Good Tries

I'm confident she'll read this.

Hey celebrity who plays Joy in "My name is Earl" - STOP BITCHING ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU HATED BEING PREGNANT!
I go to the People magazine website for hard news. Not to see you, your pregnant belly and a story about how you gave birth to a beautiful healthy child which is preceded by you bitching about how much pregnancy sucked.
Having sex, getting pregnant and giving birth may seem like an obvious sequence of events for you but for some it is nothing short of a miracle.
Wow, you gained weight........yuck.
You were sick all the time......poor you.
You have a perfect baby as a result of your 9 months of slight inconveniences so do me a favor and show some sensitivity to women who aren't as lucky.

P.S. I liked you in "Joe Dirt".

.....and I would do it all again

Marriage is hard.
Granted, no one has ever told me otherwise but still....geez.

I have always considered myself a fairly independent person. I enjoy time alone. Maybe too much. So making the transition from living alone and loving it, to living with a man I love has been hard. In addition to living together, we also work together and commute together. The "how was your day" talks have kind of fizzled out being his desk is 7 feet away from mine.
Our home is larger than the one bedroom shithole we used to rent, but doesn't quite seem large enough. The "master" bathroom (I use that term loosely) consists of a sink, a toilet, and just enough room to wipe your ass. The door to the bathroom will just about hit your knees when you're sitting on the john. So in the middle of the night, I make the trek down the hall to the main bathroom. If not, I feel like I'm practically peeing on my husband as he sleeps 3 feet away from the door and it hasn't come to that yet.
You know you spend too much time together when you have asked your husband in your bitchiest pre-menstrual tone, to breath quieter. Or just stop. (In my defense he is a very loud breather, kind of a show-off.)
He also has a bizarre need to sing the theme song to Karate Kid every night at 6. You know it's time for dinner when you hear "Like a knight in shining armor...." drifting in from the kitchen. Then it's stuck in your head for the rest of your life.
Furthermore, you really haven't lived until you've heard one of my husband's rap songs. They're truly inspirational. The first time I heard one I was making dinner.
From the living room - "It's like I'm blind to the fact I smoke crack!"
I walk in living room, knife in hand (for brocolli I swear) "Please tell me that is not a new song that's out," I say, completely hopeless that hip-hop will ever be good again.
"No, that's mine, It's an orig."
"A what?"
"An original."
Just so it's known, my husband does not smoke crack, nor would he or I be blind to that fact if he did. Which he doesn't.

As I said, marriage is hard, but it's easy to forget that when you're laughing hysterically with the man you love.

Obsession isn't a good color on me

Today I am on a diet.
I had a minimal and nutritious lunch and I will not be swayed from my commitment.
You hear that Reece's cups?!? You will tempt me no more.

In other news....
Somethings gotta give. I don't want to do some of this stuff anymore. I don't want to know what cycle day I am on. I don't want to use phrases like 7 dpo and I don't want to abbreviate it when I'm typing. I don't want to have sex because I'm ovulating. I want to have sex because I want to. I don't want to waste money on pregnancy tests and I certainly do not want to try to interpret the early results. Believe me if you stare at those things long enough, you'll be seeing pink lines everywhere. I don't want trying to get pregnant to take over my life. I can see it now. It started with an innocent blog. Then before I know it I'm on 'Trying to Conceive' websites constantly, referring to my husband as DH and sprinkling baby dust around (I mean...so I've heard).
I need to relax. Maybe not try so hard, concentrate on being healthy. Realize that I'm not in control. I know my body and I are capable of doing this, I'm just worried about myself if I can't. I naivly used to think it was my birth right. I mean, that's what makes the monthly bleed sessions all worth it right?
When I was a little girl I never fantasized about getting married, I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I always, always knew I wanted to have kids. Always. That dream has almost come true twice.

Wow. All this talk about possibly being infertile has got me soo relaxed.
Feelin' good.

