The Pail Sea

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Testing.... Testing 1 2....

This thing still work?

CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!?

It is I, Stork.

It has been... Jesus.... two months since my last confession. Let's just get into it, shall we?

I haven't been too active in infertile world because I've been frozen in terror, and I need to thaw. I need to unfreeze because I miss you people, but mostly for my own sanity.

I've often compared being a member of our community to being a passenger on the Titanic. We're all unlucky - every last one of us somehow ended up on the wrong fucking boat, and most of us wound up in the freezing water. There are unmistakable divides in our community - who's been in the water longer, who was in it for too short a period or too long ago to count, who's currently sitting fat and happy in a lifeboat.

The ideal code of conduct between these divides, as I understood them pre-pregnancy: If you're in the water, try your best not to focus on the order people should get saved based on suffering because that's never the order it will happen in. If you're in a lifeboat, for fucks sakes don't complain about the gd conditions of the lifeboat particularly to people who are still in the water.

I was in the water for 4 years.  It was a tit bit nipply. I thought, if ever I get yanked onto a boat, because of the aforementioned ideals, it would be a non-obnoxious transition. I'll admit - a million times I've heard a finally-pregnant infertile express how terrified they were, and I've thought 'OMG just be fucking happy'.  So I had a pretty good idea of how I was going to respond if I was ever lucky enough to be 'saved'. Pregnant = problem solved. Smooth transition to happiness.

I was - and this still annoys me - totally, fucking, spectacularly, wrong.

The moment my butt hit a dry seat - happiness. Happy disbelief.  No denying that. There's a physical reaction to obtaining what you've been going after for years before you even have a chance to mentally process it.

Then, I think because of losing one of the embryos 5 weeks in and having enough time to remember - I dunno, who I was? -  and that person was not someone I associated with good luck or a lack of cruel irony, it just morphed into panicked disbelief.

I thought... this can't be your boat. The last one you were on sank spectacularly, you were in the water forever - one of the gajillions of people floating helplessly in frozen, never moving, on-the-cusp-of-ice water. Do you really think you're going to be one of the lucky people successfully saved on this tiny ass boat after all that? Please, by all means, spend a few minutes thinking your safe - because that will give Gawd/the universe/Mother Nature all the more booming a laugh as they hurl you back into the water and you will pray fondly for the days where your skin was used to the cruelty of that temperature... it's going to be soooo much funnier now that you've warmed up a bit.

Another unforeseen reaction on my part was how I would view my place in our community. A million times before, when one of us has gotten knocked up and then disappeared completely, I thought 'well that's kind of a dick move... I guess we'll see you later? Thanks for playing?'. When my butt hit that dry seat, after I realized what happened I looked back in the water. Freezing cold fucking awful water, full of people who had kept me warm for years - and I couldn't do shit to save them. Still can't.

The water had become my HOME. My community. My place. The unbelievably cold and the unfuckingbelievably strong. To stop paddling seemed preposterous... presumptuous. Better women than me were still paddling. Out of habit, I was/am way more used to the idea of surviving than I was the idea of being a survivor.

For a combination of circumstances I don't really fully understand myself - previous experience, hormones, genetic disposition, who knows - I also went a wee bit coocoo for the first half of my pregnancy. I am, if left to my own devices, a very calm, cool, collected and above all mellow person. I find the goof in everything. About 6 weeks into pregnant I became so afraid of how far I was going to fall when it all went to shit, that my brain started entertaining itself by spending most days picturing every possible disaster. An example? I went hunting for blood so thoroughly I would accidentally make myself bleed. If so much as a fucking ant boarded my lifeboat, I would be completely convinced it would sink the whole damn thing.

I'd have a few days where I'd feel normal, and then a few days where it was just... panic. Maybe I would have been better prepared for that if I had hints of that in my personality to begin with but.. nope. It was like being taken over by someone else.  I technically no longer had to paddle to stay alive, and that threw me into such a panic that I exhausted myself paddling. Exhausted.

Maybe around 20 weeks (I'm 25 now) I started to show a little bit (although I'm pudgy to begin with so one could argue I just look like I'm awkwardly carrying fat). Around the same time, I started to feel her move. I started to feel a slight thaw. Maybe I'm really pregnant - but like, the kind that may result in a baby.

