New Book Alert! A Tale of Woe With a Happy Ending

Going through the jagged, bone-shaking quest to mommyhood brought more to me than I ever expected.  Even though I had many, many days where I screamed into my pillow; drank a little more than I should have; or bought a really expensive purse for the five minutes of joy it, the end result was much, much better than I could have ever dreamed. 


Not only did I end up with my two boys (the most spectacular gifts I will ever have) as a result of failing at pregnancy, but I gained empathy and sympathy for others going through the same thing; an appreciation for the little things that my kids do that makes me clutch my heart; and a resurrected faith that the most amazing things can come from seriously difficult times.




My "woe" story (with a happy ending) and it's now featured in Martinis & Mommyhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe and WTF, which launches today!!!




It's a great, honest read from moms in the trenches telling stories that will inspire, entertain and remind you to savor both the sweet and crazy moments of motherhood.




Be good to yourself.  You never know where your journey will take you - it will likely surprise you in the most incredible ways.

Back at it for Infertility Awareness Week - Stick it to the Pregnancy Test Stick

Yes, it's been a while.  A long while.  But, in honor of Infertility Awareness Week, I wanted to share five tips for keeping some sense of sanity while going through the rollercoaster ride of being a pregnancy virgin.

My infertility rap sheet is about as long as they come.  Over the course of seven years, I tried the good old fashioned method too many times to count, three ovulation inductions, also known as the lovely term of timed intercourse,  one IVF, two frozen embryo transfers , and even a gestational carrier.  I’ve had enough female horse urine injected in my body that there are times that I neigh instead of talk.

I had 23 embryos.  But have had zero pregnancies. 

I’m one of the unfortunate few of the infertile with unexplained infertility, but I can produce ridiculous sums of eggs and my husband’s sperm count is off the charts. 

And, yet I’m here to tell you that I have survived all of this infertility drama, even with no biological children.   I am OK, and you can be too.  Through all of the nonsense and tears, the one thing that kept me somewhat sane was trying to find the lighter side of infertility, the humor in unusual places (thanks in large part to my amazing husband).

Whenever I’d get a negative pregnancy test, my knee jerk reaction was always that I was mad.  I’d want to stick it to the pregnancy test pee stick.  Those things are virtually indestructible. I’d try and try to snap them in half, but I think you need a black belt in karate to break it, and I’d just end up getting pee on my hand.

I also know that you’re sad.  I’ve been there, too.  Having to postpone and struggle to fulfill a dream is heartbreaking.  That’s where therapists, doctors, good family and friends can come in to help.

You might also feel like you’re losing your mind a little bit and that the hormones you’re on are making you crazy.  I had epic meltdowns in the dressing room of Bloomingdale’s and a rest stop in Northern Indiana that I would like to blame on all of the follicle stimulants I was on, but maybe it was just my frustration of not being able to conceive.  I am in no way making fun of those of us who are truly depressed and need help.  I was there, too. 

But, throughout the years of ups and downs in the baby-making trials, I have discovered five critical steps to help save my sanity and courage.  I hope that these might be helpful to you, too.

1. Launch a plan of attack 

Like any good military operation, you need a strategy and plan to attack the enemy.  If it’s taken you longer than you’d expected to get pregnant, it’s time to take matters into your own hands.  Remember that you can help determine your own fertility destiny. 

Sit down with your partner and schedule doctor’s appointments, schedule tests,

Talk about how much money you’re willing to spend; discuss how many IUIs, FETs, IVFs, you’re willing to do, and when it might be time to consider foster care or adoption.

Feeling empowered during this time that is seems so out of your control, is a really big deal.  Actually, just recently a friend of mine who is trying to get pregnant asked me about this.  I told her, don’t wait, just make the doctor’s appointment, and she said that being in control of even that one small task made her feel better.

      2. Gimme a break

       Know that it’s OK to take a break – from trying, from friends with kids, from holiday parties and baby showers, from Facebook. 

When I first started going through all of the fertility treatments, I wanted to do them back to back and not waste any time.  I did three back to back ovulation inductions and then I moved straight into IVF.  When those didn’t work, I needed to take a break from trying so hard.  My belly was huge from all of the drugs, my mind was clouded with dreams of a baby and I just needed some perspective.  Plus, rushing from appointment to appointment and blood draw to blood draw and worrying about if you’re going to be in a work meeting when you need to give yourself an injection is physically and emotionally exhausting.

