More Strawberry Than Red

things i never thought i'd be (and don't always mind that i am).

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 01:23:00 +0000

-a birdwatcher (and someone interested in how not to attract squirrels and crows)

-a person with a yard with too much grass

-a person with a husband who likes to mow the grass

-a person who highlights her hair (first timer!)

-a damned good gardener with a lot to learn (food and perennials, baby)

-a true believer in Karma

-a person who takes great pleasure in afternoons by a pool (my kind of parenting)

-a part-time employee (at 2 jobs)

-an unapologetic crafter

-someone who eats Swiss cheese (reduced fat, Alpine Lace)

-someone who doesn't cook dinner (most often) for her family

-married to someone who cooks

-a consumer of white wine

-a northwestern northeasterner (get it?)

-a chapstick addict

-a popper of others' pimples

-contentedly living in a small town just a few degrees north of a proper latitude

-a lover of Maine

-a person who wants a pale pink bathroom (with gold accents)

-someone who (almost, as in 99% of the time) never wears heels

-an infertile

-someone with only one child

-a summer person (more sun, more heat, please)

-an amateur photographer, obsessed

-a keeper of family memories

-neurotic

-a Hanes white undies devotee with a passion for fancier lingerie but no interest in purchasing it

-addicted to sunscreen (if it isn't 50, it isn't working)

-uh, 31?

-someone who keeps good quotes in a journal book (my diamonds)

-happily married

-a person who self-photographs shamelessly

-approaching vegetarianism (all about texture, and there are other sensory issues)

-a proud redhead

-a social worker

-a celebrity stalker

-a proud native Georgian.

The End.

Exhausted Mother Disguised As Social Phobe

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Thu, 26 May 2011 20:49:00 +0000

I'm in Atlanta this week, the place of my upbringing. The place where so many of my friends are and have been.

Thing is, W and I had a severely delayed flight in last night. One one leg, they kept us on the plane for an hour because of the lightning. I was seriously dangling on the edge of cannibalism, I was so hungry. I think I tried to take a bite out of W's cushy cheek. Anyway, if I told you all of the details, you'd cry for me, for sure. I won't. Suffice it to say that McClarkle (not his real name), the youngest brother, graciously caught us at baggage claim around 11 PM, just before we toppled over into comatose states.

Fast forward to today. DUDE. I am supa-sleepy. My mom has WAY TOO MANY DOGS and I feel like I'm constantly fighting one of them off of my arm in order to protect my daughter and self. I've got the beach coming up and I don't want to be all banged up for my bathingsuit, you know?

Back to tired. All I can bring myself to do today is swoon over my new dress I bought in a fog this morning and cool my feet in the blow-up pool that W is currently enjoying. I can't even begin to start the call circuit, even though I really do want to see everyone. I just need to hide out in my bunker for a day or two until I'm ready to venture out into the larger environment.

I've also resigned my job with BlogHer. It's been more than three years. Those three years have been great and I've had so much flexibility to travel and, well, be home. Truly special. I've got another therapy job I'm excited about and a girl just can't have three jobs. They've been good to me. (In that time, I've also lost my blogging voice because I'm reading everyone else's all of the time. I'm looking forward to recovering my inner fabulosity). TO HAPPY ENDINGS AND NEW BEGINNINGS (clink clink).

Holla!

Princess in route to ATL

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Wed, 25 May 2011 17:30:00 +0000

P-cess, originally uploaded by morestrawberry.

The thing is.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Mon, 23 May 2011 17:37:00 +0000

When you miscarry or are in some way not able to get/be pregnant, everyone else in the world is suddenly pregnant or with multiple children. This is my truth.

The last 3 weeks have been an eternity. I had 21 pregnant days. I was beyond ready to ditch the infertility train in pursuit of a healthy pregnancy and, nine months later, a baby. Last Friday, the nurse at my doctor's office confirmed that my HcG levels were doubling normally but cautioned that---this early---things could really go either way. I'm not sure what she meant by that and I didn't care at the time. Everything was moving along as it should have been. The numbers don't lie.

Slowly I began to let others know. At my very core, I am not a 12 week wait-er. That's really all you need to know about me. Apply that to everything else, too. Oh, that gratification of telling close friends and family members that after years of trying, a pregnancy! Nothing better. At 5 weeks, my breasts were twice as big as they had been 3 weeks earlier. And vein-y. I started feeling bloated and, well, pregnant. My whole mental process revolved around my pregnancy---I did everything as I normally would, only I was doing it pregnant. As in, sure, hubs, I'll move that ladder but do you really think that is a good idea? Or, I mean, I'm not particularly hungry but this is probably my last pregnancy and that chocolate bunny just said my name. Does that make sense?

