Questioning

We have wanted a baby for as long as we've been together. Odd as it sounds, now that we're on the cusp of starting clomid, I think we're both doing the serious double-take.

We have settled into a pretty comfortable routine, and last night as we spontaneously went out for a late dinner, we realized that our lives will change forever if this works.

I feel awful and selfish for questioning whether or not this is right for us....for me. I haven't picked up the prescription from the drug store yet. I can't believe I'm questioning this after everything we've discussed, thought about, prayed for and set our sights on.

I have to wonder whether my goal has been pregnancy or a baby. They are two very different goals.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

Save a turkey....

Couldn't resist sharing this picture. Happy belated Thanksgiving to our American neighbours!

Backslide and push forward

We're on the road. We had the appointment this morning. The doctor was amazing. She herself is an older woman ... very straight forward, no bullshit kind of woman. I love her.

We'll be starting clomid this next cycle. Hubby is most concerned about his ability to abstain for (to quote him) "three whole days!!!" before his test. We'll have to time that one. Gawd I'm considerate!

What was a shock though, was that the doctor mentioned that the file indicated they had a theory about what the cause of our miscarriage might have been. This is the first we've heard of it. We lost Brodie at about 21 weeks in 2002. We agreed to a post amnio the day we found out, and then we also authorized pathology after the d & c. When we went for our follow up appointments, we were told several times that there had been nothing conclusive found through any of the tests.

Today we were told that the theory was the placenta had failed to thrive. This theory is based on the fact that at almost 21 weeks, Brodie was only measuring about 17 weeks ~ which is why we were given the "choice" of either induction or a d&c. I never want to have that "choice" given to me again.

The doctor today explained how vital those first six weeks are in terms of the placenta and it's future.

I can't let that go. I've been going over in my head all of the things I didn't do in those first six weeks, and all the wrong things that I did do in those first six weeks. It was so unexpected and unplanned that I didn't even clue in that I might be pregnant until I was 8 weeks. I was still smoking, and even though I'm not a big drinker, I had beer several times during that time period.

I've spent two years working on the "it wasn't my fault" theory. I backtracked big time today on that theory and need to sit with this for a while.

Hubby had to take the day off since they can't bring a substitute teacher in just for a few hours. So I came home to a very nice, folic acid laden, portion controlled supper cooked and awaiting my arrival. He asked me to be sure to remember that I told him how awesome he is during the mood swings the doctor warned him to expect.

The thing that made me laugh the most today was the irony about the name thing I was stressing about earlier. What's important to know here is that the clinic is located in the women's/children's hospital and also that the last name I took by mistake years ago is the same name as the street my husband grew up on. So the only time that names got brought up today were (1) when they asked him if he used to live on that street when registering him and (2) when they told him that he had to deliver his sperm sample to a building that shares the same last name as his ex-wife!!! Justice prevailed today!

So here we go.

Tomorrow's appointment

So tomorrow is the big day. We have our first appointment at the fertility clinic. Odd as it sounds, since I was there once before when I was married by mistake, I can't remember what will happen during this first appointment.

I will get to check in by myself, though, so will avoid having hubby with me during that process. This is a good thing just in case the unfortunate "previous name" syndrome has a sudden reoccurance. That was stressing me out.

I've been having major breathing problems the last week or so. I don't know if it's stress or a viral infection that is going around. Stress is totally possible. I've made the decision to begin looking for another work assignment, and that's a big leap for me, especially with the possible outcome given our appointment tomorrow.

One minute at a time ... that's all we need to do.

Ya Ya

I had a meltdown today. Why is it that meltdowns are so painfully cathartic?

This has been building up for a while now. In fact, I think that my "sick days" last week were actually internal warning signs of the meltdown. My way of dealing with things is generally to be strong; soldier on; and then completely withdraw and retreat into myself and my house.

Only this way of coping has had to change since I met and married this most wonderful man in the world. He has given me many gifts during our time together, but I think the most precious gift has been the constant reassurance that I am worthy of many good things....something that I have not always believed for myself. And he won't allow me to withdraw and retreat for very long.

On the surface, I am an extroverted, fun loving, confident, intelligent woman who has it all together. I have an excellent job ~ senior management position in a large government department. I have a wonderful husband and two great step sons. I am in a leadership position in several community groups. We have many friends that we see regularly and are invited out often. Life is good, and I am on top of things emotionally, financially and socially.

Yes, people know that I have had struggles in my life. One failed marriage. A brother who committed suicide. A late term miscarriage. Infertility. But ... I am strong! I am woman! I can cope!

Well, inside of that surface picture lives the real me. The girl who constantly struggles with her weight. Who believes that everyone who looks at her sees a fat chick with triple chins. The one who blieves she has moved to a senior management position more out of luck than skill, and who will one day be revealed as the fraud she feels she really is at work. And the friends? Some days I think I am only invited because it's really my husband they want, and I'm part of the package.

And then there's the whole producing of babies thing. The skinny ex-wife, she devil that she is, still managed to produce two lovely specimens. I, on the other hand, have failed to bring one forth and it's not looking promising.