Taking a few months off was one of the best things I did.  And, I took even more time in between FETs 1 and 2 and almost a year after all that before working with our gestational carrier.  While you might feel like your age and time aren’t on your side, truly a few months to take a needed break can give you back your life. 

You may also, at some point, need to take a break from friends with kids, your parents and in laws who want to know when their grandchild is coming.  And, again, it’s OK to bow out of get togethers where the topic might come up or where you might run into your cousin who has four children under the age of 5.   Baby showers are really tough.  I bet I skipped out on one a month for two years.  Feel free to make up excuses for not attending – or be honest (it’s loads easier for you and them just to say that you’re going to be out of town that day).  If your friend doesn’t understand why you can’t come, she isn’t much of a friend.

   

You might also want to take a break from social media.  FaceBook, Instagram and Twitter pregnancy announcements, photos of cute babies covered in oatmeal and ultrasound images can be especially hard because there are so many and it’s hard to avoid them.  It’s OK to blackout from social media for a while. 

      3. Laugh as much as you can

     This might be a tough one to accomplish, but as someone who has done it, I can tell you that laughter really can be the best medicine.  Check out my book:  it tells tales from rubbing a Chinese fertility statue, taking squirrel poo tablets, and visiting Amish healers, and other real-life stories of trying to find two blue lines on a pregnancy test.  I like to call it a raw, but funny girlfriend's guide to pre-pregnancy.

How many of you have bought your husbands porn or stood on your head after sex? 

Laughing about the absurdity can definitely help provide some levity to the situation.  And, while it’s not always appropriate and it might be hard to find something funny about your husband’s sperm sample,  laughter really can be the best medicine. 

In fact, science agrees with me.  In early 2011, an Israeli study found that laughter may help women who are trying to become pregnant through in-vitro fertilization (IVF)

In a study of 219 women undergoing IVF found that the odds of success were greater among women who were entertained by a professional "medical clown" just after the embryos were transferred to their wombs.

Overall, 36% became pregnant, as compared to 20% of women who'd had a comedy-free recovery after the transfer procedure.

The lead researcher said he got the idea for the study after reading about the potential physiological impact of laughter as a "natural anti-stress mechanism".  Although I didn’t benefit from laughter during my infertility treatments, there’s no question that my mental health was better because I tried to find humor in weird places.  It also helps to have a husband with a somewhat warped, but, funny, mind.

4. Find some temporary bliss. 

This is another recommendation that is easy not to do while going through infertility, but it is critical to your mental well-being.  What do you love to do?  Run, walk, knit, do zumba.  Keep doing it.  Is there something you loved to do as a child, but haven’t for years?  Do it.  I rode horses as a child and loved it and picked it back up about 8 years ago – about the same time all of the infertility stuff happened.  It truly lifted me up on my darkest day. 

Get a massage, manicure, pedicure or facial or all of the above.  I often felt gross and bloated as a result of the gallons of hormone injections, and even pretty feet sometimes made me feel better.

Anything that makes you happy and can take your mind off of the challenges of conceiving.  Oreos and a good Chardonnay are good, too, but can wreak havoc on your waistline. 

5. Consider that enough is enough.

       I’ve never been a quitter.  I’ve always believed that if you work hard enough and put your mind to something, almost anything is achievable. But that’s not how it works in the infertility world.  It’s a dimension where just because you flushed your birth control pills, have sex when you’re ovulating, or you get a major head start by having five day old embryos implanted, it doesn’t mean you’ll get pregnant. 

      

      But, if you’ve been going through this stuff long enough, at some point, you may decide that it’s time to reconsider what you should do.