The last month had been an everything but the kitchen sink month. Limited caffeine and no alcohol. The Mormon plan. Plus Fertilitea, Ovacue, FertilAid, FertileCM, good sleep, low stress. Limited exercise (but, of course, just enough to keep the system running smoothly). And it worked! I got pregnant. And that hasn't happened since my ectopic in October 2009. I wasn't taking any fertility drugs and did not go through with the IUI. Just good old-fashioned babymaking.

Others around me began to suspect. I think I put off that aura of pregnancy goodness (i.e., alcohol-freeness, and there's a certain superiority that comes with that, let's be honest). Pregnant ladies and dead people: Saints. You know, infertility has been such a growing burden on my energies these last few years---the pain of it really grows as you begin to suspect/realize that the possibility of actually conceiving another baby is actually in question. I think the thing that has troubled me the most (and for many reasons) is that my body is somehow responsible for not being able to make a baby. And then, with that in mind, what can I be doing differently?

I will take that and run with it. My mind goes there and beyond. If I made a list for you of all the different formulas I've come up with to get pregnant, you'd fall asleep before you got to the end. I think B's eyes roll back into his head when I start putting together a new action plan. It just doesn't matter like this to people who have not been through it. Of course, that is, except people love you and worry. And that matters! But, seriously, I would never have had any idea about any of this if I had not experienced it. I liken it to parenting. When you don't have a child, you have no concept of the breadth.

And I do have one. My sweetest, who will be five this summer. Honestly, with all of the excitement, B and I made the "mistake" of telling her she was going to have a sibling. Although her immediate reaction to it was, "I don't want another baby. You already have one," I could tell she was beginning to warm to the idea. She developed a theme around being bossy and controlling of the little one (of course) and thought she'd have to show it the ropes---i.e.,

THE BABY CANNOT TAKE MY BATH TOYS OR SLEEP WITH ME AND I AM NOT CHANGING THE BABY'S DIAPERS AND IF THE BABY THINKS IT CAN HAVE MY STUFFED ANIMALS IT IS WRONG AND I ONLY WANT A SISTER AND CAN WE MAKE THE BABY EAT VEGETABLES?

When we told her about the miscarriage, we told her that there was a seed that didn't look like it would continue to grow---just like some of the seeds we had planted for our garden. That, sometimes, that's what happens and we'll just have to try again with a different seed. She was incredibly sympathetic to me because she could tell I had been crying on the way home from the doctor. She and B were painting my portrait when I got home. "Maybe it is because she ate too many vegetables," she had said to B. I totally love my family.

I've had two ultrasounds and they haven't been able to find a mass of any kind in my reproductive junk. I had my blood drawn again today and will await the doctor's call regarding whether further treatment is needed. He's leaning toward miscarriage---and I'm grateful for that. We are off to Georgia on Wednesday (MeMe's come to be with us here and will travel back to Georgia, too) and I can't be around for Methotrexate. You like that? I can't be around for Methotrexate. I'm going on vacation!

We'll try again, of course. And I've made an appointment with the Pittsburgh IVF clinic. It's a drive but I have not been completely satisfied with the care I've received at my current doctor's office. I'm more confidant taking these issues back to an actual Reproductive Endocrinologist. And a female, landsakes. Lordy be.

So, that's what's up. I have been staring a lot these last few days. Don't try to have a conversation with me! I am all up in my head, trying to make sense of this bit of brokenness. Sure, I've wondered Why? But I think I am most comfortable with the idea that there is no why, that this is something that happens. Even to me. Something that makes me feel even more the beauty and sadness that comes with the journey. Something I'll get past.

Hugs and kisses.

Yet Another.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Sun, 22 May 2011 19:11:00 +0000

Hello, all. Sorry to not be here more often. Just wanted to let you know that I've just miscarried. I was about 5 weeks along (physically) and about 8.7 months along (mentally). This is so very hard. Just sad. I'll be back soon with some detail. Moving forward.

Thank goodness the Rapture is upon us, no? No more infertility treatments and weeding.

Too late.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Thu, 05 May 2011 02:20:00 +0000

Dear Dad,

I miss you a heck of a lot. I cried tears about you tonight, and not just for the unfairness of your early death. For everything leading up to it---for everything that put you in that place to die at 47 years old, of ugly lung cancer.

