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.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
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.
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.
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