A few weeks ago I was driving to get myself some peanut butter froyo with chocolate chips and strawberries (which is now my jammmmm) and listening to "the Loft" on Sirius. (If anyone knows what the fuck the theme of that radio station is supposed to be - don't tell me because at this point it's become a great big infuriating riddle I need to solve.. but do tell me someone knows?).  Anyway, I was thinking about how I really needed to just... let go. Embrace the unknown.  I didn't get this far being a chicken shit. I am no longer trying to get pregnant or struggling to get pregnant... time to accept that I just may be one of the lucky ones. I'm thinking this to myself, this song comes on I've never heard before, Heisenbaby starts to dance around apeshit, and I start to cry - another totally-out-of-character thing for me, but they were happy/relief tears.

So, I still have rough/weird days where relaxing feels like it will bring on punishment.. However, as pre-pregnancy I was no chicken shit, I'm now trying to embrace the happy ending. I bought a crib. I got her a few outfits. I started a registry.

And I'm forcing myself out of the weird and unbearable inbetween... because again, I miss you and I miss my sanity - and at least previously it would seem one was very tied in with the other.

So... I declare this a PAIL blog.

I'm going to get back to writing in here - which has and will continue to be mostly weird shenanigans and certainly not where you go to get an instructional on how to knit a sweater out of tuna casserole using only heavily used stockings.. but I will be writing my shenanigans as a pregnant woman. Which I will be talking about (but I'll go easy on the fruit comparisons).

I'm going to preface this whole new blog - wherever it goes - with the following disclaimer: I am grateful. So grateful. If I had to put hot needles in my eyes every day for the duration of my pregnancy to result in a healthy baby, I would do it with gratitude.  Not just gratitude, but the same perfect understanding I had a year ago as to why any pregnant person should be grateful.... but in that scenario, on this blog, I will be saying 'dude I wish these needles in my eyes were more fun' in my own overly dramatic way... and when I do, please don't think I've forgotten where I come from or how to have gratitude (I think that ought to cover it for the disclaimer).

If you need to back away from me - don't spend a second feeling guilty about it. Just... before you go, know that if there was any way I could drag you by your hair into the boat I seem to have found myself in, I would.  Because I want us all to be happy, sure, but mostly for selfish reasons - I want the familiar on my damn lifeboat, I want you with me because I'm afraid, and you know I'm not going to be able to socialize with too many of those Carpathia bitches who never sank in the first place.

Tomorrow: back to shenanigans. Shit they don't tell you about pregnancy but STORK WILL.

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving, U.S.!

May your pants be significantly tighter by the end of the day.

I have two embryos on board.  On Monday, they defrosted perfectly and went in smoooooth like.  You're going to think I'm nuts and I'm completely aware that I'm on a lot of medication that could be tricking me but literally since Monday night I have felt all kinds of weird pinches.  (Thinking optimistically that it's them... I'm sure La Bamba is a dancer, and obviously Heisenberg IS the one who knocks). I'll go into it more, later, just to be helpful to anyone getting a transfer (maybe) but for now let's worry about the turkey at hand.

I give you, La Bamba and Heisenberg:

I am thankful I get to play Mom for at least the next 6 days - I'm going to enjoy every PUPO moment.

I'm thankful for my husband who has had to put up with every hormone under the sun.

I'm thankful for my own kickass Mom.

I'm thankful for this community for existing because it is a lifesaver.

I'm thankful for my friends who have been unbelievably supportive.

I am thankful LB & H fertilized (albeit a day late), that they made it to freeze, and that they were put safely in my uterus.  Badasses, those two.

I'm thankful for my RE and his RN both of whom are amaaaazing.

I am thankful I get to have hope, I am thankful that my belief in the possibilities of miracles has been restored, I am thankful for every moment I get to think "maybe...."



Thankful for so much more, but I have to go get a shot in the butt.

Happy Thanksgiving - go eat your damn turkey!

Gobble gobble.

Blogoversary

Today my blog is a year old.

I can't believe it's been that long, and I also can't believe I hadn't been doing it longer.  Mostly it's my anniversary with you, so a few thank yous are in order.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for commenting.

Thank you for lurking.

Thank you for being pissed when I'm pissed, tickled when I'm tickled, and baffled when I'm baffled.

Thank you for laughing with me.

Thank you for chiming in when I rant.

Thank you for sending good vibes to a stubborn uterus, and rooting for me even when I don't have the energy to.