      Some possible reasons:  

•      Your frustration level is causing you to resemble the Wicked Witch of the West  (“I’ll get you my little preggies, and your little diaper bag, too.”)
• ·        You’re near financial ruin
• ·        You’ve filled a landfill with ovulation test sticks and negative pregnancy tests
• ·        Your age is now closer to that of a grandmother than a first-time mom
• ·        You’ve achieved what some might consider “stalker status” with your fertility doctor
• ·        It’s too hard to keep hoping and praying, only for a negative home pregnancy test or single-digit beta level to blow that dream to shreds

 And it doesn’t matter if you’ve tried naturally for ten years, drank the same castor oil and peppermint tonic that your granny swears got her pregnant, gone through countless IUIs, IVFs, or OIs, enlisted the help of a gestational carrier or donor sperm and eggs, or all of the above. When you’re done, you’re done. 

It’s not an easy decision, and it’s not something that’s easy to accept, and some of us may never give up, and that’s OK, too.  If you don’t have a child (and you want one), it’s almost impossible not to feel a twinge of jealousy or pang in your uterus, when you see  a new mom pushing a stroller or a toddler on his father’s shoulders.  But, sometimes the most important thing is knowing when it’s time to move on.

Dealing with infertility can be one of the toughest things that a couple can have to face.  It rocks your world – financially, physically, emotionally and spiritually.  But, I’m hoping that these five tips can make it a little easier to bear.I got a happy ending even though I have never been able to conceive. My husband and I built our family through the adoption of two little boys – they are best blessings I could ever dream of and I can’t imagine life without them.  And, actually, I have my infertility to thank for that. 

Taking a break

I have loved writing on my blog over the last few years. It has been cathartic, therapeutic and a release. But, to be honest, I feel a little disingenuous writing on the topic of infertility right now (nor do I have the time I used to). I am still and always will be infertile. But, I am a mom now and it just feels wrong to be harping on all of the injustices, frustrations and bull crap that comes with not having a child and wanting one so very much. To everyone who has read my blog or book over the years, thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope that you've been able to smile, laugh or give me a "hell yeah, sister!" fist pump in solidarity of being pregnancy virgins. I am actually working on my first novel/chic lit that will have infertility as a central theme. For those of you still trying to bring a child into your lives through medical intervention, the traditional method or adoption, don't ever give up hope. We are living proof that persistence and devotion works. I love my son as though he came from my uterus, and in that sense, perhaps I am no longer infertile.

You are a mom

Last night while on a much-needed date with my husband, I said that I was excited about my first "official" Mother's Day coming up. He looked at me and said, "You have always been a mother." Be still, my heart. He is right. And, of course, I've been thinking about that comment all day. Once you make the decision that you are ready to have a child, whether biological or adopted, you become a mom, even if you don't really realize it. It doesn't matter if your body won't help you or if your adoption takes five times longer than it should. Making the realization that you want a child, automatically puts your brain in mommy mode. For many of us, especially the infertiles who are going through extraordinary measures to conceive, sacrifices are made for our children long before we become pregnant or bring our kids home. We stop drinking, take pre-natal vitamins, we go into debt, we wait and wait and wait. We are patient beyond our wildest dreams. As we recognize National Infertility Awareness Week this week, know that you are not along, you still have hope and that you are a mom.

Ummmm... really?!?!?!?!

So, apparently "Snooki" can get pregnant but I (and millions of other of women) can't. I weep, my fellow infertiles. I weep.

Apparently, we should be out partying like it's 1999 five days a week(yes, I am showing my age), drinking Long Island Ice Teas by the fishbowl, wearing too tight mini skirts with furry boots, tanning ourselves a lovely Carotene hue and buying truckloads of bumpits. See, we've been doing it all wrong this entire time - cutting out caffeine, doing yoga, going to bed at 10pm, and injecting ourselves full of hormones.

Every once in a while, some character like her finds herself without (and sometimes with) a condom or birth control and "poof!", she's a mommy-to-be. It boggles the mind and starts to make you call into question other seemingly unfair realities of life like why chocolate lava cake isn't fat free and why we didn't come up with the idea for Spanx even though we cut off our control top panty hose to wear with our prom dress in 1991 (just jealous of the brilliance of Ms. Blakely; she is quite awesome and it's so cool that a woman of my era has made the billionaire list).

The only funny thing from this news was last week's skit on SNL. I thought it was priceless, and Mr. Hamm ain't so bad on the eyes, either.

