The Pregnant Bitch

Almost 14 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 19:12:00 +0000

And Merry Christmas! We were supposed to go to Omaha today, but due to a crazy storm we postponed our trip about ten minutes before we were supposed to leave for the airport. Talk about cutting it close. I can't wait until we do go, though.

Okay, two pictures. The first one is a gratuitous cute-kid picture, taken during a thirty second window of good behavior last night:

The second one is from five minutes ago. It's my almost-14-week belly picture. (Could also be the half-bag of Doritos I ate at 9:30 this morning. Yes, yes I did. Hence the slightly glazed look on my face.) Oh MY, that's a mighty large rack I've got going there.

So it's been a slow day since our plans changed. I had to remind myself that I've spent the last few months bitching about how busy and stressed out I am, so I need to take today to do absolutely nothing. I spent a good chunk of it studying this gorgeous cookbook Nick got me, and then I hopped online to price airline tickets to Madrid. I also went to one of my all-time favorite fantasy websites to check out vacation rentals in Spain. I love that site. Nick calls it my porn, and he is so right. It is good to know that the price for a trip there isn't out of our reach; it's just that our availability is. Sigh. Later tonight maybe I'll pop in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" and complete the wistful trifecta.

Totally unrelated to anything: very recently someone said to me, "I hate [my] baby. I hate her." I felt simultaneously relieved that I wasn't the only person who thought it (or said it!), and good to know that I could hear this person out without giving him/her a shocked gasp and stern scolding, which is what I usually get when I say it. I'm also keeping this vague on purpose so that I don't out this poor suffering soul. So, person I just talked to on the phone? The one I couldn't have a conversation with because of the screaming baby? You know who you are. You can always confess it to me. I know you love her. But I also know that sometimes, you really hate her. I sooooo totally get it. We'll survive this. Promise.

13 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 21:44:00 +0000

Guh. I don't have a belly picture this week. I tried to take one but it was so blurry I couldn't use it. Meh, later.

I've been up since 2 am. For the past few weeks, there's been this lethal combination of Sascha yelling in her sleep and my insomnia. It's not that I can't sleep when I go to bed; that's no problem. But after I've had a few hours, if I wake up, I'm UP. So if I get up to pee? If Sascha calls out, however briefly? Unless I'm drugged with Benadryl or something, I'm done. All I have to do is think of something that's bothering me, and I'm done. Like this, for example:That's in my living room. It's pretty much a metaphor for my life right now. When I took this picture, around 3:30 am, I was furious over all of the clutter and disorder. Now that I'm at work (it's video day, thank you Week of Christmas), I look at it and just feel tired and defeated. Granted, it's nowhere near "How Clean Is Your House" caliber, but still, it's gross. What's even more frustrating is that it makes me dread Christmas, when there will be MORE stuff coming in the form of gifts for Sascha. It makes me want to pack up half the house in boxes and give it all away. I'm not sure Nick would like that.

There is a lot to vent about but I'm so tired that my rage is a dull nub. We're still struggling with Sascha's Jekyll & Hyde behavior. Most of the time, she is an absolute beast. Yesterday I took her to my mom's, and she was an angel for three solid hours. It was amazing, and I was so happy. I was in heaven and couldn't stop picking her up and kissing her. That night? Beast again. We don't really know what to do. I will say that my very least favorite phrase right now is "she's feeding off your energy." I've hated hearing it from the time she was an infant, but I've only recently figured out why: because it puts the blame for her behavior on me. Because I'm supposed to keep calm and smiling through my little miracle's tantrums, and she's only doing it because I'm getting mad? What the hell is that? I get the idea, but I am just not a good enough person to be like this all the time:

(yes, that's who you think it is.)

I bet that woman still has that smile on her face when one of her three-year-olds is pinwheeling his legs toward her skull when she tries to put shoes on him.

We get this barrage of advice all the time from all different sources, and I've started to notice how contradictory it is. Some examples: "Show her who's boss! Maybe she needs to be afraid of you!" But then, "she's feeding off your energy, you need to stay calm." Which is it? Or, "she needs to know there are consequences for her behavior, so she has to go right into time-out when she has a tantrum." In the other corner, "just ignore it-- if she doesn't get a reaction out of you when she does it, she'll know she won't get what she wants." Which is it? Time-out or ignore it? So we end up doing a patchwork of things, and one day one thing works and doesn't the next (i.e. restraining her during a tantrum vs. shutting her in a room), and the end result is that we're inconsistent. It's a lose-lose situation, and no matter what we do we just end up with the same result: We're doing it all wrong. Fail!

Speaking of failing, I was Larry David not once, but twice this weekend. I went out for a birthday dinner for one of my closest girlfriends. It was a girls' night out, and she had said repeatedly "no gifts, just your presence is the gift!" (You already know where this is going.) I did grab a bottle of wine on the way out the door, but when I went to pick her up she had Christmas presents for me. On her birthday. And I had a crappy bottle of wine. No card; C students aren't generally Card People. Then we got to the restaurant, and sure enough, everyone had brought these great gifts. It was a fantastic dinner, and all of the women were lovely and hilarious, but then came my Larry David Moment #2: splitting the check. On this check was raw oysters and 5-6 bottles of wine, totaling about $500. Keep in mind that I was not drinking; every time someone ordered another bottle, I knew I was going to get screwed. The calculations were made when the live music started, and it was too loud to nitpick, and I ended up overpaying by about $60. I grit my teeth and figured it made up for my lack of gift.

At least I'm feeling really good pregnancy-wise; still almost to the point of losing confidence that I'm going to make it to term. Nausea is gone. Fatigue is... well, when I get a decent night's sleep, I'm fine. I was even able to shovel snow for a while yesterday. Of course, I almost fainted when I was done, but it was nice to get some exercise.

12 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 19:48:00 +0000

And one day.
It's Sunday. I've been wearing these clothes since I put them on Friday morning to go to school. Yep, all through the night, too. Mmm-hmm. Don't I look so fresh-faced and glowy?

Bocciato

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 15:46:00 +0000

Last night I inhaled half a calzone, straight out of the takeout box, standing over the kitchen counter. I ate it so fast it almost came back up. But, I'd gotten stuck in traffic, the takeout took forever, and it was time to put Sascha in the tub when I walked in the door.

American A+! Italian fail. (Especially since the calzone was kind of crappy.)

Also... I weighed myself this morning. Is it wrong that I'm happy that I've only gained like a pound or two? Again, American A+... Italian fail. Bocciato.

We all slept last night (thank you, baby Benadryl) but Sascha still woke up crabbing. I don't get it. She had like a six-month stretch of amazing behavior, and now she's back to how she was for her first 2.5 years-- screaming, whining, fussing, bitching constantly. It's like thumbscrews, it never lets up. Nick isn't speaking to me *again.* I think we're just both so fed up with the stress. We're in Battle/Survival Mode until Sascha goes to bed, and then afterwards we try to stay awake for ten minutes before giving in. Then she wakes up screaming and fussing, and we get to do it all over again. As much as I need this weekend, I'm sort of dreading it.

Testing

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 08:38:00 +0000

(The title is not referring to the genetic testing, which went very well. It was the nuchal tube thingy, and there was blood involved at one point, and everything is okay there, I think.)