Thank you for the kind words.  Especially the ones that have told me I would make a decent Mom, the ones that have made me blush about my writing abilities, the ones that said 'nah, girl, you're not crazy, I think that's hilarious too.'

Thank you for letting me rant and rave, blaspheme, use the F word a record number of times, feel sorry for myself, find the humor in the usually humorless, and not hold back.

Thank you for being receptive and supportive in every blogpost, whether it's serious or simply arguing my case in the Ryan Reynolds vs. Ryan Gosling debate (which may, despite it's total lack of depth, be my favorite post ever mostly for the insane comments).  (And I  forgive you if you side on Reynolds... mostly).

Thank you to the people who started reading from the beginning, thank you to the ones who just started, and thank you to everyone in between.

On day one minute one of blog writing, I was in a rough spot and starting this blog helped me drag my ass out of it. 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think anyone would want to read the sometimes uterine-related rants of a mad woman (but mostly just the unrelated ramblings of a mad woman). Through this blog and finding others, I've virtually met so many wonderful people (and a few in real life) and for that I am so thankful.

Thank you for letting me into your lives and for being a part of mine.  You have been more helpful and inspiring than I could ever communicate, and you all should know by now I have a tiny, mechanical, untouchable robot heart. This is quite the feat. 

The fertility blog world is just one, giant, wonderfully loving monster that existed long before me and I'm thankful it has tolerated my tiny, insignificant ass for this long and in such a receptive way. 

(source)

So happy anniversary to us.  If you lived any closer, I'd be taking you out for a steak dinner and giving you the really, really good sex tonight.

Whole Wide World of Wonderland

Happy Friday, lovelies, and welcome to the post wherein I virtually lick you all in the face.

Though I love compliments just as much as the next person (particularly since I walk around this world with my uterus hurling insults at me on a daily basis) I am one of those people that becomes flabbergasted and blushy.  In real life (and my friends will attest to this) when given a compliment, I don't say anything but instead do a little head-to-toe emphasis-on-the-bosom shimmy.

I've received a few kickass compliments via this wonderful online world the last week.  One, I did a guest post over here at Amanda's and people left lovely comments.  Two, Ms. Melissa over at Stirrup-Queens mentioned my blog today in her bloggy round up.  (If you are new to being a she-who-blogs-of-ovaries, this is a must have on your blog reader).  I also hit 70 followers this week which is mind-boggling.

This makes me blush and for a few shining moments in an otherwise shitty situation feel pretty fucking great.  Particularly considering after my first few posts I thought about just becoming a reader because I didn't feel like I have anything particularly helpful to contribute (Bubba talked me out of it saying 'people need goofy'.)

These compliments make me want to kiss you squarely on the mouth, slip you a little tongue and question your sanity.

So I just wanted to say (and read it 3 times - Stork's affection usually comes in the form of a gentle nipple pinch and a light slap) I am so fucking grateful for all of you and our little corner of the web.

Without even realizing it, I have been silently searching for sisters-in-shittiness  in an endless world of wildly fertile or child-averse.

The other day I saw Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland for the first time (I know, I know - what kind of a Burton/Depp fan am I) and one quote struck me: 

The White Queen is preparing Alice to fight the jabberwocky and she says "Alice you cannot live your life to please others, the choice must be yours, for when you step out to face that creature you will step out alone".

And I thought, aint that the truth.

Even when we have wonderfully loving husbands, wildly supportive family members and psychotically involved friends, at the end of the day when you face something like this you're facing it alone... but I can't put into words what a comfort it's been to discover a secret online Wonderland world of women also fighting their own Jabberwockies and writing home to tell the tale.

So for you, my sisters - I've unknowingly searched the whole wide world and I'm so glad I found you.

I shimmy in your general direction.

A Weird Little Glimpse into My Marriage

Manly Monday, My Minxy Mom-abees!

Oh - today I am in two places at once, like a magic trick.  I am guest blogging over at Growing Griswolds and inevitably causing her to lose followers - she is amazeballs, USA and you should check her out.  A double dose of me in one day - much like taking a double dose of any drug, you may be delighted or you may die.  I am also over here.  (Magic magic magic magic....)

For those of you who fled the internet over the weekend like some sad abandoned carnival, a few of us had a little pow-wow and decided that today would be the day we would give a bit of a glimpse into the secret world of Men.  Marriage.  Men.

