December 29, 2009


Things are a bit tense in my household these days, and have been for about the past month or so. I'm not sure what is going on exactly, but I do realize that I need to figure it out and also work it out.

The husband and I are doing a dance of sorts; after the girls go to bed each night, we each seem to exist in different rooms of the house, and ne'er the two shall meet. He will be in front of the TV in the family room while I will be at the computer in the dining room (honestly, I do spend way too much time in front of the computer and need to work on that) or he will be watching TV in the bedroom while I am in the family room, or some other similar schematic.

We rarely go to bed at the same time. He will head off to bed around 9 or so and I'll stay up doing things (making the girls' lunches, reading, doing laundry, and other assorted good times). He used to come up to me and tell me to 'wrap it up, it's bedtime' but that got old quick and I got tired of feeling like he was my dad telling me what to do. He doesn't do that any more and I kind of miss it in a weird way.

I can't tell you the last time we got a little may have been a month or two ago. Coincidence? I think not.

I love him, couldn't imagine my life without him, and need to make sure he knows this...which--in somewhat typical male fashion--he usually equates with physical affection (and sex), something I am bad at expressing (having grown up in a household without much touching). It doesn't help that the girls are on me or touching me just about all the time we're together. I think I get a little 'touch-burned out,' if that makes any sense. I've told him about this previously but he just takes it personally, insisting that I don't want to touch him, that I don't look at him, that I don't see him.

Adding fuel to the fire is the fact that I am uncomfortable in my skin, which means that I am rarely, if ever, the aggressor in sex--which he takes to mean that I don't want him. I prefer the lights out too, generally to keep him from viewing my jiggly belly (that he says come with having had children), the floppy breasts (that he says are beautiful), the dimpled bottom. Sigh. I need to work on loving me more....

We are going away tomorrow through Saturday, without the girls. I think I need to make up for some lost time. Not to sound like a horrible wife/person, but it'll buy me time until the next lull in our life...a dance that has become a series of ups and downs emotionally and physically.

Who were we before we had these wonderful children? I think we need to get back to that. After all, one day, the children will leave the roost and we'll be left again with only one another's company.

Easy for me to say, now I just need to put my words into action. How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time....

December 20, 2009

Books books books!

I have a lovely SIL, who--recently at 31 years of age--underwent a radical hysterectomy. She and her husband had been trying to grow their family for the past 5+ years, when a D&C came back with some severely atypical hyperplasia that, if left untreated, would have become cancerous, hence the hysterectomy, but not before an egg retrieval cycle that yielded a bunch of eggs, two were transferred to a gestational surrogate, and miraculously, they 'stuck.' Her fraternal twins are expected in early June.

Along the TTC way, my SIL amassed a rather sizeable collection of infertility and pregnancy books in hopes of 'when.' She has given them to me, asking that I share them with anyone in the IF community who would like them. So, if you're interested, leave a message in the comment section with what title(s) you want and your email and I will touch base with you in a message to get the pertinent info to send the book(s).

I have the following books for the taking--all are in brand new or like new condition:

1. Conquering Infertility by Alice Domar (2 copies available)
2. Infertility: Learn to Take Charge of Your Condition by Jenny Wolsk Bain (1 copy)
3. Making a Baby: Everything You Need to Know to Get Pregnant by Debra Fulghum Bruce and Samuel Thatcher, MD, PhD (1 copy)
4. The Unofficial Guide to Getting Pregnant by Joan Liebmann Smith, PhD, Jacqueline Nardi Egan, and John J. Stangel, MD (1 copy)
5. The Infertility Survival Handbook by Elizabeth Swire Falker (1 copy)
6. The Infertility Companion: Hope and Help for Couples Facing Infertility by Sandra L. Glahn, ThM, and William R. Cutrer, MD (1 copy)
7. Getting Pregnant: What You Need to Know Right Now by Niels S. Lauersen, MD, PhD, and Colette Bouchez (1 copy)
8. Fertility Book by Richard Marrs, MD, Lisa Friedman Bloch, and Kathy Kirtland Silverman (1 copy)
9. The Fertility Sourcebook by M. Sara Rosenthal (1 copy)
10. The Conception Chronicles by Patty Doyle Debano, Courtney Edgerton Menzel, and Shelly Dicken Sutphen (1 copy)
11. I Got Pregnant, You Can Too! by Katie Boland (1 copy)

1. Affirmations for Your Healthy Pregnancy (1 copy-a small desktop daily flip book)
2. How to Make a Pregnant Woman Happy by Uzzi Reiss, MD, and Yfat M. Reiss (1 copy)
3. 15,000+ Baby Names by Bruce Lansky (1 copy)
4. The Pregnant Woman's Comfort Book by Jennifer Louden (1 copy)
5. A Guy's Guide to Pregnancy by Frank Mungeam (1 copy)
6. The What to Expect When You're Expecting Pregnancy Organizer (1 copy)
7. The Pilates Pregnancy by Mari Winsor with Mark Laska (1 copy)
8. The Everything Pregnancy Fitness Book by Robin Elise Weiss (1 copy)

Hope there are some titles in here that will be informational and/or helpful. Thanks for reading and happy holidays :)

November 18, 2009

Food for thought

Today I saw my family doctor about a new mole I'd found on my scalp. It was dark and irregularly shaped so she did an excision.

