Thursday, June 28, 2007

How Many Days Until The Next Trimester?

Thanks y'all, for all the kind words and happy thoughts. I should have known the internets would come through for us.

One of the sad truths is that even if you are married and happy and of appropriate age not everyone will respond the way you want to when you announce that you are pregnant.

I think in our case, it is mostly worry that colors people's reactions. But in others, it is a sanctimonious thing that irritates the fuck out of me. See a lot of people ask, "Did you take the drugs?" And there is this snide tone, once I say no, actually we were supposed to start this month. Because they are saying See? You just needed to relax. You didn't need interventions, babies happen when they happen.

I don't know why people want to argue this point. It took us almost three years to get pregnant the first time. Medical experts say that women my age should see a doctor after a year. Give me a fucking break alright? If you don't like the drugs, well I actually don't understand that. I think the media and their coverage of sixty year old mothers and high multiples distort what people think about reproductive assistance. A lot of couples get this help and the methods are safe. It can put you through the ringer but so can supposedly well meaning friends and family who suggest you just pray more and that if it is meant to be it will happen.

I suppose I could pray if I get strep throat too, or I could take anti-biotics. I think God created people smart enough to invent such things so that we could all benefit but you know I could be wrong.

Sorry, I am just crabby as hell. I am so afraid that I am going to lose this baby. To an irrational degree. Then I am afraid that I won't but will be a terrible mother or won't be able to cope or something else. There is a lot to worry about. And mildly assuring is the unstopping gagging and nausea that is kicking my ass. It's re-assuring because well, the baby is probably growing with all the torturing me and all. But it is hard to feel grateful when you spent the day at work trying to gag quietly so your co-workers won't hear.

I don't think I was entirely successful.

There are full body gags, the kind that sound like some one is stepping on my throat and my head gets thrown back and lord. It is just not ok. I have to keep full but I don't want to eat. At all. I hate eating. Nothing tastes good and many things make me gag and I don't feel hungry but I know that I am. The one time in your life as an American woman you are allowed to eat (though not guilt free because GOD people want to give babies their food issues in the womb now) and I am totally not enjoying on moment.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007


Oh Internets, I have been holding out on you like a uptight virgin on prom night. I've wanted to give it up but WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY?

I haven't been able to write here, because every single thing that is interesting or funny that has happened to me in weeks has to do with this thing that I weirdly couldn't talk about or wouldn't talk about and GAH. I am sorry. I do weird things sometimes.

I'm eight weeks pregnant.

I learned last time that you have to tell the people in your life that would have to know about a loss about the pregnancy. Because the day I had to tell my boss about my miscarriage, well it was awful in a way that I cannot even describe. So I have known for a month about this and have managed not to blurt it out to you.

I don't know why I chose this way.

Actually I do. Because I thought it would be better this way. I wanted to be eight weeks along and have seen a heartbeat on an ultrasound before saying a word to the Internets (also make sure that I had told everyone that needed to know first because you know, if you can't tell your mother about your pregnancy then it's probably bad to tell total strangers).

I knew right away and it would have been so much easier if I hadn't. First, I had a rapturous, almost sexual dream about a sausage McMuffin with extra cheese. I don't ever dream about food, in fact the only food dream I ever had when I wasn't pregnant was when I was seven and dreamt about drowning in the cream filling from a Twinkie. It was a nightmare brought on by my dad trying to force me to eat one (for some reason I didn't like them and my dad thought this was a sign that I was a defective child and tried to cram it in my mouth--which sounds violent but wasn't more teasing but still kind of a weird thing to do I admit). The McMuffin dream was followed by a day where I had a crashing hormone headache that was identical to one I had with my first pregnancy. So even though it seemed impossible and J made so much fun of me I just knew I was.

And I tested. And it was positive. And I was happy for about ten minutes and then started freaking out. Which was not helped at all by the fact that J was pretending that it wasn't happening. I don't know if he was just in denial or trying to prepare me for the worst but I hated him for about a week because I couldn't not think about it and couldn't tell anyone (except you know I told L) and he wouldn't talk about it with me.