No, the universe is testing me. There is the usual crap like bad weather and Christmas, of which I am sort of opting out this year (um, again... I think I'll participate again when I'm in my 60s). I am constantly behind in my physics class, usually not knowing what I will teach them every day, and everything I get from the internet or other teachers is way beyond the 4th-grade level of my over-sugared students. Monday we had a meeting with our financial advisor after school (and he was late). Tuesday afternoon I had a science team meet and didn't get home until 7. I arrived to Sascha having a tantrum. I dropped my bag at the door, picked up my plate of dinner and ate it in the bathroom while Nick wrestled her into the bathtub. My contribution was yelling at her to calm down. Yesterday I left school early to get to the genetic testing appointment in Boston. It was quick, but when I left there I found myself in a tangle of small one-way streets laid out diagonally and it took me 45 minutes just to find my way out of the city. I had to get blood drawn at my regular doctor's office, and even though I was the only person sitting in the lab waiting room, I still waited a half hour (a marked improvement over the full hour it took last week). Got home, dropped my bag at the door, and immediately started cooking dinner.

After dinner it was bedtime... and the sleep strike. It's still going. Two nights ago was good, but we'd given her Benadryl. Last night? Different story. She got out of bed about a dozen times. By the time she stopped, I was completely spent. I sat on the edge of my bed shaking with exhaustion, trying to work up the energy to brush my teeth. It was 7:50. Ten minutes later I was falling asleep, hearing Sascha still calling for me. "MomEEE... MomEEE... MomEEE..." ad nauseam. Woke up at 10:45 to more. "MomEEE... MomEEE... MomEEE..." Woke up at 2:30 am to MORE. "MomEEE... MomEEE... MomEEE..." Right now, it's about ten minutes till 4 am and SHE IS STILL GOING. What. The fuck. Is wrong with this child?!?! What is it?! I already went to bed without planning my physics lesson for today. I have these insanely long, crazy days and then I'm not allowed to sleep at night. I shake all day long, like I'm in some kind of withdrawal (I guess I am; sleep withdrawal). Everyone's all "oooh, yer pregnant, get some rest" and I want to stab them in the face. TAKE! MY! CHILD!! Take my job, where my boss rips me a new one because I'm not doing enough to prepare my science team! Where I have to try to teach physics to a group of 14-year-olds who come to my class with pop-tarts and five energy drinks in their systems and drama on their cell phones! Where I have to write 103 progress reports by tomorrow, and they have to include their quiz grades from today (which means they have to be graded)! Where 1/4 of my students are absent every day, requiring feats of logistical juggling!

I need a secretary. And a NANNY. Oh my god, 4 am, she is still going. Still. Going. "Daaadeeee... Daaadeeee..." Right now I would love to invite into my house one of those pompous asses who are like "ohhh, treasure those days, they go so fast! The kids grow up too fast!" Yeah? Let me drag your well-rested ass out of your bed at 4 am and let you listen to this shit, and then you try to go do what I do all day. Don't tell me how fucking fast it goes. These years feel like that scene in "Nightmare on Elm Street" where the girl tries to run upstairs but her feet fall through the steps and get caught in some sort of Stretch Armstrong-like substance.

I have to arrange a sick day. I need to sit in front of the TV and drool for a few hours. And I need some exercise, which I haven't had in about two months. And some vegetables. And some personal grooming. And a good cry. That might actually take two days, since any time I take off would be full of catching up with my stupid workload.

"Oooh, yer pregnant, you better get some rest!"

*grumble*

PS: Please resist the temptation to tell me what an ungrateful bitch I am. I get it! I'm not in Sudan, I have a job, I have a roof over my head, I'm lucky I'm pregnant, yadda yadda. Bite me. I need sleep.

(Epilogue: Nick woke up and we started fighting. Awesome!)

11 Weeks, 2 Days

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 23:37:00 +0000

Started on Sunday, posted on Monday, but the date still says Sunday. Whatevs. Check out the belly! Coming along... Along with a healthy dose of back fat. Meh, whaddarya gonna do.
So I made it another week. I still, still go to the bathroom and think "well okay then, if you insist" when I don't see blood. That feeling is fading, but it's still there. I think I will probably feel a small degree of nervousness until I reach the viability age (what is that? 36 weeks or so?).

I looooove that I'm starting to show. Love it. I know I'm going to be eating those words in the spring when I feel like the Michelin Man again and can't reach around to grab my seat belt, but for now it's fun. I feel the way I think I was "supposed" to feel with Sascha-- totally content to roll with the fat and the tired and the sick. Oh! The sick!! I don't want to say this out loud, because my body will hear it and take revenge, but... I think the worst of it is over. It's been about four days that the nausea has been very mild. It's still there all day, but sort of in the background, not up in my grill like a mean old bully. A friend of mine (hi Cindy!) said yesterday that if she had been nauseous at all with her pregnancies, she wouldn't have gone past one kid, which made me realize that some women just never get sick. Huh. I never knew that. This is excellent news, because I was under the impression that I'd have to be dry-heaving on all fours in order to produce a healthy child, but hey! Apparently not! I might be --- I am actually having a hard time writing this word --- done with the nausea. If this is the case, I cannot believe I got off this easy. With a baby that's still there, that is.

But yes! Happy! I find myself in random good moods for no reason, when my normal level is snarky and bitter. I'm open-mouthed smiling at the ultrasounds, and this time it's a real smile! I used to look at Sascha's with a mix of fear and detached disbelief, yet still making sure I was smiling because I was supposed to. This is actually fun! FOR NOW. I think I heard my sister laughing all the way from Kentucky, so I had to qualify it-- fun for now. I know, I'm not living up to my name, am I? I think I'm just happy that (A) I haven't lost this one, and (B) this is the last time I'll have to do this. Oh, and (C) I am staying the hell away from the Internet with all of its crazy judgmental rules for pregnant women. Speaking of which, I saw my favorite midwife last week. After she went through the obligatory list of what I can't eat, she said her friend who lives in France told her that the pregnancy books there say that pregnant women should only eat the finest quality cheeses and drink the best wines. See? I'm an Italian A student, American C-. And after hearing that I came home and opened up this gorgeous bottle of pinot noir I bought just before I got pregnant. I only had one glass, but it was more than enough to make mama verrry happy.

Sascha has started a sleep-strike phase that has been absolutely brutal. Naps, gone. Bedtime used to be our one ace in the hole. She'd go down easy, and if she wasn't sleepy yet she'd sing to herself, sometimes for an hour or more. Now, it's a scene straight out of Supernanny with the screaming and getting up and craziness. Nick and I both lost our cool at various points this weekend, and there were tears and slamming and swearing from all three of us.

Pregnancy brain + exhaustion = I can't wrap this up properly. Genetic testing is on Wednesday; let's keep all ten of our fingers crossed that everything's okay. Also, craving report: they've been brief but strong. Skittles, Coke, egg rolls. I dream of egg rolls; that craving is pretty much constant. Not the gross Chinese kind, but the thin-skinned Vietnamese kind, dipped in fish sauce. Oh my god I have to stop talking about them right now, my mouth is watering. We have an Asian market in our city that sells them three for a dollar, we just never get the chance to get over there. I think tomorrow may have to be the day I make that happen.

10 Weeks, 1 Day.

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 21:47:00 +0000

The countdown-with-days has begun. I've blown this entire Sunday sitting on my ever-expanding ass waiting for the nausea to pass. I've spent the last 45 minutes looking through old posts to get an idea of when this might go away. It looks like I got through the worst of it last time around 13-14 weeks. If that happens again, 13-14 weeks will be right around Christmas. I think I can make it. This month is always so busy that it usually flies. Of course, this also means that accomplishing all the holiday tasks will be extra fun when I'm feeling like the room is spinning. To anyone who is reading who used to get Christmas cards from me? Yeah, I thought this was going to be the year I'd start them up again. Looks like it won't. Sorry. Although, hmm, last year my sister got a picture of her two girls where the older one was sniveling and trying to hold on to the younger one, who was in a tantrumy blur. She put that on her card with the caption "From our happy family to yours." Best card ever. Maybe I'll send a picture of Nick and Sascha, with me leaning over the toilet in the background. Hmm... considering it.