As the lidocaine was being injected into my scalp to do the procedure, it hurt a little and I commented on it, saying, "It hurts a little but it's okay, I've given birth to two children, I can handle it."

Then my doctor segued into a "why stop at 2?" discussion. She went on to say that when she was 15, her older brother, who was 19, was killed in a motorcycle accident. She said she tells all of her patients not to stop at two children because if, god forbid, something happens to one of them, it's the other one who bears the brunt of it.

I imagine she knows what she's talking about, having herself been in that very situation...but now she's planted just the tiniest seed of 'what if' in my head.

For us, one baby was a miracle, two a blessing. Anything more seems to be asking for too much. I'm 40, soon to be 41. We're out of diapers now and in panties (hooray!), the bottles are long gone, and the sippy cups may soon follow. Soon we'll be down one preschool tuition when big sister starts kindergarten this August, a nice little bump back into our monthly budget, but...

Could we do it all again? Should we do it all again?

What if....

November 11, 2009

I was lost but now I'm found

Somewhere along the way these past few years, I've lost me. Gone is the girl who used to enjoy doing physical riding, raquetball, swimming. Left behind in her place is a girl who sits in front of the computer, or the TV, or a book. A girl who is now the heaviest she has ever been in her life, outside of her second pregnancy and she's even toeing that line.

Back in 2003 and 2004, I was healthy, working out daily, eliminating simple carbs (rice, bread, potatoes, etc.) from my diet, watching what I ate and did. In the process, I lost 65 pounds, and kept them off--until I got pregnant with big sister. Then I was told that my former way of eating wasn't best for baby, so goodbye to that. There was a half-hearted attempt to restart it after big sister was born which resulted in my finally losing that last 20 pounds of pesky baby weight.

But then came my pregnancy with little sister, and the gestational diabetes, and the monitoring, and what not so that, by the time I finally had her, I was ready to throw it all aside and indulge. And indulge I did, and kept doing.

So now, I'm heavier than ever, unhappier with my appearance than ever, and finally ready to do something about it. It took my annual physical with my doctor to open my eyes--my fasting blood sugar was high and there was worry that I had become diabetic. One two-hour glucose tolerance test later (just as fun as it was during pregnancy) and it's not diabetes, but I do have impaired fasting glucose, and a borderline c-peptide level, meaning I could theorectically segue into diabetes if I don't take immediate steps to change my lifestyle.

There you have it. I want to be around for many years--to watch my girls grow up, go to college, hopefully have careers, get married, have children (assuming, of course, that they want these things for themselves) and so forth. I don't want to think of the alternative, of what's at stake now.

And so, today I embarked on a quest to reclaim myself. More exercising (hello muscles, remember me?), no more simple carbs (it was nice while it lasted), no sugar (my weakness!), and no caffeine (oh how I'll miss you). I've done it before, I can do it again.

I will do it again.

October 30, 2009

I can't quit you...


Maybe it was that big red bullseye that first drew me in. Or the cleanliness. Or the rows and rows of neat things, for home, for baby, for whatever and whoever.

I'm not sure what got me started when it comes to my love for T@rget but I can now admit that I am a T@rget-a-holic. And you know what they say about addiction: the hardest part is admitting it. So there, I've admitted it, accepted it, come to peace with it, all of the above.

I can go in for one thing and one thing only, and leave with a loaded cart, having spent way more than originally intended. Today, for instance, I went in to simply return two pairs of pants that I bought last time but that were too small for big sister (what? the 5Ts are too tight?! when did she get this big?!). But then...wait, what is that I spy over in the dollar section? Stocking stuffers, note pads, lip much to catch my eye. Before I even realize what I am doing, I am pushing my cart out of the dollar section and deeper into the bowels of the store. Bliss. And don't even get me started on the Bookmarked for a former English major like me.

Cue forward almost an hour and I'm leaving with three bags full of stuff and just over $100 poorer.