The best thing I did was tell my mother who was unreservedly happy. She just doesn't think in terms of the negative. And I needed that permission to be happy. By this time we had had a couple of betas with good growing numbers and I was marginally reassured. My mom being happy has made this experience bearable.

Last week we had an ultrasound and I could barely talk to the tech before we saw the heartbeat. Even though I was living in a mess of fatigue and nausea I was still convinced that nothing would be there. Once there was a heartbeat I felt like I could breathe.

I actually felt fantastic. Sick as a dog but I felt safe. Nothing is ever certain but this felt good.

Then Zoot miscarried. And my friend that was a couple of weeks ahead of me miscarried last night. And I am terrified. It just feels like the chimes of doom are closing in. Failure is an option, I have definitely learned that before.

I do not know how to be this person. Who goes to bed at a second grade bed time, who has to eat protein every few hours or DIE, who cannot help but be afraid of the worst every day. My pants barely button (thanks to having tailored all the waists in my pants last summer) but I worry about jinxing myself with maternity clothes. Even though I have a business trip next month and it's clear my clothes won't fit. I don't know how to be this person, but I guess I am learning every day.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Two Kids From Minnesota

I do not feel the amount of shame about DVRing the finale of Beverly Hills, 90210 when it played on Soap Net this weekend.

I didn't watch the last couple of seasons of the show but really enjoyed the finale when it first aired. Looking back, I enjoyed it for all the wrong reasons because it didn't really hold up so well but is awesome in some very fucked up ways.

One, I just love how it seems like the writers realized like two episodes away from the finale that they needed to wrap shit up and SOMEHOW Kelly and Dylan needed to get together. So they go through some fairly elaborate and really stupid mechanics to make that happen. Including her now ex-boyfriend realizing that she and Dylan belong together because they did the same readings at Donna's wedding that every damn bride in the world uses. If that is the requirement than I am pretty sure I have to divorce J and marry the best man from my best friend's wedding a few years ago--even though she is no longer with the groom.

Two, the wedding is just so damn tacky. Donna's breasts are freakishly round and damn Tori Spelling has a lot of money why do her implants look like shit? And why did she pay for veneers that make her look like a fucking beaver? The bridesmaids dresses are the same ones that we wore for the above mentioned wedding. And while they were oppressively expensive for me at the time (almost three hundred dollars before alterations) they weren't like SO high end like you would expect from a Beverly Hills designer DONNA. Also, while they are very nice for bridesmaids dresses I was pleased to note that they made those girls look oddly pudgy in the belly and have pointy boob syndrome. If Kelly Taylor looks knocked up in a dress than I can feel better about her wedding pictures.

Three, who the fuck did Brian Austen Green's makeup in this episode? The two of them are crying way more than is appropriate for normal people (and also, their claim that they have been in love since they were ten? didn't they hate each other in the beginning? or at least she thought he was a putz and he wanted to bone his future stepsister?). And the makeup artist has rimmed his eyes in red, I think to make those tears look real. But he looks like he has pink eye and does coke. And why the hell didn't he shave? He doesn't look rugged and manly he just looks like he forgot he was getting married. Like Donna Martin would put up with that shit.

It's still awesome because they brought back some terrible characters and AHN-drea but didn't bother with that twat Gina. Sadly, no Brenda. I know that everyone hated her on set but seriously, wouldn't that have made the finale?

I fucking love that we get Soap Net now. I DVRed the pilot (since they just start the show over now).

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Dream Girl

Oh y'all, I am sorry about the crabby. Though I found out later that Paris Hilton is 26 years old. When I was 26 I had been married four years, bought a house with money I earned my ownself, was in the process of selling that house and buying another and generally got myself dressed in the morning on my own. So the comments about her just being a child make me want to tear my hair out.

But I am over. Truly.

I feel as though I did not sleep at all last night, because I had a bizarre dream. I know other people's dreams are boring as hell but this is my blog and I will bore y'all if I want to. I was at this strange zoo with my track team (of all the unbelievable things in this dream this struck me as the most unbelievable--that I would ever be on a TRACK TEAM), we were involved in some sort of race through the zoo. But this zoo was dark and stormy and was full of angry animals who were not very well contained. As in a grizzly bear scratched the hell out of me and these (oddly tiny) elephants chased after us with weird hoods containing their tusks and trunks but were free to trample us with no impediment whatsoever. Through the whole dream I was like, "I am the slowest person on the team and am going to die."