Nauseous December is going to be even tougher considering the kids I have this year. I've said this a few times, but I haven't had a year like this in ages. I'm learning how to deal with it, like forcing myself to care less (seriously), but damn my kids suck this year. It has become like teaching in LA was, or working at the Ritz Carlton: a rotten job, just something to endure until it's over. I'm going to tell my students about the pregnancy this week, which was fun last time, but this year I worry that the kids will actually TRY to make me throw up in class just for fun. This year is so bad that I actually lost a handful of friends recently because of my excessive (and tactless) bitching. I just have to remind myself that this is a class that has left teacher retirements in their wake as they've gone through the system, and many more questioning their choice of career. I've heard it since this group was in 8th grade. Rotten bunch. I am trying to focus on the small handful that I actually do like. I feel bad that they have to be lumped in with the rest of their classmates. But I'll be skipping their graduation in 2011 guilt-free.

Anyway-- check out the birthday cake I made Sascha!

It looks cool from this distance, but from a professional standpoint, it was a wreck. Oh well, my girl liked it. PS, that bump in my shirt was just a bunch-up, not my stomach. I don't look any different belly-wise yet. I just feel bloated from all the Sick Sitting On My Ass. I wonder how much less weight I'd gain in a pregnancy if I didn't have any nausea at all and was still able to function and do more than sit still and burp.

Ooh! Also! I got my Very First Craving of this pregnancy last night. We were watching "The Wire" and I started to obsess about clam chowder. Obsess. Thinking about every little detail: the bacon. The potatoes. The feel of the pieces of clam in my mouth. It started to turn into a generic chowder obsession, because I started thinking about corn chowder too. It was 10 pm so there was no way I was getting any, but it actually kept me from falling asleep for a little while. I told my mom about it this morning, and she showed up at my door a few hours later with two tubs of it! Ahhh, thank you Mama!! It was delicious. All 900 calories of it. *smacks lips*

Happy Thanksgiving!

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 21:37:00 +0000

This past week has been nuts. Sascha and I both got sick last weekend, and it got progressively worse. I had to stay home from school two days. It's mostly an awful cold with a hacking cough, and at one point I coughed up a little blood. Good times. We almost didn't make it to Thanksgiving dinner because we were afraid we'd be contagious. We just popped in long enough to eat, then went home. Still crossing my fingers that nobody else got it. Also, still sick.

Anyway, the important thing is this, from today's photo shoot:
Yeee! It's for real! It's actually still in there! I can't help but giggle when I look at that picture, because I do this activity with my students about index fossils, and this picture looks exactly like one of the fossils on the worksheet. It's a sort of seashell with feet:

Baby Arthropoda Cypridea.

I'm still a little apprehensive about the pregnancy, but less so now. Next step is finding out its, you know, genetic viability, so to speak.

Also, my emotional instability is laughable. I finally watched an old Oprah I'd recorded, the one with Patrick Swayze's widow, and blubbered. Not a cry, a blubber. In front of Nick, as usual. And lately my mom has been teaching Sascha songs from "The Sound of Music" which was the first movie I watched with her when she was a few weeks old. Last night Nick put on the DVD for her and we sang a few of the songs. Well, attempted to anyway, since I was blubbering as gracelessly as I was three years ago trying to do the same thing. Seeing the Austrian scenery didn't help.

Nausea has taken over my brain-- must close this post. Also, we're having Sascha's birthday party in an hour and I still need a shower. I'll post pictures from that later.

Forever the C student

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:47:00 +0000

Nick is stressing out about potty training. He says he thinks we're not putting in enough effort. While there's a part of me that agrees with him, that knows I've been choosing to just ignore that part of parenthood and hope it just happens on its own, the other part is optimistic that it will happen on its own-- and knows that all the coercing in the world isn't going to work on our stubborn little Scorpio. Ultimately though, I think it's the eternal C student in me that's shrugging it off. Awful, I know. I wonder what the record is for oldest kid in diapers?

The farther along I get in this whole parenting endeavor, the less pressure I feel to be a good one. I see people gnashing their teeth over the smallest details, and I just can't be arsed. We are vigilant about manners and behavior, bedtime, and sitting down for dinner. I truly feel like everything else will fall into place. Ever since I figured out that it's not motherhood that doesn't agree with me, but American motherhood with all of its rigidity and judgement and all-or-nothing impossible standards, I've been able to relax and enjoy it so much more.

I bring this up because I've been back on Babycenter to check up on the tadpole's progress, and peeking at some pregnancy magazines, and all of the articles! Oh, my. It's all so fear-based. I know, someone could very easily get on here and say "I felt the same way until XYZ [something awful] happened" and then I will look like an ignorant asshole. Until then? I get a C in motherhood (adjusted, since it would be an American D but, say, an Italian A-). In high school I would have pumped a fist in the air over a C. And, uh, I kinda feel the same way 20 years later.

Unrelated: Last night I had a horrible dream that I had another miscarriage. It was pretty vivid. There was lots of blood. I woke up in a panic and stumbled to the bathroom, and I was fine, but it shook my confidence in this pregnancy. I even felt cramps on the way to school, sure that one was coming. I think I need to see the heartbeat again to re-confirm. I've started saying things like "if I'm still pregnant by then" again.

Also, tonight is the last night that my child is two years old. Three years ago tonight I was ~~beached~~ sitting on the couch eating Ben & Jerry's and reading Bust magazine, trying not to think of the next day's surgery. Nick's parents were here and it was a lovely night, cozy but nervous. My co-worker is all excited about Sascha's birthday and she keeps asking what we're going to do... and I'm back to the C-student. Um... nothing? She still kind of has no concept of the gifts and the party thing. We'll do a little cake with the three of us tomorrow, then we'll invite my sister and the babysitter (Saint Erika) and their kids over on Saturday. We have zero plans. They just said they were available. Didn't make invitations... we're all, "how 'bout... 4 to 6?" Forget European mom, I'm like Caveman mom. It is what it is. *shrug* Hooray for mediocrity! But that cake is going to kick ass. Pictures to follow.

Relevant to this blog:

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 12:44:00 +0000

This is hilarious! I laughed for two solid minutes!

Signs of life

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 00:41:00 +0000

I am still trying to convince myself this is for real. Every time I go to the bathroom and I don't see blood, I'm like "oh wow, YAY!" It's like a tiny surprise party every couple hours. As if the heartbeat wasn't enough evidence:

* I cannot regulate my body temperature. Usually I'm freezing (this happened last time). In the middle of the night, I'm boiling. Until I get up to pee, of course; then I'm shivering so violently when I get back in bed that I wake up Nick.

* I'm drinking my weight in water. The best thing about this pregnancy so far is that I haven't wanted any beer or wine. Last time I felt so deprived; this time I'm like one of those cartoon people crawling across the desert all day long. Just thinking about wine makes my mouth pucker. Although the other night I took a swig out of Nick's ice-cold Bass and it was so good it curled my toes. Still. Water.

* I'm SIIIIICK. Nauseous for most of the day. It's not as bad as it was with Sascha, but it's still... ugh. However, I have discovered this amazing Extra Ginger Brew stuff at Trader Joe's. It has a shitload of sugar in it, but it is the best manifestation of ginger I have ever tasted. At least sugar is better than corn syrup. This stuff is like ginger ale, but stronger and spicy. I highly recommend it and will probably keep buying it well after the nausea goes away.

