Say more

Yeah, there is some crap going on between Paladin and I.  Yeah, I know.  Surprise.  Surprise.  But, we’ve come to terms.  I got him talking.  It’s weird.  This is a man who never shuts up (sorry, hon…but you know you can keep up a conversation!) if the topic is politics or scifi or travel or the state of the world in general, and I discovered yesterday on our 3 hr. drive to Baton Rouge that he’s been holding things in.  How did that happen? 

We’ve been talking for 3 days, actually.  It started a few nights ago when I tried to open up to him about why I haven’t been rushing to the altar (the legal altar anyhow).  My supervisor, Chelsea came out for a visit last week (we’ll call her that because she could pass for Chelsea Handler ANY day…so much so that I have to stop myself from calling her that in person).  Chelsea and I got to talking about fertility issues (she can’t have any more children) and baby mama drama (she has it worse than me…if Paladin had the gall to still be helping Mull out with every little mini-tragedy for 4 yrs, it would be more than over…it would be “look who just lost his last ball” over).  She was talking about having guardianship of her neice for the first year and a half of the child’s life only to have the baby’s mother come back and take her (it’s a story I’ve seen unfold in my own family more than once…apparently, an unfit ho means jack to CPS any where in any state…as long as there’s somebody there trying to protect them, CPS ignores it until the kid is in the emergency room).  Chelsea said to me, “She was our blessing.”  It’s a phrase I’ve heard before, but for some reason, it hit me.  It made me think about what my blessing was, about who was most important to me, and about who in my life got ALL of me.  Sadly, I could only answer, Pascal. 

Paladin and I have been working on trust issues where the kids and Mull are concerned for our entire relationship.  At first, I waited it out.  I thought that with time he’d trust me to be his main supporter, his cheerleader, his blessing.  Instead, I’m just on the list.  I’ll be kind and say that I’m on the list NEXT to the children, but in truth, I feel that I’m beneath them.  I hate to be religious about it, but there’s no religion in the world that tells people to place their children above their significant other.  At best, and Paladin has said this more than once, we are supposed to be partners who then care for those children.  That’s what’s been said between the two of us, but as my post earlier this week pointed out, when we make decisions, he’s going off and ignoring them.  After a lot of talking (and he’s been saying some of this stuff for a long time and it just finally clicked for me), he explained that when we come to a decision he’s treating me as a General:  we conclude what the goal is and then he gets on the ground and adapts to the actual situation.  In other words, what I thought were decisions that we were making together was just me giving him advice.  I thought they were conclusions but they were just ideas we were brainstorming.  I called him on it.  That’s not a partnership.  That is why I haven’t trusted him on this issue (the ONLY trust issue I have with him).  When I ask him why he doesn’t trust me, he has no answer; there’s nothing he can point to.  In his words, “It’s nothing you’ve done.”  Every time this came up previously, he has taken it as me attacking the kids, as me being jealous of the kids.  I can’t say that I’ve never felt a twinge of jealousy where they are concerned but the jealousy I’ve felt was never over him; it was over being jealous that they aren’t mine too. 

The reason I haven’t been in a rush to make things legal is because I’ve seen his face when the test was negative and it brought back so many horrible memories, so much pain.  So much pain.  At the same time, I want to hurry.  I want to strap myself into the gyno’s stirrups with break neck speed!  I have felt the uncertainty of passing time every-single-day for FIVE years now.  I know what I’m in for.  I know what I’m up against.  And, I know that he isn’t up against that.  For him, this child, our child would just be another in a line.  I know he would love that child but it wouldn’t be his only child.  In his eyes, each and every one of his children are special to him in some way.  But, I see it in them: they don’t FEEL special.  Each and every one of those kids is fighting to be singled out from the herd, to know that they are special.  That’s something our child would never have to face because they will have extended family and me proving to them that they are special (yeah, I’m the crazy dog lady and I wonder if Pascal can handle it too…shut up!), and I know that there would be so much turmoil because of that.  I know from what I’ve already seen (much of it over Pascal!) that Paladin would feel displaced and that his children would be jealous even if only subconsciously.  Some of that happens even in nuclear families, and I can deal with it but I’m also not going to deny that our circumstances will make that 10 times harder.  Yes, even with all of that, I know that the second I sign the insurance forms as Mrs. Paladin, the stopwatch will start.  I’ll know that at any moment I can start trying with a simple phone call for an appointment.  And, I feel like there is jack and sh*t I can do about it now.  For the next 100 days, we are booked with Paladin’s surgeries and the kids here for the holidays.  100 days.  It’s a lifetime to wait.  It’s going to up the hormone ante by zillions for me.  For the last year, every Auntie visit has been devoid of emotion, and now it won’t be. 

