Wow, I've been gone a long time. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd written, and I'm remiss that I have no totally thrilling and exciting news to share.
We're in the final week of closing up/transitioning our business, as I'd written about earlier. It's hard work, thrilling yet kind of heartbreaking at the same time.
Anyhow, that's my excuse for my absence, and I'm still in the throws of it through early next week. I'll be back to a psudo-normal schedule by next Thursday, and hope to update a bit about a crazy, scary car accident experience, thoughts about closing the business/not working, our babies, other babies, secret infertility (should I pry?), all kinds of good stuff. Do check back.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
If I Could, I Would
"Ladies and Gentlemen! We politely request that you please check your seat assignments. It appears that passengers A & B have been mistakenly seated directly over the water tank. The turbulence and bouncing are causing extreme discomfort for the pilot. Please check your seat assignments and move seats as warranted."
I am so tired of peeing.
Up until now, the one daily task that I've always dreaded and wished that I could outsource has been blowdrying my hair. I find it boring, tedious, and never creating the desired result. Realizing that this is chronologically and financially irresponsible, I've made the task a better experience (albeit slower) by reading a good book or magazine as I dry.
I would gladly pass the baton to a more qualified and patient individual, if I could find someone to pee for me. My mother suggested that Depends could really come in handy, a notion I rejected before it was even out of her mouth. So the question is, like blowdrying, how do I make the experience more enjoyable? Reading is out, as the actual act of peeing takes only seconds, and if I'm into a good book, I'll just sit there reading until the next time I have to go. Crochet? Too messy. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Not that I'm complaining. Really.
* * *
On the positive front, J is really stepping up to the plate and helping me get things organized around the house and such. He spent all Saturday installing shelves in the disaster-that-is-technically-a-mudroom, so that all our cleaning supplies and such are off the floor and such. And he must have enjoyed it so much, that the next day, he tackled the same task in the garage. God bless him.
I am so tired of peeing.
Up until now, the one daily task that I've always dreaded and wished that I could outsource has been blowdrying my hair. I find it boring, tedious, and never creating the desired result. Realizing that this is chronologically and financially irresponsible, I've made the task a better experience (albeit slower) by reading a good book or magazine as I dry.
I would gladly pass the baton to a more qualified and patient individual, if I could find someone to pee for me. My mother suggested that Depends could really come in handy, a notion I rejected before it was even out of her mouth. So the question is, like blowdrying, how do I make the experience more enjoyable? Reading is out, as the actual act of peeing takes only seconds, and if I'm into a good book, I'll just sit there reading until the next time I have to go. Crochet? Too messy. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Not that I'm complaining. Really.
* * *
On the positive front, J is really stepping up to the plate and helping me get things organized around the house and such. He spent all Saturday installing shelves in the disaster-that-is-technically-a-mudroom, so that all our cleaning supplies and such are off the floor and such. And he must have enjoyed it so much, that the next day, he tackled the same task in the garage. God bless him.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Need, want, whatever!
Do you ever have the overwhelming urge to just buy something?
It doesn't matter what it is, where it is, you just need to go shopping? The siren song of Target is hard to resist, and as I was driving home from the fabric store, I heard the calling.
With a mile to go, I thought, "hmmm...what do I need?" Surely, there must be something I could pick up, something I've run out of and cannot live with out. Deodorant? Nope. Greeting cards? No need. Laundry detergent? I have plenty. Well, I would sure like a Snickers bar.
And that was enough justification to get my car into the righthand turn lane and into the shopping center. And as I wandered the aisles, decorated with red bullseyes and bright displays, I was largely unsatisfied. Looking was fun, but it wasn't thrilling as I'd hoped. Nothing jumped out at me. Nothing screamed "Take me home with you!" Cheap maternity clothes (a pink cardigan sweater and a chocolate brown skirt) ultimately won out, and a garden magazine and the justified Snickers bar made their way onto the conveyer belt, but total satisfaction? I never found it.
It doesn't matter what it is, where it is, you just need to go shopping? The siren song of Target is hard to resist, and as I was driving home from the fabric store, I heard the calling.
With a mile to go, I thought, "hmmm...what do I need?" Surely, there must be something I could pick up, something I've run out of and cannot live with out. Deodorant? Nope. Greeting cards? No need. Laundry detergent? I have plenty. Well, I would sure like a Snickers bar.