It just seems odd to me that we should know so much about the sperm of our respected partners, and so little about the actual partner himself (or herself) other than silly nicknames like DH, or Z, or Bubba.  And so today is the day to give a little glimpse into our weird little marriages and the ones crazy enough to enter it with us.  If you'd like to join us, by all means add your name in the comment section!

I give you a weird little glimpse into my marriage, and my Bub.

(Flowers from our wedding).

Bubba in Bullets:

• Prior to our meeting, he went to many-a-club with his friends, who have told me that he has been kicked out multiple times for falling asleep in said clubs.  Once, he fell asleep on a speaker, and an employee told him he had to leave because "the tone we're going for is sexy... and this is not sexy."
• He has one main facial expression, which is 'grumpy', and subtle variants of 'grumpy'.  This incidentally makes him very sexy.  
• I pride myself in being able to make people laugh (it's my thing - in exchange for which I have 100  I cannot do), he is by far my favorite person to make do this.  A smirk from him is my comedy high point.
• He is a born musician - can play any instrument.  If you give him a shaver he'll figure out how to make music with it.  This is equal parts impressive and infuriating.
• I guarantee he snores louder than your husband does.  It's like sleeping next to a chainsaw ripping into an angry bear.  I can no longer sleep without this noise.  Equal parts impressive and infuriating.
• He is a professional computer nerd who lords over other computer nerds.  He goes to work in a t-shirt and jeans, and stares at a black screen of programming jibberish.  I like to think he works in an evil tower seeking world domination and  I am thankful he doesn't feel the need to over-explain what he does because it might ruin this image.
• He is half German, primarily raised in Germany.  There is no lingering accent, except for a few mispronounced words ('Q-pon', and my favorite 'rum' instead of 'room') for which I tease him mercilessly.
• The only porn he owned outright when we moved in together was mysteriously Portuguese, and mysteriously without sound.
• If he shaves in the morning, he will have a beard by nightfall that makes him look like he crawled out of the Bible.
• He puts wooden spoons in the dishwasher and his shoes in the dryer.
• Yes, he is my best friend.  Show me the woman who says "I married my 4th best friend, really, but the top 2 were unavailable and the 3rd was gay".

A weird glimpse into my marriage:

• Everyday when Bub comes home from work, I have a barrage of pointless questions that I would like him to answer, like, "do you think the cat, because of weight and coloring, thinks she's shamu?" "Do you think there's a guy who got a sperm analysis, who can't cum without shouting and talking dirty to the porno ladies, and made an ass out of himself?" "Why are rubber ducks a thing?" He is a very good sport.
• When he's being too quiet I pinch his nipples and gently slap him.  (He is, decidedly, not a fan of this).
• I can't do dirty talk (I'm more of a dirty listener) so I like to send him one word texts with dirty words.  You know - PENIS.  SEX.  VAJAYJAY.
• Inexplicably when he's in the kitchen, I have to flash him or pull his pants down before going about doing dishes or cooking.  No I don't have OCD - it's not like I think gravity will reverse itself and we'll all go flying if I don't, it's just... what I do in a kitchen.
• On occasion he playfully calls me "bitch" and I playfully call him "mein fuhrer".  I love this, however I'm a little worried we'll accidentally do it in front of someone who will misinterpret, much like I'm afraid I'll accidentally kitchen-flash him when someone is over for a civilized dinner.
• I do not let him leave the house without a kiss and an I love you.  If I don't do this, gravity will reverse itself.
• I cannot fall asleep undrugged if there is a light on in the neighbors house much less my own.  He, on the other hand, loves nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch with all the lights on in the house and the television blaring something inevitably loud and violent.
• We have a box of sex stuff in our closet.  Married 6 years, and while we certainly have the occasional off week we haven't reached that sex-slow-down I've heard so much about.
• While I always thought it was cheesery, I can safely say with absolute certainty I love him more now than I ever did before.  And I was psychotically in love with him pretty much from day one.

Other Manly-Monday participants (and if I somehow left you out - some seemed less committal - lemme know in the comments and I will add you!)

