Advice to the Young at Heart*

* Total props to whomever can figure out where this is from. No cheating!

People, I can't tell you how many posts I have started and then stopped this week (well, ok, it was three, but who's counting?). I have lots to say, the written diarrhea is backing up, but I can't quite find the right words to express it. I have lots of ideas written down - but none seem inspiring. Where is my muse? Does infertility even have a muse? If it did, I would imagine that it would be Melpomene, she of tragedy. Thalia could be the pinch hitter if good ole Mel was hitting the town one night, desperate for a little levity after the woes of the infertile world.

Maybe I should take the cue of the Greeks and write of cautionary tales and other mythology (although I thought it was so freaking hysterical that they recently reported that the vast majority of ancient Egyptian scrolls discovered in 1896 were torrid romance novels full of porn. 2,000 year old porn, people!). Or perhaps, since it is the season of graduation, I should write my speech as the graduating speaker - which will likely never happen, but if the woman who spoke at my college graduation could actually be invited, there's hope for me yet.

Ah, yes, I think I will indulge in a little navel gazing, but instead of addressing acne-ridden teenagers who are aching to go get trashed before the ink on their diplomas dries, I will speak directly to the me that ten years ago this year graduated from college. Lord knows I could have used some words of wisdom. Here goes:

Dear Ms. X,

You have now been out of college for a month and frankly, you're a bit of a mess. No forward momentum to propel you to the next adventure, no plan for the future. Knowing what I know now, here's some advice for getting through then.

Seek engagement (no, not a marriage proposal). I know how much you loved college - the friends, the sense of being and fitting in that you never achieved in high school, and I know how hard it is for you to say goodbye to those things. I don't think it would be possible to recreate the experience that you had in college (and in some respects, you probably don't want to), but remember how wonderful it felt to be engaged, learning, constantly introduced to new ideas and new people. You now have to seek those things out for they will not come as easily.

Lighten Up. I do remember very well how much you thought of yourself and how seriously you took things. I'll just say two words: lighten up. Nothing you experienced in your 22 years in any way compares to the shit storm you will run into later in life. Failure to start lightening up will result in a nasty five-year hangover down the road.

Be compassionate. Remember that no one's life is a bed of roses and nine times out of ten, the person who is making your life difficult has a lot of difficulty themselves. The one out of ten person is probably just an asshole and not worthy of further thought.

Be gracious. You know the Golden Rule, but it bears repeating. Treat others as you would have them treat you - even if they don't hold up their end of the bargain! Not only do you get to ride the moral high ground, you have done a good deed that has lightened someone else's burden.

And, most importantly, be mindful. You have your whole life in front of you. Now is not the time to rush it.

Smooches, Your Older, Wiser Self.

ps - those birth control pills that you were taking for endometriosis? Totally not needed. Throw those bad boys out (but still use a condom!). Use the money you would have spent to buy stock in Apple. You could pay for numerous IF treatments off of the earnings. Just a thought.

What would you, dear reader, tell your younger self?

Maybe I'm Not as Erudite as I Thought I Was

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you this announcement:


Are you freaking kidding me? I use SAT words people! Ambivalent! Orthodontics! Copious! Affirmation! Misadventure! Manipulated! I write for a living! I pontificate! I hypothesize! I use freaking multisyllabic words (including multisyllabic)!

Obviously, my pride has been ruffled, my feathers strewn.

What's even more amazing is that I took this little test a while ago and my blog's level was undergraduate. Now, I've been demoted to junior high status. Like, OMG. Maybe I should start watching the OC and High School Musical.

Do you agree with this dear reader? Can this possibly be correct?

With a Spot Spot Here and a Spot Spot There...

Sing with me, ladies (and gents):

Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O
And she has been spotting
For what seems like an eternity
E-I-E-I-O

With a spot spot here
And a spot spot there
Here a spot, there a spot
Everywhere a spot spot
Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O

I know, I know, my talent is just devastating, isn't it?

In case the metaphors in the song were too subtle, I'll say it plainly: I haven't gotten my freakin' period yet. I am the Queen of the Spot. I can't even do my best Lady Macbeth impression because that would just encourage the damn spotting. My kingdom for a period!

And, contrary to last week's intelligence from Dr. Uterus' nurse, she told me yesterday that getting my period would speed up the decline in the HCG. Whatever. I can't make my body do it - just one of many things I can't seem to make my body do - so I've decided not to worry about it. But, that certainly doesn't mean I'm not going to complain about it.

The good news is that the latest number is definitely lower: yesterday's count was 2,427. Still a far cry from <5, but better than the previous number of 7,445.