Snooki, a mom... perhaps a forebearer to the apolcalypse - or at least a very scary spring and summer as we see what maternity clothing (or lack thereof) she wears. I can only imagine what this poor kiddo will be named. Maybe "The Conception" or Baby Wow?

Full disclosure: I did spend about 10 minutes researching my Snooki intel on several fine entertainment Web sites.

Year of the Dragon

Just read an article saying that more Chinese couples are trying to get pregnant right now so that they can have a child in the Year of the Dragon. In fact, they are even undergoing fertility treatments so that they have an even better chance to conceive.

Wow - that's pushing it in my opinion. Can't imagine choosing to go on follistims, estrogen or the worst, testosterone, just to have a child within a 12-month period. Oh, wait a minute, I did do that - it's just that it was because I wanted a baby as soon as possible, not to have one within a certain time of year.

I also can't imagine shelling out the big bucks to get pregnant unless it was my only option (which it was - and yet still didn't work).

The dragon is the creme de la creme of Chinese zodiac symbols. It's lucky to be born in that year and the child has a better chance of success and be powerful.

Of course, I was born in the year of the rat, so I don't think I have much leverage. Perhaps if you're born in the rodent's year, you are more likely not to ever conceive. Two years ago was the year of the rabbit, and I've got to believe those are some people who can easily multiply.

We are a family of three!

After seven years of trying to get pregnant and 1,291 days of waiting to adopt our little boy from Vietnam, on Christmas Day 2011, we became a family of three.

We were in Vietnam for five weeks waiting for this miracle to happen. We had some pretty bleak and desperate moments in our journey to bring a child into our lives, but I can adamantly say, he was well worth the wait.

Although we are incredibly blessed and I feel adoption was how our family was supposed to be made whole, infertility will always be part of who I am. Granted, it is now safely on the backburner and I never expect it to be front and center again.

And, because I have a very adorable and active 4-year old at home, my blogging about infertility will be quite limited from now on. I plan to continue to blog about infertility when I have time or a good topic comes to mind that I just can't resist giving my two cents worth. In the meantime, please peruse former blog entries - most of them are pretty evergreen.

Wishing my life a-way-ay

I've wanted a child of my own for more than seven years. Over that time, I feel like most of it has been counting in some way or another -- counting days of my cycle, counting the days until I could have a feriltized egg implanted, counting the days until paperwork gets cleared for our adoption, counting how many kids my friends have had over that time period (you don't want to know the number), counting missed birthdays and Christmases of our adopted son, counting, counting, counting.

I've never been someone who wants to wish her life away. I have always been one to live my life to the fullest. However, when it has come to trying to build a family, it seems that it's an impossibility. I have been wishing more than 2,300 days away in hopes that the next morrow would be the one when I would become a mom.

It's not that I haven't done important, fun and worthwhile things over the course of that time; but the 7/10s of a decade has been in a limbo of sorts.

Waiting and waiting and waiting to get pregnant or bring our son home. To say that I've been patient is an understatement. Infertiles and waiting parents are some of the most patient people I've ever known, but sometimes it can reek havoc on even the most sane or tolerant. But, I really hope that they haven't put other parts of their life on hold.

It can be overwhelming and hard to get out of this purgatory. But, my guess is that it will be well worth the wait.

Some OB/GYNs need sensitivity training

Yesterday, I had the unfortunate experience of having my annual GYN exam. And, it wasn't for the reason you might think. As an infertile, I've had my hoo-haw looked at and poked at more times than most women twice my age. So, clearly I don't mind the exam.

What I do mind, however, is the following:

1. As soon as I sit down in the waiting room, I come face to face with a very cute and very pregnant gal across the way, who proceeds to rub her belly, stand up, walk around and make sure that everyone is noticing how uncomfortable she is.

2. I have major bones to pick with my doctor's office scale. I swear it's at least 15 pounds heavy.

3. The fact that the medical technical asked me what birth control I'm on. Really...

4. The fact that my doctor asked me what birth control I'm on. When I told her it was impossible for me to get pregnant, she actually argued with me a little bit. Note that this is not my fertility doc, just my GYN. "It could happen, Lu." Again, really?

5. That my doctor, who just came back to work after having her second child, complained to me about how difficult it is to parent two children almost the entire time she was in the exam room. Really?