The Knot wants me knocked up

I hate the Knot.
Stupid wedding web site that caused me so much joy as a newly engaged woman now makes me mad when I check my email.
I was but a silly girl when I perused their site and stupidly gave them my email address. Young. In love. The world at my grasp. Babies in my future. I was so naive.
That was six months ago.
Apparently now the Knot feels like I should be knocked up. The emails they sent me once contained exciting updates about wedding cakes and ribbons and other delights. Now they get their other site - 'The Nest' to send me various updates on babies and what they're up to. Okay so maybe they deal with making a nice home, decor blah blah hence the name, but whatever, don't rush me.
I just want to scream at them, "I'M TRYING!"
Them, my mom (who just told me I should get me a baby cause that nephew of mine is pretty groovy), and anyone else who asks when we're going to start a family.
I'm trying.

No, I'm not pregnant....just fat

I've got a problem. I can't stop eating.
I'm hooked on the junk and it don't look good.
Five people have asked me if I'm pregnant including my own mother. I've gained roughly 15 pounds since my wedding 6 month ago. Gone is the lithe bride I once was.
Partly to blame is my new job. I went from waiting tables full time and running my ass off for cheap bastards, to sitting on my ass at a computer. Granted I love designing ads and am happy I made the much needed change but damn it, I've gotten fat.
I eat at my desk out of boredom. There is a table, 15 feet from my desk that houses many delicious items with zero nutritional value. I can see them from where I sit. The Reeces cups stacked high and neat like a delicious orange staircase. I indulge. Then I feel guilty. Then I need new pants.
So I've decided it isn't worth it. I need to make a change so change I will.
Starting tomorrow. Seriously.

Relaxing is Stressful

I've been told by numerous people whom I love, to relax.
I've heard it while pregnant, while trying to get pregnant and other times of extreme stress. It's not that I can't, I just choose not to. I have my own system and I think it's a fine one. I am a worrier and living proof that it works. I imagine the worst possible scenario whenever there is any sort of minute chance it could happen. That way the possibility of it occuring are slim, because how often does something happen exactly the way you imagined? When I was a child I was terrified of burglars breaking into and robbing our apartment. When I told my mom of this fear she laughed her ass off then lovingly said,
"The most valuable thing I have is you."
Nightmares of kidnappings ensued.
When my husband is traveling in bad weather I imagine the phone call I will get from the police telling me of his accident. When I feel a hurtful pang in my side I worry it's appendicitis and start poking myself to see if the pain worsens. (It does, but from all the poking.) When I was pregnant I imagined a healthy baby, I worried about the pain of childbirth, the inconvenience of morning sickness, the massive weight gain. Of course I worried about the pregnancy and the health of the baby but I spent more time dreaming about the future. I didn't follow my own rules and imagine my worst case scenario because I was too excited. So like all the other things I've worried about so intensly, they didn't happen. (Except the weight gain. There are flaws in the system.)
It may be time for a new approach.
But I think I'll worry about that later.

You've come a long way baby

Tonight, while driving through town, Husband and I passed our local hospital. There, standing on the corner was a woman in a hospital gown. As we got closer and continued passed her I realized she was very pregnant, and very much smoking a cigarette. Nothing says satisfaction like a cigarette in your third trimester. Hey, giving birth is stressful, a girl has a right to relax with a smoke before the big event. This woman, along with Nicole Richie, who was reported to have taken something like 37,000 pills in the last couple years (yes I read trashy magazines in line at the grocery store), will probably deliver a healthy baby. When I hear stories of women like this it both angers and comforts me. Angers me for reasons I shouldn't have to explain. But I will.
I don't care how many woman tell me they smoked cigarettes throughout their pregnancy and little Virginia Slim came out fine, they were lucky, and extremely selfish. If you are lucky enough to get pregnant, and luckier still to stay pregnant, why in hell would you take that for granted? If you are not ready to do everything in your power to ensure the health and well being of your child now, how can you be ready to be a mother? It seems easiest when they're in utero, you're in complete control. Albeit the kid is less cuddly.
It comforts me because if these dumb asses can do it, then someone like me (non-smoker, non-pill popper) should be able to one day. Right?