And that was enough justification to get my car into the righthand turn lane and into the shopping center. And as I wandered the aisles, decorated with red bullseyes and bright displays, I was largely unsatisfied. Looking was fun, but it wasn't thrilling as I'd hoped. Nothing jumped out at me. Nothing screamed "Take me home with you!" Cheap maternity clothes (a pink cardigan sweater and a chocolate brown skirt) ultimately won out, and a garden magazine and the justified Snickers bar made their way onto the conveyer belt, but total satisfaction? I never found it.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Mixed Feelings ...
but ultimatly happy.
Girl ends bad marriage. Girl meets wonderful young man 10+ years her junior. Boy and girl court, date, move in. Delight and happiness abound, friends rejoice for good fortune and true love. Boy and girl plan to marry, but first plan to start "trying," expecting, as responsible folks might, that it could take awhile due to her age. Surprise! First try! Boy and girl announce upcoming wedding. Boy and girl announce upcoming baby. Friends and family delighted, as they were already tuned-in on the plan. What prosperity, what luck!
Infertile friend thrilled and tearful at prospect of lifelong and perfect love for girl, who has been through a very bad five years. Infertile friend can't help but be jealous at the romanticism of it all, and wonders if she'd been so "responsible" in her planning and thoughts, if she might've had a romantic time of it.
Infertile friend has dream about visiting her RE to plan ahead for the "next one," and was greeted with hugs, kisses, and open arms full of congratulations. Ironic since the man barely cracked a smile at the positive beta test and ultrasound almost six months ago.
Girl ends bad marriage. Girl meets wonderful young man 10+ years her junior. Boy and girl court, date, move in. Delight and happiness abound, friends rejoice for good fortune and true love. Boy and girl plan to marry, but first plan to start "trying," expecting, as responsible folks might, that it could take awhile due to her age. Surprise! First try! Boy and girl announce upcoming wedding. Boy and girl announce upcoming baby. Friends and family delighted, as they were already tuned-in on the plan. What prosperity, what luck!
Infertile friend thrilled and tearful at prospect of lifelong and perfect love for girl, who has been through a very bad five years. Infertile friend can't help but be jealous at the romanticism of it all, and wonders if she'd been so "responsible" in her planning and thoughts, if she might've had a romantic time of it.
Infertile friend has dream about visiting her RE to plan ahead for the "next one," and was greeted with hugs, kisses, and open arms full of congratulations. Ironic since the man barely cracked a smile at the positive beta test and ultrasound almost six months ago.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
I am *so* not a joiner ...
It is with cautious trepidation that I tiptoe down the path into motherhood. In trying to find a transition between business-owner-career-woman I am and at-home-mother-of-two I will become, I found myself in a place I'd never thought I'd be.
A Mothers of Multiples group meeting. Support meeting!! Snacks!! Followed by a program -- board games!!
A newish acquaintance offered me a ride and an introduction to the group, which I had heard from another twin mom described as "the worst sorority meeting you can imagine." I gratefully accepted the invitation, as I knew I'd never manage to show up on my own. Other friends and acquaintances passed along information from friends who had said it was a great group to get involved with, so I had some positive validation.
All in all, it was a good experience (although we both, very gratefully, ditched out before the game-night began). There was a group of about 8 expectant mothers, with a really nice group leader. When talk turned to a bitch session about husbands (not from me, of course. J is perfect :-)), she got the discussion back on track and tried to turn it into a positive discussion.
Ahhh... the infertile in me never sleeps. I am amazed, although I shouldn't be at this point, at the amount of misinformation about infertility that is out there. One woman commented, with the utmost authority, that most multiples that are the result of IF treatment and IVF are identical. Didn't you know?
Oh no, I interjected. Let me explain the basics about how identical twins are usually formed (one egg splits to make two babies.) And then let me explain how fraternal twins are typically created (multiple eggs are fertilized and implant). I'm aware of the complex variables that go into my simple explanation, but just wanted to put the basic facts out there for this crazy-ass woman. I'm living IVF proof, I exclaim, thereby immediately outing myself as an infertile among a group of fertile ladies with nurseries full of children already at home.
I wanted everyone to know that this wasn't easy. I was the only one in the group who was having her first child/ren. I needed for them to know. The hostile infertile rears her ugly head.