* The Tired. I noticed today that I have the shakes most of the time, like a little tremble. I don't know if it's from feeling so sick or being so exhausted. I've had a cold lately so I can't sleep well at night, and I've been waking up at like 3, 4 in the morning. It's awful.

* Watching Ellen and Portia's wedding montage on Oprah the other day made me all teary. Me, with the cold black cinder for a heart. Oh-ho-hell, can't wait for Charlie Brown Xmas, which knocks me flat every year. I go through five tissues when they say "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown" at the end and start singing... Never seen it pregnant though... Dammit I'm tearing up and my breath is catching a little just writing about it.

* Let's just say that President Obama would do well to consider my ass as an untapped resource for chemical warfare. I have to carry matches with me at all times.

So I'm only 7.5 weeks in, but this time is already 180 degrees from the first pregnancy. Yeah, symptoms, fat, gas, nausea, whatever is all still the same, but... I feel GOOD. I feel happy and just so damn optimistic, even when I've been up since 3 am. It's a lovely, if foreign, feeling. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this holds.

A funny story...

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:50:00 +0000

There are two reasons I haven’t written in so long, and the first one is that school is insane. When I was here at school last Saturday putting in five hours of catch-up work, I ran a quick count of how many “special” cases I am dealing with this year. This includes kids on different kinds of special ed plans, kids who do their work in the tutoring center, kids who don’t speak English, kids in the emotional disorders program, and chronic absentees. In short, any kid that requires me to go the extra mile, sending packets of work home or to all four corners of the school to the various special programs (along with keys for their aides or tutors), then tracking the packets of work down and grading them. Ready for this? Out of 103 kids, I have 58 special cases. Fifty-eight. 58 extra miles to go, 58 kids for whom I am supposed to demonstrate endless love and patience and politically correct understanding every day, and sometimes I just… don’t. I still have five sections of two different subjects to teach, and I’m freakin’ spent. I think coming in on Saturdays is going to be the only way I’ll keep my head above water this year, and I’m not sure how much Nick is going to like that. But as much as it sucks, it was amazing to get so much work done without my phone ringing.

Onward.

In the past month, I’ve gotten more and more comfortable with the idea of sticking to one child. For Nick’s birthday, we got all gussied up for a date. On the way home, we started talking about the fertility specialist again, and how adamant I was about not going. Nick said something that implied that he wanted me to go, and I suddenly felt backed into a corner. I started crying and blubbed out that I didn’t relish the idea of having another baby because having a baby had been the worst experience of my life. Yep, I said it. It put such a nice cherry on top of the otherwise romantic evening (that, and Nick’s heartburn). Life of the party, I am, I really know how to work it. Sigh.

Cut to one month later, when I’m fully immersed and drowning in work (as per my last post). My period was 5 days late. I knew I wasn’t pregnant, because it had been an awfully dry month and the only time there had been any action was when I wasn’t ovulating. Besides, job stress has made me late before, so I knew that was it. I took a pregnancy test and it was negative. Done.

I had been trying on the idea of stopping at one kid for a while, and one morning I woke up and decided For Good that I was done. I was 100% at peace with that decision, and even the idea of getting rid of all the baby stuff didn’t bother me anymore. At the time, Nick was in an epic bad mood (these tend to last several days) so I was going to wait to talk to him about it until he came out of it. At this point I realized I was 10 days late. I took another pregnancy test before I got in the shower the next morning, and it was negative. Well that was a relief, considering the absolutely final decision I had just made the day before.

When I got out of the shower… there were two lines.

So um. Yep. I am pregnant. And this time, it’s for real. I found out the day my parents left for a two-week vacation (there’s the second reason I haven’t written here). They got back last weekend, and when I told them, my dad offered to do an ultrasound that day. Lo and behold, there was an actual embryo with a little working ticker in there! When I saw it, I can’t tell you how relieved I felt. Relieved and really happy, a thousand times more than I was the first time I saw Sascha’s ultrasound, because then I was just petrified. When I told Nick about the positive test, we were cautiously optimistic because I’ve been feeling nauseous, something I didn’t feel with the two miscarriages. But we decided that this would be the last “event”—if it was a baby, it’s obviously the last baby and I’ll get my tubes tied, and if it was a miscarriage, then Nick would probably go for the snip. I felt good about that decision because it meant I wouldn’t have to endure another miscarriage again. But as time went on (during the limbo between my telling him and seeing the ultrasound), I sensed him wavering on that decision and I was like “NOOOOOOO!!!” Because goddamn, I do not want to be a freakin’ miscarriage factory over here to satisfy everyone else’s wishes that I’m doing everything I can to keep trying. I’m DONE with the miscarriages, and I would have been happy to be done with children if only it meant no more miscarriages.

But! There’s a baby! A real, thumbnail-sized, 7-weeks-and-change beating-heart embryo/fetus! I’m due in late June. Of course I wish it was sooner because I’d love an excuse to not see this year’s students as soon as possible, but I’ll take it. That will give me the whole summer with Nick! I’ll probably take the first quarter of school off next year. I am cringing already, thinking about how complicated my lessons are in September and October and how much a sub will botch them, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

So here we go again. Round Two. The sequel. I feel totally different. First of all, I’m not scared. Thoughts of the horror show that is having a newborn keep creeping into my head, and I’m effectively pushing them out to make way for the good stuff. I’m not worried about getting fat at all this time. I mean, I ran that half-marathon after I had Sascha, and although it took me forever, I did eventually lose all of the weight. I’ve been nauseous every day, but it’s not as bad as it was last time. Well, not yet anyway… I remember it peaking around 12 weeks or so. If this is as sick as I’m going to get, then I’m looking at an easy go at it. Heh, famous last words.

I’m getting distracted trying to write this at school so I have to wrap it up. Stay tuned for more frequent updates (I promise) and belly pictures. If you read this and you are my friend on Facebook, please don’t mention anything publicly because I have some students on there. Thanks.

Where I've been

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:50:00 +0000

Sorry, it's been a month! Yikes. I have been flirting with Nervous Breakdown territory. School has hit me like a freight train this year. I can't figure out why this year is so different from the previous 11, but I can't get my footing. I think it's because of my lower-level classes. Normally, I have one. Under normal circumstances, the class has about ten kids, most of whom just need me to slow down. They'll have learning disabilities but nothing too severe. There are usually two or three kids in there who have only spoken English for a year, so they need me to simplify my language. Usually this class is my favorite.

This year... I have two of these classes. Each has about 18 kids. Each has about 4-5 kids with SEVERE disabilities, usually with attention span and fooling around, but it's at a level I haven't seen since I taught in ~~Hell~~ Los Angeles. And it's bad-- a few of them even smell inhuman, like livestock. Some look like what your mind would conjure if I said "nuclear waste"-- they're one step away from being the three-eyed fish on the Simpsons. They are wrecks. I saw one girl dig around in her nose, completely unselfconsciously, like a toddler-- and then put her finger in her mouth. She is 17. Instead of kids who are struggling with English, I have a few who speak no English at all. Not a word. The problems are exponential, and the classes are breaking me.

Add to that the lack of flow in my day. I feel like I'm tripping and falling all day long. Each class is something totally different (I've taken on an intro physics class this year), so there's no momentum, I have to switch gears every hour-- wipe the board clean, get different papers out for the next class, etc. And with the ungodly amount of kids who get special services, my phone is ringing all day long, interrupting me constantly. I've got sped kids, ELL kids, kids in emotional support programs, you name it, so there is constant tab-keeping and paperwork and phone calls tracking down kids or aides. My day is a clumsy 100 mph mess from start to finish.