I Heart The Wonder Years

I am generally against TV. I've been known to indulge in a little American Idol recently, and I always have love for the classics but generally I think TV is crap.
So when my husband announced that the cable guy, who was only supposed to install internet, gave us basic cable for free, I was only mildly intrigued. Then one night I made an astounding discovery. The Wonder Years, a show I adored as a kid and spent watching with my brother and mom every night faithfully, comes on at 10.
I had forgotten how great it was. As a kid I used to bury my head in the couch smiling whenever there was any sort of romantic exchange between Kevin and Winnie. Damn I was cute.
Telling my mom about this got a reaction similiar to mine.
"Whoa!" She excalimed, mouth gaping, "Cool."
My mom is an old hippie. She is also a hard nosed Republican. A rare breed I know and whatever she says sounds like a proclamation. When I told her I had decided to become a vegetarian again she shot me a look of contempt, "You're so left. Everything has feelings to you people."
Later on outside in her garden I absent-mindedly deadheaded a flower.
"What are you doing!" She shrieked. "Use shears! How would you feel if one of your limbs was being ripped off?"
Not only had I selfishly disregarded the flowers feelings, I had forgotten how much better it is to have my limbs neatly clipped off with shears.
But that's the charm of mom.

A hazy third

I don't want to say I've had another miscarriage.
But I think I've had another miscarriage. It's hazy, here's why. We've been trying to get pregnant again for the past 4 months to no avail. This past month I was sure we'd gotten it right. Cervical mucus? Check. Temperature spike? Check. Impulsive sex when the mood strikes? Not since 4 months ago.
Anyhow I was convinced I was with embryo. And since I am a compulsive tester, I started at about 7 dpo, way to early I know but I almost find joy in running around my house finding the brightest bulb to stare at the test until my eyes cross. When daylight comes I'll stand outside and stare, acting like I'm examining the siding when a neighbor drives by. This is what I did for 4 days and saw nothing. Then one day, 12 dpo I saw it. Hazy and so faint only the experienced tester could make it out, but it was there. I proudly showed Husband.
"See, I told you." I know my body so well, I thought smugly.
He couldn't see it. I held it by the window where the sun could shine directly on it. He squinted and stared and finally -
"Ooh, Ok. It's kind of light." He said.
He was only a man, what did he know? I snatched my test away to continue my studies.
And so it went. For two glorious days I was sure I was pregnant. I poked and prodded at my boobs, willing them to hurt more. They resisted. Then, one day before I was to celebrate being 4 weeks pregnant, I started to have light cramps. I turned to Dr. Google. Light cramping can be perfectly normal I read happily, feeling like a normal child bearing woman. Then the cramps got worse and the bleeding began.
Now I am bleeding like a stuck pig and have cramps galore so I can safely assume I am not pregnant and won't be testing early ever again. Easy to say now I know.
My body never misses a chance to tell me I don't know shit.

An Unsatisfied Customer

Miscarriage is a bitch......
She's a misogynisitic strumpet who,after losing a pregnancy at 7 weeks, sat me in the waiting room of my gynocologist with an array of pregnant women and made me walk by walls of endless baby pictures on my way to get blood drawn. Why does every gynocologist's office have this wall of babies? I always expect to see a picture of a doctor at the top, arms folded, a smug look on his face, "Another Satisfied Customer" it would read, like he had anything to do with it.
My last miscarriage started the same way the first one did. Brown spotting and a general feeling of shittiness. I called the gyno frantically. I got Nurse Bitch.
"Bleeding can be normal," she snapped.
"I know it can but this is how my last miscarriage started so I'd like to have an ultrasound."
"You wouldn't be able to see anything."
I was 7 weeks pregnant at the time and she was a complete liar. And a bitch.
Despite Nurse Lying Bitch I got an appointment with a gyno and an ultrasound was ordered.
Laying on the bed at the hospital I stared at my husbands face since the ultrasound screen was turned away. His expressions said it all. We saw a heartbeat, he saw the baby moving and I had never seen him happier.
That night we let our familes know everything was OK and Husband was on the phone to our friends telling them all about his first glimpse of our baby. I made him tell me over and over what he saw, and he would mimick to jumping motion the baby made, laughing. We laid on our bed and flipped through my pregnancy calender noting how far along I'd be on his birthday and on Christmas. We realized I was due the day after my birthday. He patted my stomach and we went to sleep, reassured and happy.
The next day I miscarried.
...that bitch.