Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Sew Much To Do In March

Remember my daily dose challenge? It was my big plan to live a full and fertile life in 2012, beyond babymaking and betas and FSH levels.

12 months. 12 challenges.

February is in the bag and my mailbox is seeing it through until the end. No matter that I came home late from work last night and found it tucked away in the cupboard...it is back on the ledge where it belongs for one last night. February is for lovers and I've milked every single drop out of it. To the very end.

But in March I am going to change my game plan. March was supposed to be about balance with plans to meditate and/or practice mindfulness every day.

Scratch that.

Today on my train ride home from work I looked up as the Red Line passed the hospital and instead of sad thoughts, I felt a quiet peace. It was a nice feeling (which is a HUGE breakthrough that I'm even saying that).

If our story would have had a different outcome we would be celebrating a darling four-year old's birthday on April 3rd. As some of you know, there isn't much celebration when you are the mom of an angel. The days surrounding birthdays and due dates are usually spend sad and somber.

This year however, I don't want to do sad and somber. I want to do quiet peace.

So instead of a daily dose of balance in March, I am going to go to that special place in my heart and spend the days leading up to Colton's birthday with a daily dose of peace. In doing that, I hope to honor my precious boy.

There are a few vivid memories that I have about that time I spent in Labor and Delivery. I wrote about some of it in Our Story (Chapter 3: Without The Greatest Love There Wouldn't Be The Greatest Sorrow). When we arrived at the hospital I remember holding a tiny baby in a bloody blanket which amplified the crisis and then coming back from surgery and being handed an angel from the Bereavement Counselor who had been transformed. He had on a much too big blue hat and was wrapped in a delicate white crocheted blanket. I remember feeling a tiny ounce of comfort and a whole lot of love.

Through the years that have followed I've often thought about the person who spent the time and energy crocheting that work of art. I've always felt the blessing of their service and have often wondered why they did it. Perhaps that person understood what I was going through.

I also remember the apologies from my nurse and Bereavement Counselor because the white clothing that they had to go along with the blanket were much too big for my 1.32 pound little one. My mom came to the rescue with a doll pattern on the days that followed and was able to make a beautiful gown, which we had the honor of dressing Colton in for burial.

The Funeral Director later told my sister with tears in his eyes that there was a whole lot of love in that little casket. And he was right.

This is one of the reasons why I asked for a sewing machine for Christmas. I feel good when I serve and I feel peace when I remember my angel in that beautiful white gown and crocheted blanket.

That is a gift that I want to pay forward for another family. I want to knit tiny hats that fit and sew little outfits for burial or cremation that can leave at least a little bit of peace and dignity during the very worst of times.

And with that, it will be a Happy Birthday on April 3rd.

I'm sure of it.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Mr. Right and Mrs. Wrong


Since Mr. Thompson and I continue to commute to work together we have about two hours a day of car conversation. Usually it is the good stuff.

Today, not so much.

Don't get me wrong, it started off really spectacular. For six years I've been trying to get this Texan to New York City and he's finally agreed (he's secretly afraid I'll campaign to move back). Yay for an upcoming ten days with the people and places that I love the most! We try to take one big vacation a year and I can't wait for this one. It's much needed and long overdue.

This of course led to a financial discussion...which led to an IVF discussion.

Sort of.

You may recall that the last time we had this chat we were in bed and I was met with silence as I poured my heart (and tears) out. He worries...he feels old...I get that. He'll be 43 this year and already has three daughters, the oldest of which is 21. He's in a different place...I get that. I also know that he has gone this far because he loves me dearly and I fight for it because, as a divorced dad, he never got the full parenting experience. So my pain and tears move him. Last time, silence was a good sign but this time there wasn't much silence.

None actually.

In his defense, he didn't say no....he just said that I need to help myself first. Before we go though hell and back again emotionally and physically, he'd like to know that we did everything possible to have a fighting chance.

I hate it when he is right. And this time he is 100% right.

I could make excuses but I'm not going to. The simple fact is that I've gained weight the last five years, regardless of emotional eating, PCOS and a slew of pills and shots, and until I'm back to where I want/need to be...it would be pretty stupid to waste a lot more money on IVF. (These are my words, not his. He was MUCH more diplomatic and just reminded me that a $1500 treadmill is sitting in our garage unused).

So there you have it folks. I have to get serious. Damn 35 pounds (which is really 50 if I want to be ideal).


(Please God, let me learn to love that treadmill...quickly!)


Saturday, February 25, 2012

I Dreamed A Dream...But Not Of Surrogacy


I woke up at 3:27am to a dream that wasn't real. I hate these moments. To go from joy without measure to sadness beyond compare gives me a serious whiplash.