You were the coolest guy ever! To everyone! Funny, smart, adventurous. That's not what then was about, though. The time you were sick. Ugly cancer.

So now, what is this parenting thing if you're not a part of it? What is Death By Tickle if it isn't in your presence. What are jokes and humor? And boating and Sperry topsiders? Rollercoasters! And beach trips.

You were fireworks, skateboarding, eating raw meat, classical rock, secrets, and inside jokes. You were cool, demanding, self-assured, and hard to read.

Who do I tell her you were? How do I describe you? She'll never know. What does it matter now, really, 8 years after you're gone. Oh, your grandfather used to let me drive his car when I was five. Or, he had this big car like a boat---a convertible---that we'd ride through town in. All us neighborhood kids. He loved football and boiled peanuts. And dogs. And old people.

I'd do so much just to have you back, just as you were. So much. I promise I would ask all of the questions I never asked then. I would love you just the same no matter what. I know that now. Oh, the wisdom.

Too late. Is this how it always happens?

The Scene, 8dpo

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Mon, 02 May 2011 14:42:00 +0000

Me: Do you think my boobs look bigger? Here, feel.

Him: Well, now that you mention it, yes!

Me: Really?

Him: Yes.

Me: Swear on Gabe's life?

Him: Yes.

Next morning.

Convinced I'm pregnant, I find I have a teensy bit of a bloody nose. I google that and early pregnancy symptoms.

In my head: I'm probably pregnant. I should test, you know, just in case. I do feel particularly huge today.

Also in my head: I should probably get a test. What if it was positive? Yeah right. Like that's going to happen. Oh, c'mon, Ashley, it could definitely be positive. Just think positively.

After CVS.

Negative.

In my head: It's too early. There's definitely something to this feeling of large-osity. I'll wait three more days.

Happy 'ster

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 00:48:00 +0000

First

a dog.

A good boy.

A hero

we told him

when he dug

for the first time

ever

and found a mole.

Our mistake.

He hasn't stopped.

a trip to Chicago.

Walking,

the Zoo,

the Shedd,

dinners out.

Oh, dinners out.

And a visit

with

Colleen and Phil,

who will

obviously

marry in May

(because, duh,

he gave her a unicorn).

And today.

We met a tall, skinny

Easter Bunster.

He had candy

(he, I say,

because B met him

out last night

and he is the

8th

in a long line of Marlons,

or so his story

goes).

There was an Easter egg hunt

and we dressed up

and had

special

family brunch.

Here's a tip:

The longer you soak

eggs in dye

the brighter

their colors will be.

You're welcome.

(Am I the only one who didn't know?)

This is pretty much

how mine

looked

after I dyed them.

On our

one sunny day

this month,

a girl on her ride.

And tonight,

my husband

is making me watch

127 Hours.

You know,

the guy who

cuts his own arm off?

Not happy.

Perfect Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 02:38:00 +0000

This, in the context of a one hour giggle/tickle fest, pre-bedtime (and after she called everyone in my cell phone):

Me: What rhymes with wall?

Her: Doll. What rhymes with tree?

Me: Knee. What rhymes with duck?

Her: Truck. What rhymes with light?

Me: Kite. What rhymes with bug?

Her: Pug! What rhymes with get me out of here?

My Dog Jumped On My Uterus

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 13:24:00 +0000

Last night, I fell peacefully asleep after a long day of feeling extraordinarily sleepy. We're having another cold week here in Pennsylvania and I think that contributes to my very instinctual sense of polar bearedness. Cold makes me want to hibernate.

B and I have a king-sized bed. In the earlier days of our co-habitation, we had a queen-sized bed. I distinctly remember saying to him, "We can't ever have a bigger bed! I'll never see you again!" That knowing how I've never liked to fall asleep touching anything other than a pillow. Back in those days, I'd lie awake all night while his entire sleeping body snuggled up to me, one of his legs tossed heavily over mine. It was love, for sure, but also torture. And I feel a bit guilty saying that, seeing how it is probably more ideal to want be a snuggler.

Anyway.

We upgraded to king-sized bed after W (formerly TM) was born and it was just too much touching with a dog, a man, a woman, and oftentimes, a baby in the bed. The transition to bigger was smooth as silk, and soon thereafter B and I would say our goodnights by waving exaggeratingly across the bed as if we were miles apart.