Most of the time I feel shocked and bewildered, like why can't I get it together, what the hell is wrong with me. Not a question, a growled statement. The responsibilities on my plate are like a pile of oranges at the grocery store. When I lose one of them-- forgetting my bag at home with that day's lesson, finding that the printer only has hot-pink paper in it and the photocopies I make from that are too dark to read, unexpected assemblies or fire drills, that kind of thing-- it sets off a chain reaction towards me losing my mind because I cannot maintain a train of thought. Ever. The more balls I drop, the more I'm losing my students' attention, and it's just snowballing. I am honestly worried that I'm going to have a stroke. I can't take a day off to recuperate because I've already been out for a conference, and soon I'm going to have to take some days off to stay home with Sascha when my mom goes to France for two weeks. Days with her are not relaxing, but at least it will be one day that I don't have to answer 20 phone calls from sped in the middle of teaching. I won't have to say "now where was I?" all freakin' day.

So that's that. School has splattered me this year and I'm still trying to put my guts back in. I suppose the upside is that the three "normal" classes I have are amazing, full of fantastic kids.

I'm spending the day today trying to figure out ways to make my week less crazy, planning outfits and meals now, so hopefully I'll be able to breathe again soon.

Grateful

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 01:25:00 +0000

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. We started school and it's taking me a while to adjust to (read: recover from the shock of) the full school day. It's exhausting. That, and I have two very challenging classes. One is a freshmen science class. I love the subject- intro physics- but the kids are like puppies on a sugar high. They have the attention span of a housefly. The other class is straight out of "Dangerous Minds," except they're not dangerous, they're just annoying, and they ignore me the same way Michele Pfeiffer was ignored in that movie. They're also at the end of the day. So when I get out of work, I have to focus on Trying Not To Die Of Exhaustion until bedtime. I'll get used to it.

I just felt compelled to post because I saw the first episode of "Biggest Loser" a few nights ago and it hit me hard. One of the contestants lost her husband, 5-yr-old daughter and 2-week-old son in a car accident, hit by some dumb kid speeding. The thought of this is too big for me to get my head around, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. One moment she's a wife and mother, the next moment she's not. Hearing her story sobered me and shook me up. Since then I haven't been able to take my eyes/hands/mouth off Nick or Sascha. A few days ago I was trying to watch Oprah. Sascha put on my high heels and was stomping around the hardwood floors making a huge racket. Nick said "I'll take her in the other room," and I said "no no, she's fine"-- thinking to myself, that woman would give anything to have her kid interrupt her TV show.

In short, it's freaked me out enough to keep me in a near-constant state of wide-eyed frantic appreciation for everything in my life. Look! Beautiful weather! Healthy parents! The phone rings, and I'm "HIII MOMMM!!! HIIII!!" And what a gorgeous, wonderful daughter I have! She can wipe her beet-stained fingers all over the curtains, that's fine! This overcooked meat is the best thing I've ever eaten! My job is hard, but I love it! My spare tire is irrelevant! And so on. Every time I touch Sascha I'm trying to memorize the feel of her. I woke up in the middle of the night to touch Nick's back last night, so it's even getting to me in my sleep.

Being this positive is really good to a degree. It's sort of what I imagine it would be like to take Ecstasy (I heard/saw a lot about it in college, I was just too chicken to try it myself). (I sound so dorky saying that.) I just hope the semi-panic and fear recede eventually. Ugh, but considering how addicted I am to this show...

Are any of you watching?

Oh, and a post-script:

I think I am completely at peace with the fertility thing. I am pretty excited about the prospect of moving forward in my life with one kid. Another would be fine, but I am enjoying where we are so much that it's obscene, and I kinda don't want to mess with it. So she's not potty trained. So she's almost three and still takes a bottle of milk (yes, a bottle) twice a day. Meh! She is fun. She sings and whispers and plays with the dog. She's magical, and completely satisfying. It is hard sometimes with the whole Daddy-preference thing, and some days it really gets to me and makes me wish I had a kid that wanted me back. But today she climbed on top of me as I stretched out after my run, and that was enough.

Anyway, I'm seriously not tracking my cycle anymore. I don't care. I know, I know, "watch, now it'll happen," but as we all know, getting pregnant is not the issue... I am guessing I will have 2-3 more false alarms/early miscarriages, and then my personal deadline will arrive and that'll be that.

And then we'll go to Europe!! Wheeee!!

Doing okay

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 21:31:00 +0000

(with a nod to Claire-- hellooo!)

I'm fine. It's been a week. This past Thursday, Nick and I took a little mini-vacation to Vermont. Just one overnight. It was great. Very relaxing, very not-kid-friendly, very something we couldn't do if we had two kids (or at least it would be a lot harder to convince my mom to take two small kids instead of just one). Here are some pictures:

Relaxing at the B&B before dinner.

Dinner at Hen of the Woods. Amazing table!
Lunch Friday at Simon Pearce-- another amazing table!

Otherwise, I feel fine. I think I expected the miscarriage from the moment I saw the positive-ish pregnancy test, so it wasn't nearly the blow it was the last time around. I've been distracted though. I spent the morning crying over my college friend dying of cancer (I think I mentioned this recently); this morning I found out that he has just days left. It's a sobering thought that he sometimes doesn't recognize his wife or daughter.

So that has certainly kept me from feeling sorry for myself. At Simon Pearce yesterday I made a crack to Nick about my old, infertile body and he was all "hey, hey, don't say that..." I had to clarify that it is much easier for me to deal with things through humor. Besides, bad things are (or can be) funny. It's not funny to talk about having a great marriage or whatever.

Speaking of funny, Sascha thinks I am Julia Roberts. She watches this video on YouTube of Elmo and Julia, then likes to act it out later. She gets me to say "Hi" like Julia does, and she takes over the rest (both parts). But now she calls me Julia! Last night I put her in time out and left the room, and she started screaming "JULIAAA! JULIAAA!" Oh HELL it was funny. Dude, I will totally take that.

A few unpolished thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 17:33:00 +0000

So, where to begin.

I didn't go for the bloodwork. I already know the answer. If my dad (and Claire) is right, and it is possible for me to still be pregnant, then great-- I'll grow a baby. I just could not stomach the idea of waiting rooms and paperwork and opening files and signing forms and just UGH. Not to mention having to go back for comparative bloodwork in a week. I just can't. Not today. Today I want to eat smoked salmon and sit on my ass and shop online. More about the shopping later.

In the past 18 hours I've had at least three more requests for me to go see a fertility specialist. I may have finally figured out a way to express how I feel about that. It boils down to my not wanting it badly enough. I feel very strongly about putting my faith in fate's hands. Que sera, sera-- if I'm supposed to have one, then that's fine. If I'm meant to have two, I'll have two. My gut speaks loudly & clearly to me about not wanting to mess with that.

I guess I can see too many benefits to only having one.

This summer my sister made a jokey-eyerolling remark under her breath about "huh, mother of one," ribbing me about how easy I have it (she has three). It was funny, and I laughed, but it stuck with me. She's right. I do have it easy with one. Lately that kid has been rocking my world. She's been so fun that I've fallen desperately, scarily in love with her. We have a couple of inside jokes and when our faces snap towards each other and we laugh at them, in that moment of private recognition, it's like the planets have aligned.