Yeah, everything in our life has been dictated by his medical issues and his kids.  I won’t lie and say there isn’t some resentment about that.  I hate using that word too.  Paladin has a chip on his shoulder about “resentment”.  No, hon, I don’t blame you for that.  I’ve let it be like that.  My mother was in ICU and I put you and the kids FIRST and I’ve felt nothing but horrible guilt over it ever since.  I wasn’t there when they told my sister that my mother would probably never walk again.  I don’t get to fix that.  I don’t get to change that.  I haven’t asked to be put first.  I’ve only asked to be a team.  Maybe that needs to change.  I want to start trying the day after we sign the papers.  There.  I finally admitted it.  I know what you’ll say is, “That’s fine; I want you to have this and I want this child too.”  The truth is that I feel responsible for making this family of ours work and this will change the precarious balance we have.  It will be harder and I can’t do it all alone.  You have to show me that you can do this and that this will be your highest priority too.  Yeah, I said it.  I’m demanding that us getting pregnant be the first thing on the list.  I’m not saying I want to cancel your surgeries or cancel Christmas.  I’m saying that you need to be there pushing for this as hard as I am.  It’s going to be ugly.  It’s going to be so very ugly.  You have no idea what you’re up against.  And, no, you won’t feel it the way I will, but I need you to man-up and be completely behind me or I won’t make it through trying again.  I just don’t think I can.  I need you with me 100% here.  More than you can even imagine.  Think of it as my own personal brain tumor.

When, Paladin finally started talking yesterday he went into his usual, “Let’s just end this.”  I’m trying to get him to see that wanting to throw everything away and hide is depression and it’s been his shadow for a very long time now.  I’ve talked to him about taking a therapy session for himself each week in addition to our therapy session together.  I hope he will go through with it.  He’s not dealt with his illness, with Mull hurting him so deeply, with the loss of his life as he knew it, with his forced retirement…I could go on and on.  Basically, the last few years of his life have been hanging around his neck, and he has blinded himself to that with everything he could find.  Now, I’m here to take up some of the day-to-day stuff and he can’t find enough desperately important things to keep him from having to face up to those years.  In some ways, the denial has gone as far as it can. 

As the day went into night and we drove back toward home, Paladin explained to me how worried he was that if something happened to him during his surgeries without us being married that everything could end up in Mull’s hands (the house mainly since her name is still on the mortgage…but in reality, there’s a divorce decree saying she doesn’t get the house…he doesn’t want me to have to fight her in court though).  I didn’t know that.  I didn’t know that was on his mind for the last few weeks.  He hadn’t been pushing me toward the altar and I hadn’t wanted to bring it up because of the fear of ttc’ing again.  For two people who talk constantly, we need to say a lot more.

 

P.S.- By the way, I promise the next post will actually be fun.  I found the greatest shopping in Baton Rouge and I cannot wait to talk about it!!!  And, I very much want to give out award gifties!  🙂

Read Full Post »

Function

We finally got word from the kidney specialist this afternoon.  Mom’s kidney function is down to 20%.  At 12%, they will begin dialysis.  There’s nothing to do but watch her diet and hope that it takes a while before it goes down.

I was on the phone with Tina a few minutes ago.  She told me that Mom had said something about grandchildren.  My heart jumped a little and I thought she was talking about Paladin’s kids.  I think of them more and more as “our kids”.  Tina said that she wasn’t sure if Mom was dreaming or just mumbling because of the pain killers, but she said, “I’m not going to live long enough to have grandchildren.”  That has hit me so hard and on so many fronts.  I can’t stop crying even as I write this.  I don’t know what to say about it.  I don’t know how I feel about it. 

I know they aren’t our kids, but they feel like mine more and more.  I’ve never stopped feeling the need to have my own child, but that has never stopped me from loving these babies that are not my own.  I know what my mother feels.  It’s the same longing I feel.  But, I can’t make her any promises any more than I can make them for myself. 

Tonight, that rips me in two.