After a baby, nothing beats a good night's sleep.

Fast forward to last night. It's three a.m. and I'm dreaming when, out of nowhere, my 80-lb lab jumps onto the bed, his first point of landing being where my uterus probably is. I was literally punched in the gut. He always gets up on my side (Why is that?), but usually long before the middle of the night (I'm always awake and holding tightly to my covers because when he parks hinself between us, he pulls the covers away). He is a snuggler. He then stepped over me (not around), turned three times, and dropped his head onto the pillow just next to mine, his breath like week-old dead shrimp.

Bastard!

For nearly two hours, I ruminized over the possibility that I am pregnant, and that, if I am, Mister just either squashed the baby, left it with dehabilitating birth defects, or pulled it away from the uterine wall with his lethal force. I'm still not happy about it. I'd consult Dr. Google, but what would I look for? Possible early pregnancy and giant kick to the stomach by labrador retriever?

That was then and this is hard.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 00:02:00 +0000

You.
Your home,
my home.

My roots,

my life.
My memories
which stretch
back to my birth.

Everything.
Family gatherings,
holidays,
working in the yard.

Catching fireflies,

caterpillars.

The live shrimp box

and ladder into the muddy water.

Your Rolodex

and how it popped

open with the push of a button.

Gus and Lucy

and Annette,

who took great care of your

home and lawn.

Picking up pinecones

and sycamore balls,

as I called them then.

The big push-cart

we went for rides in.

The neighbors,

and how they loved you.

Krispy Kreme

and, later, Starbucks.

Max (Mac-a-doo)

and, later, Sam.

The golf cart some teenager stole two years ago

without any idea of

what kind of trauma

it would cause you

(His).

My own room,
Al B's room, too.

Different colors

at different times

but always the same.

The smell of it.

Comfort.

The box of quarters

and it's key.

SAFETY and LOVE.

Always ours.

Small square ice

out of an ice machine
and football on TV.

Stashes of candy.

A broom for sweeping

his car.
Boat rides to

Thunderbolt and Isle of Hope
and shooting cans with BB guns.
Every single
thing, really,
mixed up with a memory
of being there.
Coca-cola,
Johnny Mazetti,
picking crabs,
the dock

and it's fan

and wasp's nests.
Thibaut wallpaper
and your porcelain.

The beauty of it all.
Learning the value of saving.
Cousins,
Tybee,
boiled peanuts,
being a Favorite.
Tomatoes he grew,
best ever,
and the little Japanese garden
you had in front.
A secret place.
Sweeping the garage,
hot Cheez-its
and swimming in the creek
(my first bellyflop)!
Jewelry promised
hugs given
and that time
when I shakily applied your eyeliner
while you cried.

The value of family,

learned.

History respected.

Elders adored.

Strength.

Integrity.

Honor.

You are everything
to me.

I wish I could be with you now

as you heal alone

in a hospital room,

a fractured hip

and dementia

and 1,000 miles

between us.

Let's not make a mole hill out of a mountain.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 01:16:00 +0000

Well, it sure has been a while, no? We're putzing around here, trying to make sense out of snow in March. Seriously, I know it happens. But I'm not sure I'm cut out for this. I'm so far beyond Seasonal Affective Disorder. If I start counting the number of months that we see snow here, I get all twitchy and, SHOCKER!, irritable. B's on call for every other day duties, ahem, at this point, and I've more than once accused him of staying at work until he absolutely has to come home because, really, who wants to be stuck inside our home ANYMORE?

And another thing. The moles have dug tunnels so extensively in my yard that you can't even walk on it without falling through. With the snow gone, it's hard to tell what is mole mud and what is dog shit. Before bedtime tonight, we took our shovels outside to scoop the dozens of piles of mole dirt into a wheelbarrow for relocation (gardening when the ground thaws?) but if you want to know the truth I'm not touching any of it because it touched moles. Red noses and little teeth. Shiver.

image via molescram.com

Yesterday, I spent close to four hours playing horse school in the tent that W and I built together. Two days ago, the big excitement was getting to hold the baby chicks at the local tractor supply store. Again:

Two days ago, the big excitement was getting to hold the baby chicks at the local tractor supply store.

Right? Don't think that wasn't a beautiful experience. It was. Little puffballs. Plus I want my own hens. Not that I eat eggs, really, I just like how sassy they are in their little houses. And what a conversation piece. Moving along. Anyway, we spend a lot of our time competing in games like let's-see-who-can-jump-higher-on-your-bed-you-or-your-stuffed-beagle?!

