Don't Call Us, We'll Call You

I'm sitting at home, right? Happily, yes happily, eating my lunch. I have turned on the TV/TiVo, and I'm planning to veg when the phone rings. Don't answer it, I think. Relax. So I don't bound out of the chair toward the phone, I listen to the machine pick it up and faster than I can realize it before it's over, the midwife's nurse is on and off the phone. "Blah, blah, blah, you need to call us back."

(Sit in chair for about one second before rushing to phone.)

This weekend we had the absolute pleasure of meeting Natalie and her two moms, Jen and Cait, for some breakfast on Sunday. I was worried about being in a restaurant, since that is traditionally a place of smells galore, but it was great. The company was super and the food was too! When we were talking with Jen and Cait, I asked everyone to verify my theory that if the GD test was positive, then they would have called me on Friday. After all, I took all those blood tests on Wednesday. Everyone agreed it sounded like I was in the clear. This coupled with my own experiment last week was making me feel pretty confident. (My experiment? I stole one of those little sticks and peed on it while at the midwife. No glucose in the urine, which bolstered my confidence a little.)

Of course, the phone call this afternoon has knocked me back on my arse again. I called back immediately, but got the voice mail. Every subsequent call, and you know there have been several, have resulted in voice mail. No one has called me back yet.

I plan on having a nice little talk with them about why you cannot call a women who has been doing IF treatment and say something like "You need to call us back," and then not be available when she does! And you know what? I might just expand that rule for everyone, regardless of doing IF treatment or not. Just don't. Leave messages. Like that. I know I'm probably being a little histrionic here-- I know that-- but still, if someone could just call me back, I'd be happier.

(And yes, you've read several references to eating. Yesterday-- no puking at all! Today-- so far, so good! Although after the midwife call, I wouldn't mind a puke or two... Just to let me know that everything is okay.)

Pukeus Maximus

Remember my air conditioning rant? Yeah. So do I. And I think I might turn it on. It's so humid my hair isn't drying during the day and the cats are flopping, literally, at my feet. Right now, Eli the love cat is turned on his back with his face looking at me practically begging for the air. Of course none of these things would usually sway me, but one thing has managed to make me question the no a/c policy: Puking.

Listen, if you've met me it's no mystery that I love to eat. I like food and, well, it shows! But lately I've been so sick and full of nausea that I can't even think about food. Partner says, "What should we eat for dinner?" and I puff out my cheeks at her and make a face. I bought a bar of a sandalwood soap yesterday and it's sitting on the kitchen counter. Partner says, "I'll take that upstairs," and I yell, "NO! It's my pantry-poesy!" I need to hold it up to my nose to even look in the pantry, otherwise something in there smells so bad, I gag and hightail it around the corner to the powder room. Partner assures that nothing really does smell in there, but she must be lying.

My mother has asked me whether I can smell the food through the fridge door yet, because apparently she could. It hasn't happened, and if does, I might start camping in the back yard.

I've decided I should chronicle a list of all the places where I've thrown up around town-- In the back of truck stops, Costco, driving down Washtenaw, behind an office complex off Stadium, more times that I'd like to admit in the parking lot of school, Trader Joe's bathroom (and it smells good in there!) and the list goes on. And on. And on. But there's no place like home. Every toilet, all four of them, knows my face well, and I tell you, that's just not natural.

Mostly puking doesn't bug me because I feel like it's Cricket just telling me everything is a-ok! (I'm alive, Mama!). But the not wanting to eat? Not fair! I don't like it! I want to eat!! And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-- has this country always been so food obsessed? I can't watch one more freaking advertisement for a burger or "fiery boneless chicken wings made from all white breast meat" (and wtf is that??)

I feel like I should be eating a ton of the great vegetables and fruit available at the farmer's market, but Wednesday I couldn't even get myself down there because I was too busy revisiting breakfast. I want to give the kid the best of nutrition, but what I'm really craving is some fair-fries-- You know the kind, with the skins still on in places, and sliced thin, and doused with salt and vinegar. I'll pass on the vinegar, but the fries? Yes, please. And lobster. Don't ask me why, but it's sounded so divine for weeks now, I think I just might need to eat it. God. Loaded down with butter. Now? Okay. And sushi sounds great, but of course, we know how the sushi goes with pregnancy. Last night we made Indian, and the only thing I really got my chops around was the papadums. Hm? Fried and salty seems like a theme! This morning I really thought a full Irish sounded great, but by the time I made it downstairs, there was no way on God's green earth that anything resembling an egg, never mind rashers, was coming near my mouth. I managed some raspberry yogurt.

Everyone tells me it will end soon, and I keep counting on it. 13 weeks, 2 days today-- It can stop anytime soon and I can get back to my normal eating self. Until then, just call me what Partner does: Pukeus Maximus.

The Ostrich Approach

The visit to the perinatologist-- There's so much to say and at the same time, so little. He spent a lot of time telling us about different chromosomal issues that could come up, and we spent a lot of time patiently listening to him. (For the record, we're there because of Partner's age: 37. It puts us in a higher risk category for certain chromosomal disorders.) It was a lesson for me-- If I am ever in a situation like that, I'll try to ascertain how much a person knows before (surface) lecturing them on a topic. I would have thought when I referred to Cystic Fibrosis as autosomal recessive, he would have copped on that perhaps I knew a little more than he was giving me credit for. But then again, maybe not. In any case, we were intent listeners. What we got from the consultation may help some others who are in this position, so I'll try to sum up in a helpful way and then explain our own choice. (Feel free to skip the test summaries if you know it already.)

One: There are screening tests and diagnostic tests. The screening tests, the quad screen and the nuchal transparency, have the advantage of no risks associated with them but the disadvantage of having fairly high false positive rates. In terms of the quad screen, the false positive rate can be 10-15%! The nuchal is slightly less with its 3-4% false positive rate, but a positive is any odds greater than 1 in 270. Huh. Now to me, a false positive sounds horrible-- and once you get a positive, you need to make a decision: do you now go to a diagnostic test, the results of which are apparently irrefutable?

Two: The diagnostic tests, CVS (Chorionic Villi Sampling) and aminocentisis will tell you definitely if there is a chromosomal abnormality, but the risks of miscarriage are greater here. One could argue that it's pretty minimal in the case of the amino, with a slightly higher risk with CVS. (Dr. BusyBusyBusy told us to stay away from CVS and since we love him, we're listening.) It will take approximately an agonizing two weeks to get the results from these tests and be in the clear for miscarriage risks.

Three: There's a timing issue with all these tests. If you want the nuchal, it has to be before work 14, which is rapidly approaching for me. At this test, they will do crazy measurements of neck tissue and then plug in these measurements along with the results from your PAPP-1 blood test (also essential for the quad screen, and this first blood draw will also need to be completed before week 14). If this test comes back negative, breath easy (or easier). If not, then you will have to decide-- do you want the CVS, which can be done immediately but with higher risks of miscarriage than the amino? Because if you want to wait for the amino, you've got another two weeks on your hands to live with the positive from the nuchal before you can even get the amino, and then two weeks again after that to be in the clear and get the diagnosis. Of course, you can have the amino earlier, but the risks go up again! (Surprise!) Could you really wait? the perinatologist asked us, and we sat on the too comfortable love seat with our mouths agape.

Four: If you just want the quad screen, you need to quickly get in for the PAPP-1, the first blood draw, wait a few weeks, and then go back for the other three blood tests, and again, a crazy algorithm is employed and voila! Your results are in... But don't forget that insane false positive rate. If the test is positive, again, do you now do the amino? You know the risks and there's always the tragic option: you have the amino, you miscarry, and two weeks later the diagnosis comes in: normal. Shit. I can't even imagine. Or, you have the amino and two weeks later the diagnosis says, "Yes, your kid has a trisomy 18 and will die soon after birth after being hospitalized for months." Or, "Yes, your child has trisomy 21 and will be born with Down's Syndrome."

We walked into that appointment sure that we were pushing for the nuchal and quad, and we walked out in a fog. We sat with our perinatologist for a long time and talked about the ins and outs of all of this. I called my mother who wisely said she wouldn't know what to do unless she was in the situation, but took all sides very seriously. At the heart of the matter is what you do with the information, and at the very heart of that heart is the question that lurks: if you find out the kid is not chromosomally normal, are you going to terminate? Or do you just want the knowledge to have the knowledge?

As you might imagine, Partner and I talked a long time about this. It involved some really intense discussions that have brought us even closer together. Here's the thing: We both already love Cricket. Cricket is very real to both us, and to think about terminating at this point, for us, is too much to think about, although we both took care to note that was purely our decision, others might decide otherwise, and we get that. Like every parent, we just want our kid to be normal, but if its not, then that's what we get. We spent more money than we had to get here. This was our last cycle of IVF with Partner's eggs, and it worked. Maybe that's all that is important right now.

I also decided that when you have kids, everything could be an odds game. If I let my kid swim in that lake right now, the odds of him drowning are 1 in 2,811. Should I let him go? If I let the child go in a car, ever, her odds of being hurt in an accident are 1 in 228. The odds the children will be a victim of assault: 1 in 211. Maybe this is our first lesson in letting go a little. It's dangerous to be a kid, but it's so much fun too. Don't you remember climbing up the branches on the tree that would be bend under your weight and waving down at your mom, who was imploring you to maybe just come down a few branches? But the thing is, that initially your mom let you go that high, even if she wanted you to come down immediately afterward. As a parent, there was a risk, an assessment, and choices made.

We won't be able to protect our children from any of the scary odds all the time. We'll do what we can to lessen the odds, like we'll teach them to swim early and we'll never let the car roll without a seatbelt and there will never be a firearm in the house, but... Everyone knows what happens to the best laid plans. Eventually you need to just do what you can to sway the odds, but also trust in the universe at large.

So that's the thinking that has lead us us to our choice. I can eat right, exercise, take my prenatals, get good prenatal care, mediate, read, etc-- all things to sway the odds of having a healthy baby and what I can't control, I just can't. So we're going to, some might say, stick our heads in the sand and hope for the best. No genetic screening tests at all. Goodbye nuchal-quad-cvs-amino fears and hello naive but hopefully not ill placed trust in the universe.

Sometimes it feels really good to let go.

Off to See the Wizard?

We're off to the peri. At least I think we are. The appoint is at 4:00, and it will probably take about twenty minutes to get to that side of town. Partner is not home yet. This is a roller coaster ride we often take-- me preferring to be early and Partner who doesn't really care. I'd like to be early, especially to a new doctor.

To clarify, we're seeing the perinatologist because of Partner's age: 37. Dr. BusyBusyBusy really thought we should get an amino done, but the risks associated with miscarriage are awfully close to the risks associated with Down's, so I wasn't convinced. Besides, would the results make one lick of difference?

So we're talking to him today about the quad screen and the nuchal transparency-- both of which I am okay with. We'll make further decisions based on those results.

UPDATE: Partner just called me. She's just leaving the build site now, which means she'll never get home on time, which means we drive separate. Which is not a big deal, but this morning we decided I'd skip my blood tests, including the glucose test, because it meant we wouldn't be able to drive together. And we planned on going to Costco after the doctor. So it's all made me a little annoyed. I suppose I should leave now. *Growl*

12 weeks, 4 days

Somewhere around the middle of last week, I realized that I was going to need to figure out who was going to take care of when the RE booted me. Because the day is coming soon, and just like weaning of the PIO and estrace tablets, it will happen whether I like it or not. The fact is that Dr. BusyBusyBusy has kept me under his care a little longer than most patients, and I prefer to think it's because they like us over The Clinic. Even if that's not true, I'm going to keep thinking it. In fact, this past summer semester, we had class with one of the women who works in the office, and she told me that we could return any time we liked for an ultrasound, even after Dr. BBB wishes us a fare-thee-well. This seems to jive with my theory of being liked, so we're keeping that one up. And as much as I like Dr. BusyBusyBusy, he's not an ob/gyn anymore, he's an RE. So where would I go?

I like our ob/gyn, Dr. Dyke; she's "family" as one might say, and referred us to Dr. BBB. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her. But then I read the Ina May book, and really what I wanted to do was go the farm, but c'mon, that ain't gonna happen. I started questioning whether I wanted to go back to the ob/gyn and the questioning got more insistent. I'm not saying that there aren't holistic docs out there. I know good and well that there are, and perhaps Dr. Dyke is one of them. But I started thinking about how I had envisioned a pregnancy before all the IVF shite, and it involved very natural and simple things. For example, trust in my own body.

Any woman who does any type of fertility treatment will tell you, it's easy to lose that trust in her body. I think back to those innocent days when we started this. I initially thought how easy Partner would get pregnant, and gradually it began to dawn upon us it wasn't going to be that straightforward. When the hsg knocked her out of the running, that was the first body betrayal of many. Then I thought I'd get pregnant with no problems. None at all! I was so excited to start injecting drugs into my body that I never once stopped to think about what would happen if it didn't work. When it didn't work, a load of bricks came down. We both questioned ourselves. It's probably my fault, we both thought to ourselves and then admitted to each other out loud, thankful that there could never be any evidence at all about who's "fault" it was. That's a slippery slope to start down.

And that very word, "fault" lies at the root of what happens to us during IVF. I think every women starts to think on some line like that, whether we want to or not. We certainly ran the gamut here: "It's my fault my ovaries don't respond to the drugs" Partner would say. "It's my fault my uterus couldn't hang on" I would say. "It's my fault I'm too old," Partner would say. "It's my fault because endometriosis" I would counter. All those blood vials that get drawn, all those ultrasounds, all the serious neurotic energy we spend counting millimeters of follicles and uterine linings, it's almost impossible to not start questioning our bodies.

So when I sat down and started thinking about what I wanted, it was to stop questioning my body. On Tuesday, I will officially be out of the first trimester, and so far I've managed to hang on. I want to start believing I can do this, naturally without intervention. I want to start thinking about my woman's body-- about the nourishment I can provide to Cricket that does not involve getting a shot or dose of some pill.

So what did I do? I made an appointment with a midwife clinic in town. The upside of this clinic is that there are only three midwives there, which means I'll get to know each of them as the pregnancy goes on (goes on?!). We went in armed with questions, ready for the midwife to get one of the wrong. (Ha! Wrong answer! We won't be seeing you!) But that never happened. She talked about what we could do naturally to ripen my cervix when the time got close and involved things like herbal remedies. I asked about pain relief techniques and what she would recommend, knowing that I wanted a drug free birth. She gave good answers. She volunteered that birth could take place in many different positions, not just on the back. She noted that after the baby was born, she'd place it right on my chest and let the cord stop pulsing before WE cut it. No one would announce the baby's sex, we could find that out ourselves. She'd even let do a hands-on-hands thing with Partner so Partner could guide the baby's head out with her. Good Lord-- can you say big fat cry in the new midwife office? I can. And did. There was more general goodness, and we've decided, we're going to her.

Of course, all this goodness of natural birth came with the caveat: providing everything is going well. Providing that. I asked, if I have the GD, could she still take care of me? Yes, providing it was manageable. And then she gave me the dreaded glucose. That was Monday and I still haven't managed to take myself over to do the test. Also on that order sheet was the first blood draw for the quad screen, something else that terrifies me slightly.

Next week is doctor-o-rama: Blood tests and gestational diabetes test Monday morning (no more procrastinating!). Perinatologist Monday afternoon. Midwife appointment one: Tuesday morning. Dr. BusyBusyBusy Thursday afternoon. Sheesh, for wanting to feel like I was going back to low-key natural pregnancy, that sure is a lot of doctor appointments... Sooner or later, I will have the natural pregnancy I have dreamed of.

Sooner or later.

Who's Losing It?

Partner noted last night that I'm losing it: it started with having cereal for dinner last Saturday, and it was continuing last night when I indicated that perhaps we could leave the A/C on. All night. But does this really constitute losing it? You be the judge.

I detest the air conditioning. I hate it. First of all, it's summer. The windows should just be open and we should be hot. Why should we be hot? Because it's summer. Simple enough logic. Before you know it, it's going to be winter again and we'll be wearing our woolies and the windows will be shut up tight and the only sound we'll hear for six months is the whoosh of the furnace going on and off. Contrast this with the summer where we get to hear birds, and the sounds of cars driving down the road, and the breeze through the window, and in some neighborhoods maybe even kids on bikes, or people walking down the street. It's lovely really. And it's also true that I may just have a little bit of snake in me: I could just be on a rock and soak up the sun.

And here's the other thing about the a/c: I don't want to be cold in my house in the summer. Seriously-- It's Michigan. We don't get to be hot that much. I want to step out of the shower and get to feel warm. I actually like the way the humid air feels-- like it's enveloping me. I like the way my skin gets nice and moist, not scaly and dry like it does in the winter. ***

We turned on the air Sunday when we were fleeing the house to go to my parents pool. It felt mean to the cats not to do so. I mean, it has been in the upper 90s! But we turned off the air immediately upon returning home. A big box fan in the window and an oscillating fan did the trick. Believe it or not, I woke up cold in the night and turned the fan down. Then yesterday, we knew we'd be gone again all day, so the air went back on for the kitties. We came back home around 8:30 pm, and left the air on while we ate, just as a treat mostly for Partner. By the time we were going to bed, I decided I had enough. We turned off the air, put the fans in the windows and got into bed.

Immediately the wind whipped up-- It was scary, people. Scary. We jumped out of bed, sure that a tornado must be rolling in, and the thing is, we're just far enough out of reach from the sirens. We'd never know. Partner admitted maybe we should go downstairs. I was sure one of our trees was ready to blow down. Partner stood outside just to torment me. Sirens went wailing down the road next to our house. I hate to admit how nervous it made me. We sat down there for a bit watching the totally inane local news (Local boy has lyme disease!) and finally things calmed down enough to return upstairs.

However, on our way up I suggested to Partner that perhaps we could just keep the air on all night. The windows shut. The blinds, where we have them, pulled down. That's when she suggested I was losing it. It was midnight, so I might have agreed.

For some reason, Partner went back downstairs, and she was there for awhile, with the lights off. It was a little weird, so I called out to her, asking what she was doing down there? "I'm watching this deer," she called back. "It's really weird and not moving or anything. I can't quite make out it's features." This isn't so odd-- we'll see deer in the backyard at night, and mostly they look like big shadows, not really distinct in any way. Eventually she made it back to bed.

This morning I woke up and looked out into our backyard. Some of the deck furniture is tossed about, the hammock is overturned, and there in the middle of the yard is our rain barrel, so I pointed it out to Partner. She looked at it with some interest, and then said, "That's the deer I must have been looking at last night. I guess that explains why it wasn't moving. And I couldn't figure out why it was so low to the ground. I thought maybe it was a coyote, but I didn't want to scare you.... Huh..."

And so I ask you, who's losing it? The cereal eater and a/c giver-inner? Or the seer of deer in giant green barrels? I don't know, but to me, the answer seems fairly obvious.




***I reserve the right to note that I am making these a/c comments regarding life in Michigan. If you live somewhere where the climate is, let's say, more consistently warm than here, these notes on the a/c need not apply. For example, when we are in South Carolina in August, you will not hear me complain once about the a/c. And of course, I understand that even in Michigan, there are cut-off temperatures where everyone is going to want the a/c. And of course the work place need not apply to my vitriol about a/c either. But unless it's in the 90s, I don't really get it. For example, I don't think our neighbors, lovely people they are, ever open their windows. It's freaking depressing to me. Open the damn windows! It's summer, people! Breathe in some real air!!

Weaned. But Not Happy.

I have one more estrogen pill to take. I'm going to savor it and take it when Partner gets home. I'm going to pour a big glass of chilled ginger ale, and... swallow.

My last progesterone shot was this morning. I was thinking how I'm going to miss that long needle poking my ass everything morning. Sniff. I miss you already 3 ml 22G1 1/2 gauge latex free syringes...

The estrogen patch is itching me right now, so I'm considering taking it off. But that itch?It's reassuring in slightly sick way.

I still have the Lovenox to keep me strong. And the Lovenox only lasts for a few more weeks before I have to give up that lovely too. I'm scared.

Scared of stopping. Will I get the shakes? The tremors? Will Cricket revolt? I'm a P4 and E2 junkie. And I admit it.

That's the first step, right?

The Weekend-- Or 20 Reasons Why I Won't Be Eating Pulled Pork for a Goodly While Now

1. Having a party for fifty when you are 10.5 weeks pregnant is not easy.

2. Serving pulled pork sounds like a good idea in theory. It’s cheap, fun to serve in the summer, and you think a relatively easy thing to do.

3. You will begin to question this decision when the butcher hands you 25 pounds of pork butt.

4. You will seriously question the decision on Thursday evening when you realize you are covered in pork marinade and need to shower before getting bed.

5. On Friday, pulled pork will again seem like a good idea when you take it out of the oven, where it has been cooking for 8 hours. You will pop small pieces into your mouth and think about how good it is, and how much better it would be with some bbq sauce and cole slaw. It will, however, slowly dawn upon you that this “pulling” process is moving very very slowly. And then with creeping apprehension, you think, “There’s twenty five pounds of this shit.”

6. You try sitting on a bar stool because it’s getting uncomfortable to stand. After the first butt, the smallest one, has been finished, you will have to call your partner and ask her to help. In the beginning you try to help her. Then you stand on the other side of the counter and watch, giving some chat to help her. The two of you muse together about people who have to do this for a living. Sooner or later will realize you can’t be in the room with the pork any longer. For the love of God. Did you really eat some of it earlier?

7. Feel sick.

8. Be sick.

9. Sit outside on the deck, trying to ignore the pork in the house.

10. Call to your partner, who is now also feeling sick after being confronted with so much pork, and tell her she can stop. Stop with the pork. You’ll just serve what’s there.

11. Now, at 10:00 at night, finally, shred the damn chicken.

12. Eat cereal for dinner because the thought of anything meat related makes the stomach heave. (To truly appreciate how revolutionary this is for me, you might really need to know that I am a food snob. Eating cereal for dinner will happen maybe twice in my life. This was the first time.)

13. On Saturday, make fruit salad, cupcakes, decorate them, do the grilled corn salad, the potato salad, the cole slaw, the caprese, beans, grill pineapple etc. Ignore the pork in the fridge.

14. Hold breath when reheating pork.

15. Decide that by the time guests arrive and start eating that perhaps you can have a pulled pork sandwich. Make it, and then proceed to eat everything on your plate but the sandwich. You cannot bring yourself to eat the sandwich.

16. Your brother will eat the sandwich for you.

17. People will compliment you on the pulled pork. “It’s delicious!” Smile and nod, try not to retch in front of them.

18. Send all the leftover pork home with your sister-in-law and her friends.

19. Realize you have not eaten any meat since Friday afternoon.

20. Realize that even blogging about the fucking pulled pork, previously one of your favorite things to eat, will make you feel sick. In fact, suddenly your relatively easy pregnancy seems horrible and the thought of any meat product makes you feel sick and curse the day you thought pulled pork would be a good idea because in reality, you love being a carnivore, so much so that you subtly convinced your Partner, who was a vegetarian at the start of your relationship, that she’d be so much happier eating meat (and she is! she is!) and you will now stress about what exactly it is you can eat while being pregnant since 90% of the fish available to you in the Great Lake State is mercury and PCB ridden and now meat seems gross too and realize, dear God, you might have to start eating things like lentils... if only, if only you hadn’t thought that serving southern bbq was a great theme for a party...

One Thousand and One Apologies

I know, I know—I should have updated. All I can say in my defense was that last Sunday we had to hustle right out to my parents house after the ultrasound, and I’ve decided there will be no more blog checking from their home, so that meant no posting either. And the week took off, and as I’ve explained to some of you, I think I felt a little post-bedrest blues. It was just scary to think I could get up and walk around and vacuum and make dinner and shop and do laundry and all that kind of shit. So I didn’t do much of it last week either. Nor did I post for you. And I’m so behind on the blog reading, it is almost overwhelming. Add to that that Partner has “updated” the computer and now the Internet regularly crashes on me.

The upshot: Cricket is fine. The tear is (was) 90% healed. The placenta and uterus are totally reattached. (We also Cricket moving-- really-- like bouncing around in there! Holy shit!) Cricket likes to announce me to several times a day that all is well by causing me to vomit. While retching is never that much fun, I’m really not that bothered by it. I like signs. Signs are good. The only time it was really not good was after I had eaten a red velvet cupcake. Not looking is the best thing one can do in situations like that.

I went to water aerobics on Wednesday morning. I was terrified. First of all, I did not clear it with the RE because don’t forget, he’s the one that has already told me not to swim. I figured he would say no way to the water aerobics, especially after the tear. But I’m feeling some serious need to move, and everything I’ve read indicates that doing things like water aerobics are really good, so off we went to the YMCA.

I think I mostly floated about in the water, but I was directed quite often by a class member, who has “been doing this for fifteen years” how to do the exercises correct. She probably thinks I am really lazy, but I wanted to yell, “I still might be having a high risk pregnancy so leave me alone!” Instead I just smiled and did it her way until she looked away. I also thought of the irony that I used to be state ranked swimmer, yet here I was bobbing about in the water with the biddies.

Cricket is 11 weeks tomorrow. And then Wednesday we start weaning the progesterone and estrogen. Lovenox until the RE returns from vacation. I’m freaked about the weaning. I don’t want to stop the shots. Who knew I’d ever feel so attached to IM shots in the ass? What if the Cricket and placenta are not up to the job? It doesn’t bear thinking about, but the fear is there. I suppose like everything else so far, it just is what it is.

That’s a small update, but I promise I won’t ever leave like that again with no explanation. All emails, calls, blog comments, thoughts have been so much appreciated. I constantly wonder how I would get through any of this without all of you.

Who's Crabby?

Why, oh why does it piss me off to no end to have people stand and visit with each other in the tiny aisles of Trader Joe's which seem to be designed to bring on agoraphobia in the most mentally stable? Fuckers and their damn friends. Move to the end of the aisle or something.

But really, I'm not crabby at all. Not at all.