But I'm glad I can still dream. It means that hope is alive in my psyche.

Right?

****************************************

In other news, I recieved a message from an old family friend who told me she has been thinking about me and wondered if I had considered surrogacy. As in, one of my very fertile sisters should be my surrogate.

Although I know with a surety that any of my siblings (especially my sisters!) would step in front of a train for me without blinking an eye, I nearly fell off my chair with laughter. Not because of the very kind thought and concern from a family friend. Rather, when I try to imagine the thought of one of my sisters carrying my baby....

It's too funny.

Honestly, I don't think they would give it back! They love babies too much.

I know this because we are sisters. I grew up on a humble little farm in a family of eight. There were a lot of hand-me downs happening between four girls but the one thing we NEVER had to share...were our dolls. (Smart parents)

Was. Not. Going. To. Happen.

To this day I still remember when I took my oldest sister's beloved "Krissy" doll and gave it a haircut. Didn't end well (in my defense, the hair did grow thanks to the pull string on her back). Then there was the time that I vividly remember scratching my other sister's eyes out when she dared to change the clothing on my plastic newborn. Nobody (and I mean nobody!) touched my newborn.

So yeah, I won't be asking one of my sisters to give me their/my/our baby back even though I know they would. We had a lot of years to practice that one...

And I wouldn't ever dream of it.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Why Do We Kill People, Who Kill People, To Show That Killing People...Is Wrong?

Today I started laughing out loud. Right at my desk. By myself. Great gaels of laughter. In the middle of an intense workday.

It was intense because I took a four day weekend to go out of town, and while I was gone, the world decided to start on fire.

So in the middle of reviewing a pile of disaster client casework, I lost it. Laughing. Out of the blue.

.

.

.

Have I ever told you that I once almost killed a man?

.

.

.

I did.

.

.

.

.


'bout as close as you can get without really killing someone, apparently.  In the words of my law enforcement chums who witnessed it all, I went "ape".

.

.

.

Like Ralphy in The Christmas Story when he was beating up that boy, crying, and saying a bunch of filthy words.

.

.

.

Only my beating episode was on a dirty old man, who I had to chase down the street after he stole my underwear out of a laundromat dryer somewhere between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. The fool tried to run away before he realized that the people standing around him were all law enforcement.

And I tore off after him, screaming words that I don't even know the meaning of, before I remembered that the people that I was standing around with were all cops.

Dirty cops.

Smelly cops.

Tired cops.

Who were trained for this, while I was not.

These were the same people who had been sleeping in deserted jail cells next to me in New Orleans for what would become almost three months. When the hurricane came, someone let the prisoners go. Where they went - I have no idea, and nor did I care.  Their absence gave me a dry bed in a really wet world and that was all that mattered.  The world they vacated provided a staff shelter for first responders and our little band of Red Crossers who were left in New Orleans when the buses evacuated.  We were left for those who didn't have the smarts to get on the buses.

With these law enforcement friends, I forged a bond.  We showered fully clothed in the parking lot with jugs of water for over six weeks.  We peddled gum and chocolate from our MREs like we were WWII soldiers.  We worked ourselves to death emotionally, spiritually and physically every darn day, but would always find a reason to laugh at night like we were in a college dorm (usually at the officer who moonlighted as an Elvis impersonator).

So imagine our excitement when some of us finally got to safely leave New Orleans and visit a laundromat with running water and electricity!

Heaven.

We were all outside laughing and enjoying a much needed break, when I went in and discovered my laundry (all of it!) was gone.  Missing!  As I frantically looked around, I saw an old man in the corner shoving my very different white underwear into a bag.  He took off at a fast pace out the front door and I tore off after him without even a thought.  Once he cleared the door he decided to run... and so did I.   My friends didn't understand what was happening until they heard me screaming like a mad woman as I tore down the street after him.  When they finally got their whits about them, they caught up to wrestled the guy to the ground and retrieve my underwear. After they dusted him off, they told the dirty old man (who had most certainly done it on purpose!) that he was extremely lucky.

My eyes were red and I was capable of anything for clean chonies.

I'm not lying when I say that I probably would have killed the guy for my clean clothes.  And that was the day that I realized how badly Hurricane Katrina had taken its toll on me.

It wasn't the day that the helicopter lowered a 12-year old girl to us because they saw the Red Cross on top of our vehicle and needed to get her off of the helicopter.  They had just taken her out of an attic were she had held on to her dead grandmother's hand for a few days.  They dropped her to us because the helicopter was low on fuel and they didn't want to crash with her on-board.  She was traumatized and all I could do was hug her before I handed her off to another stranger.