Read Full Post »

Getting the call

I got a call last night to go get M. in Natchitoches!  They let about 10 of them go home on time because of school and the others will be out by the end of the week hopefully.  It was pretty late by then, and it was even later after we stopped at Huddle House for some food (it was that or fast food but I don’t really care for the food or service there…is it just me or is it nearly impossible to find a decent place to eat out without paying a fortune?).  We didn’t get home until after midnight, and we didn’t go straight to sleep either.  😉 

 

 

My tits were aching even more yesterday.  So, I thought maybe ya’ll were right and I had tested too early, and I took another test…another very negative test.  Here I am 2 weeks past my regular Auntie and this morning I had spotting and I’ve got cramps.  Remember my ttc guilt?  It’s through the roof this morning.  I can’t help but think that maybe I was and if I’d gone to the doctor something could have been done to stop this.  All I wanted was 2 little pink lines…

 

Sure, it may be deep denial, and I’m not saying that for a few minutes I didn’t have that gut wrenching “Why?” response.  The what-if’s were all there.  What if I hadn’t forgotten my vitamins yesterday?  What if M. and I hadn’t bowchickawow’d last night?  What if I hadn’t eaten Mexican (taco seasoning, diced tomatoes, and beans…mmmm…) and fruit for the last week?

 

I know it’s just as likely that the Clomid has me messed up.  I have been genuinely happy these last 2 weeks without my Clomid induced fog of crazy for one very odd reason: I didn’t care if I was pregnant.  Pashaw! You say.  But, it’s true.  I even had a day or two when I thought that adopting might not be so bad.  I’ve been HAPPY.  Today’s events haven’t really changed that either.  I’m still happy, but I’m a little sad too.  Both of those feelings add to my guilt quotient, but I’m trying to shake it off.  I didn’t even really want to talk about it.  I get sick of hearing my own ttc crap, but I never tire of listening to others.  I’m fine the way I am for now.  I’m pretty stress free, and I don’t want that to change.  I want to redecorate the living room and embellish a jacket that I don’t wear much any more.  I want to LIVE without being stuck in waiting mode.  M. seemed a bit disappointed last night when I didn’t want to…uhhhmmm…let’s just say inseminate (I’m sorry Jesus…that was wrong of me…now they’ll have a picture in their head  lol).  I’m fighting back tears once in a while, but I’ve been doing that for weeks now and I can’t keep blaming it on the end of the Montel Williams Show.  Today is our first real taste of cool Fall weather, and what I really want right now is a gallon of peacock blue paint and some fabric to match.  Paint makes everything brighter.

 

I haven’t forgotten about my lovely awards or my contest winnings from Kat.  🙂  Thank you all, KMommy, Laura, Ron, Gigi, and Vinomom, very much.  They really do brighten my day.  And yes, I will be passing them to…drum roll please… Kaylee, Tiffany, Heather at Bubbles and Ducks, Lola, Ginger (I know you’re busy, but take a break one day!), Minivan Bohemian, Clover (it’s really hard to spread these around and I tried to get a mix of newer people and oldies but goodies).  The rules went like this:

 

1.The winner puts the logo on her/his blog.

 

2.Link the person you received your award from.

 

3.Nominate 7 other blogs.

 

4.Put links of those blogs on yours.

 

5.Leave a message on the blogs of those you’ve chosen.

 

 

And this is the logo:

 

 

 

 

Wuuuu…shiny…me likey…  🙂

Read Full Post »

I Hope You’re Not Eating

U OK?

M. called last night to tell me that they finally gave them a release date.  It’s September 15^th!  He’s going to miss our anniversary AND his birthday.  Not to mention, that he won’t get paid for this for a while yet.  😦  Unfortunately, he picked the wrong time to call.

 

 

 

Last night, I did dumbass thing #69 of this month.  Pascal plays on our bed for an hour before his bedtime every night, and when he does, I put a cheap blanket down over it to protect our bedspread.  Last night, I threw the blanket up in the air and took out our glass ceiling light shade.  It was super thin and broke into 3 major pieces with lots of microscopic shards.  That wasn’t so much the problem as the hunk of skin it took off of my arm.  Now, I know just what the muscles in my forearm look like.  FYI: It’s like raw dark meat chicken without the skin.  Hey, the title should have warned you!  At first I thought, it had just slit the skin and that Tina and I’d pull it back together.  Tina just went, “Eeewww.” So I started trying to push the skin back together when I realized that a chunk of it about the size of third of a dime is missing.  We haven’t found the tin, and we haven’t found the skin.  I have no idea what a doctor would do in this situation, and since I haven’t any medical coverage or money at the moment and the free clinic in Pineville is out of service because of the hurricane, I did what any twenty-first century hillbilly would do.  I put some Neosporin on it and a bandage.  Unfortunately, my camera was at Mom’s or I could have really grossed you out! 

 

Oh, and:

 

Sore boobs + another negative pregnancy test + uncharacteristic mini crying jags over the end of the Montel Williams show = one nutso Honeywine!