Is it wrong that I then went home and promptly hid everything put it all away? ;)

October 27, 2009

Personal space, or "How I Almost Starred in a Lifetime Network Movie"

We were at D1sney W0rld this past weekend, enjoying the fruits of Walt's labors. While there, we had a lovely meal with Cindy-relly and family and then opted to head out to D0wnt0wn Diz afterwards.

While waiting for the magical bus to take us there, a heavyset woman on the next bench struck up a friendly conversation with me. She asked where we were from, how old the girls were, etc. A few minutes go by waiting and the nightly fireworks began to go off. Not a problem for most people, however, when you have a child with the world's most sensitive hearing, all hell breaks loose. There is much covering of ears, crying, and general unhappiness.

It got taken to a new level however when baby girl realized that she too could pull this card and get attention from mommy and daddy. So now we were faced with not one, but two unhappy-at-hearing-the-fireworks kids throwing fits. Yea us! While trying to talk them both down from the ledge, the bus arrives. Standing up to walk over to it puts us out further into the night sky and the fiery hell that is the fireworks a fair distance away in the Magic Kingdom. Cue more screaming and fussing.

And then...cue the heavyset lady going over and picking my baby girl up, holding her up to her neck and comforting her...all while I stood there in a stupor, dumbstruck at this move (and dumbstruck at the fact that baby girl has allowed someone other than me--and a stranger at that--to pick her up)! Then my mind starts going a hundred miles a minute...visions of her running off with baby girl, I'm going to have to chase her, or knock her down, or both, or something else entirely. OMG...what nerve she has, yet I am still in disbelief at this turn of events. The husband is giving me the stink eye to do something (what, he can't go over and take her himself?).

This woman takes her onto the bus, with me all but up her ass behind them. She sits baby girl down on a seat, then sits two away, while I sit down next to baby girl. Big sister then proceeds to sit down right next to the heavyset woman and chat her up. What kind of weird alternate universe am I in?

A few minutes later, the heavyset woman starts chatting me up as if nothing happened. She is so tired she says, being pregnant and all (which was hard to tell given her stature). She is 15 weeks along she tells me, and then she tells me how her first was a tubal, the second she lost at 17 weeks. I extend my sympathy, tell her how I lost my first one, commiserate that she's probably terrified until she reaches the 17 week mark and passes it with this one, and so on.

And then it hits me.... She could be the woman who finds out where I live (I did tell her the city, who knows how hard it might be to figure out the rest), kills me, my husband, and big sister, and takes baby girl for herself, having told everyone she was pregnant when she really wasn't. Hey, it could has happened in different scenarios. And she might have a tough time passing off a 2 1/2 year old baby girl as her own but I imagine stranger things have happened.

Looking back on it now, it was harmless, but while it was happening I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. I could only think, if I snatch baby girl back from her, it might offend her. Why would I care about offending this stranger? Maybe she was counting on my shock to give her an opportunity but then realized it wouldn't work. IDK, but I do know that something like that won't ever happen again. I don't care who I offend.

October 16, 2009

A little PSA

In case anyone was wondering, why yes, it is possible for a stealthy rogue poop nugget to survive both the wash and dry cycles.

If this happens, you will be left with something that looks like a cross between a raisin and a pebble. You may even pick it up and put it on top of the dryer while you empty the rest of the clothes. You will then turn your attention back to said 'raisin' and pick it up out of curiosity...sort of an "ooh, look what happens to a raisin after being in the the washer and dryer, the wrinkles are all gone, and it's hard as a..." And you may then stop and get a whiff of something...funky.

And then, you just may put said raisin-rock hybrid up to your nose and about fall over backwards at the stink of it...the stink of...OMG, it's poop!

You will then have to rewash the entire load of clothes again. And scrub your hands for a really long time afterwards.

Yep, that's me...boldly going where you haven't so that you won't have to.

Consider yourselves warned :)

October 6, 2009


I think we all pretty much know the expression, "Life can change in the blink of an eye"...mine almost did this past weekend and not for the better.

We packed up the family and went over to our best friends' home for some pool time and dinner, a fairly regular weekend occurrence around these parts.

The girls were happily playing in the pool with two friends--baby girl hanging out on the large top step, big sister swimming around like a fish. I was in and out of the house doing whatever the heck it is that moms do (but yet, looking back on it now, I can't seem to remember exactly whatall I was doing), while the husband was sitting at the patio table about 20 feet from the pool, chatting with his buddy, having a cold beer, watching the kids.