It wasn't the day that I saw my first dead body from a boat, when the first responders I was with had to tie it to a tree so we could keep going, while not letting it float away.

It wasn't the first time I saw someone electrocuted to death - a utility worker who touched the wrong wire as he was high on a power pole.  He fell to his death and just dangled from that pole while we stared in disbelief from the ground.

I didn't lose it over any of that stuff.

But I did lose it on a little old man who had the misfortune of trying to steal my underwear from a laundromat on one of my first days away from the swamp.  I was wearing a pair of borrowed blue shorts that said "POLICE" in dull yellow letters and I've never felt more triumphant.

Or sad.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

What Dreams Are Made Of

Happy 5th Anniversary to the best man I know...

I'm blessed in this family of two (plus one angel).  Simple as that.


Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

I recieved a hilarious You.Tube link from my oldest brother the other day with a criptic message that said, "Damn! why didn't I think of that?! I should have thought of that!". If you knew my brother and saw the video you would be on the floor rolling. He's a rancher in Idaho and would have absolutely-100%-guaranteed been that angry Face.book dad who picked up his lawn chair, got his video recorder and taped a "message" to his daughter about something she posted on Facebook. If you knew my niece you would understand why.

How do I say it?... She is a little bit rock-n-roll while her dad is a lot country.

I love her dearly and get blamed regularly over the fact that she tried to wear stilettos to kindergarten. What my brother doesn't understand is that she never stopped wearing the stilettos...she eventually just became savvy enough to hide them in her backpack so she could change on the bus.

And where-oh-where did she get stilettos?! From her aunt who used to wear miniskirts under her clothes so she could change on the bus, of course! Together, our goal in life is to make my brother crazy and 99.9% of the time my sweet niece (an only child) will achieve that objective. Don't even get me started on Face.book. My other 15 year old niece has been grounded for at least a year over posts on her contraband account and I'm still getting yelled at by my other brother for setting it up. Lesson learned.

Anyway, back to what this post is really about. "Damn, why didn't I think of that!"

I love/hate those moments when you see a great idea and say that to yourself. (If I would have only been the guy to think of drink umbrellas first!). I swear, the more that cruise the net...I realize that other people are so much more creative.

Take Emily for example. To stay busy during her 2WW (two week wait between embryo transfer and pregnancy test), she is keeping preoccupied by surrounding herself with all things positive. Like Give-always. What a great idea! Why didn't I think of that?! I'm all about positive energy and if you ever need loads and loads of it, it's during your 2WW! So hop, skip, run or jump on over to A Blanket 2 Keep and show her some support. By the way, it's a generous date night give-away so big kudos to her.

Why didn't I think of that?

(...and by the way, this girl makes beautifully crocheted baby blankets which she also gives away. My vote is that she gets to keep the next one so good luck Emily!)

Happy Valentines Day y'all. It's my favorite day of the year so spread the love.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Taking Off Two Inches

This is what I learned today....

When you feel bad - make an appointment with your trusted hairdresser! You get a few hours of therapy and ALWAYS come out feeling better than when you walked in.

For 2 1/2 hours we spoke about faith, fear, motherhood, careers, jealousy, and on and on. She asked about IVF and I felt comfortable telling her. Colton came up and it felt natural talking about him. No tears. With laughter and happiness. We told secrets and in the end I realized (again) that we all get virtually the same lessons in life - just in different shapes and forms. We kept circling back to all of our blessings and reminded each other about satisfaction in the here and now. Me, with my family of two. Her, as a working mom who is doing her best.

Oh yeah, and as a perk.....

My hair looks great! Just in time for my favorite holiday.


P.S. Cupid was really kind today and woke up in the middle of the night to make this project.... (which he loved!)




Sunday, February 12, 2012

A Virtuous Woman

Infertility sucks.

I know that most of you already know that, but I feel a little better when I say it.  Slight relief on the thing that is in the back of my head all the time.  Even when I try really hard not to let it be.

Will we ever have a child?

Just one.

In this life.

That's all I ask.

(again)

It's been a tough week.  I've had a lot of thoughts and I've tried really hard to stay off the computer while I work through it.  There are quite a few of my peeps cycling through another round of IVF and it's been making me really emotional.  All those positives.

And you know that I'm over the moon for every blog on my sidebar which passes through to the other side.  I pray for these friends and celebrate with every milestone fought so hard for and achieved. 

But it still hurts.

Tears of joy.  Tears of sadness.  Which usually fall silently at night when I am cuddling with Mr. Thompson.  He's such a good man because he wipes them away and reminds me that patience is a virtue. 