In better news, I am officially off "pelvic rest"- although Sweetie decided to celebrate this momentous occasion by playing World of Warcraft for four hours instead of molesting me. I sewed - which is not really that newsworthy in and of itself except that I did it after I had a beer and well, let's just say it's a good thing I'm doing the free-motion quilting right now, with emphasis on the free-motion. I do have to admit that I also really haven't been in the mood. Hopefully that will change as well. Incessant spotting doesn't exactly make a girl rowdy, if you know what I mean.

That's all the news that fit to print - and sing.

image: bardsart

Tiptoeing Through Dangerous Territory

image: ®oberto
Gentle Reader, I have a confession to make.

I am guilty of allowing hope to creep into my heart. I'm afraid that I have managed to subconscioulsy convince myself that we are going to still see a heartbeat tomorrow. Sure, I'm toeing the line of saying, "expecting the worst, the other shoe to drop, etc" but I find that I lack that conviction. Maybe it's because I haven't had any bright red spotting, maybe it's because the nausea and sore boobs continue. Maybe it's because I still feel pregnant (and bloated).

I haven't told Sweetie (who gives our chances at about 15% that things will work out) because I know what he will say (which is what I say to myself already): you are setting yourself up for disappointment.

I try to visualize the appointment I had with Dr. Uterus when he found that I was going to miscarry the first time. I try to remind myself of the utter shock and pain that I felt at the suckerpunch I had received after the weeks of blissful innocence and lack of drama.

Or maybe, I'm just giddy at knowing that by this time tomorrow we will have an answer and mistaking it for hope. Maybe I'm so exhausted of the back and forth that I'm drunk on not worrying about it. Whatever it is, I'm surprisingly calm and collected. Peaceful, in fact. These are not the emotions of a girl who is supposedly expecting for the other shoe to drop.

You may ask what is wrong with a little hope? Absolutely nothing. What is wrong is what I do with hope - I magnify it, extrapolate it and turn it into all kinds of balloon animals. In other words, I just take and take and take like a freshman at their first keg stand. I can't have some hope. It's either hope or no hope. Just the way I'm made.

But, still, I prefer just not to think about tomorrow, not think about the big P, not think about anything.

Wherefore Art Thou, Mrs. X?

image: notanartist
I have felt very much out to lunch these past few days. Between distractions and complete exhaustion, the best I could muster the other day was a paraphrasing of Sweetie. His man-musings are good filler, but let's face it, he's not the one writing this blog. I am. So, I'll see if I can step up to the plate.

I think I have turned the corner on my anxiety, no doubt in part to just being plain tired of being anxious. It takes so much out of you that unless you are prepared to really expend a lot of energy, it's not sustainable. Since I can't abuse alcohol, drugs or caffeine (yes, I include chocolate in this category), I had to address my anxiety head-on or continue to suffer anxiety and the utter exhaustion that it brings. Sweetie, and one of his man-musings actually got me over the hump. I asked him if he was worried about the scan next week and he very quickly and decisively said, "no." His theory: there's not much we can do about it and so worrying isn't very productive. This is the lesson that I have spent the last 32 years trying to learn (and obviously, still haven't completely internalized).

I realized that a lot of my anxiety is trying to avoid another suckerpunch like the one I got last time. I figured if I prepared myself that it wouldn't hurt as much. I've tried this in the work context and it doesn't work, so I don't know why I suddenly had delusions that it would work in this situation (actually it is yet another manifestation of my need to control EVERYTHING that happens to me). I've prepared the best way I know how and now I will just sit back and enjoy the weekend.

Speaking of the weekend, the man and I are hitting the road, taking a jetliner, getting out of dodge, etc for the weekend. We had this trip planned for about a month now and it turns out to be spectactularly timed for purposes of maximum distraction. We will be seeing his family (who I lurve) and enjoying that mellow feeling you get when you are at someone else's house and they don't expect you to do a damn thing other than sit with them and talk. I plan to catch up on my magazine reading (back issues of numerous magazines are strewn about my office and staring accusingly at me that I haven't molested their pages at least once since they arrived), work on my cross-stitch (the project I was going to finish in November), and avoid thinking the big P word at all. It helps that the rels don't know and we won't be telling them. image: rah77az

I'm also going to use this weekend as the opportunity to take a minor and short hiatus from the blogosphere. I will return when I have news. In the mean time, remember to play nicely with everyone, don't run with scissors and whatever you do, make sure you do something I wouldn't do.

Kisses, Mrs.X