 

My brain has officially turned to mush over the weirdness of my body this month.  I won’t say that I’ve had nausea (ok, I’ve had very slight nausea the way you would when you haven’t eaten in a while, but I’ve been eating).  I will say that things “down there” seem peculiar.  But, until I get something more concrete I’m going to assume 2 things: 

 

1) I probably don’t have an ovarian cyst because that wouldn’t cause sore boobs.  At least, I hope not. 

 

2) I’m going to follow my policy of trusting the home pregnancy test until there are symptoms that cannot be ignored.  Sore boobs could be from anything.  Ok, so the crying thing is really strange, but it means nothing. 

 

I think that was just enough crazy for one day.  Don’t you?

Read Full Post »

Got guilt?

  

I swear that the universe is just pushing my buttons these days.  In case you haven’t read the comments under the last Wordless Wednesday, my BFF GingerMagnolia’s sister is expecting after a very few months of trying (like 2 or 3…lucky duck!).  I am genuinely happy for her.  I swear!  But, at the same time, it feels like the universe is poking me with a stick while I twist on life’s rotisserie.  The feeling was increasingly poignant while I waited for M. Saturday.  Across the street from the armory there were a group of women who were obviously preparing for a baby shower.  Well, unless rattle and pacifier balloons have become the “it” décor for drunken whore-fests?  Nah, I didn’t think so.  All I could do was pray that M. would be done and we could leave before they started.  It was incident number nine of the past month (not counting today’s Dr. visit when the nurses spent a solid 10 minutes playing with a 2 yr old boy in front of Mom who watched in wonder with a soft smile on her face…gut wrenching…though not as much as Mom’s x-ray tech saying, “You’re not in any danger of being pregnant”…I’m sure that was supposed to be a question and not an accusation) in which pregnancy has been thrown my face in one form or another by the blasted universe, and I’m not talking “passing cute babies in Walmart” in your face.  Nope, the universe has been serving up extra special crap for me.

 

I’m not obsessed with baby making…much.  If you click that “the ultimate quest” category at the bottom, you’ll see that of my nearly 100 posts very few have to do with ttc (trying to concieve).  I’ve visited some blogs where that is nearly the only thing that’s talked about, and it makes me wonder if I haven’t focused enough…if maybe that’s why. 

 

I’ve always said, “When it’s time, it will happen.”  But more and more I’m ready for it to happen (not wanting or wishing or hoping, but I feel genuinely ready…despite our recent marital difficulties…nothing like a near end to make the two of you see what you really want).  For more than a month, I’ve had this niggling little feeling that something big is coming.  It’s not very strong, but it seems to be coming through clearer and clearer.  The last time I had this feeling it went on for months.  I thought it had to do with my book, but then I met M.  That feeling was almost overwhelming by then.  Now, it’s creeping back in. 

 

If that isn’t enough, I was walking Pascal the other day when it suddenly hit me that I’m 36.  36!!  I almost lost it for a second and then I got one of those divinely clear moments when I remembered that for many years when the subject of kids would come up a little voice would burst in on my thoughts saying, “36, 37” while a vision of a dark haired girl about 2 and an androgynous blond beauty would pop up (the baby boys in our family are very pretty and are often mistaken for girls).  Hope strikes again.

 

Am I ready?  I’ve built a bedroom for a baby bundle.  I’ve feng shui’d the master bedroom for a crucial conception (after our recent marital troubles, I moved a baby dress into our money zone…here’s hoping that I’ll have to spend lots and lots of money on baby clothes!).  I’ve changed our diet a dozen times.  We’ve taken tons of supplements and teas.  I’ve bought unprescribed fertility medications from Mexico.  I’ve stood on my head (ok, not really…but my ass was so high in the air an errant fart could have had a hot air balloon floating over the bed).  I’ve bought M. all new underoos.  I’ve had to be physically restrained to prevent me from buying entire layettes, and I won’t promise that I won’t be buying a crib soon (that’s for my “build it and they will come” theory…color selection alone has prevented me from picking up strollers).  M. and I have linked hands in prayer nightly before sleeping.  We’ve screwed every other day for months (that did lead to a new medical condition…over use is not a good thing for the ‘tang).  We’ve not had sex for days pre-O for even more months.  We’ve timed and tested and poked and prodded to no end.  If the universe needs any more proof of our devotion, well, then the universe is just a beyotch!