I know this will sound silly (and insulting to many, many people-- sorry), but there seems to be a slightly hipper quality to having one child as opposed to an army. When I thought I was pregnant, I was thinking "oh, now I'm really going to be a mom-- I'll have to get a minivan and maybe a midwestern accent and pull my jeans up to my tits." Whereas one child still seems to be straddling the line between having kids and not having kids. Technically, it is neither. I don't have kids, I have a kid. It's like I still get to keep part of my adult identity. Some of the coolest mothers I know only have one. Not that having more than one automatically makes you not cool! Shut up, I'm just trying to make myself feel better about having a miscarriage and being old and barren.

Of course, I am sad about not having another. I am. This was going to be my Redemption Baby. A pregnancy where I wouldn't be overwhelmed with panic and fear, concerned only with myself. The early months where I would know firsthand what to do, and know that those days would pass. A final chance to try to breastfeed. It would have been my Do-Over Baby, where I would right all the wrongs I committed with Sascha.

And I worry about only having one, in terms of... if something ever happened to Sascha, we wouldn't be parents anymore. End of parenthood. The thought of that is too horrible to bear. Or what if she screwed up her life? Became a crackhead? Or wanted to move to LA to become an actress? (shudder) It would be almost as bad if she grew up and hated me. What are the odds? I mean, she's been pushing me away from her since she was born. It's practically hard-wired in her. I know plenty of first-born daughters who have that relationship with their mothers. Of course, I know a handful of women who were only children who get along with their mothers just fine.

So I think I'm not going to see a specialist. I know this decision will not sit well with so many people, but like I said, I just cannot get my gut behind it. I will continue to try until I turn 40 in 2011. After that, I'm packing it in and moving on with my life as a mother of one.

For now, I'm thinking about raw oysters and martinis. I'm thinking about shopping for school clothes at non-maternity stores. I'm thinking about running the half-marathon again next June. I'm pricing trips to London in February. For now, I'm going to continue enjoying the bits of adult life I'm slowly getting back since having Sascha.

Strike Two

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 00:08:00 +0000

I'm bleeding.

My dad says there's still hope. I think the hope is all his. I'll take the blood test tomorrow to confirm what I already know. This being my body, I know what's going on. I'm done. Again.

As I cried into Nick's chest again tonight, I couldn't stop thinking of my college roommate, whose wonderful husband is losing a long battle with cancer. Believe me, I am counting my blessings, but I'm still disappointed.

I'm sorry if you're family or a close friend and you're finding this out here. Do me a favor and don't call me. The long pauses punctuated with a sad "I'm sorry" is torture. I hope that doesn't sound insensitive. Also, please, PLEASE don't tell me not to tell anyone next time I get fake pregnant. I don't need any fingers wagged in my face right now. And I still don't regret telling.

Thanks.

Wine is waiting.

5 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 18:12:00 +0000

Unlike last time's fake-out pregnancy, I actually don't feel like a pig this time.

Check it out, I can fit into my pre-pregnancy shorts! This is a pair of shorts I bought the summer we got married, when I was in awesome shape!

Granted, I'm still spilling out a little. But hey! They fit! By the way, that is a bathing suit top holding up Rock of Love Bus 1 and 2, not a cute yellow bra. (are you kidding? they don't make bras that cute in my size.)

Exhibit A: bras in my size

And can I just say, the camera is cruel. I was holding the camera up, and I'd look in the mirror and go "wow! I look great!" then look at the camera screen and go "oh no, I look awful!" then back to the mirror and "wow, I look great!" and so on. Unfortunately, the 3" roots in my hair are represented accurately.

This post has two points-- one to document my possible weekly belly-growth update, because I wish I'd done that with Sascha, and the other to remind any of you who happen to be my friend on Facebook: please keep this under wraps! I have students and random acquaintances on Facebook. I've gotten very lucky so far, but pleeeeease don't say anything there yet. Thanks!

The rabbit is half-dead

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 13:23:00 +0000

...and apparently, I am sort of pregnant.

I've been dying to write about this, but had to tell all family first, and even that had to wait a few days. It's good that I've had a little time to cool down. Here's what happened.

Last week, my period didn't come the day it was due. I took a test and it was negative. Three days later, still late, took another test... and I got the same faint second line I did last time. Actually, even fainter. I. Was. FURIOUS. Really, really pissed, spitting virtual f-bombs like an angry cat to my friends in the forum I'm in. When I got pregnant with Sascha, I had two strong lines the day my period was due. Stupid old, crusty body. I am not up for another fake-out pregnancy. This was at 5 am (I'd been up since 3 with my usual insomnia), and I was wondering-- how do I tell Nick when he wakes up? Congratulations, sorta? Keep your calendar open in a few weeks? I went with "I've got good news and bad news," and he grimaced when I showed him the test. Even he knew.

So I waited a day and took another test. Same result. Nick went out and got the Dummy Test, the one that actually says "pregnant" or "not pregnant." Third time's a charm. I managed to pass this test with a higher score than the C-minuses I'd gotten on the other two.

So, at this point we're cautiously optimistic. Everyone says they have a different feeling about this one, but I don't yet. I don't feel any different (aside from constantly craving spicy food, hot enough to melt my face off spicy, although that isn't all that different from normal). Not sick. Not any more tired than normal. My boobs hurt, but they always hurt. (Can anyone else out there with giant knockers confirm this for me, that big tits just hurt? Or is it really just me?)

At this point I have two more major hurdles to cross before I can fully believe it. First will be the heartbeat. Second will be the genetic testing. My sister advised me to not blog about this pregnancy (or, "pregnancy") yet until I'm 100% sure there is a full, healthy baby in there, but I just can't keep my mouth shut. If the worst happens, I'll talk about it. Of the nine people who read this blog, most of you are people I don't know, so I don't mind.

If I may allow a little excitement to creep in? If this is for real, then my due date will be APRIL 18th. BULLSEYE. Surely my luck can't be that good.

And finally, the best reaction I've gotten to this news was my friend Karin, who said "You whore! You're knocked up! Again! Can't you keep your knees together woman?" Awesome. Karin for the win!

"Two kids make one feel like none."

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 09:53:00 +0000

I just got back in touch with a co-worker from when I lived in Los Angeles. Last time I saw her, I wasn't married and neither of us had kids. Now she has two. We started talking about motherhood in general and she concluded with that statement. Considering how hard one has been for me? It made me shudder and has haunted me ever since. Whenever I'm playing with Sascha or she's being easy, the words "...make one feel like none..." echo in my head.

Nick and I had a nice talk about it yesterday. I told him that I'm still 50/50 right on the fence, but lately I've been feeling the pull even harder on both sides. Wanting a baby more than ever. Wanting to stick to one child more than ever. I concluded that it's a good thing that I am on the fence, that way I won't be devastated if I never get pregnant. We're going to let the chips fall where they may (um, except with birth control through the winter). I decided that I'll give this two more years. 2011 will be the year I turn 40. If it doesn't happen by then, I'm selling all the baby stuff and calling it a day. Dusting my hands, making peace with the nice little family I have. I know, lots of women have kids after 40, but people have climbed Everest too and I'm not going to do something just 'cause I can. (Or can I? Christ, we've been trying a long time.)

I did see that amazing midwife a couple weeks ago. She gave me the number of a fertility specialist that she loves, and who helped her get pregnant. I don't know why, and I'm going to get lots of shit for this, but I can't bring myself to make the call. Maybe I'm lazy and don't want to drive a half hour for a string of doctor's appointments? Maybe I'm afraid of what he'll tell me? Maybe both? I think I've had enough experiences where I've gone to the doctor, paid a copay, waited for him/her to be late, then had them shrug and say they don't know what's wrong with me. I would say that's been 90% of the doctors' appointments in my life (not that I've had to go very often). I don't really have the time or patience to deal with that again. The idea of spending my time sitting in a waiting room is revolting on its own. I guess that's why I'm not calling. I really wish I could find a Dr. Phil-style therapist (what, he was awesome before he went all Springer) who would lay it out for me straight instead of nodding sympathetically. That's what the last woman did. I liked her, but I need someone to shake me and ask me the hard questions I don't know how to ask myself. I don't even know what the questions are.

