christmas, all I got was a negative pregnancy stick. Then I thought it would be easier for me when my good friend had her baby in May, because I'd surely be pregnant by then. But now she's about to pop and all I'm looking at is surgery. So, no more set-ups. I can't do it anymore.

I'm really sorry if this post came across as "Poor Me." I didn't mean it to be that way, I promise. I really don't feel "Poor Me" in much of my life, and let's face it, nobody likes a "Poor Me."