 

Uncle George’s death has made me feel very guilty about ttc, guilty about my semi-hidden obsession (here and at home it’s all out…but most people just see me smile and repeat that we’re working on it).  Some part of me just kept remembering the children from India who speak of being this person or that’s relative or neighbor before they were born.  More than once when I saw him, I thought of asking him to help when he got to the other side.  When I talked about all the ttc, he just laughed it off and said not to worry about it that it would come.  I remember him telling me something like that a long, long time ago.  He told me that there was somebody for everyone and I’d find somebody.  At the time I was over 500lbs. and had long since given up on having a life of my own much less a husband or children.  He was right.  As unlikely a match as M. and I are, we make it work more often than not.  We may not always be easy, but we are usually…gratifying, fulfilling.  That’s more than some people will ever get, and I know that all too well.  I feel guilty for asking for more miracles. 

 

It doesn’t look like it will happen this month at any rate.  Something has gone completely kerflumpt with my female bits.  My once clockwork ovulation has gone off the rails, and you can bet there’s guilt there too (I chose to screw it up with the Clomid after all).  I was getting slowly darkening OPK sticks as usual then suddenly nada.  One day a medium colored line and the next it was back to a pale line.  Just in case, M. and I did the deed.  But, it was 4-5 days before ovulation was supposed to occur.  Over ten days later, I’m getting nothing but pale lines.  Grrrr!!!  Naturally, I had only a few test strips and I hadn’t picked up any more because I should have had enough to “get by” this month.  UNIVERSE!!!!!  GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!!!  See…I can totally parent.

 

 

Read Full Post »

Children need not apply

Last night we got a call from Delbert (he’s our brother from another mother or bro-a-ma).  His 15 yr old stepdaughter is pregnant. 

 

I won’t say that it didn’t hit me hard.  I know it’s nothing to be jealous of, and frankly, M.’s aunt’s pregnancy hit me much harder.  But I don’t think I have to worry about that now.

 

A couple of posts ago, I was telling ya’ll about crying over frogs, and trying not to cry when it seems like everyone around you is getting pregnant but you.  M. read that post, and that night when we got into bed he hugged me and said, “You had a rough night last night.”  At first, I thought he’d just noticed how I’d cried myself to sleep two feet away from him, but then he told me how he’d read about it on the blog.  He also hadn’t noticed the silent tears spilling down my cheeks when I was writing that blog post even though he was on the sofa facing me just seven feet away.  I didn’t say anything, and he went on to play a game with me.  Maybe ya’ll can play too.  It’s called What Would You Give Up?  Would you give up television for a baby?  Would you give up the internet for a baby?  To each of his questions, I answered yes (I paused and thought about it…I didn’t go with a knee jerk reaction because I wanted to be honest).  How I wish I hadn’t joined in the game, but I had to ask the same questions he had.  No, he wouldn’t give up television or the internet (not even for a month…he says it’s because he doesn’t get enough time with them now).  Maybe it was the Clomid talking, but I couldn’t help but think of all the sticks and tests and general crap I had been through.  So, I asked him, “What would you do?”  He basically told me that he would continue doing what he was already doing (i.e. wearing boxers and screwing me).  No, he wouldn’t take Clomid.  No, he doesn’t want to go to any doctors (actually he flat out refused loudly).  No, he doesn’t want to give any samples or have anyone look down there or go through any testing or anything that might be unpleasant or inconvenient. 

 

I’ve thought about nothing else since that night.  M. tends to be flip and/or clueless most of the time.  At least, that’s how I’ve chosen to view what he says about most things.  He’s always had to have his hand held or be forced into things like starting school, getting a drivers license, staying in the Army reserves to work toward his pension, etc.  It’s not so easy to ignore his protests this time.  The other times I stood behind him poking and prodding him because if I hadn’t we’d have already been divorced (my school money along with his school GI Bill and Army pay is what pays our bills and mine is much smaller than his…but the truth is if we’d been millionares I would still have wanted him to do those things). It’s not that he didn’t want the end result of these things; he just didn’t seem to want to step outside his comfort zone to get them.  Maybe what he thought he was saying that night was something like, “We’re fine with just us.”  But all I heard was, “You’re on your own; finish it yourself.” 