W and I recently returned from a trip to St. Martin. A lovely, week-long trip to the tropics. It was beyond words. Warm sunshine, secluded beaches, great food, good family and friends (here's MeMe with W on the beach)...

...and naked beaches with more dongs than Madonna has seen in her entire career. Call me immature, or American, but I am telling you I will never get sick of the naked beaches for their entertainment value. I mean, topless? Totally fine. Bottomless, I mean, really? I don't know. Not for me, but for others, well, hilarious! We chose St. Martin because a friend of ours from Maine also lives on the island. Put simply, he's a fortunate man.

Here we are at Michael's, in a picture that is a perfect example of when I realize that I fancy myself (most of the time) much more attractive than I probably am. But it's not a bad problem to have, really, if you think about it. Or consider the alternatives. I have a good friend in Righton, though, and we spent a large portion of our time in St. Martin attempting to capture the most flattering shots of one another. She's torturing herself with CrossFit, so most of her angles are okay. I run a lot, but lately pictures from the waist up are best, ummkay? See below.

(Sitting, slightly covered, prepared for the shot)

More pictures from our sunny trip here.

We're home now and we're excitedly gearing up for our town's celebration of St. Patty's Day. To kick it off, W and I are taking green goodies (and green milk) to her preschool tomorrow for snacktime. (I'll show you my fridge if you promise to only look at the things that are green):

We spent our lazy afternoon putting treats together---you can guess who my tastetester was. Hint:

Let's do have an early spring, yes?

Evolution of A Snow Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 15:03:00 +0000

A mini-performance (of sorts), which includes cowgirl boots and angel wings.

A good dog.

A very convincing (if you don't know her) pretend sleeper.

A starlet.

Her mother, clearly not fancy.

A wardrobe plan for an upcoming trip to the islands.

Then end.

Infertility Weigh-In (Calling All Infertiles)

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 01:15:00 +0000

**Feedback Required**

So, folks, I'm officially NOT pregnant for the 25th month in a row (excluding, of course, the ectopic pregnancy in Fall 2009). Besides the small spot of hope I stashed away when I was two days late, I was well-prepared this time for a negative.

This last month was a double dose of Clomid (100mg) and an apparently ill-timed IUI. We were diligent about the timed intercourse, as always. In January, I had my HSG, where I learned that one of my tubes is almost 100% blocked. Reason? Unclear. Perhaps scarring?

Seven rounds of Clomid. One blocked tube. Irregular cycles that tend to be very long and tortuously unpredictable (without the Clomid, multiple positive OPKs, doctor claiming I'm probably not ovulating on my own at all)---one which lasted 89 days in 2010. Those are the details. B's sperm checked out okay.

This is day one of my cycle. I am leaving on Sunday for St. Martin for six days---without B. I arrive home on day 12, long before I would ovulate naturally or on Clomid. We will most likely do the timed intercourse thing again, of course.

Here are my questions:

Do I do Clomid this month or take a month off? (None of the seven months have been successful, and, in fact, the two times I've gotten pregnant before have been off of Clomid. But then there's the 89-day cycle. And also the risk of cancer with extended use of Clomid. See my predicament?)

Do I schedule an IUI again or no? I mean, we're paying to have this done without first looking to see that I am ovulating from the right tube, the working tube. Does it make sense? Do I demand that my doctor do an ultrasound first?

Your feedback is very much appreciated. You give me your love and I'll give you mine. Let's share!

In this, the month of February.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 02:14:00 +0000

This is a pictures post, primarily because I don't have news, good or bad, about this month's IUI and that's really all I'm thinking about (well, that and my upcoming trip to St. Martin). So, unless you want me to walk you through the list of websites I've frequented in the hopes of finding a bathingsuit I love (does such a thing exist?), let's move along with the photos.

First, Mister. Seriously, this is his life. He goes from being the beloved first child of a young married couple to the "dolly" of a 4-yr-old menace with an interest in dressing him up and riding him like a horse. He's so tolerant, a poster dog for those on the fence about pet ownership.

Second, TM. No longer a TM (Toddler Monster), as you can see from pictures. Shall I start calling her W here? She's got a lot going on, namely cowboy boots and a new pink backpack.

Third, Al B's new street. In Boston. So wonderful in so many ways. He can walk everywhere and there's so much to do in Boston. I have serious city envy, and not necessarily because my town doesn't have even a Target or a Starbucks. But also maybe because of that.