It took all I had not to make a snarky remark about how she should just thank her lucky stars that she has been able to give birth to two healthy kids because some of us have never and will never be able to.

I would like to propose that at OB/GYN offices, any women who are pregnancy virgins or have challenges childbearing, should have bright yellow stickers on their files folders or a flag on the electronic medical record that indicates that we are infertile. I think that would eliminate a lot of unnecessary questioning and awkward answers. Better yet, I would be happy to do some sensitivity training for these docs with a lack of appropriate bedside manner. Truly, it's not that hard. Instead of asking us about birth control and getting pregnant, just discuss the weather or how lovely our cervixes are.

And, visibly pregnant ladies, please don't parade that belly right in front of me.

Pent Up Parenting

When you're closing in on 39 years of age and you want a child, but have never had one, the need to parent can become overwhelming. Since I started trying to have a baby almost seven years ago, that's a lot of mothering that I've needed to get out of my system. At least, that's where I find myself right now.

Sure, I consider myself an excellent mother to my adopted son, who still isn't here. I have never given up on getting him home and spend hours working with our attorney and Senator staffers, strategizing, doing paperwork, praying, worrying and dreaming about his future.

But, I need to be childrearing in person. My poor dogs and cats are treated as though they are my tots walking around on four legs. When they get in trouble, I send them to time outs and I also restrict their TV and computer time. (Note: this doesn't seem to affect their behavior much).

When I talk to friends or colleagues about their kids, it's all I can do to not give out my own parenting advice. A work friend was telling me how he didn't want his kids to focus on just one sport or activity just yet. He wanted to give them an opportunity to try lots of different things before settling on just playing baseball or the clarinet. I really wanted tell him that I thought that was a good idea and that I hope to do that with our own child. But, I think that would just be weird.

In Church, it's all I can do to not scold unruly or loud kids, and the same is true when I'm in Target and see a kid whining about wanting a toy and stomping his feet.

Conversely, I not only want to parent kids, but I want to give advice to their moms and dads. When I see kids not strapped in seat belts, I roll my window down and give the "parent" a piece of my mind. The same is true when I see a mom buying four boxes of the sugariest cereal on the market to feed to her crew (this happened just last week).

I am not saying I will be a perfect parent by any means, but the desire I have is palpitable right now. It's all bottled up and it has very few places to be expended. I'm like a dormant volcano whose top is about to blow.

My dogs don't understand what I mean when I ask them to put their toys back in their box and they're pretty good about eating everything on their plates.

So if you see me coming toward you or your kid you might want to watch out. I just might tell you to put your kid's hood up and wipe the milk mustache off his face.

I found video tape in the closet

It seems that more often than not, I run across some random piece of paraphinalia from my fertility treatment days. It has something to do with me not cleaning out Usually, it's an old ovulation detection test or an expired box of icky progesterone cream. However, I got quite the eyeful when cleaning out a closet which hadn't been touched in years.

I found several video tapes (yes, for a video cassette recorder, so you know it was years ago). No, these weren't those kind of videos, though I think I may have preferred that to what I found. In addition to some old tapes of me playing volleyball in college ('cause you know that those are going to be viewed again), I found one that listed my fertility doctor's name, my name, and the date 06/05/04. Yep, it was a video of my surgery when I had some tumors and adhesions removed from my uterus, that for some bizarre reason, we kept.

Why the heck did we keep that of all things? And, why did I leave the hospital with this odd momento? Was it to remind myself that I had a kickass laproscopy? To add to a future child's baby book as the beginning of our conception process? To be completely grossed out at will?

Perhaps it was the residual effect of my anethesia that led me to put it in my purse to bring home?

Whatever the reason, it was quite a flashback to the days when "trying" was still fun, when I didn't know I would have issues conceiving, and when I still had hope. On June 5, 2004, I was completely clueless about the seven-year hellish journey that we've been on to bring a child into our family.

I'm sure now they give you a DVD or jump drive with video of your insides.

Frequent flier miles junkie

Sorry that I've been a bit MIA lately, but the adoption stuff continues to be an emotional nightmare that I can't even coherently explain. Anyway, back to regular programming...

