CD22, 7dpo

This is that crappy time of month where I sit around and wait until it starts becoming rational to POAS. I'm trying to hold out until Saturday, which would be 13dpo, but I know I lack self-restraint (and am not sure I didn't ovulate a day earlier, on CD14), so we'll see. (This is also that time of month where I imagine that everything happening in and around my body is a sign that I am pregnant rather than a sign that I am obsessing and losing it, but I'm going to ignore this issue for now.)

It's sad to me that tomorrow is New Year's Eve and I have no real plans other than not drinking on the off chance I might be pregnant or might have a chance of becoming pregnant in the coming days. It seemed as though no one we knew had plans, so I think my brother and SIL and a few other friends may be coming to our place and then heading to the city to see fireworks at midnight. I wish we had a child (or that I was still pregnant) so we would have an excuse for having such a lame NYE. Maybe next year.

Miscarriage news round-up: Later December

Stories from around the world over the past 2 weeks:

• Charges against a shocked Pennsylvania woman who placed her miscarried fetus in her freezer while she sought guidance as to what to do have been dropped. Perhaps there are details that have been omitted from this article, but I have to ask: what the f*ck is wrong with that DA, bringing charges against this poor woman in the first place? I suspect this will be one of those stories that bothers me for weeks after reading it. (And I may have to start a "What-the-f*ck-is-wrong-with-people story of the week" feature.)
• Another story of a miscarrying woman not receiving appropriate treatment at a New South Wales, Australia hospital. Apparently, the fetus had died a month earlier, but the woman was twice told that the bleeding she was experiencing was normal. The hospital disputes her account. Lest anyone think this is an Australian issue, it happened in Canada too.
• Following up on the story of the British woman who miscarried while suffering work-related stress: The woman was ten weeks pregnant at the time of the loss -- the first article had its information mixed up. This article reports that a tribunal found in her favor, which may result in a significant judgment. The tribunal's findings were on her claims of indirect sex discrimination and unfair dismissal based upon the employer's refusal to grant her request for a modified work schedule. She dropped her charges that the employer's behavior had contributed to her miscarriage.
• As if experiencing miscarriage didn't suck enough in and of itself, the physical effects may be longer term. According to this article, a recent study (looking at old data) has shown that a miscarriage or abortion increases a woman's risk of premature delivery and low birth weight in subsequent pregnancies. The risk increases with the number of prior miscarriages or abortions. But the data being looked at is quite old, as far as medical science is concerned -- from the late 1950s and early 1960s. Given that the link is hypothesized to be a result of scar tissue and infection in the cervix and uterus, the advancement in medical science in the intervening 40+ years could minimize or eliminate this connection in the modern era. More coverage here and here. (This article and this one fail to mention the fact that the data is not current.)

CD20, 5?dpo

My chart this month looks weird to me. Looking back at my last 2 charts, I haven't had temps anywhere close to the coverline post-ovulation (until the day before AF arrived), but this month my temps have been back there a couple of times already. And my post-ovulation temps are normally quite a bit higher than my post-o temps have been this month. Have any of the rest of you experienced this? Does it mean anything, or is it just one of those things? Our bedroom temp has been the same (we have a digital thermostat), and I've been wearing more clothes the past few days than before, so, if anything, I would have expected the opposite pattern from what I'm seeing. Monday and Tuesday were mornings in other people's houses over the holidays, but I didn't notice the bedrooms being especially warm or cool. I would have thought based on CM that I o'd on Saturday (CD14), which is what Fertility Friend says if I tell it to discard Tuesday's low temp, but that feels like cheating.

I am also wondering if it is perhaps time to replace my thermometer. This is where I fess up to having used a regular digital thermometer rather than a BBT since I started charting. Since my charts had looked pretty much as expected, I didn't give a lot of thought to it. Now that they seem odd to me, I'm wondering if I should go get a BBT. Also, today, my temp was more than half a degree higher after I got out of bed and walked ten feet to the bathroom (I don't normally check twice; I was trying to test the thermometer), which seems like a big shift without much movement. Anyone have any thoughts on this?

Finally, in case I decide to make the purchase, can anyone recommend a good BBT (and tell me where to buy it, if you know -- our local pharmacy doesn't carry them)? The features I'm looking for are: (1) backlit, at least when turned on, as it is dark still when I temp; (2) doesn't beep constantly -- ideally, beeps once to let me know it's on and beeps a second time when done (my current one beeps every few seconds to let me know it's working, which drives me (and P) nuts); (3) saves the most recent temp, in case I fall back asleep before checking the reading and need to use the recall function to learn what it was. My current regular thermometer does 1 and 3, but not 2. It is sensitive to a tenth of a degree, and it seems that people's BBTs are sensitive to the hundredth, though I'm not sure I really care about that. Much thanks in advance for any advice.

Wagers

P and I have finished our crazy Christmas tour -- 8 homes in 8 cities in 3 states in 4 days. As usual, Christmas ended with a visit to my drunk of a mother.

(As an aside, my mom is gay. This isn't news to me, nor does it have any bearing on the challenging relationship I have with her (most/all of which derives directly or indirectly from the aforementioned drinking problem), but it's probably news to all of you and knowing that will make the relationships between people easier to understand. My step-mom is married to my mom. My step-family is my step-mom's family.)

Ever since P and I got together, we have celebrated Christmas jointly. Before P, my brother and I would go to my dad's on the 23rd for "family Christmas" -- my mom left us on Christmas Eve, and for the next few years this was our way of reclaiming the holiday, or, more accurately, wallowing in self-pity and watching old slides and videos to remind us how much happier we used to be. On the 24th, we'd all go visit my dad's father and sister, staying there through the 25th. My mom didn't get us until the 26th, which was punishment for breaking up the family on Christmas. (Believe it or not, I used to be far more bitter about this.)

When P came on the scene, we had to add time for his family, so he and I would leave my father's family on the morning of the 25th, driving three hours home, then spend an hour or two celebrating Christmas just the two of us, finally heading to his family's for Christmas dinner. At this point, my brother decided to end the decade-log embargo and started leaving when we did and going to my mother's for Christmas day. This got him favorite child status, which he pretty much enjoyed anyway. This also began the tradition of the Christmas of two moms. Every year, he would be there on Christmas day, and every year he was punished for it.

Every year, our mom (and sometimes our step-mom too) would get rip-roaring drunk, and frequently she would make a scene to end all scenes (she does this somewhat often -- the time P and I had to carry her out of a restaurant half-conscious, we actually got a card apologizing). When the next day rolled around, she was so hung-over ashamed, she would be on her best behavior. So each year, my brother got "bad mom" and we got "good mom." Somehow, it took us years to figure out this pattern.

This year, my brother and his wife decided that for their first Christmas, they wanted to be alone on Christmas day. (Truth be told, his marriage was a good excuse to do what he has wanted to do for 20 years -- neither of us had woken up on Christmas morning in our own bed since 1987, and I still haven't.) So he and my SIL joined us for the 26th. The big question was whether we would get bad mom or good mom, or if we would somehow get both. We placed bets among the four of us, but no one was sure whether accurately guessing bad mom could really be called winning. Happily, we got good mom. She ruined one surprise my stepmom explicitly asked her halfway through the ruining of not to ruin , and she complained loudly and rudely that she had no grandchildren and didn't know when she would get any (and, bless her heart, my stepmom told her to shut up and mind her business -- I have never loved her so much), but she was generally non-awful, and she didn't make any scenes. The worst moment was when my stepmom accidentally knocked a full glass of red wine onto the floor and onto a variety of , shattering glass and wine across the floor, and my mother for some reason cried out in pain, despite having no reason to have experienced any. It felt like a normal person's Christmas.

So I hereby promise that if and when I find myself blessed with children of my own, I will never do anything that will make it seem appropriate and worthwhile to place wagers on whether I will scream, cry, or pass out at Christmas dinner.

Merry Christmas

We're getting ready to hit the road for our annual Christmas ritual -- four days in the car.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Back in the Day

For the past fifteen months or so (since before my grandfather's 90th birthday), my father and P have been working together on creating the slideshow to end all slideshows. My dad has been scanning all the photos and slides, while P has been formatting the photos into a slideshow, setting it to music appropriate music to reflect the various eras represented, and creating a DVD from it. It has ~1000 photos and is 2 hours long, spanning more than 80 years. It's quite impressive. Here are a few selections from my life, seeking to avoid posting photos of others who may not wish for their likeness to be depicted on a largely anonymous blog.

Me and my mom, August 1977, when our relationship was thoroughly uncomplicated

Me, halfway through blowing out the candles on my second birthday, June 1979

Best Halloween costume ever, October 1980

Miscarriage news round-up: Early December

Still playing catch-up:

• Apparently it isn't just those of us who have experienced it who fear we are to blame. According to this article, a recent study has shown that some women believe that women who miscarry or have bad pregnancy outcomes are to blame for what happened. Like the doctors conducting the research, I feared that women who had experienced poor pregnancy outcomes would be more likely to blame themselves, but the research didn't bear that out. (Apparently, doctors are doing a decent job of providing fact-based explanations (or explaining that there may be no explanation) for adverse pregnancy outcomes to those who experience them.) Instead, the less educated a woman was, the more likely she was to blame the mother and believe in myths, like that being exposed to something frightening could cause a poor outcome. Interesting stuff.
• Historically, women with epilepsy being treated with AEDs were thought to be at greater risk of miscarrying. According to this article, recent research has shown that women on newer AEDs have a lower risk of miscarriage than those on older AEDs. If you are being treated for epilepsy and plan to become pregnant, discuss your medication with your doctor, as there may be ways to reduced your risk. (Though, obviously, also be sure to discuss the risks inherent in changing medication if your epilepsy is currently being effectively controlled by the medication you are on.)
• This woman's story of an undiagnosed molar pregnancy was harrowing. She had miscarried at ten weeks, had what sounded like the British equivalent of a D&E, then, two months later, found herself expelling a significant amount of additional tissue. The D&E hadn't gotten all the molar cells, so they continued to grow.
• More news regarding the Wisconsin man accused of causing his mistress's miscarriage: The preliminary hearing has been postponed, as he is out on bail. Furthermore, he happarently as a history of abusing the victim -- to the point that she took out a restraining order.
• I had hoped that story was an aberration, but apparently it's not, as a man in Virginia was sentenced to five years in jail after confessing to having caused his girlfriend's miscarriage in a similar fashion. Similarly, a man in the UK has also been charged in a similar offense and recently changed his not guilty plea. And this Canadian man kicked a woman causing her to miscarry twins, though much of the story beyond that point is unclear. What the f*ck is wrong with people?

Austria, Czech Republic, Hungary: 57, 61

CD8

For a while now, I have been feeling like P and I aren't in the same place in terms of dealing with the miscarriage and, more generally, starting a family. When I have attempted to express the sadness I feel, or even merely give a glimpse into it, he has seemed frustrated -- when one time he responded with "Stop it," I stopped talking to him about it at all. When I instead have expressed excitement or anticipation with respect to trying or, more often, actually having kids, he has ignored me completely, not even acknowledging that I have spoken at all. We normally communicate with one another well, but the last couple of months have been difficult. And it has left me feeling like I am alone in this, not just bearing our sorrow alone but like somehow I am the one who wants kids and he is just along for the ride, humoring me to avoid confrontation. I know intellectually this isn't the case -- he was so excited when we first started trying and when I was pregnant, and I know how excited he is to have kids -- but it's hard not to feel that way given the way he's been acting.

Yesterday, while Christmas shopping, I allowed myself to slow down in the children's section at Macy's, looking at tiny outfits that for the first time in a while didn't make me want to erupt in tears. I picked up an especially cute one and asked whether we could dress our kid in it one day. As usual, he ignored me. For once, I called him on it. Evidently, being excited seems too much like July to him, and leaves him feeling way too vulnerable. The thought of putting himself out there and getting hurt again is excruciating. So he has remained guarded, figuring if he doesn't care it won't hurt as much if we don't get pregnant, or if we do and miscarry again.

Somehow it didn't occur to me that we were actually in the exact same place -- because I definitely feel the same way, and it has made it hard for me to get excited again too. I think not talking about it has made it worse for both of us. And I think it's made it really hard for me to get beyond the sadness, because it's the only thing I've been allowing myself to feel. Not being vulnerable to avoid getting hurt has just left me living with and dwelling in the hurt I already feel, and that really sucks. I suspect it sucks for him too. So we decided to commit to moving past the pain, to embracing the excitement and concomitant vulnerability. And I actually feel a bit better.

Admittedly, we started this process last month in Vienna when we bought our pig clock to put in the room-that-shall-not-be-named-that-is now-a-storage-room, but I think we both felt burned again when that cycle was a bust and went back to the way we had been, which, at least for me, was a major setback. I'm hoping we'll be able to keep it going for a bit longer this time. At least now it seems like we can talk about it.

CD6 again

Today, I went back and looked at my posts from CD6, CD8, CD10 last month and realized how little has changed. Thirty more days have passed, but I still feel sad a lot, and I still feel defeated, and I still don't feel like the person I was before. I wish it was July again. Or I wish I was the person I was before September again. Or I just wish I wasn't the person I am now, feeling the way I am now. I had forgotten what it was like to be this sad. I had forgotten I could be this sad.

I have always been more of a thinker than a feeler, more comfortable analyzing than emoting or even just being.* Sadness and anger (and loneliness, I suppose, though that may be a subset of sadness) have always been the emotions I have felt (or at least remembered) most strongly. And I have always known this about myself. But I think back to August, and I know that I can feel joy. I hope joy comes back. Please come back.

* Please keep this in mind when reading my last two posts, ye who might be concerned that my desire for kids is somehow less than or detached, as I might be were I to read my posts without knowing a fuller version of me -- it's really not that at all. Also keep in mind that my relationship with my own mother is complicated and often disastrous, which makes the word motherhood itself very, very frightening to me.

The Point

When I was in high school, one of my friends and I had a lengthy conversation about not the meaning of life per se, but rather the structure of it, specifically in relation to hard work. We were both the type of kid who worked hard in school and one day realized we weren't really sure why. I think it was worse for him, because a lot of the activities he did were things he wasn't sure he really liked -- they were just the things he thought he was supposed to do; I, on the other hand, tended to avoid the Academic Decathlon/Mock Trial type stuff, doing mainly things I enjoyed, at least extracurricularly, so the "why" question felt less urgent.

So, we had this conversation and concluded that you worked hard in high school in order to get into a good college, and worked hard in college to get into a good grad school, and worked hard in grad school to get a good job. And when you got a good job, you worked hard for a lot of years so you could get promoted to a better job, which continued until you retired. And then you could do what you really wanted, since you never really did before. During the work years, when you felt like your growth was stagnating, you had kids, which got the next generation started along the same path, evaluating their accomplishments against the standards you set for yourself. And when they hit that point you hit, where they no longer felt satisfied at their own accomplishments, they had kids, and you went through the same cycle as a grandparent. Somehow I recall that this whole thing involved the segmenting of lives into 9 year chunks, though that part of our conversation eludes me now. And it's decidedly possible we were drinking at the time.

At 16 or so, when we had this conversation, I concluded that there was no way this was really what it was all about, that I was just a kid, experiencing some form of teenage angst and that it would, in fact, with time, pass. The problem is that I'm 30, and while the angst is gone, the underlying question still occasionally creeps back up, mainly during those times I let my head dominate my heart, allowing intellect to rule over emotion. So I will toss the question to you. Why do you do it? What's the source of your sense of purpose? What gets you out of bed in the morning? I have my own thoughts and motivations in my own life, but am curious about yours.

Barren Bitches Book Brigade: The Handmaid's Tale

Intrigued by the idea of a book tour and want to read more about The Handmaid's Tale? Hop along to more stops on the Barren Bitches Book Brigade by visiting the master list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/. Want to come along for the next tour? Sign up begins today for tour #9 (The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler with author participation!) and all are welcome to join along . All you need is a book and blog.

I have always gotten a sick enjoyment from a good dystopian novel or short story. I think on some level I enjoy that horrible internal discomfort such a book brings up. So, I found this book quite fascinating. Like many others, I find it hard to really see it happening here, though the frog in a slowly warming pot comparison is apt, and it's hard to say how any of us would really respond to gradual change, or when we would finally decide to draw the line, especially when those with whom we disagree control the police, the army, and the guns.

As a side note, one of the weirdest parts of this book for me was my immediate recognition of the setting. The minute Offred and Ofglen walked outside and Offred described their walk, I knew where they were, since I lived there myself. At first I thought I was just being self-centered, but it turned out it really was Cambridge.

On to the questions:

2. People very often cope with death or uncomfortable situations by resorting to euphemisms. In The Handmaid's Tale, Atwood quite deliberately chooses instead to refer to infants with disabilities, or infants that have died, through the use of a dysphemism (an unpleasant or derogatory word or expression substituted for a pleasant or inoffensive one) - "shredder." How did this term affect you? Did you even take note of it? Why might Atwood have chosen such a word? How does it reflect or not reflect the contemporary discourse around pregnancy loss, still birth, and infant death as you may have experienced it?

Yeah, I took note of it. I have had difficulty myself with finding the right language to express my feelings, as sometimes it seems like none of the words I know really express the depth and breadth of the actual emotions I feel. There are times when I am overwhelmed with sadness, and in those moments I tend to use gentle euphemisms, or vague expressions that say little at all. In those moments, I went through a rough period, where things didn't go the way I planned. But other times, I am angry, pissed off, bitter, and in those moments the dysphemisms pop out, or, more often, I use the blunt, frank, real words I know. Those are the moments when my baby died. The reality is, I had a miscarriage never really seems right to me. Because to the extent people talk about miscarriage, which isn't really much at all, they tend to minimize it, and my feelings have been anything but minimal.

4. On p. 73, Atwood writes, "Each month I watch for blood, fearfully, for when it comes it means failure. I have failed once again to fulfill the expectations of others, which have become my own." Do you believe the narrator wants a child because she knows not having a child will literally be her death, or do you believe the narrator mourns her lack of fertility because she misses her daughter, having a child, being a mother? Becoming pregnant is the only way to get that back--even just for 9 months.

As I suspect was true for many, these lines stood out to me. I think for many of us in this universe, blood has come to symbolize failure. And the moment you see it is the moment you know the failure is complete. I definitely felt that last week. Offred's line about failing to fulfill the expectations of others, expectations which have become her own, rang true as well. Sometimes I wonder where my overwhelming desire for a child comes from -- it seems foreign to me at the same time as it seems to be so integral to who I am right now. As I mentioned here before, I was never that little girl whose principal goal in adulthood was to become a mommy. I liked dolls as a kid, but I was more partial to stuffed animals. I am a bit horrified to have just realized that, when growing up, while I liked kids, on some level they always seemed more like a project or an experiment than like something you wanted because you loved them. There was something almost competitive about it -- the end goal was to figure out how to have as the end product the most perfect kid, the one who was happiest and most well-adjusted, or at least the one who actually grew up to like you. I fear I learned this model of parenting from my mom. And I think it's why I ended up studying child psychology in college. And now, the adult self I have become seems more like someone I might have known, or observed from afar, than someone I could have imagined myself being. It's weird what happens as you get older and the maternal instinct kicks in.

As for Offred, I suspect her desire for a child stems from a number of sources -- her desire for literal self-preservation, her missing her daughter, her desire for something that feels somehow normal. In a world in which everything is new and bad, there is something safe about the familiar.

11. On pg. 112, during the birth day while Ofwarren is in labor, Offred is thinking about the baby that is about to be born. At this time she also talks about the unborn babies and the fact that they had no way of telling until birth what type of baby would be born. She states: There's no telling. They could tell once, with machines, but that is now outlawed. What would be the point of knowing, anyway? You can't have them taken out; whatever it is must be carried to term. While reading this, I found myself thinking back to my first pregnancy where I wound up with conjoined twins. Then and even now, I wonder if I would've been better off not knowing. I miscarried, so I did not have to make a choice, but in light of that, ignorance may very well have been bliss. How do you feel about the abundance of technology when it comes to reproduction and pregnancy? Do you think that sometimes not knowing so much can be a good thing?

My doctor told me that if/when I am fortunate enough to find myself pregnant again, she wants me to come in right away to have bloodwork done and regular scans. I'm giving some serious thought to declining. I am not sure if it'll do any good. If things are good, it's no real reassurance. Last time, bloodwork would likely have shown things were moving along just fine. And if things aren't good, there isn't really anything that can be done to change it. I'll just know sooner that I have to live in limbo, waiting to bleed, like back in September. So I definitely get the sentiment that maybe it's better not to know.

Miscarriage news round-up: November catch-up

With vacation, I fell a bit behind, so these are stories from the last ten days in November:

• Australian doctor pioneering new testing for women dealing with recurrent miscarriage and unexplained infertility. By identifying high levels of a harmful type of "killer cell," he has been able to develop drug treatments to keep the levels under control, resulting in successful pregnancies.
• Smoking while pregnant increases the risk of miscarriage (and of birth defects), and West Virginia is doing something about it -- the state plans to begin with a seven month blitz of ads; if that doesn't work, they may introduce legislation. Apparently, more than 27% of pregnant West Virginians smoked last year. Has anyone seen the ads? I am not sold on the efficacy of any such legislation? What do you think?
• Cambodian woman suffers stress-induced stillbirth while in police custody. The articles all call it a miscarriage, but she was seven months pregnant, which I would think would render it a stillbirth.
• British woman miscarries while suffering work-related stress. It's hard to figure out what happened from the story, so I'll just post the article. Here, the woman appears to have been full-term (since November is referred to as the month after the baby was due, and the stress seems to have occurred in late October, with the loss coming on Halloween).
• Man who impregnated mistress accused of inducing miscarriage by slipping her RU-486. This story is disturbing on a lot of levels. Additional coverage here and here.

Next

Three years ago, I went to the wedding to two good friends who I have known since junior high and high school. Our other mother (the mother who acted as a second mother to all of us in high school and since) was at my table (Ps father had just died, so he skipped the wedding) and somehow got to talking about who would be next to have kids (one friend had an unplanned then-two year old). Everyone at the table looked at me. Apparently they were all in agreement.

At that time, P and I were engaged but not yet married. Two of our other friends had been married for a few years. And we were at the wedding of other friends. And the friend with a child had already said she wanted a second relatively soon so they wouldn't be too far apart in age.

Fast forward three years. The friends who were first to marry have a two year old and are thinking about trying for a second. The friend with the unplanned first is pregnant with a planned second, due the week I was. Another couple who got married this summer is trying now. And two other couples have gotten married this year and may start trying soon. And I am sitting here, bleeding. Hoping to be the next next.

The Morning After

Yesterday got progressively worse until, by evening, I started to recognize my usual tell-tale signs that my period as on its way. Of course, I then cried myself to sleep. My temp dropped this morning, and I started spotting, so it'll start tonight or tomorrow.

To be fair, I never had a good feeling about this month, so I suppose it's not that shocking. The months I felt/feel positively about were July, when we got pregnant, October, when we were on hold, and February, which feels far away. All of Ps relatives, including P, have April birthdays, making July feel promising, and my family is full of Novembers, hence the February. Plus, my mother walked out on us on Christmas Eve when I was growing up, and that's around when I'm due to ovulate this month, and her birthday is the weekend I'm due to ovulate in January, so neither of those months gives me a good feeling, but I'm hoping it's wrong.

That said, I am feeling much better today, as the hormonal insanity that always hits me right before my period has eased up a bit, leaving me with just actual sadness, no longer enhanced by hormones (and the stomach bug I was dealing with all week and hoping was early morning sickness).

I'm now trying to think on the bright side:

• As a fabulous side effect of the hideous depression that took over my life, I gained quite a lot of weight this fall (I refuse to get on a scale, but I have been reduced to 4 pairs of work pants that fit for a while now). I now have another month to try to take some of it off without having to worry about eating for two.
• I can drink at the Pats game on Sunday and at the parties we have tonight and next Saturday. Next Saturday is our friends' annual holiday party, which is always a lot of fun, and they brew their own beer, so it's a lot better than getting psyched to drink PBR.
• I'm going to have runny eggs for breakfast. With coffee. Sweetened with Equal. And I'm gonna chase it with a Diet Coke.
  
• I won't be having a baby the week of my 3rd anniversary, so we can keep that week special, just for us. And I won't be 9 months pregnant in August (though I'm still hoping to be 8 months pregnant in August!).

I'm trying really hard not to let my mind drift and think about the negatives. P and I had always hoped to have a 2008 baby, and we still have a few months to make that happen.

Waiting to Bleed

I knew the digital HPT was a bad idea but, because I can't seem to help myself, I took it anyway, right before heading to my work holiday party.* Negative. As I knew would be the case but ignored, "Not Pregnant" was far more painful than the absence of a second line.

Even though my temperature is still up thie morning, I am sitting here now, waiting for the inevitable. And it feels like late August/early September again, where every twinge, every tickle, every feeling of moisture in my nether-regions seems a harbinger of what I know is to come. And, again, every trip to the bathroom is accompanied by a compulsory check of the toilet paper, looking for the smear of brown or red, this time not marking death but merely the passage of time, the natural cycling of my body. But I am experiencing it as gut-wrenching nonetheless, each moment feeling like a reverberation of a moment past, bringing me back, making it hard to remember that it is now December, the leaves have fallen, and there is snow on the ground.

I am back to the days of sitting in my office with the door closed, sobbing uncontrollably, only this time I am humiliated, since there is no real reason to be doing this other than the echo of that other time when things went so horribly wrong. That time I spent waiting to bleed.

*I have no idea why I went to the holiday party -- I knew that too was a bad idea, but I went anyway and only narrowly avoided being the girl who cried at the holiday party. The minute I walked through the door at home, I collapsed in Ps arms, bawling like a baby, unable to tell him why, since I was ashamed to admit I had bought and taken that digital test at work like a person with no impulse control whatsoever.

CD28, 12dpo

So, because I have gone off the deep end, I POASed using a cheapie internet test strip yesterday and today, and both were negative. My now pregnant friend, though, used the same test strips a month ago and got BFNs repeatedly until one morning she got a very faint BFP. When at the doctor's office that same day, she had them run a blood test, and her HCG was at 200, which suggests that the test strips are not altogether as sensitive as they claim, or she had a doubling time of, like, an hour.

Because I am in fact losing it, I went to CVS today in the middle of the afternoon to buy a better (read: more expensive) HPT. It is sitting in my desk drawer, taunting me. I like that if you're pregnant, it says "Pregnant," but fear having to face the reality that it might in fact quite explicitly declare me "Not Pregnant." Now I'm trying to figure out how long I have to wait to get to the afternoon equivalent of FMU, which is, obviously, a ridiculous question.

Passage

One of my colleagues takes advantage of the color printer to regularly print out 8.5x11 photos of his son to display on the wall of his office. When I was TTC the first time and when I was pregnant, I would intentionally walk that way to the bathroom, even though it wasn't the most direct route, and frequently I would stop by and learn about his latest adventures in babyhood.

Said son is now almost ten months old, but in my mind he is still seven months old, as that was how old he was when it started being too painful to visit, or even to take that route to the bathroom. I wonder what milestones he has reached in that time. Or what anyone on that hall has been up to for the past few months.

Babies on a plane

There were two small babies on our transatlantic flight the other day, both two rows in front of us. One has a story worth telling, but I'm too tired to do so right now. If the other had a story, I don't know it; he was just adorable. The longer I sat there, the more I wanted to hold him and stroke his soft baby head. He cried for most of the flight, and his mother seemed to be having a lot of trouble calming him (and having her own parents on the flight only seemed to make her want to pass him off to them), which only made the desire to cuddle him and soothe him that much stronger. Mmmm...babies.

Doggie vacation

Whenever we go away, our dog stays with my MIL -- she lives nearby and says she likes having him around. Oddly, every time we come home, our normally hyperactive (or at least periodically hyperactive) dog is exhausted. He often sleeps for days straight, waking mainly to eat and go to the bathroom. Last night, he was so tired, he didn't want to get off his bed to go outside before bed.

I think we finally figured it out. When we're home, he hangs out at home during the day by himself when we're at work, and I suspect he spends much of that time snoozing. At night, he hangs out with us, plays, and eventually goes back to sleep. When he's at my MILs, he spends the day hanging out with her husband, who really likes playing with him (or at least pretends to). At night, like when he's at home, he hangs out and plays. But when he tries to go to sleep, he spends much of the night hiding from the cats, two of whom love to torment him. By the time he gets home, he's way behind on sleep. Poor Buddy!

(This was a few years ago but, well, same basic dog.)

CD24, 8dpo

So, when does it stop being way too early to POAS?

Thoughts on a Rushed Vacation

One of the main problems I have found with taking a vacation where you don't allow a lot of time in any one place is that you feel like you see the outsides of a lot of buildings without seeing much that could be described as actual content. There isn't really time to visit a lot of museums and the like when you only have a couple of days in a city. But man have I seen a lot of exteriors and a lot of churches (and done a lot of walking).