Fourth, Al B's new apartment. A great one bedroom place in a perfect neighborhood. We spent our Saturday shopping around for furney for the new place---succeeded, but only with a trip home that included MeMe sitting rather uncomfortably on my lap, complaining of not flashes and other menopausal symptoms.

And last, a little charmer amongst the other charmers in his neighborhood. A house we saw for the first time in the evening, when we imagined that all of their furniture probably looked a lot like what it would have looked like when the house was built---with owners who caroled regularly and danced around the streets, leaning on umbrellas and shouting "G'day!" That one window on the second floor with the parted curtains? Has seen a lot of Boston winters.

Who would I be on The Bachelor?

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 20:32:00 +0000

I'm getting ready for a beach vacation at the end of this month, and by getting ready I mean hanging pictures of J.Crew models on my refrigerator and setting unrealistic goals about toning up for the first bikini I've warn since 2005. I don't like bikinis. Really, I've never loved being in a bathing suit in front of others. I'm of the belief that you swim in a swimsuit and then veg out comfortably in a cover-up or towel on a chair (under an umbrella). I'm on the fence as to whether I am just not vain or unreasonably prudish since I gave birth to TM.

Anyway, beach vacation. End of the month. What does this have to do with The Bachelor? Well, everything and nothing. I have discovered that I can run forever when I am watching reality TV (or Weeds) and was desperate when I discovered this season's Bachelor on Hulu. One episode gets me through 5 miles. And 5 miles gets me closer to my end-of-the-month plan.

Does it matter if I tell you I am not proud? I'm really not, but let's be honest. I am fascinated by the ladies (and bachelor) who have chosen this path for themselves. Why? I mean, why do they do it? Two of them have children! I can't imagine leaving TM for such a thing. It would never in a million years happen.

It would never in a million years happen. I feel the same way about "falling" for The Bachelor. And one of the most interesting parts of the show (to me) is when the ladies are not given a rose and, thus, must pack their bags for home. They interview them and not a one has not cried (I think). They are all sad. Devastated, some. And more often than not they are pointing the finger at themselves. Something is wrong with me, they say, because I'm never someone's the one. At what point do they forget they are being filmed for television? How do they do that?

My point is this: I'd like to think that I'd be cool as a cucumber on the show. That I'd make a hasty departure, bye bye, this was fun and worth it but not sad. That kind of thing. But let's face it. If I was on that show and I did not "win," I'd be no better than the rest of them. In fact, I'd probably be the worst! The worst.

How sad.

little friends, good friends

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 03:08:00 +0000

This is an excerpt from my good friend Sue, whose son was one of TM's best St. Louis buddies:

true story--b. was sitting on the couch yesterday and looking at his photo album. when i walked by, he was looking at the pic of him and W in our backyard on the bike. he looked up at me and said "i'm looking at this for a while so that when i see her i remember.

Round 1: IUI

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 02:09:00 +0000

This has been a rather epic weekend.

On Friday, and after much deliberation over the last year, we went through our first round of IUI. The procedure itself was easy peasy, the hardest part (for me) being the boring 20 minutes I spent afterwards with my legs in the air. The chances of this working are not much better than a more natural approach to the sperm and egg meet and greet, but my doctor says that my recent HSG and an increase in my Clomid dosage may help.

We had determined that one of my fallopian tubes is almost totally blocked, so we really are starting with 50%. It does not surprise my doctor that we had not had a successful pregnancy in the last couple of years (the one being ectopic, on the blocked side). In some ways, I'm glad to not be stuck in the realm of unexplained infertility. Until now, we didn't have a clear understanding of why pregnancy has just not been happening for us. Pretty consistently over the last 24 months, we've timed sex (as you do) to correspond with the times leading up to and away from ovulation. This has been incredibly frustrating, to say the least.

In fact. That is one of the worst things about this, how it has taken over my mind. Invaded. You could be talking to me about how you had scrambled eggs for breakfast and I'd be thinking eggs and uterus and fertilization. I have been afraid to run these last couple of days because I haven't wanted to shake the egg out of implantation mode.

I can't say I am at the point where I am completely hopeless, because I honestly believe that all of this effort and energy is going to result in a pregnancy, but last month was the hardest month yet for the BFN (negative pregnancy test, for those who don't know). While we were in New Orleans, I had convinced myself (beyond a reasonable doubt) that I had done everything to get pregnant and that it was finally going to happen. I had (against my better judgment) determined the baby's due date and started thinking about where I had packed away all of those ridiculous books about pregnancy. You know, at three weeks your baby looks like an amphibian.