I have been scarce 'round the blog because it's been a very busy summer. I counted six straight weeks where Nick and/or I have played host or guest. I have loved every visit, but after six weeks I felt completely wrung out. At the end of it, I still had to face a dirty house, piles of laundry, an empty fridge, a garden & yard full of weeds, and a fat body from all the celebration eating (restaurants! desserts! oooh, let's make this! all of which were usually my idea). So I have a month to restore what I've been giving, giving, giving for six weeks. We've hired Saint Erika to take Sascha a few days a week. We still have a monster to-do list like we do every summer, catching up on things that have accumulated during the school year like getting the scanner fixed and replacing a ripped screen. But the house is clean. Garden is halfway there with the weeds. I've been eating well. The sun has peeked in here and there (the epic rain has continued through the summer, confining a lot of that visiting to the indoors-- crazymaking), enough for me to have a pool day or two with Sascha. We've finally had the opportunity to try to potty-train her, which has been a spotty endeavor at best. We're in no rush, she'll get there when she's ready. But aahhh... it is finally summer vacation!

I'll finish with Sascha's Funny Story of the summer: out of nowhere, she started yelling "What the FUCK?" Nick figured out this came from him, while he's driving. (small, discreet wipe of forehead as the blame is taken off the foul-mouthed mother.) So we've tried to change that to "WonderFUL!" It's only sort of working. We'll correct her, she'll give us this little "yeah right" smile and then yell the original version again. Ai, that kid.

Shilling

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 17:55:00 +0000

This has nothing to do with anything, really. I just read this article today that talks about mom-bloggers (a term I loathe, but not as much as if you add "-my" to the end of "mom"-- talk about a condescending term) who make money hawking products on their blogs. I just want to say, for the record, that while I would love the extra cash that would bring, I couldn't do that. I've even hesitated to write about products I'm in love with just because I didn't want it to sound like a commercial. I've found really cool blogs and stopped reading them as soon as they put up a reader contest to win some crap. That's not what this one is about. Besides, product placement within my writing would take the focus off my self-absorption, and I wouldn't want to do that.

But if the Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap people ever wanna cut me a check, I wouldn't turn them away. I'm just sayin'.

PS: unrelated: it was my last day teaching summer camp today and a kid threw up in the hall. This turned my classroom upside-down and there was chaos for a good 20 minutes while kids called their moms to come pick them up and such. I caught one girl just as she was on her way out the door with my desk-cleaning sponge to try to clean it up. I can laugh now, but ugh... those of you who teach elementary school? Just so you know... Teaching high school is terrifying. Teenagers are huge, and they mouth off every day. Sometimes they back us into corners, cowering. They all do drugs and carry weapons. (there, that oughta keep you thinking you have the better deal.)

The Ghost of Pregnancy Past

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 00:06:00 +0000

This morning I was going about my business. As I reached into the fridge for the half & half, the expiration date reached out and smacked me across the face.

August 15th.

My due date for my last pregnancy (or, "pregnancy").

My dad had warned me that I'd be feeling sad again around my due date, and I secretly thought, "nah, that's a hundred years away, surely I'll be pregnant again by then." Hmm, yep. So here I am, not pregnant and feeling bad, right on schedule. Not devastated or even teary, just a little down.

And yet! Still torturously ambivalent! For the nine thousandth time, I am still balanced perfectly on that fence. Loving Sascha's independence. But seeing babies on TV and craving the feel of that tiny body curled up like a shrimp in my arms, wondering if I could breastfeed a second baby or if a second baby would even lie in my arms. Seeing my sister still have to chase after her not-quite-two-year-old, still needing baby gates and such, and thinking UGH I am so over all of that. But seeing her kids play with their siblings, and oof... what a lame life Sascha would have if I deprived her of that. (I am aware that comments are open, say what you want, but I had a kick-ass childhood with three great siblings who are now great friends. I stand by my lame life assertion.)

I have an appointment with the coolest midwife on the planet next week (or the week after maybe?). I'm going to see what she thinks. I just want someone to tell me what to do. I want a definitive answer: I am infertile. Nick is infertile. One month of clomid would work. Just something definite. Something final. If she puts me on clomid, which-- ehh, shockingly, I have mixed feelings about-- then I'll be on it for like one or two months before it's time for us to use condoms again. Naturally this brings forth the "stop trying to time it for the school year" nags, which-- people, (and by "people" I mean Mom*), if I was given the choice between having a newborn at the beginning of a school year or never having another baby, there would be skidmarks on the floor from me heading to the computer to put all the baby stuff on Craigslist. Dust hands, end of story, no intentional babies from September through February. Surprise babies? Of course I'd be thrilled, I'm just saying they'd be the result of a faulty condom. An actual surprise, not a "surprise."

I'm tearing my freakin' hair out with this. Also, I've had the same conversation with seven different people over the last few weeks-- people in my same situation who are like "yeah, I want it, but dude, I just cannot go through that again."

Also, I haven't written in like two weeks because (A) same old boring shit with the endless mental whining about a second baby-- even I'm tired of it, and (B) I've been teaching summer camp and visiting with out-of-town family. I've spent more time writing this post just now than I've spent with my own child in the past two weeks. August will be free and boring. There is a part of me that wants to think I will spend the month getting freaky with Nick trying to get pregnant, but in reality I will be working on my kitchen. That's just how I roll. (also, I'm sick of actually trying and then being disappointed. At least I can paint my cabinets and stand back and go "there-- done" and actually accomplish something I attempt.)

*Hey Ma, in your defense, I did just say I want someone to tell me what to do. Heh. Love you.

Independence Day

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 17:07:00 +0000

Which is today. Hooray! And THE. SUN. IS. OUT. If you don't live in New England you have no idea what a big deal this is. You know how you'll get a few days of rain in a row, and even if you like rain, after a while you think "enough already, let's have some sun!" Well we hit that point probably six weeks ago. And the rain never stopped. But today? AHHH!!! As soon as I finish posting this I'm going out for a good hard run.

I haven't posted in a while and I've got a few things on my mind.

1. My current mood about a second child:

Whatever. I'm so done with tracking my cycle and forcing sex and getting my hopes up and then getting my period. I have started to renovate my kitchen and I'm focusing on that. Also, for the first time since-- well, ever, we actually have a small financial surplus! Nick wanted to put that money towards a trip to Aruba so that we'd get to see the sun sometime this year. It was a very tempting prospect during the eternal rains, and we priced several options. Unfortunately, the trip would have used up the entire surplus. We decided to not go. That way, if I get pregnant, we'll have money for my maternity leave (I always think of my non-American readers when I reference that, and yes, a little smoke comes out of my ears). If I don't get pregnant, then that money will grow and we can really take a nice trip next summer. We'll have the option (financially) to either fly to Omaha first, leave Sascha with Nick's parents, and go on our trip from there; or we can take the trip with her, when she's older and easier than she is now. It's win-win. I am thrilled to finally have a cushion in the bank. During the first two years of our relationship, we were so broke at times that we had to sell our CDs for grocery money, and since then we've been paying off credit card debt, so this is a dream come true.