 

I DEFINITELY do not want to force him to have kids.  It’s not like I’ve dragged him kicking and screaming into trying for a baby.  He had told me many times of his fantasies of coming home to me and our little girl (both before and after we married).  He spoke of it nearly every time he called from Iraq.  He was thrilled to call his mother a couple of months after he came home and tell her we were trying.  That seems to be where his support ended.  As I have said many times, I had given up on the dream of having a child before M.  With my ex, I had been prepared to live childless (he emphatically didn’t want more children…he wanted to be selfish…his words not mine).  M. had made me willing to hope again.  This isn’t the first check M.’s given me that’s bounced (Infidelity).  Each time I’ve battled back and thought it all out and found a way to go on (I’ve put up with more than even my dearest loved ones know about including Ginger and Tina…I’ve been told so many times that I should leave him and Tina’s always the first to say that I’ve got a job with her…but I’ve stuck it out because I do believe in keeping my marriage together).  For better or worse, right?  But now… 

 

We talked this morning.  When I mentioned my ex and wanting to be with him even if it meant not having kids, M. admitted that he didn’t understand why I couldn’t go on in our marriage as it is.  Maybe I should.  Maybe it’s time to give up and take what’s there even if it’s not what I want it to be.  Maybe I need new eyes…mine are blurry anyhow…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Update 2

If you’ve looked at your comments you’ve noticed that I commented on your blog, but I didn’t comment here.  That’s because I felt a bit better yesterday after talking to Ginger for a while, but I didn’t really want to look at my blog again.  If you do that, it tends to just stick in your head, but I might as well have.

 

Late last night, my sister, Tina, told me the latest news on my cousin Christa (she’s a bit of a welfare queen with her 4 yr. old Christian, and barely gets off the couch).  Christa has been dating a guy her mother set her up with.  He’s got a job and an erectile dysfunction!  However, they did manage to have sex ONE TIME.  Can you see where this is going?  Yep, she’s been throwing up every morning and suspects that she is knocked up.  Yay.  She hasn’t tested yet, but the news should come within the next couple of weeks (she’s the one that did negative home tests 3 times and had a full period before a hospital test showed she was pregnant with Christian).

 

Then Auntie F came to visit.  Three days early.  I guess that adds up since she was three days late last time. 

 

But, I’m actually feeling better.  Monthly disappointment complete and now I can move on to the hope!  Yay!  And a genuine “Yay!” at that!  It’s odd how you start to get used to it. 

Read Full Post »

The jagged-est of pills

There are times when the multiverse just seems to be grinding its Nazi boot heel into my nose, and last night was one of those.  I’m sick.  I’m sick of two years of hope and disappointment in a cycle that’s almost as regular as my monthly visitor (I lie…the disappointment is more dependable than that).  I’ve been teary for days as PMS begins to dawn, but last night everything around me seemed to be conspiring.  I know Marie feels the same way because I too was trying not to cry last night when I read her blog.  And the good Doctor didn’t make me feel any better with news of her work situation pregnancy (let’s not sugar coat it…some people shouldn’t have children…and they always seem to be first in line to get them right beside backstabbing whores).  Then my MIL put the cherry on the sundae.  M.’s uncle and his wife, Nora, are pregnant with their fourth child (one 3yrs and the other two are 10 yrs & 12 yrs).  All of this despite the fact that Nora was on birth control and they weren’t even trying and she’s older than me.  She followed that bit of lovely with, ‘When am I getting a grandchild???’  It’s been TWO YEARS.  You’d think she’d stop asking by now.  It’s not like we haven’t been trying.

 

Even my dreams are taking pot shots at me.  They woke me at 5am with images of my girlfriend (the one that got fertility treatments from the Army and has a little girl now…actually she hasn’t stopped asking either…it’s always the first question from her or Rachael…are you pregnant? if I were don’t you think I’d be shouting it from the freakin’ rooftops?) hugging me as I showed her not one but two double-lined tests.  I know a big part of that dream is because she’s supposed to visit in September, and I’m so not looking forward to it (for a variety of reasons…our last meeting was awkward though I tried to prevent it from being that way).  But the dream and its dangling hope completely pissed me off.  So, I got up and took a pregnancy test that I could have read blindfolded (even though it’s at least 4 days before I should even bother to test) because I wanted to get the disappointment over with.  Sore nips?  Check.  Unusual acid reflux? Check.  Overly emotional?  Check.  Negative pregnancy test?  Check.  All that’s left is to wait those 4 or 5 days out for Auntie F(u). 

 

I am so tired.  I’m just so damned tired of this treadmill.  I made a commitment to finish out the Clomid before stopping.  And, I’ve got 3 months of the drugs left if I don’t up the dosage (I did 100mg this month, and I can tell the difference in my hormone levels with far more side effects showing up…I think 100mg is my limit).  I know that it’s only been two cycles, but I was tired before this last hope carrot dangled before me.  Stop the ride.  I want off.  Though, even as I say that, I know I won’t stop.  It’s like a sick addiction, and I’m nauseous just thinking of it.

 

I went through this already.  I grieved for months.  I let go of the notion of fuzzy blankets and soft warm baby skin.  I stopped thinking “when I”.  It’s not fair to have to do that twice in one lifetime.  Two seems to be my unlucky number (ironic that it’s exactly the number of people in a marriage).  Enough already.