I came out onto the patio and walked toward the pool. Something made me stop and count the children swimming in the water: one, two, three. Why are there three children in the water, I asked myself? There should only be two, and one on the step. About a nanosecond later, I realized that one of those three children was not swimming, but flailing about under water, a panicked look on her face, mouth gaping open and closed like a fish...drowning. I think my heart about stopped as I took inventory in another nanosecond and realized that it was my baby girl, who was no longer on the top step.

I then proceeded to do what I do best in a crisis--scream for the husband...remember him, the one 20 feet from the pool, "watching" the kids? Yeah, him.

He jumped right into the water and quickly got her out. She coughed up some water while we fussed over her, lightly thumping her on the back to facilitate any remaining water to come out until she told us, "Stop Daddy."

She then proceeded to go hang back out on the top step, this time with her arm band floaties on, something that had been missing from the picture earlier.

We went about the rest of the day with no problem.

It wasn't until Sunday that the full potential of what happened hit me. Perhaps it was shock that kept me from realizing it the day before when it all went down. But now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is the look on her face, the panic in her eyes, and wonder how long it would have been before someone saw her had I not walked out when I did. The day could have taken a horrific turn for the worse. It didn't but, oh my god, I just cannot get that look on her face out of my mind.

I see it when I close my eyes, when I sleep at night. So I hold her a little tighter, hug her a little longer, kiss her a few more times. She is still here with us and she is okay--a checkout by the doctor on Sunday found her lungs clear but still...the 'what-ifs' haunt me. 

And the husband? Meh, to him this was no big deal. She's fine, as he swears he knew she'd be. To say that ours has been a happy loving relationship lo these past few days would be about 180 degrees from the reality. My confidence has been shaken to the core. How can I have faith that when I leave him alone with the girls going forward there won't be another incident like this? Perhaps not a near-drowning, but something else. When I voiced this thought, he got bent out of shape, couldn't believe I would feel that way when it was an accident.

True, but if you had a babysitter (and let me clarify, my husband is not a babysitter, I'm just hypothesizing here so go with it) who had been watching your children when something like this happened, would you ever use that babysitter again?

I didn't think so.

I rest my case.

September 30, 2009

Fear and loathing (my husband)

Last week, my husband came up with what he thought was a novel idea to help us save some money:

Since I work from home, he suggested that perhaps we should switch baby girl to part-time attendance at her preschool; a notion that struck fear in my heart.

Now, baby girl and big sister attend the same preschool, one in the pre-K program, the other in the older 2 room. Big sister has been there since she was 2, baby girl has been there since she was 1. They both have made friends and both are comfortable there. They have established routines. They like their teachers--I like their teachers, and the owner, and just about everyone affiliated with the place. It has a good reputation in our community with both parents and the local elementary school.

I didn't sign up for a stay-at-home-mother gig. I know my own limitations (except for when it comes to alcohol, and that is usually when I'm in Key West where my good judgment departs me as soon as we cross MM0) and being 100% responsible for socializing and entertaining my children is not something I'll be good at. Hell, I'm barely social unless the husband forces me to be and my idea of entertaining myself is reading a book or spending money shopping.

The notion of staying home with my kid(s) scares the daylights out of me. Sure, I gladly do it on Saturday and Sunday but this would be different as A) big sister and husband are also home on Saturdays and Sundays and B) all entertainment and socialization would fall to me alone on weekdays. Eek!

Turns out, the husband's idea was for naught though as it would only be a $30 weekly savings to go from full- to part-time attendance. Not worth it, he decides and I breathe a sign of relief. End of story....or so I thought.

Until today when he brings it up again, "So are we going to switch her to part-time?"

I remind him it's only a $30 savings.

"Well, yeah, but add it up, that's $120 a month, which is how much a year?"

Silence from me ($1440 in case you're wondering).

Now, theoretically, I am supposed to be working from home, but if baby girl were to be here with me on those days that she previously used to be in preschool, I don't know exactly how much working will be going on on my part. Not to mention, we'd probably end up going places like the zoo, the movies, etc., which involves spending money both on admission and gas--which, come to think of it, would likely be more than the $30 a week we'd be saving in the first place!

I think if I throw that argument at him, I could "win" my case.

I'm not sure what I'm so scared of but the notion of keeping her here with me terrifies me but I'm not entirely sure why--any ideas?

September 22, 2009


It was the eyes that I first spotted when I walked through the door.

Big. Brown. So sad.

We took her outside to meet our dog. They got along which is a miracle if you know our big fella--dominant to an extreme. She was docile, shy, and paid him no mind.

So it began....

Fast forward two weeks and she is here with us now, slowly realizing that she is safe now, never will she be hurt again. She sticks to my side like glue, moving with me from room to room. Sleeping on her bed next to my side of the bed.