Unexplained Rantings

Follow Every Rainbow

My Life is About the Journey

Expecting to be Expecting

Road2ourbaby

Mommyhood After Fertility Frustration

Sprout

wishinghopingplanning

Iydkmigthtky

Things Couldn't Be Better

My Bum Ovaries
The Future Fords

Cease and Decyst
Tales of a Cautious Optimist
Quest for the Positive
Pretzels and chocolate

I am traveling to the OC today (or as I like to say, behind the orange curtain) so I am gleefully looking forward to coming home this evening and getting my fill-o-gossip.

Stuff I Can Still be Grateful For

Hello ladies of infertility (pretty sure we could make a dirty calendar with that title).

I've always kept diaries, even though when you're 30 some may consider that a little odd.  One of my best friends, who we'll call T, came over the other day, saw my current diary, and said "what the hell is that?" To which I replied "a very sad, handwritten book" (meant to be read in the manner of the crazy roommate from "Bridesmaids", who he had just recently met and said was delightful - which makes me happy because I can't tell you how many celebrities have been ruined for me by personal stories.  But that's another entry.)

ANYHOO.

A long time ago I went through a phase where I ended every entry with a few things I was grateful for, mostly because Oprah told me to.  It was just an experiment I quickly abandoned, but I'm yanking myself out of a rough patch so I thought it'd be helpful to maybe list out a few things to be happy about.  Maybe I'll do this every once in awhile, on here, just to try to make things a little lighter for myself.


Things I'm grateful for, today:

• That dog poop is not invisible.  I have two dogs, one of whom is a giant puppy who can hop 6 foot fences (the other is a corgi-mix who would be lucky to hop over an ant hill).  So Luna, giant puppy, when she goes outside is on a very long cord that's pegged into the ground.  When she inevitably wraps herself around a tree or a potted plant and I have to go barefoot into the backyard to rescue her, I am grateful that poo is something that one can see, and not something one would merely smell and feel squished underfoot.  

(Phoebe the corgi on the left, Luna the giant puppy on right).

• That toilet paper is cheap and available everywhere.  (Dunno why we're grateful for bathroom things, today, but we are). I'm reminded of this because the other day I was behind someone who looked mortified to just be running into the store to buy toilet paper.  I love these people.  Like I would think you're less disgusting if I thought you didn't use any.

• For ant spray.  Normally I'm a peaceful person, but every spring/summer my house is overtaken by tiny ants (sure, a classier bug than roaches or silverfish, but endlessly irritating)  and I want them dead.  Scratch that, I want it to be like Natural Born Killers where only one ant survives, and goes back to tell all the other ants not. to. mess. with. us.

• Quentin Tarantino movies.  It's not that I like violence in particular (okay, sometimes - see above reason to be grateful) but they've been rather soothing at a time where scary & ridiculous is about all the viewing I can handle.  And I'm telling you ladies, the man can write.  Best dialogue writer there is, I say.  And none of the women in his films are sad or barren, they're all just kicking ass and taking names.  The only time there is any woman with a sad baby-story (Kill Bill & Kill Bill 2) she's not sad and mopey.  She says "fuck this, I'm handling this with a samurai sword".  (I'm telling you - if this does not sound like the kind of thing you'd normally be into, you're misjudging it.  Go check a movie of his out).

• Awesome new lady friends. Not to get too schmultzy on you, but the last couple of weeks I've tried to immerse myself in my fellow sad ladies online, because the chipper-fertile ones in real life are driving me to consider getting myself an alcohol problem.  I've chatted with loads of women who are totally delightful, and a few that are kick-ass unbelievable women who I would knock up myself if I could.  (And I'm so happy to have met them, right now, that I may give it a shot trying to knock them up just for shits & giggles.  Seriously, let's run away together).

• For people who are shocked when celebrities come out of the closet.  Because it makes me laugh Every. Single. Time.  "Anderson Cooper gay!  What?"  "What do you mean there are rumors about Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Kevin Spacey?"  "Ricky Martin isn't gay, he's just confused!"  Girls, if he's too pretty and you can't imagine him on a couch, scratching himself, muttering about work and growing fur in strange places, he's gay.  Fact.  And he's still delightful.

Happy fourth, everyone.  When I was younger I loved this holiday - mostly because I harbored vague white trash dreams of watching fireworks and having sex with some yahoo in the back of a truck.  Today I am mostly grouchy and plan on avoiding the whole thing altogether, although I am pleased that mother nature is smiling down upon me and it's a lovely 70 degrees outside.  Still avoiding festivities like the plague.  I'm an American, it's my right to be grouchy, damnit.