Anyway, so I'm tired of thinking about getting pregnant. I'm not going to prevent it (until October or so, when the school year timing would be bad-- and please, everyone stop telling me to disregard that, you are not the one who has to teach on no sleep), I'm just done worrying about it. My body is annoying me and I want to know why, if my ovaries are not actually sending an egg every month, why I am not just going through menopause. Let's just get it over with already. I've got moustache cream, I'm ready.

Oh, and my kitchen! I'm painting the cabinets white. I've also cut out the center panels of 6 of the 8 top cabinet doors and I'm going to replace them with frosted glass. Then the walls... I've got a few colors in mind but I'll see how I feel when the cabinets are done. Something greenish. Then I'm going to replace half the counters with butcher block... which makes me teary with excitement, like an adolescent girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. I can only do half because the other half has a weird angle which will require professional labor to cut & fit it, as well as a new sink, and that little $$ cushion ain't that big. So, half.

2. Funny kid story: at the park today, Sascha was calling "Hey Nick! Hey Nick!" and after we cracked up and got her to call him Daddy again, she paused, then turned to me and said "Hey Abby!" Little smartass. Good Christ she is going to give us a run for our money.

3. This is for those of you who are over, let's say, 30. When was the last time you tried to do a cartwheel? I'm 37 and fairly active. I can run a dozen miles and I lift weights often. Well! We were at the playground today and I hopped on a swing. Nick started to push me kind of high and it was the weirdest sensation, almost painful. I was laughing hard enough that no sound was coming out of my mouth. It is bizarre what a typical American adulthood (sitting in front of a screen) can do to your body. I may have strength and stamina, but wow, range of motion? So then Nick tried it-- same result for him. We both tried hanging upside-down by our knees-- whoa again. The hardest part was getting our legs up to the bar. And getting down. It reminded me of a few months ago, when my four-year-old niece asked me to do a cartwheel. I said sure, no problem, then... AI!! It had probably been a decade since I last did that, and it was a rude awakening for many of my muscles.

So today I resolved to start whipping myself around more often. We'll see how that goes... Yoga would be good, except I hate it. It's boring. I get way too impatient.

(Had to cut this short because kid wouldn't nap. Shocker.)

Ho-hum

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 00:46:00 +0000

Not much going on here. I've kinda been caught up in a whirlwind of school finishing, my cousin visiting, and Nick leaving for L.A. for a few days. I never thought school would end. The last few days were torture. But my cousin was here during that time which made it bearable. She comes from a very musically talented family, so we were treated to live accordion & guitar often. It was great. I highly recommend cooking while someone plays accordion in the kitchen!

And Nick is out in LA visiting our best man for a long weekend. I bought him the ticket back when winter was neverending and I figured he needed to see the sun. Little did I know it would be chilly and raining for a solid month before he left so he would still need that trip in June. It's raining now. Of course it is. A friend of mine said he's going to build an ark soon. Nick and I are toying with the idea of going to Aruba in August so that we'll at least get five days of summer. I don't know... we have the money to do it, but it would pretty much use all of it. So we can either have savings, or do the irresponsible thing and go to Aruba. I'm on the fence. But all this rain is making me loco.

So I've been a single parent for a few days, and it's actually working out well. I've been putting a lot of effort into doing things with her, like going to the park, so I'm more tired than I would be if I stuck her in front of the TV (which, don't get me wrong, I'm still doing for an hour a day so I can catch up on Facebook and cook dinner). I'm not sleeping as well without Nick home. Two nights ago, I couldn't sleep even with a Tylenol PM. When I finally started to drift off around midnight, we got a huge thunderstorm that sounded like it was directly on top of our house. And it lasted for hours. It woke up Sascha (who has slept through smoke alarms) and gave me an excuse to bring her into my bed. The storm and her thrashing kept me awake until 3, but a few times she snuggled herself into me, and reached for my hand. I got 3.5 hrs of sleep that night but it was worth it.

Today we went to pick strawberries and I taught her how to take the stem off before she ate them, and she went to town. The strawberries babysat my kid while I picked. But I am wiped. After she goes to bed, I am just cooked, which blows because that's the perfect time to clean bathrooms or whatever. But every night I end up choosing the whatever. Tonight I have to make that be a shower, since I haven't showered in three days. I really want to get into bed with a glass of wine and "Mamma Mia" but it's already so late. (What. 9 IS late. Shut up.) (also, ignore the time at the bottom of this post-- I still can't fix that stupid thing.)

I'm too exhausted to write more so I'll finish with a story from the neighbor's birthday party we went to tonight. First of all, she got on this swing-- it's like a see-saw swing? this thing-- and figured out how to do it herself, so I could actually leave her alone, and go in the house to have some grown-up time, and she didn't scream. Which was a miracle. She played with the other kids, even through the rain. She came in as I was saying my goodbyes, and I picked her up. She was a little damp (it wasn't raining hard), but after a minute some water started streaming down my arm, coming from her. I was like "what the hell?" wondering if she was really that wet. Well, no, but her diaper was waterlogged, so she was peeing down her leg, down my arm, and onto my neighbor's kitchen floor. Everyone laughed but I was a little mortified. Fortunately the neighbor has a good sense of humor. She has to; my dad is her gynecologist.

Meh, false alarm

noreply@blogger.com (Abby) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 23:48:00 +0000

I haven't written in a while because my body was sending me weird signals, and I didn't want to speak too soon. My tits blew up like beach balls. Now, I'm not one to name body parts, I've always thought the practice was annoying, but I couldn't help but christen them Rock of Love Bus 1 & 2 (the link is in case you are reading from another country and don't have access to that particular slice of American culture). Because no matter how professionally I tried to dress, I still looked like a stripper. I might as well have had huge flashing arrows pointing right at my chest. And they HURT. Even though my period was well over a week away, I was like "hmmm...." and smells started to make me sick, and I got tired, and... I got a strong hunch that I was pregnant. I bought the test but refused to take it until my period was officially late. Well today it was officially early, naturally on a day when I wore a brand-new bright white skirt and my most delicate, lovely white lace underwear. No accidents, but still. Damn. I also had no protection on me so I had to do that awful 8th grade wadded-up toilet paper trick. (My apologies to any men who might be reading. You learn something new every day.)

Of course, I am focusing on the bright sides here: For the time being, my body still belongs to me. I can drink when I go visit my sister next month-- I can drink right now! I can still run. I just bought four pairs of shorts & skirts from Target that are ridiculously vanity sized (call me a sucker, it still strokes the ego). It's one more month that I get to feel good instead of feeling like crap. Sick, tired, bloated crap.

But.

I had been getting really excited about the prospect of a February baby. The timing with the school year would have been perfect-- I would have just been finishing up my sickest time when school started, and it would have been safe to tell everyone. The first few months after birth, when I was recovering and insane, I'd have been missing the very worst part of the school year (the stretch when there are no holidays for months and winter feels like it will last forever). I told Nick that I am disappointed but not devastated, the way you would be if you applied for a new job you wanted and didn't get it, but you still had your old job. Tonight I was watching Sascha jump on the bed, thinking about how hard we have tried to have another baby; how all last summer we paid extra close attention to my fertile days and still had no luck. I wonder if I'm actually infertile and she was just a one-time fluke. I would be okay with that if that's true. I guess I'd just like to know so that I can stop hoping and wondering and saving up my sick days like a squirrel collecting acorns for winter. I could get rid of the boxes of maternity and baby clothes in the basement. I could take days off to paint my toenails and watch daytime TV every once in a while.

But the idea that I was pregnant made me ridiculously happy.

So, it's onward and upward again in two weeks. Sigh... Sascha is in bed belting out "Hey Jude" at the top of her lungs. I'm going to go have a brownie and a biiiig glass of wine.