I used to fly for work pretty often and I even worked for an airline for a while, and that's when it began -- a subtle, but definite desire to accumulate as many frequent flier miles as possible. Jack Bauer and I love, love, love to travel, so acquiring kilometer after kilometer only fed into our "fix." I still know my FF#s for two different airlines by heart (those along with the phone # of my fertility clinic, which I haven't dialed in more than two years, but I often can't remember how old I am).

When we were going through our fertility treatments, the only and I mean only, redeeming factor was that we put most of the expenses on my credit card which turned points into miles in my frequent filer account. I got at least one "free" round-trip out of it, too.

Once a junkie, always a junkie, I guess. You'd think if I was going to crave something, it would be horse urine and estrogen after the years of being on the stuff. But, no, my frequent flier addiction hasn't gone away. I recently signed up to be a participant in on-line market research - I get emails and go through a series of questions and get rewarded with miles. It's a pretty easy way to rack them up.

So, I'm running through a number of questions the other day asking about health issues - narcolepsy - nope; diabetes - negative; cancer, sinusitis, epilepsy, foot fungus - no, no, no and no. Three pages of various conditions and I'm just running down the "no" column when I came to a screeching halt: INFERTILITY. Guess I didn't think of infertility as a "health issue" (although I am well aware that it is the inability for my body to do something that should be natural); Rather I look at it as something that plays emotional havoc with me on a daily basis.

If I have to answer a "yes" about having infertility, and I do that proud and standing tall, at least I can get a little closer to a ticket to Hawaii for it.

Nauseated, but not 'cause I'm pregnant

Seriously, if one more Facebook friend posts a "so excited about school starting"; "I can't believe little Suzy is in the third grade"; "saw my baby off on the bus" or "I'm going to miss the lazy summer days," I may just puke.

My lil' ol' barren uterus and bitter lil' brain just can't take one more status update like that. I think I need to retaliate, but with what kind of comment? Something subtly snarky would be good. Perhaps I should mention that instead of buying school supplies, I bought a sweet pair of red patent-leather wedges; that instead of going to meet my kid's teacher, I went to the hot new restaurant in town; that instead of prying my kid out of bed in the morning, I got a few more minutes in at the gym.

Yep, you got it. Really I'm just a wee bit jealous. Damn fertiles. If only I could pry my way from Facebook for the next week or so, I could probably put myself out of my misery. Yeah, like that will happen.

Me vs. Octomom....Yeah, I think I could take her

So, although most of yesterday's news was drowned out by some small, insignificant debt ceiling so-called resolution (I kid), there was one bit of information that I ran across that made me forget about the fact that the U.S. almost defaulted on loans and cratered into an even worse economic outlook (yes, I am Debbie Downer):

The Octomom is going to get in a boxing ring. And they're looking for another woman to face off with her.

Seriously, where can I sign up to fight? I'd pay some pretty big bucks to get a good swing at that pouty-lipped mug. And, no I'm really not a violent person, it's just people like her bring out the meanie in me. I probably have a good 40 pounds on her. I guess it really wouldn't be much of a fight. But, I think I'd have fun.

After all that I and all other infertiles have done to responsibly have a child, and her idiot fertility "doc" knocks her up with eight embryos. Now, she's using this pseudo-celebrity status, which is totally undeserved, to get her 15-minutes of fame back, and make some money.

Actually, I think an infertile vs. super-fertile would be a fight a lot of pregnancy virgins would like to see, especially since her hyper-productive uterus was used in an irresponsible way. Imagine all of the angst that we could get out. I think it could be a money-making venture - just like a kissing booth. Pay a buck and get a free swing.

I'm really starting to like this idea.

My three-year gestation period

I kept procrastinating writing this post because I keep thinking that if I don’t write it, it won’t be true. Well, it is. Last week, marked the third anniversary of the day that we were matched with our precious little boy who is still stuck in a hellhole of an orphanage in Southern Vietnam. He was 7 months old when we first learned about him and saw the picture of him with his shock of black hair and full cheeks, and it was the second time in life I experienced love at first sight. He's now 42 months old, and he's still not home with us.