 

I’d give anything to be Tori Spelling.  There’s a phrase I never thought would come out of my mouth.  But it’s true.  Where are the psychics when you need them?  Maybe it’s time to reexamine my astrology charts.

 

 

 

I’m going to go and try to enjoy myself, and work my way out of this funk.  What better way to do that than to shave Pascal’s balls with Dave’s beard trimmer? 

 

 

 

 

UPDATE:  After I wrote this, I went to do some laundry.  And, what did I discover, but a tiny tropical tree frog lost in my mess of a laundry room.  Frogs have always been good luck for me (I even managed to find them in a cul de sac living in a second floor apartment and at another house I had a bull frog even though I was 1/2 a mile from water), but I was pretty despondent.  After I had caught him and taken him out to the porch, I walked back to the kitchen sink to wash up, and said aloud, “If you really wanted to give me a sign, it would rain.”  It hasn’t rained here in nearly a month and even the established plants are having a hard time.  I made some brunch, and decided to take it outside to check on the frog (he refused to leave the porch where I’d left him…actually, I almost couldn’t get him off me!).  I had no sooner opened the door than tiny little droplets began to fall through the brilliant sunshine and they still are.  How do you not cry?

 

 

Read Full Post »

Poorin’ a little out for the homies

 

Somebody thinks I’m cool!  🙂  The Evil Twin’s Wife has tagged me with the Arte Y Pico award and the meme that goes with it (thereby forcing me to make an awards page)!  Yay!  I don’t have to think of a post (I’ll save the winne-crapo for another day…don’t worry you’ll see what I’m talking about soon enough).  And I quote:

The rules state:

1. You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award through creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.
2. Each award should have the name of the author with a link to their blog.
3. Award winners have to post the award with the name and link to the blog of the person who gave them the award.
4. Please include a link to the “Arte Y Pico” blog (I warn you its all in spainish…it could say “you are covered in stinky boils” over and over again for all I know) so that everyone will know where the award came from.

And Here’s How It Works:

1. Link the person(s) who tagged you:  Done!
2. Mention the rules on your blog: Also done.  I’m on a roll!
3. Tell about 5 unspectacular quirks of yours: UNSPECTACULAR, I believe is the key word.
4. Tag 5 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

Whew!  That was long.  I’m glad I copied and pasted!  This actually required a slight amount of research to define quirk (ok I just looked it up on dictionary.com…I didn’t want to accidentally give out the wrong information…unless it’s a quirk, you don’t need to know how my leopard pajamas got me into trouble).  It comes down to this:

 

quirk [kwurk]

–noun

1.	a peculiarity of action, behavior, or personality; mannerism: He is full of strange quirks.

2.	a shift, subterfuge, or evasion; quibble.

3.	a sudden twist or turn: He lost his money by a quirk of fate.

4.	a flourish or showy stroke, as in writing.

5.	Architecture. a. an acute angle or channel, as one dividing two parts of a molding or one dividing a flush bead from the adjoining surfaces. b. an area taken from a larger area, as a room or a plot of ground. c. an enclosure for this area.

6.	Obsolete. a clever or witty remark; quip.

–adjective

7.	formed with a quirk or channel, as a molding.

 

Now for the 5 unspectacular quirks:

 

1. I can’t tie my shoes.  Many have tried to teach me, and I know “how” to do it.  I just totally suck-diddly-uck at the execution.  I blame my mother (for making me wear nothing but mary janes as a small child) and Shirley Temple (for making mary janes look cute).

 

2. I’m a vegetarian.  In the South that makes me plenty quirky!  I actually had a conversation today with our librarian about the sesame chicken recipe of my last post.  Poor fellow had a look of utter disbelief which means that at my first opportunity I need to deliver him some for lunch!

 

3. I have been adamant for most of my life that animals are NOT allowed in my house!  In the words of Monique, it just ain’t sanitary.  Yeah, Pascal blew that crap out of the water, but in all fairness, he’s too short to reach anything but the floor without help.  That way my kitchen counters stay crotch free!  🙂

 

4. I’ve had an out-of-body experience.  As I child, I often had vivid dreams of a small blond girl walking across creek rocks and falling into a pool of water beneath.  Her eyes were wide open staring back at me.  I was talking about my dream one day when my mother overheard me.  She was shocked and said, “I didn’t think you could remember that!”  Apparently, she had gone berry picking one day at our old homeplace back in Kentucky and I had tried to follow her.  Suddenly, a feeling of dread came over her and she turned back.  When she got back to the creek, she found me lying in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall staring up at her from beneath the water.