On the plus side, I passed my licensure exam. I've been in process since our move, and I am ready to get back into work now. It's really very exciting and a huge relief that I will not have to study for it anymore. It had taken over my free time. The exam itself was not easy and there were some moments when I literally sweated over not passing it. We had a dinner planned for that night to celebrate it being over, and I would have probably LIED to our friends if I had failed. Obviously.

It's snowing here. We are at T minus 28 days until we leave for St. Martin. Score.

I'm just glad Jake Gyllenhaal dumped Taylor Swift.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 23:22:00 +0000

Through everything, there was always that Jake Gyllenhaal came from a talented, interesting family (hello, his sister and her husband?). He had dated Reese despite the fact that she had children. He had the beard. He was approaching his 30s and then he was 30. Glory be.

And then rumors started flying that he was in a relationship with Taylor Swift, who is at the tippity top of my personal celebrity shit-list. I dislike everything about her, especially her songs (and her hair, to be honest). I once heard (or read?) in an interview that her mom was used to seeing Taylor's eyes glaze over when she got an idea for a new song. GUESS WHAT? I could put one of those ditties together in .03 seconds. There is no talent involved when you're writing a bouncy song about bleachers and cheerleaders. Barf.

Anyway, I guess what really matters tonight is that I finally got to have my HSG done today. I am so at that place in life when you see your reality. I am struggling with infertility, y'all. This appears to not be just a fluke.

The PA's assistant insisted upon holding my hand as they shot dye through my cervix, into my uterus and fallopian tube. I say tube because one of my sisters is totally blocked. Done. Which explains why I had an ectopic pregnancy in 2009, I guess. There's nothing like having a spotlight shining on your parts while your doctor inserts a catheter up through your cervix. Ouch and ouch.

It's done, though, and worth every ounce of pain. I do so want want want another baby to snuggle and buggle. We shall see how this next round goes.

Scary and Slightly Real

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 01:32:00 +0000

It made me really happy.

It arrived in the mail today.

A MacBook Pro!

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 22:39:00 +0000

Today, I did 200 jumping jacks on the mini trampoline, played Queens and Princesses with TM, started a fire (in the fireplace), googled Is excessive sneezing a sign of early pregnancy?, applied mascara and renewed my passport, made hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, went sledding with friends in a lot of snow, ate a chicken salad with french fries on it for lunch, walked Mister in the freezing cold and wondered if his feet felt it, and obsessed over taking a pregnancy test.

You?

New Orleans: Yes, please.

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 16:21:00 +0000

We just got back from a whirlwind trip to New Orleans, our best city (I'm convinced). I love it there and maybe that's because the weather was gorgeous (i.e., not snowing, blue skies) or because there was just so much to do that included food. It could be the live oaks or the people, the shops and the ambiance. I don't know. The stars aligned and we had a fabulous time.

New Orleans. Yes, please. For it's picture-taking potential and general loveliness.

Our flight to New Orleans via Charlotte was largely uneventful, save for a message on the side of the plane that could have also read In Case of Emergency, Panic. Who could make sense of this message?

B had a conference that our friend, Anne, also attended. She brought along her daughter, Mariel, one of TM's best St. Louis friends, and the girls and I slowly and thoroughly worked our way from Downtown to Uptown and back. The Aquarium. A horse-y tour. Lunch in the French Quarter (adjacent to the wall of girl-on-girl nudie posters).

Our horse tour guide (a lovely man, really, and one who seems to know every single person in New Orleans---does he?) told us to sneak into the gardens with open gates because they were some of the best spots in the city. He was right. We had coffee in one and dinner in another.

(An aside: When I shared with our horse-y tour guy that my great grandmother may or may not have been mulatto---the evidence is inconclusive---he winked at me and told me he had already known that. "It was the lips," he said, "but I wasn't going to say nothing." My lips are pitiful, thin even. But still, it connected us and I liked his attitude.)

We took (many) a ride on the Streetcar, where we saw The Most Likely Person Ever To See On A Streetcar In New Orleans:

Isn't he grand?

Walking through Audubon Park (and drooling over the real estate on our way there) was the bomb bizzity. First of all, the path across the park was paved and led straight to our horseback riding lessons. When I asked a finely dressed man if he knew where the stables were, he was totally surprised and beyond excited to know they offered lessons. It was like I was an insider. SCORE!

If I just happened upon a home there, as in someone bought it for me, I don't know that I could refuse it. The Real Estate sucked me in and swallowed me whole and all I brought home with me is a snowed-in shell. My soul is still tooting around New Orleans (with coffee) in a streetcar.

The girls had a blast horseback riding at Cascade Stables, where they gave me a Happy Birthday! sash and hats for the girls.

(Holy crap! 31 years old. That's me now. Gross. I am so past the point where I can pretend that the wrinkles and bags underneath my eyes are only there for a few hours the morning after a late night. First, I don't really have late nights. And second, they stay!)

I shared my birthday with the occasion of the Twelfth Night, or Feast of the Epiphany, which marks the beginning of the season of Carnival. That night, there were parades and tons of people out and about on the streets. I took Dubs back to bed (we were BEAT) and B strolled in 'bout 12:30, having spent his joyous evening here:

We also visited the Zoo, which impressed me with its glorious sea-leveledness (seriously, between the three zoos I have frequented in the last five years, there are far too many hills! All those for flat zoos, say I). The Audubon Zoo has beautiful trees and elephants to pet. When you're 31 like I am, you can find a number of resemblances between your skin and that of an elephant. I can appreciate that.

We had two walks through Lafayette Cemetery #1, which is in the Garden District. I love cemeteries (pretty ones), and I loved the cemeteries in New Orleans. But here's the thing: I spent the whole weekend making comparisons between my hometown, Savannah, GA, and New Orleans (both old, both Southern, both tourist destinations, etc). New Orleans does a lot of things as well or better than Savannah, and I won't get into those. But cemeteries? Savannah does 'em better. Doesn't mean that we didn't love these, though.

What a fun time! I was super negative about coming back to the snow. (I'm retiring to New Orleans next year.) On the way home, I decided winter is best enjoyed on a week-long vacation to Vail or Telluride or somewhere. In small doses and with a place to drink beer collectively after fun-in-the-snow activity.

On the way through the Charlotte airport, TM and I stopped to stare and laugh at some totally tacky kitsch in the window of a jewelry store (isn't it so often the case?) and noticed this:

They must not know that we thought of this FIRST and that MeMe (our MeMe) belongs to TM. So, I'm going to assume that is what they mean here. Anyway, MeMe's totally gone Google.

It's What We Do

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 03:14:00 +0000

Dear Hubble:

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 18:29:00 +0000

There's a mouse in our house

and I'm barely hanging on here.

I opened a drawer in the kitchen---

the one with the bags---

to make a cornbread muffin

sandwich for Dubs

and there they were.

10,000 poops.

POOF!

Over night.

And they were in the next three drawers,too.

I have vomited in my mouth

13 times

and am feeling generally

grossed out

TO THE MAX.

I feel invaded.

I can't go anywhere

because you didn't shovel the driveway

and I would have complained to you about that

but you didn't

stay on the phone

long enough.

So please

DO NOT

come home until you have
heavy duty
mouse PULVERIZER

so that I do not have to

empty all of the drawers and scrub them clean

with Simple Green

TWICE.

Love, ME

el caballo

noreply@blogger.com (Strawberry) — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 03:41:00 +0000

We spent the first thirty minutes of the last couple of hours googling "horses" and "baby horses and their mothers" and "beautiful horses."

When we finished with that, we spent another half an hour looking for YouTube videos of "wild mustangs" and "National Geographic horses" and "cute mini horses" and "baby horses."

I got up for two shakes to put another shrimp on the barbie (our log on the fire) and when I returned, she had somehow opened a video of horses mating. There was a man in the background hooting and hollering at them. Oh, the shame.

Long after her bedtime, I put her down (rather, I begged and pleaded with her to stay as close to her bed as possible so that maybe she could sleep before morning) and shut myself in the guest room, where I wrapped---for Christmas---a My Little Pony watch I ordered from Hong Kong. Yes, I did.

While I was wrapping, I heard her little feet run down the hallway and into the kitchen and then, "Dad, I just wanted to tell you that I am going to buy a barn for my horses with my money. I'm going to buy one, okay, Dad?"

As I was cleaning up after then end of a marathon day (spent at the Nutcracker! in Pittsburgh!), I picked up and put away the pieces of the game Buckaroo (a mule that kicks) and gathered the little ponies that had somehow found their way into the crevices of our couch.

Horse.