Which would make me a virtuous woman.

During last night's cuddle cry I finally told Mr. Thompson everything that I was feeling.  It came after a week of strong emotions, a morning of chatting with my pregnant sisters, and day of helping Lil' A (stepdaughter who doesn't live with us) make a Valentine's mailbox for school.  It was like a knife to my heart to be told by a ten year old  that she wished she had a little brother or sister.  Because she is lonely.  So I got really brave during my cuddle cry and asked her dad if we could set a goal for another round of IVF this year.  (I'm not going to say "final" anymore). 

My question was met with a long silence.  But but that's okay.

I'm a virtuous woman.


P.S. behold our "Heart Attack" Valentine's mailbox creation. 

 

Monday, February 6, 2012

Happiness - with a side of heartburn

God has a sense of humor. I am sure of it. 100%. Positive.

And that sense of humor is the first logical explanation that I think of nowadays as AF approaches in her many whacked out ways. Once upon a time the first conclusion (aka: hope) when I felt nausea and heart burn in a late cycle was pregnancy.

Not anymore.

Now I just feel ripped off...sad...skeptical.  In 34 years I never had heart burn once until I was pregnant.  Now I have it monthly. 

As a reminder.  Of what... isn't.

And with that depressing thought, my pity party is over.  So let's talk about what is.  The mailbox.  That beautiful little red tin box sitting on my kitchen ledge in all of its flag-a-waving glory.

The thing I've filled daily with stupid little trinkets.  Cookies, candy bars, cinnamon rolls, candy, dirty dice, cheesy love notes.  Cheap things which have all paid HUGE dividends.

Who would have thought that a .99 cent ridiculous "Be Mine" disco snow globe would have earned me a gift certificate for a massage?!  "Just because".

Or after 5 years of fighting about movies and ALWAYS coming out on the losing end...Mr. Thompson opened his mailbox Saturday, ate his cinnamon roll...and asked me if I wanted to pick the movie this time?!  When I asked if he was serious he just licked his lips and smiled.  Never one to pass up an opportunity I quickly said "War Horse" knowing that I'd call his bluff...and was speechless when he just nodded and took another bite.

Cupid has stolen my husband.

I became sure of it when I heard the garage door go up during yesterday's Halftime Show.  Something serious had to happen because nothing - I repeat NOTHING - gets in the way of Mr. Thompson's annual guys-only Superbowl Party.  So I rushed downstairs to see what was the matter only to be greeted with a kiss, a Dr. Pepper, a king size Reece's (my fav), and told that he wanted to finish the game with me "because he missed me".

Oh.  Holy. Crap.

It almost makes up for the depressing heartburn.  You ladies better run out and get you a mailbox.

(and dirty dice)


Friday, February 3, 2012

I [Heart] You.

February 3rd = sugar cookies



Tomorrow "come hell or high water" I am going to learn how to make cinnamon rolls.

Minus the 3 cups of cocoa.

(wish me luck)


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Lips - Use Them!

Cupid was tired but slipped a bag of Cinnamon lips into the mailbox at about 10:30pm tonight.  I had visions of grandeur with a snappy little saying to go along with them...but settled for "I like your lips - use them!".

Romantic, eh?!

Cupid was tired because she went out with friends straight from work.  Ladies night at the sushi bar.  It was three+ hours of awesomeness!  On a Thursday evening.  We were supposed to hook up with other neighborhood/church friends at 9:00pm for Zumba...but we kept eating sushi instead.  Good times - good food - great friends.  Nothing compares.

Except maybe lips. 

p.s. I'm totally loving this mailbox idea so steal away ladies!  Be sure to comment with good ideas for what can go in the mailboxes because I'm not creative and need help. 

p.s.s. It's only been two days and I can't believe how HAPPY Mr. Thompson is with me!  Something is to be said for the 5 Love Languages.  Although I'm not entirely sure which Love Language is Mr. Thompson's....I figure that odds are in my favor since I'm hitting three of the five with my lovers mailbox.  "Receiving Gifts" - check.  "Words of Affirmation" - check.  "Acts of Service" - check.

The Man is happy with me and happy man = happy woman.



Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Cupid Strikes!

Do you know what day it is?

February 1st. The beginning of my favorite month. The month in 2012 in which Cupid is going to visit Mr. Thompson every day.  (So get ready to throw up in your mouth because I'm pouring on the cheese.)




If the flag is up...he's left his loot.




Chocolate covered cinnamon bears today. Mr. Thompson's fav.

Viva la Vida.

(man, he has a good wife!)




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

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