.

 

5. My nips have been sore for 4 or 5 days now!  I know, TMI.  Oh and don’t even start with the “it was my first sign” stuff.  Lest, I be required to keep my sanity by hunting you down and covering your car with “I heart Law & Order” stickers and pictures of Jerry Orbach!  My body can fake a pregnancy like no other.  Grrrr….

 

Okkies!  Now here’s the good part!  I get to tag 5 of you!  I know that some of you have already had this award, and I try to avoid giving things out to people who already have them (we don’t want you to have to go up a hat size).  So, if you already have it…pretend you don’t because I ain’t rewritin’ all this.

 

1. Calliope at Creating Motherhood: Did you know she actually makes those headers?

2. Ginger at Names Have Been Changed:  For creative use of the words douchebag and piglet. (I wanted to give it to Miz Lucky, but she hasn’t been on long enough to get aquainted with the blogginess much)

3. DrowseyMonkey: For the penguins…THE PENGUINS!!!!

4. Doc Grumbles: For creative use of her father AND her cat! 

5. Slyde:  For all those years of coding.  (I hope you don’t already have this one…more importantly, I hope you can lord it over Earl  lol)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Sheds, Balls, & Peanut Butter Cake

Last day of Clomid!  Now the waiting and peeing of sticks begins.  I’m stocked up on Instead cups and Preseed.  Yeah, doesn’t sound much like the old-fashioned way does it?  Whatever happened to sex for sex’s sake?  Oh, and don’t worry men, I’m not going to blog about this constantly (I know, just as I was about to talk about the sex).  These posts were written for the ones who are online looking and wondering if the Mexican Clomid works, etc.  Does it work?  I dunno, but I’ve definitely had the headache side effect and my ears have been burning a lot (I don’t know who is talking about me at 7am…I’m not that interesting).

 

But, as usual, I should be ovulating while M. is at drill.  Luckily, this time there’s a military ball in Shreveport.  So we’ll be together, but probably in a big hurry.  This is the first ball I’ll be attending, and I’m starting to wish he was still a Specialist.  Sergeants are “encouraged” to attend (too bad that the last time M. got a brown nose was when he fell of his bicycle…was that just last year?  man time flies).  This has left me scrambling for a summer ball gown that still covers my arms (AARRGGHH!!!! why couldn’t they be like all the other groups M. has been with and do it in the winter?).  As a result, I’ve resorted to making my own dress.  This leads to discoveries like Simplicity Patterns are pretty much true to size (no I didn’t need the 26, but a couple of huge darts under the arms tightened it up) and buy every scrap of fabric you can get your hands on (not just what the pattern says…because then you have bright ideas like “instead of making a bolero in plain white I can just improvise a sleeve!”).  It’s a practice in cruelty is what it is! 

 

If that’s not enough to keep me insane, GingerMagnolia is visiting the first week of July (Yay!), and that means that this house needs more than just cleaning (which it also needs…was that a dust bunny or did Pascal shed an ear?).  We need another house!  This place just isn’t big enough for all our crap, and yes, I have cleared the clutter (at least in my opinion I have…I refuse to give up all my décor items because I change the décor a couple of times a year and constantly recycle items for that…besides 2 more boxes aren’t killing anyone).  The problem is that half the stuff in the house belongs in a shed, and we don’t have one.  Hence, our stimulus payment went toward building a porch with a closet/room/shed on one end.  Now I just have to convince the men to finish it before Ginger gets here.  HA! HA!  I’m not holding my breath (but I am praying and offering a lot of bribes…cake counts as a bribe right?).  Our last shed attempt began about this time last year (and for the same reason).  Nine months later it had finally gotten 2 out of 4 walls framed!  That was just before the tree falling crushed it to bits.  I’ve got some shelves to install that will open up some room I hope.  Oh and the air conditioner has to be installed in Ginger’s room (just cut out the hole I left in the wall for it).  The entire house will have to be reorganized once the shed’s up, of course.  Did I mention that I need to replace the ceiling in Ginger’s room too?

 

So, all I need to do in the next few weeks is build a porch & shed, redesign & sew a ball gown, reorganize & clean every inch of the Ghetto Trailer, put up a new ceiling & shelves, do a mountain of laundry, there’s going to be a paper outline due for my class that’s starting this week, and I’m going to be on driving duty every morning…  Oh, and Rachel decided we’d have a dessert night, and I can’t make just one Old-fashioned Peanut Butter Cake because Mom would have a fit if she didn’t get one. 

 

I’m screaming silently now…want a piece of cake?

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »