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Monthly Archives: June 2012

Marriage Counseling in T-minus 4 hours.

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I have been purposely not writing too much about my marriage right now…I need a chance to let things calm down a bit, and get my head screwed on straight. Hubs and I have a ton of shit to work on, but we’re taking the first step today and seeing a marriage counselor. The woman we’re seeing is covered by insurance, and seems like she has pretty good credentials (25 years in practice), so I’m hoping we can make some headway there over the next few months. Sorry to be so vague…I’m just needing to let things simmer and percolate here like a finely mulled wine, or a really gross banana that I accidentally left in my back pack for 3 weeks. Whichever.

With baby making on hold, I’ve been able to psychologically let loose on the restrictions I’ve been putting myself under lately, and goddamnit, it feels fucking great. Rather than beat myself up and curse myself for failing to maintain pristine health for my future as-yet non conceived child, I simply say, “Meh.” Turns out, this month, I love eating pasta (sometimes). I heart wine. I adore my morning coffee once again (with hazelnut flavored coconut milk this time around, which is supremely delicious). I am adhering pretty strictly to the no milk or cheese thing, but even that was fudged a bit a few days ago when I made some fan-fucking-tastic orzo with vegetables, sprinkled with parmesean cheese.  I also find this new me is cursing a lot, and saying “whatevs” or “fuck it.” It’s pretty great. Through it all, I’m still managing the green drink, and lots more veggies than I usually eat, but gluten/egg/sugar/milk free muffins are not in the cards for me this month. Nope. Fuck it.

In other news, (stop the presses!) I’m starting to work out again. My arms and legs felt like they were beaten with a meat pounder this morning, but it feels good to get moving again. And by moving, I mean, doing an exercise routine that has me collapsed on the floor groaning like I’m in a birthing tub. I tend to go full on pain mode when I exercise. I made Hubs take a “before” pic of me, in case I’m able to make it through the entire Insanity DVD program I’m attempting to do over the next 8 weeks. Watch the video of the program on the website, and weep for me. I will not profess to say that I will be able to complete this program, but damnit, I’m going to try with every ounce of my jiggly body.

If anyone else is of the mind to take a “fuck it” hall pass this month on TTC, please do let us know what your “fuck it” plans might be!

Input Needed: What is your favorite story from history?

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Hi party peeps, I have a question totally unrelated to fertility or TTC for you. I am interested in hearing what your favorite stories/eras/ events from history are. They could be bible stories, really obscure stories you’ve heard about a love triangle between Napoleon, Josephine, and the butler, a writer/artist/musician/physician you know about, major historical battles, murder, intrigue, some strange law enacted in a state in the 1800s that no one knows about…ANYTHING. I’m interested.

In other news, because God loves taunting me, a very lovely colleague of mine who I’m friends with at work came into my office yesterday and let me know that the “food poisoning” she had last week was a bout of “surprise pregnancy”. She’s 8 weeks along, and “thrilled”. After hugging her, and feeling really genuinely happy for her, she asked me if Hubs and I were going to start trying soon. I smiled, looked down at my desk, and started bawling about my ovaries. Fortunately she is an extremely decent human being, and did not get freaked out and run out of my office. She was actually quite sweet about it, and not awkward at all, although she couldn’t quite grasp what I meant when I told her that I had only had one anovulatory “period” in 9 months. At one point, I even used the complicated abbreviation, “IVF”, and she had no clue what I was talking about. I’d do anything for a toke off her pipe of naivete.

I also have another yeast infection since I’ve dared to stray from my diet of food that tastes like cardboard.

Will this shit never end.

The Runner Yoga Boozy chick

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With TTC off my plate, what’s an infertile blogger to blog about?

I know my cervical mucus reports were riveting, so I have a lot to live up to if I decide not to blog about them any further. Truth be told, for the last year or so, almost everything I have done has been with a mind towards fertility. What’s good for a baby, what’s bad, supplements, meds, PCOS research…Strip that all away, and what am I left with? Little ole me. The good, the bad, the ugly.

The woman inside of these fingers typing away isn’t ovulating, but she is still living, breathing, thinking, feeling, eating and shitting (quite well, with no current hemorrhoids, I might add). In all of my attempts to “fix” my body, I kept waking up each day saying, “maybe today is the day…” and being disappointed when it wasn’t the day my ovaries decided they would kick into gear. For almost a full year (and most of my menstruating life, if I’m being honest), I have lived each day as if I would be better “if only” I could be a “normal” woman.

I cannot live my life like this anymore. This much, I know. The rest of it, I’m still a little bit iffy on. Worrying about that which I cannot control has become an identity that I wish to shed, but how?

The “girl with the plan” in me has these archetypes I keep going back to as I refocus my energy on something other than ovulating and bodily functions out of my control:

1. I could turn into one of these tweaked out perky chicks I’ve seen jogging on the side of the road on Sunday at 6AM–the kind of girl that I currently flick my eye crust at while I’m barely awake, driving to get a McMuffin for my hangover. I’d blog about how “pumped” I am on life, have a kick ass body, and eat “clean”.

2. I could turn into one of these yoga types, blissed out on coconut water, and the scent of my own pit sweat. I would include lots of inspirational quotes on my blog about butterflies, destiny, and inner voices.

3. I could get really chummy with my new besties “Jose”, “Jack”, and “Jaager” for a few years, marinate my ovaries in a cesspool of nicotine and Nyquil, and blog about how liberated I am now that kids aren’t tying me down.

The key for me is going to be in realizing that these archetypes are in themselves a way that I try to assert control over my life. By having this one all-encompassing persona I can live up to, it gives me a focus, and also a way to beat myself up when I inevitably fail at becoming the “perfect” runner, yoga, or drunk chick.

I’m a little bit “runner”, a little bit “yoga”, and a little bit “boozy” with a dash of “happy homemaker” , and “sick and twisted” for good measure. I’ll never be all of one or the other.

Perhaps this is a good place to start for now.

 

 

 

 

Sad

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I couldn’t think of a better way to title this post. My life seems to have gone from zero to shit in a matter of a few weeks…but I think the lesson of it all is that one incident cannot collapse everything. A collapse happens when a foundation isn’t strong.

I have still been following all of you on your journeys, but I must admit that now even reading about happy marriages can sometimes bring me to tears.

I want to be better about blogging…even if it’s just to get my feelings out, and keep writing. However, I will not be blogging about TTC. Hubs and I have agreed that we are not trying anymore until we see a counselor and attempt to sort out what is going on with us–and whether or not it can all be sorted. Yes, we’re so enlightened, yes, we’re cautious, no we don’t want to bring a baby into our lives with our marriage the way it is, yes, we’re so wise and conscientious, and all of this and that CRAP and  BULLSHIT. We’re so fucking great we are electing not to procreate. We are responsible fucking people. We are both fucking sad. Sad, sad, sad childless sacks.

My heart is too full. It’s too jolted. I have been drinking, neglecting my diet, and basically throwing the finger to the sky, wallowing in self pity, fear, rage. I’m sorry this entry sounds so bleak, but it’s the truth.

I thought IF was tough. It is…but it turns out that a house of cards that is falling around you is tougher.

I am angry, and I am sad. How’s that for some kindergarten adjectives?