Today we took her to our vet for a meet & greet to introduce him to our newest family member. She was just as sweet and cooperative as ever. Took everything in stride, made new friends of everyone she came across.

And, yet, despite how gorgeous and sweet she is, we learned that someone or something had once broken her foot and left it untreated. Someone once shot her with a BB gun, and left a BB that remains under her skin to this day. All four of her top front teeth are broken down to the gumline. Still, she survived on her own, until she was picked up as a stray on the mean streets of LA (Lower Alabama) and transported to a rescue group in central Florida. She was initially heartworm positive, and survived the treatment. This dog is a survivor.

Regardless of the pain and suffering she has obviously seen at the hands of man, she remains loyal, loving, one of the sweetest dogs I've had the pleasure of meeting, and now she is part of our family.

I don't know if I've rescued her, or if she's rescued me.

Welcome to the family sweet girl.

September 16, 2009

It tickles




BIG SISTER TO BABY GIRL: "Hey, you wanna feel something good?"

BABY GIRL: "Okay."

BIG SISTER: "Hee hee (tickling both of her own nipples as she walks up to BABY GIRL), it tickles."


BABY GIRL: (Giggling) "It tickles."

BIG SISTER AND BABY GIRL: Insane laughter ensues as does much self-applied nipple tickling

MAMA: Has just about passed out on the floor

September 10, 2009

Light the fires

Let's start with me having the crazies, shall we?

Okay, maybe "crazies" is a little harsh...more like the 'sads.' Let's start with those.

Several years back, I desperately wanted to be a mother, to the exclusion of just about everything else in my life. When I finally became a mom, it was everything I had hoped for and then some. Perhaps it is that 'then some' that put me over the edge. Perhaps it was the birth of my second daughter, the neonatal stroke she suffered, the hospital transfer, the 11-day NICU stint. Wah, wah, wah, I know. Others have had it so much worse--sicker babies, longer NICU stays. Who knows what did it to me. But something put me over the edge, had me barely holding on emotionally and physically. So I brought it up to my OB at my six-week postpartum visit, and she brought out the rx pad and wrote a 'script for a low dose of pr0zac. Why that one? I had been on it back in 2001 during the first-ever bout of clinical depression I'd had, diagnosed by my then-primary care doc and a psychiatrist.

So, in the past two years since stroke baby (I think I need a more clever moniker for her, don't you?) was born, I've tried--on my own accord--to wean off of it on two different occasions, to disastrous effects. The most recent one a month ago. It--I--was worse than ever before. Anger, rage, irritability, lethargy, and so on. And the worst part? They're all still hanging around.

It frightened me so that I found myself in my doctor's office this morning, crying (which I swore I wasn't going to do) at the very fact that someone was listening to me, and taking me and my concerns seriously. Off I went with a 'script for a different AD, pr1st1q, indicated for adults with major depressive disorder. I guess that's me.

Women all over the world can mother children with their hands tied behind their back and without the assistance of medication. Me, not so much.

The doc warned me, it might get worse before it gets better and the med kicks in. I'm already holding on with white knuckles; how much worse can it get?

Wait, don't answer that.

September 9, 2009

Kick the tires

In a former life, I was "the RE's muse," a 30s gal trying for a baby or two, with two dogs, a great husband, a house, a cute figure, and my sanity (that last one is open for some debate).

I suppose I am now what you would call 'middle-aged.' Meaning, I am a former career gal raising two small children (girls, 2 and 4 years old--enough to try the patience of even Mother Theresa herself) after years of wanting what I now have. I've "arrived," "made it to the other side," "conquered that infertility bitch and her friend hope"--call it what you will. So why am I so miserable? Beats me.

Can we be honest here? And I think we can...this motherhood gig is hard work. Yet, so much of it is 'lather, rinse, repeat,' and this is slowly but surely killing off my brain cells. I'm still me, but I'm a dumber version of me. I used to be on top of my game--first in college, then in the career field I chose. Where once I remembered contacts, names, phone numbers and important dates off the top of my head, it now takes just about everything I've got to remember what day it is. Days blend into one another, weeks fly by, months even. How is it September already? Point is, I'm lost.

I've got some nerve complaining, huh? But if I don't complain somewhere (and really, if I complain any more to my husband and IRL friends, they may all just up and leave my ass), I am going to lose myself completely. Poof, gone.

So here I am, back for another round of finding me in the midst of the chaos that is daily life. Join me, won't you? There will be talk of kids, boobs and 'ginas (usually not mine), sex (or the lack thereof), fat, family, anti-depressants (go ahead and flame me now), and whatever else is plaguing me at any given moment.

Should be interesting, don'tcha think?

Bueller? .... Bueller?