This is not exactly a brilliant observation because the only two slower people on the planet are my mother and grandmother. And my grandmother is in her eighties.

I woke up totally exhausted (I had been fleeing angry elephants all damn night) and have not since recovered.

It's not even eight yet but since my Cubs just beat the Mariners I think it's time to toddle off to bed.

Such an old lady.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Pissed Off For No Reason

I am too lazy to look it up but J sent me this oh so sanctimonious article by Jamie Lee Curtis about how Paris Hilton should make us all realize what terrible mothers everyone is! Because that is what our culture needs! More blame for moms!

Can I just say that Paris Hilton is 23 years old (or something) and is not a "child" the way some media coverage makes it out to be? That she is spoiled and irresponsible or whatever and that is a shame but she will probably grow up and who the fuck cares? And if you want to blame her mother why not blame her father too or can even JAMIE LEE CURTIS not pretend that we are not a society of sexist assholes?

DAMN I am crabby today.

Had the saddest excuse for a weekend ever as J was out golfing until 11 on Friday night (I KNOW! Yes, they went for drinks after but still! 11!) and then we celebrated my mom's birthday Saturday (actually lovely, though J celebrated by having to buy new tires for my car because I have been getting a weekly flat for months now). Sunday he played softball all day long and I laid on the bed and napped. Pathetic.

J is actually late again tonight. Given my current mood he may be hobbled.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Law Abiding Citizen

My car license tabs are expired. Since we bought my car used they don't expire during the month of either of our birthdays like it is supposed to and we always forget. Literally, ever year we have forgotten.

This came into my head AGAIN when I got to the park and ride tonight and a county sheriff was sitting in his car along side mine.

Once I saw him I became convinced that he was waiting for me, waiting for me to get into the car and pull out so he could pull me over for driving with expired tabs. I even looked through the glove box to make sure I had the current insurance card (though what I thought I would do if I didn't I don't know--fly home?). I was worked up into HYSTERICS over this. All flushed and worried about how we would pay what would surely be an exhorbant fine. And when I pulled out I had this rush of shit to the heart, like the WORLD WAS ENDING. But of course the dude didn't budge, he was probably waiting to pick up his wife from her commute or something. Police do not wait in parking lots to pull you over for tab tickets.

This is the assurance all of you have that I will never rob a bank. Because I am exactly this kind of person. Certain I will get caught instantly for any little thing. That's why I always did my homework on time, obey speed limits and in general act like a fucking freak.

I'm still a little nervous about driving again tomorrow.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Do Not Touch My Hair Fucker

There was some sort of Ultimate Fighting thing happening at the Event Center tonight and the street outside was like a Frat Boy Factory exploded. The line of assholes outside of bars was thousands deep it looked like. Since J wanted me to walk up and meet him and some friends at a bar I had to walk the gauntlet. I plugged into the IPod in an attempt to insulate myself from the crazy.

It didn't really work.

I think most women have had the experience of men screeching at them on the street. This had nothing to do with me, I was literally the only woman on the street. The shouted and hooted and lord men are ridiculous. Some attempted to be nice but I was tired, my feet were swollen and strange men in backwards ballcaps are trying to bone me in the bathroom of a bar advertising Bladder Buster Night.

At the bar we had the world's worst waitress. Maybe it was her first night or maybe the girl just kept making a living because she was hot and the guys tip her well anyway. She was nice but I ordered a diet coke when I got there and an hour later I still didn't have it. I left J there, it was hot and I was just wiped. I told him I would pick him up because fuck. I have a twelve pack of diet coke at home.

Sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with shit. Walking back to the car (feet BURSTING OUT OF MY SHOES) a guy reached out and touched my hair. Fucking touched the hair of a total stranger. I just snapped my head over and stared at him, he sort of backed away slowly from me. At least I can make a guy's balls shrivel.