So, instead of just morning sickness, I have a never-ending nausea in the pit of my stomach with worry about how he's doing - if he's hungry, thirsty or in need of the comfort of a parent's arms. I would trade this never-ending paper pregnancy for swollen ankles that would rival a rhinosaurus, stretch marks that never disappeared and hemorroids hanging down to my knees if it meant my son would be home tomorrow.

This time last year when I wrote a similar post, I likened the wait to the time frame it takes for the elephant to gestate (the longest pregnancy for a mammal: two years); however, it seems that not only could I have given birth to a pachyderm, but also a manatee. Thirty-six months -- in which time I could've also given birth to 2.8 children.

I have felt the nesting urges big time lately - had the carpets cleaned and painted two doors and floor boards, and I'm so itching to go buy 3T clothes, toddler toys and sippy cups. But, I won't because I don't dare jinx getting him home before he grows out of more PJs and T-shirts that I've bought him.

Although I have never conceived, I can only imagine that my wait is something like the last four weeks of pregnancy, when you're so eager to meet your child you can barely stand it and every day that passes feels like a month.

I just hope my water is about to break.

Going to the dogs

Blood work, ultrasounds and constant doctor's appointments - such is the life of an infertile woman going through fertility treatments - or such is the life of a pedigreed dog trying to conceive.

My girlfriend has one of the top dogs in the country (in her breed) and she decided to have a litter of puppies this summer. I had no idea that it was quite such a procedure. I mean dogs are well known for getting busy in the backyard and ending up pregnant.

Not this dog - since a dog can't tell you when she feels like she's ovulating and it's a bitch (pardon the pun) trying to get them to pee on an OPK stick, multiple vet visits for blood work and ultrasounds are done so that they can identify her peak fertile days and have her hook up with the stud dog.

My friend's dog's mother was also going through her "fertility identification" at the same time, but instead of the traditional method of trying doggie style, she was artificially inseminated.

Then, the waiting period. I guess you have to wait a full 30 days to know whether or not a canine is knocked up, though my girlfriend said that she was pretty sure her gal was since she seemed horomonal. More blood work and ultrasounds confirmed it (again, chasing your dog around a yard with a HPT could prove quite challenging.)

It seemed quite bizarre to me that I was following this lovely dog's progress in getting pregnant since part of if so closely matched when I was doing timed intercourse cycles.

The biggest difference is that she got pregnant x 6 or 7 and I never did.

A Rude Awakening

Last week while doing some last-minute Father's Day shopping at one of my favorite retail establishments, I was rudely awakened out of my sickly stupor.

I was fighting a sinus infection, but had to get out and pick up a few things. As I was on cold medicine, some details are foggy, but others are crystal clear.

For some reason while the cashier was checking me out, she mentioned the fact that she had two teenagers, (it had to be the Sudafed talking and not me. Seriously, why did I engage a discussion with this person?), and stupid me said that she looked too young to have children that age.

She said, "Yeah, and I'm going to be a grandma in November. My 18-year old son's girlfriend is pregnant. I just turned 38."

My jaw dropped right there on the check-out counter and I found myself speechless. I told her that I was six months older than she was and that I didn't even have kids (well, I didn't want to explain my adopted son in Vietnam).

She didn't find it that strange at all and continued to tell me details that made me ill - "Well, at least I'm not the girl's mom. She'll be the one that has to take care of the kid." Lovely. Another episode of Teen Mom just waiting to happen.

I took my purchase and numbly walked out the door, shaking my head and once again questioning why it's been so damn hard for me (and other good, responsible women) to be a mom.

Don't forget about the waiting dads

Throughout the many, many years of trying to conceive and fertility treatments, most of the support from family and friends was for me, even though Jack Bauer was hurting, too. I don't think it was intentional, but as wanna-be moms, we usually get the emotional support and the wanna-be dads just get a hardy pat on the back. That's wrong.

It's happened throughout our adoption process, too. That's three years of the same thing. Now, most men can be tough nuts to crack emotionally, but even a "you doing OK?" can go a long, long way.

Father's Day won't be easy again. I think this is the 6th or 7th one where we totally expected to have bio babies or our darling adopted son with us. And, I know that Jack will feel will no different than how I felt on Mother's Day. It sucks. I wish I was with my little boy making daddy breakfast in bed, going for a hike and wrapping up the day with a barbeque.