To which the group leader transitions into a discussion about how, in this group, you're free from the nagging questions about how your children were conceived. It doesn't matter. Yes, in reality, it doesn't matter. But in my world, it does. Not totally sure why, but it really matters.
I had a strange thrill last week, when at a cocktail party, a friend/acquaintance asked me quietly who my specialist was. Knowing totally what she meant, I told her all about my RE, what I liked and didn't like, about his partner, the nurses, etcetera. I didn't need to ask the how, why, what of her situation. She quietly volunteered that infertility wasn't a surprise to her and her new husband. They knew they would be interviewing REs and just wanted some scoop before her upcoming consultation. And while I hate it that she's found herself in this undesirable situation, I was quietly delighted that she confided in me for information.
Back to my current transitional world ... I did enjoy the meeting. There were a lot of people who are "like me" and even more who seem to reside in a totally different world (although we all live in the greater metropolitan area of a not-huge city). I can see where the benefits of this group might lie, and know that I can be a total joiner, a drop-in kind of person, or I can just show up for the semi-annual yard sale. Whatever works. If I can figure out what that is, exactly.
* * * * *
If you've hung around long enough to read this far, I thank you for persisting. As a reward, I will pass along the news at which I hinted in my last post:
This One has a penis and That One has a Vee-Jay-Jay, as Dr. Bailey from Gr*y's Anat*my would say.
And I am thrilled. Duh.
A Mothers of Multiples group meeting. Support meeting!! Snacks!! Followed by a program -- board games!!
A newish acquaintance offered me a ride and an introduction to the group, which I had heard from another twin mom described as "the worst sorority meeting you can imagine." I gratefully accepted the invitation, as I knew I'd never manage to show up on my own. Other friends and acquaintances passed along information from friends who had said it was a great group to get involved with, so I had some positive validation.
All in all, it was a good experience (although we both, very gratefully, ditched out before the game-night began). There was a group of about 8 expectant mothers, with a really nice group leader. When talk turned to a bitch session about husbands (not from me, of course. J is perfect :-)), she got the discussion back on track and tried to turn it into a positive discussion.
Ahhh... the infertile in me never sleeps. I am amazed, although I shouldn't be at this point, at the amount of misinformation about infertility that is out there. One woman commented, with the utmost authority, that most multiples that are the result of IF treatment and IVF are identical. Didn't you know?
Oh no, I interjected. Let me explain the basics about how identical twins are usually formed (one egg splits to make two babies.) And then let me explain how fraternal twins are typically created (multiple eggs are fertilized and implant). I'm aware of the complex variables that go into my simple explanation, but just wanted to put the basic facts out there for this crazy-ass woman. I'm living IVF proof, I exclaim, thereby immediately outing myself as an infertile among a group of fertile ladies with nurseries full of children already at home.
I wanted everyone to know that this wasn't easy. I was the only one in the group who was having her first child/ren. I needed for them to know. The hostile infertile rears her ugly head.
To which the group leader transitions into a discussion about how, in this group, you're free from the nagging questions about how your children were conceived. It doesn't matter. Yes, in reality, it doesn't matter. But in my world, it does. Not totally sure why, but it really matters.
I had a strange thrill last week, when at a cocktail party, a friend/acquaintance asked me quietly who my specialist was. Knowing totally what she meant, I told her all about my RE, what I liked and didn't like, about his partner, the nurses, etcetera. I didn't need to ask the how, why, what of her situation. She quietly volunteered that infertility wasn't a surprise to her and her new husband. They knew they would be interviewing REs and just wanted some scoop before her upcoming consultation. And while I hate it that she's found herself in this undesirable situation, I was quietly delighted that she confided in me for information.
Back to my current transitional world ... I did enjoy the meeting. There were a lot of people who are "like me" and even more who seem to reside in a totally different world (although we all live in the greater metropolitan area of a not-huge city). I can see where the benefits of this group might lie, and know that I can be a total joiner, a drop-in kind of person, or I can just show up for the semi-annual yard sale. Whatever works. If I can figure out what that is, exactly.
* * * * *
If you've hung around long enough to read this far, I thank you for persisting. As a reward, I will pass along the news at which I hinted in my last post:
This One has a penis and That One has a Vee-Jay-Jay, as Dr. Bailey from Gr*y's Anat*my would say.
And I am thrilled. Duh.
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