Thermal Imaging Wake-up

I installed an app a while back that gives me access to local emergency scanners, because in this rural-turning-suburban area, I NEVER seem to know what the hell is going on and everyone else does.  But it also gives me access to myriad other stations across the country.  It also has a feature that alerts me when the number of listeners reaches a certain number.

Now, I normally turn off the sound on my phone at night, but forgot to do so last night.  So I woke up to this:


sonofabitch.............

I'm so tired.

I'm tired of hearing horrible things.  I'm tired of hatred and anger and yelling and intolerance and over-sensitivity.

I'm tired of SEEING horrible things.  I don't want to see the body of the dead 3-year-old refugee baby washed up on the beach.  I don't want to watch an innocent protester get brained with rocks.  I don't want to see an innocent, UNARMED French police officer shot by terrorists who stormed into a room full of newspaper employees to kill as many of them as possible, having gained entry by threatening the child of another employee who happened to bring her daughter to work that day.

And I'm tired of breaking news that makes me feel....resigned.  I'm not surprised anymore.  I'm practically numb and left more aware of an evening news broadcast that's full of NO news than one that is full of bad.

And yet I'm more scared than ever.

I'm afraid to walk away from my children for more than a second, both out of fear of something awful happening to them and out of fear that someone will report me for "neglect" in that moment.

I'm afraid of offending someone with an innocent comment, a funny meme, a simple opinion.  And boy, is an opinion part of my genetic makeup.

I'm afraid for my friends who have had altercations with out-of-control cops.  And for my relatives and friends who ARE cops.

I'm afraid of what is going to make me NOT surprised next.

Yet, I know it will happen sooner rather than later.

Reactivate Thoughts

This page has laid dormant for far too long.  I can't believe it's been nearly a year!  Apparently my brother-in-law said to my husband, "I really can't believe she doesn't have a blog..."

WELL I DO.

I've just been....distracted?  Lazy?  Busy?  Yeah.  All of the above.

We're up to four kids now.  Insane, right?  Ten pregnancies, 4 take-home babies, 2 spouses permanently "fixed," and a partridge on a tight budget in a small house.  Four is enough for us.  Well, under our current circumstances.  I seem to have lost my mind and would LOVE two more: larger house and lottery win or drastic income increase required).  But honestly, I can't put myself through any more losses.  So, if the unimaginable were to happen, part of that money, due to both logistics and heartbreak, would also go to IVF.  Assuming the husband also got over his current "No. F*cking. Way" stance.

Blackmail and alcohol would probably need to be involved.

But here's the thing: I don't just want this place to be an infertility/RPL or Mommy Blog.  I'm just not that kind of woman, having constant sadness to rehash, kid stories, or cute crafts to share.  Yes, I'll probably share some cooking stuff, because I love to cook and I'm pretty good at it and, let's be honest, I love to show off my fancy stuff.  But my reality is that I'm in need of a full-time job, I have constant home projects going on, I'm highly opinionated about politics and news stories, I love making my daughter's hair into fancy braids, I have relationship and body-image stresses like everyone else, I have products and companies with which sudden obsessions that need to be shared manifest, I have a BSBA in Marketing, an MBA in Strategic Management and an analytical brain that need an outlet, and sometimes I just get bored and need to ramble about observations or experiences that I've had.

So let's just say that this could become a clusterf*ck of posts about the most random of things.  Welcome to my brain.

Late Night Thoughts

Sometimes, being happy is terrifying.

I don't say that to diminish some of the awful things that happen in the world.  There is always "worse," as in the kind that people tell themselves they could be going through when dealing with something truly awful such as an illness, a death, or abuse.

But the fear that creeps up when things are going so well, when you question what lies around the bend to bring you back to earth, and know that nobody ever really has everything go well without something going badly somewhere, can be paralyzing.

I am not an optimist, clearly, but I'm also not one of those people who dwells on what could happen.  I don't constantly worry about money or health.  But sometimes, like tonight, something triggers that part of my brain that I've learned to ignore as much as possible for sanity.  In this case, it was reading a Reader's Digest story (and maybe a little bit of off-kilter hormones).

I read about the Swiffer Couple, Lee and Morty Kaufman, who are in their nineties.  They make me smile and laugh...and desperately want to have my husband around at that age.

You see, things are good right now.  No, not perfect, but I'm content.  The two of us are happy with each other, money is tight but manageable, the kids are wonderful, we're expecting our fourth baby (the one we had only ever daydreamed about when having trouble staying pregnant), and stress levels are generally low.  And that simple story of a happy couple who have had each other for nearly 50 years, who still love each other and take care of each other at an age that some people never reach sent me into that dark part of my brain.

We aren't getting any younger.  What if someone gets sick?  What if something goes horribly wrong with our lives?  What if I lost my husband?  I realized that I'm TOO happy -- I'm in a place in my life that I would be destroyed if Chris were gone tomorrow.  There are times that I know I would be able to be strong for my children and survive such a thing, but that's not where I am right now; I would truly fall apart.

Hell, I know I shouldn't be thinking about this stuff.  I know many people have these ebbs and flows in their lives where their reactions to something unexpected and devastating would be different than at other points in their lives.  But tonight, when I should be sleeping and not thinking, I did think about it and I fell apart.  I needed to be closer to my husband, who was snoring away on the opposite side of our bed, separated from me by my Great Wall of Pillows that appears when I'm pregnant.  Sniffling with tears I couldn't stop, I pushed the pillows out of the way and snuggled up to him.  He woke up and looked confused (of course), then asked me what was wrong.  I blubbered that I wasn't really sure but I needed him and he laughed and pulled me closer.

And because things are so good right now, that was all I needed.  Just a squeeze and a kiss and an understanding smile to pull me back.  Which is the point of all of this; I want that be what I need and have for as long as possible.

Santa has been evicted, and someone else is about to get notice, too.

Normally, we get Christmas decorations down about a week or so after the New Year, allowing trees to stay up with a Super Bowl deadline.  We're jolly people and all that crap.

This year, within 48 hours of Santa's departure, all of his baubles were gone, too.

I'm dead serious when I state that the husband and I haven't had Christmas trees down before February in, oh, the near decade we've been together.  They're just so pretty and twinkly...and time consuming and depressing to take down!  So the Big Game has become our end-point, if only because we really needed to give ourselves one.

But shit's about to get real here.  Christmas Day also happened to coincide with gestation week #37.  Yup, a holiday baby.  I'd ask what we were thinking, but honestly, we weren't when we were just trying to get and stay pregnant, dammit!

Timing wasn't a consideration.  And in true V-family fashion, this kid ruined Christmas.

My nesting kicked in 3rd trimester, which in my case means cooking and Excel spreadsheets. Lots of baking and to-do lists as long as I am tall (which, in my defense, isn't THAT tall...).  Unfortunately, my husband's nesting instincts didn't kick in until, oh, December 15th.  So all hell broke loose when he finally realized, um, we're about to have a demanding, smelly, albeit adorable new person shacking up with us.

Shopping barely got done because hauling my massive self around Pittsburgh has become exhausting.  (Dear Amazon.  THANK YOU.)  I couldn't have cared less if the inside decorations were put up as long as the outside was festive enough to compete with the neighbors (we lucked out in that, of the two closest, one was having roof construction and the other had a death in the family...so standards were lower than usual).  The stupid shelf elf wound up doing a lot of boring stuff, if he remembered to move at all.  And both real trees kept falling down.  That was fun.  But we had 85+ dozen cookies to share with friends and family eat all by ourselves!  I have my priorities perfectly straight.

Anyway.  Christmas fell way down the list.  We pulled it off enough to not scar the kids with memories of "The Darkest Holiday Season," but the two of us were completely over it by 12/26.  Probably before that, but we're great actors.

And now we wait.  Because everyone forgets how miserable these last few weeks are, between the anticipation and the planning and the uncertainty of when the little one is going to grace us with its presence.  But Mama has had it, and so has her bladder.  I've never in my life looked forward to February, but this just might be the year that Christmas was cut short AND the ugliest month of the year was celebrated.

I'm Only Dancing

A comment posted to my previous post made me realize that the past month has gone by, I survived it, and while I'm moving on and making plans and living life, nobody else realizes is.  Anyone who stumbles upon my blog would think I'm still wallowing and going through that horrible weekend on a constant basis.

So, what has happened?  Most importantly, my little guy turned 3 that same weekend.  I had a post ready and was waiting until I added pictures, but it was lost as time slipped by and I healed.  I retro-posted it, so someday in the future I can hopefully forget what else was happening in my life that weekend and just  remember his birthday and him at this age.

I did have the D&C and cried the moment I woke out of anesthesia, and that was pretty much it.  I had a few moments of depression the next week or two -- visiting the specialist in the OB department at THE hospital to have babies around here, with moms there for their follow-ups with their newborns; visiting my doc for my follow-up, with a new mom breastfeeding next to me while we waited...I was that crazy crying woman sitting with all of you, now you know why (I did leave the room so as to not make them all uncomfortable) -- but most of that was hormonal and not rational sadness (I can't be the only one who recognizes the difference) and I'm fine now.

I actually need to call today to see if our genetic testing is complete.  I fear there will be no answers.  I fear everything will be normal.  I'm not sure any answer will be okay with me, though, so I'll probably cry and move on from that, as well.

My doctor told us we can try again right away.  She is one of the school of thought that if my body is ready, it may happen, and if it isn't, it won't.  No further healing is necessary, except perhaps emotional.  So we tried, and we wait, and unlike every other time, I am in no hurry to test.  I would happily live in ignorance, if I could, and realize 12 weeks from now that my period is 3 months late.  The joy and fun of the process is gone and replaced by a whole bunch of unnecessary worry.  Unnecessary only because I have zero control over any of it.

So life has continued, as it always does.  Soccer and t-ball have begun.  Dance will soon end.  Summer will come and we will fill the pool.  And I will stay on the ride to see what's over the next hill...even if I do anticipate those peaks and valleys, and hope for something specific. 

Isaac is 3

My husband is a cuddler.  I am not.  I actually kind of hate cuddling.  I don't like being touched and, perhaps, there's a sensory disorder there waiting to be diagnosed because touching for more than about the length of a short hug makes my skin crawl.  I do not spoon in bed.  I have trouble snuggling on the sofa watching a romantic movie.  Chris settles for my foot touching his leg as we sleep and the occasional head on his shoulder.  Avery's like me in this sense, if a bit less pathological about it, happily settling for a hug when she feels like it and a smooch if she gets a scrape.

Isaac needs held.  He has since he was born.  "Cry it out" was never an option, as he would rather have made himself sick crying than get tired to fall asleep.  Worse, after one go of that, I felt awful about it and never tried it again.  I found various baby slings and harnesses and he was attached to either Chris or I until he decided it was fun to walk.  But even then he checks in, by crawling on our laps, giving a hug and kiss, then merrily getting back on his way.

His need for physical affection is probably equal to my natural disdain for it.  And yet, since he's mine and I made him and he's perfect, I magically got over my discomfort.  He could sit with me for hours (and has) and sleep on my arm as it falls asleep when I need to be doing a million other things; some long-hidden gene activates and I am content.

Isaac means "he will laugh."  It's amazing to me how the name we picked months before he was born fits him so perfectly.  He's such a wonderful, happy little boy.  I'm happy just to see his smiling face, never mind what is going on in my life that he couldn't possibly understand.  He is silly without really trying, yet knows exactly how to make others laugh when he wants to be the center of attention.

Isaac is my baby.  Yes, he's actually my youngest, but even when he grows up, even if he becomes a big brother someday, even if I had 10 more kids and he actually wound up being one of my oldest children, he would still be my baby.

Happy birthday, little man.

Second Verse, Same as the First

Or, in this case, the fourth.

Another miscarriage.  This one discovered at 9 1/2 weeks.  The baby was only measuring 7 weeks and there wasn't a heartbeat.

First of all, I need to find a much better doctor in the Pittsburgh area.  I know mine are respected, but when a woman has had multiple miscarriages, you don't blow her off when there isn't a heartbeat at 6 weeks, telling her it's normal.  You follow up to make her feel better, because her fears are completely founded.  You especially follow up when, also at that ultrasound, a subchorionic hematoma was discovered, in order to make sure that it's reabsorbing, not simply telling the patient that "most disappear; I'm sure yours is already gone"  Yup, it was. Along with my baby.

I have a D&C scheduled on Monday, providing nothing happens over the weekend.  I must "request" that my doctor send the recovered tissue (sorry, I have to dissociate...) for pathology and genetics.  If my body does finally figure out what the hell it was supposed to do over a week ago in the next few days, the only way for me to get that testing is if I recover that tissue myself.  Not. Going. To. Happen.

I'm an emotional wreck, obviously.  My poor husband is upset, too, and doesn't know what to do or say.  He's been wonderful, telling our family and taking over much of the child-rearing duties while I wallow in my misery.

I still have pregnancy symptoms, which seems completely unfair.  I've heard that those may stay for up to a week after the D&C.

I thank God that we hadn't told the kids yet.  We were going to tell them today, after my first appointment.  I had to request the ultrasound (I still wouldn't have known, otherwise...).  I can't imagine telling the kids and then explaining what happened.

So now, like many people who have been trying to get pregnant without success, all I can do is try to figure out my "next step."  I know I should be dealing with this first, but if I don't look ahead, I'll truly fall apart.  I need to know that there is a reason for this.  And while I'm terrified of trying again and losing again, I'm also desperate to try again in order to make this loss (and the last one) "mean" something.  I wouldn't have Avery without my first m/c; I wouldn't have Isaac without my second.  So, I'm attempting to take it one day at a time.....one hour at a time....

It's so hard to do when I want my results cradled in my arms right now.

Senior Moments

I am truly amazed at the things I completely forgot about my pregnancies with Ave and Isaac that have reared their ugly heads this time around.  Maybe it's just a evolutionary-based coping mechanism that keeps us reproducing, but how in the WORLD did I block these things out?

1. Nausea  I was really lucky with Avery and only got a little queasy here and there.  I only think I truly threw up maybe twice with her?  It was much worse with Isaac.  But can it really be so much more horrible this time that I'm this unprepared?  I'll only be 8 weeks on Monday and other than some mild nausea before this week, things have been pretty clear.  But starting last weekend and getting progressively worse,  all I do is fight my disgust with all things food and anything with ANY odor.  For instance, onions in any form, normally a food I have in everything I cook, make me leave the room.  Eggs?  No way.  Cereal?  Instant trip to the bathroom.  Coffee?  Lucky if I make it through half a cup (thereby creating a caffeine ban that I never bothered with before; my doc said as long as I stick to two cups per day, we're good....I can barely smell it now).  Besides some crackers and ginger ale, I never really needed anything to help me through the "morning" sickness.  This time, I'm desperately searching the internet for solutions and chowing down on candied ginger and lemon drops.  The pregnancy message boards, which I have found myself perusing like a first-time-mom, also gave me the good news that it doesn't usually hit its worst point until 10 weeks.

The breakfast of (queasy) champions

2. Cravings And yet, there are those weird cravings that pop up early on that seem to fly in the face of what should make my nausea go away.  Basically, anything spicy, sour, and salty really get my salivary glands going.  Yesterday, Chris made jalapeno cornbread and gave me a slice of jalapeno from our canning stash.  I've been able to think of nothing but those jalapenos since.  Salty condiments, like A1 or Heinz Ketchup (specifically the balsamic one, lately) or Frank's Red Hot?  Yes please...on everything.  And pickles.  But this time, only the Mt. Olive Baby Kosher Dills will do.  It's a taste and texture thing, much to the chagrin of my husband, who looks longingly at the homemade jars still sitting on the shelf.  Oddly enough, while the nausea mimics (and exceeds) what I went through with Isaac, the cravings are exactly what I wanted with Avery.  Since we're not finding out the gender this time, I thought I'd at least be able to count on some old wives' tales to point me to the answer.  No dice.

3. Headaches and Illness  Oh, the headaches.  As soon as I got the first one, like a PTSD flashback, I began remembering the migraine-like pains of my previous pregnancies.  Crap.  And what are my solutions to these headaches typically?  Excedrin Migraine and ibuprofen.  Both off-limits.  THEN I caught Isaac's cold.  I usually have a better immunity than this, so I looked it up and apparently women's immunity goes down the crapper when pregnant.  Once again, I'm left to deal with it without any of my go-to remedies (hot totties, anyone?).

4. Exhaustion AND Sleeplessness  WTF?  How is this one fair?  I remembered the exhaustion, actually. It was one of my first clues with both kids.  But not being able to sleep or get comfortable at night?  Completely forgot about that.  I already have 4 pillows (and a husband, in a double bed...boy does THAT need to change; I mean getting a bigger bed, not kicking the husband out), including a body pillow, trying to prop me up in semi-comfortable positions, as my already-crappy hips loosen up even more and my corpus luteum cyst causes weird, inescapable aches.  Then the headache kicks in.  Ugh.  This only gets worse.  I keep forcing the kids to take naps, even though neither really needs them anymore, so I can attempt to catch up on an hour or so of z's.

5. Bloating We are attempting to wait until 14 weeks before telling family and friends that we're expecting.  But between water retention, bloat, and loosening ligaments, that's going to be damn near impossible.  I haven't gained any weight, but my pants are tight and my stomach looks awful.  Just crossing my fingers and counting on the big shirts and inattentive relatives to get me through 6 more weeks...

All that said, I really don't want to complain.  I'm so thrilled to have made it this far and am willing to let all of it get much worse if it means a healthy baby.  But wouldn't it be so much more fun for everyone if I wasn't so sick and tired all the time?

Important Events

Things have been jumpin' on the old homestead!

First, and most importantly, Shamrock Shakes are back at McDonald's!  Minty-vanilla goodness in January?  Seems a tad early, but this little addict will not be complaining about that.

Heavenly and disgusting, all in one....similar to a McRib in that way.

Hubby got a new job and is making the switch.  The pay is better, the insurance cost is worse.  The hours are better, the benefits are weak.  The job security has improved, but the company is MUCH smaller than where he is now, so I'm not sure if it's really any different.  He'll work from home 95% of the time, so he won't have two hours of commuting each day and he'll be able to help with the kids' school pickups/dropoffs, which give me a little bit more flexibility.  I'm trying to be a supportive wife, and I'm happy that he's happy, but I'm worried and don't do well with change and I'm more than a little bitter that he can find another job while he has one already and I can't even find a suitable part-time position.  He'll also be making occasional trips to LA.  We'll be testing those old mommy skills without Daddy as a buffer, now won't we?

Also, we had another two funerals that I should have attended.  During my TWW.  I'm just way too superstitious over this (I know, it's dumb...can't help it).  That takes us up to 5 funerals in 3 months and a total of 3 miscarriages after attending funerals pregnant.  The plan was to pretend I was sick so I didn't have to go, then we ALL actually got sick.  Karma's a bitch.

I signed Avery up for Kindergarten and am freaking the freak out.  Not at all ready for my baby girl to be starting "real" school.  Dude, I remember Kindergarten.  But I know she's ready and excited.  Her pre-K teacher really takes K-readiness seriously and told us at her conference that Ave's one of the few kids she's actually recommending as ready to make the move.  I just wish she didn't have her father's outgoing personality (total sarcasm; did you catch it?).  The kid doesn't talk until she is 100% comfortable with the people around her.  She just absorbs information.  And that, apparently, is what Daddy did, too.  You know, the guy that easily could have been the kid with the public, newsworthy freak-out at school and left after his Junior year because  he hated everyone and everything there?  So cross your fingers for an awesome teacher that pulls this little girl out of her shell.  Because, honest-to-god, if I don't actually tell her she MUST talk to people, she won't.  Sigh.

Hmm, what else?  The weather has been fantastic.  I love warm post-Christmas winters, except for all the mud.  High of 54 on the last day of January?  I'll take it!

Oh, yeah.  There's this, too!

You didn't think I'd put this first, did you?  So far, everything looks good.  The first positive was on 11 DPO (I couldn't wait any longer) and each subsequent test got darker.  I refused to call my doctor's office until I was late, so that was a long, rough weekend.  My blood test was unbelievably easy (I'm finding that phlebotomist and keeping her), and my HCG number was 443 at 14 DPO, which is slightly higher than average, but still within normal ranges.  I'll go back tomorrow to make sure my doubling time is appropriate. So all is as it should be for the time being.  I refuse to complain about nausea and aches and pains because I know those are better than the alternative I've been dealing with.

I'm certainly being kept on my toes this month!  If only I could get a nap in somewhere.

Warning: Downer Post

Further warning: there's a lot of trying-to-conceive stuff below.  If you aren't interested, check in next post.

Between the 4 funerals, miscarriage, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, I've been a bit distracted.  Add in attempting to make a baby, and my little outlet here has suffered.  Really, does that make any sense?  When I MOST need to vent and work things out, I stop blogging?  Seems dumb.

So my doctors pretty much did what I said they would, which is to say they did nothing and wished me luck this month.  Assholes.  (Not really, I love my OB -- she's awesome -- but I really need someone to give a damn at some point.)  I had my annual checkup the day I ovulated and really wouldn't have known that I was otherwise because my stupid Clearblue Easy Fertility Monitor (CBFM) decided this would be a fantastic month to just MISS the Luteinizing Hormone (LH) surge.  Awesomesauce.

Oh, she also did say something about it being "strange" that I seemed to have a chemical pregnancy before each of my full-term pregnancies, and now another one, but that since they weren't consecutive she really couldn't refer me for any testing yet.  Yup, I know.  Go lose another one and give us a call, right?  Anyway...

So we managed to do a great job doing what we're supposed to do at the times we were supposed to and my Basal Body Temperature (BBT) chart looks fantastic and, since I've never NOT gotten pregnant when trying (and even when not trying...), everything should be great, right?

Well, no.

With Isaac, I tested positive at 9 days past ovulation (DPO).  The chemical pregnancy (CP) before him was around 10 DPO and this last one was at 11 DPO.  All are early positives.  So I started testing at 9 DPO this time, every day through today (12 DPO) and they're all negative.  80% of positives are found by this point (more when using the early tests as I am) and, well, I guess I'm not.

I'm kind of floored.  I've been having symptoms (nausea, breast tenderness, and exhaustion).  Really?  Nothing?  I'd seriously prefer another CP because then I could have my doctor order some testing.

I've been pretty down on myself to begin with, with not being able to find a job or do much of anything, but I could always get pregnant.  Apparently that isn't the case anymore, either.  I'm feeling like a complete failure and I'm not sure I want to try anymore.  Maybe everyone's right, that I should just be happy with the two babies I have.  But I'm feeling seriously discouraged and empty and just don't want to even think about having to do all of this again.

Sigh.

The good news is that the 3 bottles of wine I got for Christmas will be put to excellent use over the weekend.  And my husband doesn't drink wine.

Awesome Avery

OK, deep breath....back to normal.  Kinda.

I needed a happy post and a kitchen spill this morning gave me the perfect topic: my gorgeous little girl, Avery (I'll 'splain).

Quick birth story...  I actually went into labor with Avery while visiting my newborn niece, Riley, and her mom in the hospital.  Well, I lost my mucous plug and the contractions were noticeable.  (Did I gross you out?  Good.  It's a MOM blog, for goodness sake; of COURSE I'm going to talk about that stuff!)  But the contractions were far apart and irregular, so we went home, went to bed and assumed it was another (after 3 already) false alarm.  The next day, I couldn't pee and the contractions were still there, if still irregular.  Called the doc, they said I was dilating and to head to the hospital.  Went to the hospital, they hooked me up to stuff I didn't want hooked up to.  Epidural ran out, second one was screwed up, third (yes third) only kinda sorta worked.  After 26 hours, I was only 7.5 cm dilated (from the 4 when I checked in) and they pushed for a c-section.  Funny thing is, she apparently dropped while I was waiting for the OR.  She was so low, the doctor cut her nose during the incision.  So her first cry was while she was still inside me.  Weird, but kind of awesome, too.

Which is Avery in a nutshell.  She's a strange, fascinating child.  After my PPD and her colic, she was a pretty easy baby, and remains a pretty easy-to-please kid.  Just some of the reasons that I find her so awesome:

1.  She's an amazing big sister.  Most parents worry about changing that first-child dynamic when bringing another baby into the world.  She took to it like a fish to water.  Her personality was always a little more mature, but she's patient and helpful and still the irritating big sister she's supposed to be.  Most importantly, she adores Isaac.  I find her having the same exasperated-humored reactions to him that I do and I know that, despite the fact that he's a bothersome little brother, she loves him as much as Chris and I do.

2. She loves to help out.  The cat spilled water today and, while I was content to just let it dry 'cause I had stuff to do, she said, "I'll take care of it, Mama!" and grabbed the mop.  She does this all the time.  For a while, Isaac would only let her wipe his face and she was the only one who could get him to lie down for a diaper change without a fuss.  When dinner is being made, she's right there helping (usually Daddy) out.  When there's yardwork to be done, she wants to know what she can do (shovel, rake, sweep...).  Coolest to me is her willingness to clean up the stuff that I find gross, like cat hairballs, without batting an eyelash. ;-)

3. She's so loving.  She gives fantastic hugs.  When anybody is sad (and Mommy had a few moments last week), she's quick to climb up on their lap and comfort them (or, if it's Isaac, snuggle up beside him).  With two funerals in the family the week before my m/c, she knew her "job" was to simply hang out and give hugs.  (As I'm typing this, she's playing with her Tag Reader.  She stopped and said, "Mama, I love you.....sometimes all day!")  

4.  She's got an awesome brain.  She asks great questions.  For example, she's already asked where babies come from (she has a general idea; I haven't gotten into specifics).  She observes things in nature and wants to know more about them, like where the sun goes at night (a different part of the world) and why clouds sometimes have rain and sometimes don't..  But she remembers this stuff.  They say kids' minds are like sponges, but she memorizes lines for plays in an hour (her teacher has remarked on this) and remembers something I told her a year ago at appropriate moments now.  She truly amazes me with her thought processes.

5.  She's the little girl I never knew I wanted needed.  I was pretty freaked out when I was unexpectedly pregnant.  Then, I was hoping for a boy because that's what I knew (I have 2 brothers and 6 male cousins). When we found out we were having a girl, I told my husband as we were leaving the u/s that he was going to have to teach me what the hell to do with her (he had a few nieces at that point, one of which he had helped raise for a few years).  I was a tomboy, late to the fashion/makeup game, and ambivalent about mommyhood at all.  Not a great mix.  But she's amazing.  She thinks so much like me sometimes, even her tantrums amuse me and I relate to why she's upset.  It's one of those "kindred spirit" situations; I get her and she, somehow in her childlike way, gets me better than my husband does sometimes.  I really am a better person for having her.

As I listen to her making up songs (which she does all the time) and entertain her brother and tell stories and create games -- things she does all day, every day -- all I can do is sit back and smile.  We have very serious conversations about what snack she's taking in for school ("I need to remember my crackers...  No, wait.  What am I taking?  Oh, that's right.  Now...what's on them?") and silly conversations about serious topics ("Mommy, why do you love us?  Even when Isaac's stinky?")  She tells me what she needs ("Mommy, I need a kiss on my scratch.") and I do my best to provide those things.  And she's one of my favorite people...ever.

Bad Chemistry

I was going to write about my Black Friday adventures and gripe about anti-BF people and how they think it's okay to be obnoxious to those of us who hit the stores the day after Thanksgiving, but life intervenes and I need to air out another issue.

As of today, I've had my 3rd miscarriage.  That's a personal rate of 60% and, honestly, with odds like that I should be hitting the local casino.

My first was before Avery, when my husband and I had first moved in together.  I was on antibiotics and we were far too early on in the relationship to have a baby, so I suppose it was a blessing in disguise, but it was horrible.  I was actually amazed at how hard I took it given that I didn't want to be pregnant.

The next time was when we were trying to conceive our 2nd.  That took me a while to recover from, mainly because I wanted so badly to be pregnant.

Today, I got to call my doctor's office and report my 3rd "chemical pregnancy," which they really don't take very seriously.  There are women out there with "real" fertility and pregnancy complications and, especially since my losses weren't consecutive, it pretty much gets pushed aside with a "try again next month" attitude.  It really doesn't make it hurt any less.  I don't think I've stopped crying since I realized what was going on.

Naturally, however illogical, I'm blaming myself.  Did I drink too much caffeine?  Did I eat something I shouldn't have?  Once again, my crazy superstition about going to funerals while pregnant has been realized (all 3 losses were after attending a funeral...my great aunt died the day I ovulated; I know, it's dumb, but these things have a way of growing in a mind looking for ANY answer).  Worst, is there simply something wrong with me; am I destined to repeat this every time we try to conceive?  Hell, my husband's taken to joking about "getting through" another miscarriage before really getting pregnant again.  I know it's a coping mechanism, but it makes me feel inept.

So, as I wait for the doctor's office to call back, presumably to tell me there's nothing to do but bleed and try again, I'm watching my two beautiful babies play with each other.  I know I'm lucky and that I should be grateful for what I have.  I know amazing women who have been through losses so much greater than mine, strong women who survived what I don't know if I could survive.  But I simply feel empty and lonely and scared.

We Are...

I went to the University of Pittsburgh, a school that likes to fancy itself a rival of Penn State University in many ways, but especially in football, despite the fact that the two programs have very little in common and PSU is on the winning end of the matchup with an all-time record of 50-42-4.  My husband is currently attending Penn State, continuing this year a "few" years after starting there upon graduating high school.  Over the years, I've traded jabs with him and my many friends who are alumni, but always with the knowledge that they never took the "rivalry" as seriously as my fellow Pitt grads did.

I've been trying to formulate a post this week in the wake of news of Jerry Sandusky's horrible crimes.  I have had so much to say this week with friends, all of us sharing our outrage and disbelief, and I contemplated sharing what my thoughts were regarding the situation, but anything I could say has been said, regarding Joe Paterno, the media coverage and the bigger, more important crimes.

Photo credit: Reuters

Instead, I'll write about this: as I watch the pre-game portion of the Penn State/Nebraska game, I'm crying like a baby.  The seniors running out of the tunnel for a game that doesn't resemble anything they could have imagined even a week ago, the teams mingling in the middle of the field for a pre-game prayer, the pride, conviction, and renewed meaning behind the singing of the alma mater....during all of this, the cameras moved to students who were, like me, crying.

For many of them, this is their first exposure to the ugliness in a world that, to them, has been theirs to rule.  The utopia of Happy Valley has been hit by a virtual nuclear bomb and, while my reality check or introduction to imperfection of men may have been different than theirs, it's something that all of us go through in our lives.

This situation is horrible, disgusting, and only bound to get worse.  But it has united people.  Penn State has an unbelievable ability to raise money for worthy causes and now, their sights are set on organizations created to help Sandusky's and other miscreants' victims.  PSU's real rivals have stepped forward to offer support and understanding.  Today, differences have been set aside for a bit and people are coming together for a much more important reason than a football game.

So, while none of this makes any sense yet, nor will it ever, really, many of us are mourning this loss of innocence with the students and alumni of Penn State.  And even though many of us aren't......

We Are.

Mind on a Baby, and a Baby on My Mind

Nope.  Not pregnant yet.

But now that we know Baby #3 is in the near future, my tendency toward over-researching topics has found a new topic to dissect.  Despite my relative expertise on the topic, I'm finding all sorts of things I need advice and reassurance about.

1. Am I really ready for this?  I mean, really?!
Since having baby #1, I always knew there'd be a baby #3.  My parents were both the oldest of three, as was I, and my husband is the 3rd of 4 kids.  Once I decided I wanted kids at all, I wanted to have more than one for a sibling, and 3 just felt more natural to me than two because it's what I know.  So, logically, I know that I am ready to have another child because I made the biggest part of the decision long before now.
But now that it's so much more real, I'm freaking out a little.  Will my older two be okay?  Can we afford another one?  Is our house big enough?  Questions that I've already thought through and problems that I've already solved, but I look up people in similar situations just to reassure and, in some instances, further prepare myself.

2. Telling our family.
My in-laws will not be AT ALL surprised when we announce a pregnancy.  They will be thrilled for us and excited for another grandchild.  Pretty normal reactions and I welcome their support WHOLE-freakin'-HEARTEDLY.
My family?  Well, let's just say that they haven't learned that some things aren't any of their damn business, nor are their opinions welcome.  Honestly, if I could just skip telling them, I would.  I'd much rather do the Facebook announcement to distant friends and relatives than tell my family.  Avery was unplanned, so they still seem to think that we are irresponsible about getting pregnant.  When we told them Isaac was on the way, I was asked if I really thought that was a good idea, whether it was "another accident," and told that THEY thought we should have waited longer.  Wow.  Thanks.  Then, when Isaac was born, my mother was so upset that we didn't tell her about the c-section and let her know everything that was going on, that she didn't come to the hospital to meet her grandson when we called.  Pretty sure my husband will never forgive that.  And last week, one of my brothers made a comment about the fact that I, "keep popping out kids."  Really, asshole?  I have two.  And I'm 31 years old.  Furthermore, a few of the women in my family have said we should just be happy with what we have and stop because we have one of each.  Because, obviously, motherhood is all about symmetry....  No wonder I have such skewed views of being a mom.  I have such screwed-up role models.
So, yeah.  Not thrilled about that.  I'm seriously leaning toward the picture-text of an ultrasound or pregnancy test to tell them.  Really.  Not kidding.

3. Getting pregnant in the first place
Yes, I know how it works.  But for some reason I'm still afraid I'm going to have trouble getting pregnant.  It's never been a problem before, but I still find myself looking up stuff I already know (cycle length, hormones, timing, etc.) to assure myself that I'm not screwing things up.  I even bought a fertility monitor because I managed to convince myself that my cycle is wonky.  I'd feel worse about the expense if it wasn't for my learning that my cycle is, in fact, on the fritz since I had my IUD out...

4. Staying pregnant
We've had two miscarriages (one before Avery and one between Ave and Isaac) and I'm truly terrified of having another.  The feelings of guilt and anger and emptiness are horrible, never mind the physical pain.  Chris doesn't have any idea how to make me feel better, though he really tries, and I feel worse about the fact that I'm not helping him through it...  I hate this topic and really try not to think about it at all, but when it pops into my head, it digs itself in and scares the crap out of me.

5. Childbirth
I've had 2 c-sections and will be trying a VBA2C this time around.  Uncharted territory for most women and their doctors.  I'm apprehensive, but I really think it is the right choice given our circumstances (long stories, which will need to be discussed in a later post).

6.  I'm getting old
I know, I'm really not.  But I've begun to appreciate my two kiddos being old enough to do things for themselves and almost being out of diapers.  The thought of the sleepless nights and work involved with an infant is exhausting...not enough to outweigh the wonderfulness of a baby.  It wouldn't surprise me if this wound up being our last, though.

So that's where my head is.  In all the important ways, I'm sure this is the right thing to do.  But, like when deciding to have Isaac, I've already started second-guessing all of those decisions...which, I suppose, is a lot like being a mom in the first place. ;-)

Let's Get It On

I'm convinced EVERY couple has some sort of issue when it comes to the bedroom.  The most vocal of us (yes, us) seem to be the ones who aren't getting enough sex, which experts will say is not only a symptom of problems in the relationship but of society in general.  But we all know people who have problems with their significant other because somebody, be it one or both, is having too much sex.  Am I right?  Seriously.

So I'm a Serial Googler.  Anything that pops into my head, I look up.  I'm sure it drives my doctors insane.  After another group, estrogen-fueled rant with friends about not getting enough from the relationship (apparently, a LOT of us had some "discussions" with our significant others last night), I felt the need to do some research.

But in looking up advice, I stumble across this.  This is the advice men are giving to each other.  Which, really, in a general, anatomical sense, isn't inaccurate.  But it's missing the boat.  Those are the targets to find, but if Chica's pissed that you forgot to pick up the diapers you promised 15 times you wouldn't forget, or you didn't come home on time....again.....no amount of stimulation is gonna get you a happy ending.  Capiche???  Use that checklist after the action's started.

I've got good news and bad news for all of our husbands, then.  The good news is that the research has been completed and we know the key to a woman's...ahem, chastity belt?...has been discovered.  The bad news is that the 15 minutes of foreplay guys used to complain about?  It's now been extended to days weeks whatever it takes.  A happy, loved woman who feels good about herself is more likely to create a happy, loved, satisfied partner.

Oh, and since I really can't help you with your specific issues, I've gone to my beloved Dr. Oz for some personalized information.  Check out this little quiz.  I mean, maybe, possibly, we could be partially to blame for our issues, right?

And if all else fails, girls?  I can offer some names of companies that do great sex toy parties...