This year the pain might be eased a bit thanks to my amazingly thoughtful 12-year old niece. She's spending the week with us and has declared tomorrow "Uncle's Day" and wants to do something special with her Uncle Jack. She thinks it's a crime that her fun uncle doesn't get his own day. This is the same sweet girl who had a "Best Aunt Ever Day" for me three years ago when she thought it was a travesty that I didn't have a day of my own. What a kid!

Besides, Jack Bauer is more of a dad than most. His commitment to our little boy trapped in Vietnam is incredible - engaging Senators, writing letters and briefing books, organizing paperwork, making calls, etc. He is tireless in the fight for our Nate and has done more than many fathers ever do for their kids.

Props, too, to the waiting dads who give us infertiles shots in our rear ends, buy us ice cream when we're moody and don't care when we put on weight and have acne break outs from all of the fertility drugs. And, don't forget all of the masturbating into plastic cups - guess it's not as fun as it seems.

It's hard to say "Happy Father's Day" to all of the trying-to-be-dads because it probably won't be too joyous, mostly bittersweet. Go out and do something fun and know that you're not alone.

I really should clean out the medicine cabinet more often

On occasion, I run across an errant piece of my trying to conceive days. Usually, it throws me into a bit of a tailspin downward - remembering how I was hopeful, the pain of loss and the rampant mood swings. Ahhh... those were the days. Today, not so much, thank goodness, though it did make me wonder why I don't clean out the cabinet more often.

While looking for some antihistimines for hubby's allergies (which I never found), I ran across several half-used prescriptions (most of which had expired months ago), some multi-vitamins that expired in 2009, cough drops that were oozing out of their wrappers, some spray for my old dog's sore leg that was dated 2005, and cat treats that I think have petrified.

And, amid the Tums, Tylenol, Fish Oil and dog ear cleaner, at the very back of the cabinet, I found two syringes, seven injection pen caps, 17 gauze pads (why do we need 3"x3" gauze pads for pin-prick sized injection spots?), 24 alcohol wipes (which I will keep), and the package insert for my Gonal Pen, which I must've read a dozen times based on is crinkled state. At the time, I was obsessed with what wacky side effects I might get, and I did end up hyperstimulating, so it was with good reason that I was so familiar with the information. I think I am going to toss it in the grill while I cook my tilapia tonight.

Almost any time I clean something out - linen closet or bathroom drawers, I run across one of my old "friends." At what point do these crappy reminders cease from being in my house? I guess I should do a top to bottom cleaning and rid my home of infertility paraphenalia. Of course, the likelihood of that is slim to none, so I guess I'll just have to deal with the consequences the next time.

Luckily for me, I have a nice glass of savignon blanc to get me through the tossing of the syringes and pen toppers -- too bad I don't have my little red biohazard container anymore.

Where for art thou, period?

FYI - this post definitely enters the realm of way too much info.

I've stopped being diligent about counting days in between periods. What I used to track with military precision has now been cast off to something that I just guess at. As long as I have one at some point during the month, I don't even think about it because I know I'm not going to get pregnant.

However, last weekend, the last one of the month, I realized that I hadn't seen my "friend" in May. Hmmmm... I thought, "Surely this infertile, who's been trying for more than six years by both medical and traditional methods isn't pregnant... but what if?" Even my husband gave me a quizzical look when I mentioned it to him.

So, rather than immediately running out and buying an HPT, I stewed for a couple days, wondering if a miracle had happened. Of course, as you know, a lot of times, the pre-menstrual symptoms can be similiar to early pregnancy - sore boobs, moody, light abdominal cramping and bloating.

Of course, not to be "disappointed," my period showed up just late enough to tease me.

Then, I had an epiphany. Why do I still have to have my period? I determined that since I was 12 and a half, the only months that I haven't had one, were the three months that I was on Lupron. Why should we infertiles continued to be tortured by this unwelcome event each month (especially now that OB tampons are off the market, which is a whole other rant I have. Those were the best!)?!?

Having our little "friend" show up once a month or whenever she decides to is just another reminder that we can't get pregnant. I think that infertiles should get a pass to not have periods any more, especially if they're technically not trying to have a baby any more.

Damn you, uterus!