So instead of staying in retreat and withdraw mode, I melted today. I lost it. Sat at the kitchen table just a-bawling and a-snottin. Cried about work and the changes I'm facing there. Bawled about my weight and my inability to commit to a food or exercise plan. Sobbed over my fear at facing our appointment at the fertility clinic on Thursday. Honked over the unfairness of us not being able to share a child together, and trying to come to make myself feel better by saying that it's enough to have two step sons to "share" with my husband.

I melted down. And my darling, awesome, incredible, loving husband sat there and let me wail. He passed me tissue. He held my hand. He told me how much he loved me. He talked to me about focusing on the journey instead of the destination. He even sang to me at one point.

And after I stopped crying, he did something that will score him points with me for the rest of his life.

He watched the entire movie "Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood" with me. And cried.

I love this man.

I jumped

My period arrived with a whimper yesterday but it's continued with a vengence today. Although my cycles are getting longer, my periods seem to be getting heavier and worse for the first day or two of each one. Makes me wonder if I'm peri-menopausal.

So even though it sucks that yet again, we were not successful in trying to conceive, for some reason I'm not as sad at it's arrival this month. This last week was not a good one for me. I really was in a funk of some kind, and it peaked in a big way on Wednesday. Everything came together all at once to just push me over the edge.

Work has just been unbelievable of late ~ lack of shared vision; too many masters at the helm; too many heads up arses. I went back to the office on Wednesday, and my direct supervisor was the one responsible for pushing me off the edge of the cliff on which I was already standing. I actually must remember to thank him for that push, because it spurred me to action. I've been contemplating moving out of this department for a while now, and his actions on Wednesday convinced me that now is the time to move. I am part of a succession planning leadership development program that our government is running right now, and they have been pushing the six of us who are involved to consider accepting assignments that would be outside of our comfort zone. I was a bit reluctant to do this because of everything else that is going on in my life right now, but Wednesday convinced me that I'd rather be somewhere, developing my leadership qualities and being outside of my comfort zone, than here working for a male chauvinist who doesn't give a shit about the department I'm responsible for running.

Then I came home yesterday to find supper cooked, the house cleaned, and a huge bouquet of flowers on the table for me. My husband said he just felt that I needed a pick me up. How much do I love that man??? I haven't shared the start of the period news with him yet. We have a dinner date scheduled for tonight, and then we're going out to hear a friend's band at a local pub. Guess I better break the news before we leave the house! I think the fact that our appointment at the clinic is scheduled for next week is cushioning both us right now.

I guess I realized this week that I can't keep putting my life on hold because of the "mights" in our world ... I might get pregnant; I might get a better job; either hubby or I might go back to school for a masters degree; we might not be able to afford this or that.....might is a word that has been holding me back. I have to get back to living in the moment...the day....and just handling whatever comes along. And I need to jump off the cliff more often.

Weighted down

Today is day 30 of this latest cycle. It seems like my cycles are going faster and faster of late. And I'm totally out of control with my weight. I've been on an eating binge the last few weeks. I can't even begin to imagine what they're going to say at the fertility clinic next week about my weight. It's the one thing that I could be controlling, and I'm not doing anything about it.

I seriously wonder if I'm not in a bit of a depressed funk right now. I was off on Thursday and Friday last week. We had a snow storm over the weekend, and I took Monday off as well ... meaning that except for that party with the pregnant beauty on Saturday night, I hadn't moved out of the house since last Wednesday. And I was quite fine with that. If I could have figured out a way to stay home today I would have done it. I just don't feel like facing the world right now.

Laughter IS the best medicine

Enjoy...it brought a smile to my face on this dreary Monday morning.

http://www.oliviadrab.com/infertile/OD1.jpg

Caviar, artichoke heart dip and morning sickness

My hubby plays in a band. In that band are three other guys, one of whom is a real piece of work. We'll call him D. You know how you just have some people in your life that you simply put up with and work around? D is one of those people. He and his wife, whom I adored, split up just before Christmas last year. We've been very careful not to get into that "split the friends" up scenario with them. We see her by choice on a regular basis, and see him through the band on an as needed basis.

Last week hubby came home from band practice and said that we would be going to a house party in a very ritzy part of the city on Saturday the 13th, as D's new woman felt it time for his friends to meet her friends.

So off we trot last night, over to this very beautiful, swanky 100 year old house in the south end of the city. In the middle of our first snow storm by the way, which continues on into today. And we proceed into this house, filled with about 30 of her friends.....women in evening gowns and men in suits, all smiling and making social chat with each other. And there were his friends.....all six of us. The three of us women who are married to the guys in the band (we call ourselves the Band-Aides) are sitting in one of the three living rooms, talking with each other and trying to decide whether we like caviar or not (after we figured out that it actually was caviar) when in walks a beautiful young woman.

The guys are in the living room with us, just beginning to play some music.

She of beauty speaks up and says "oh please do not play any sad songs. I am completely exhausted from crying this week."

We bite, of course, and ask why she was crying.

"I'm three months pregnant. Look! I had to buy maternity pants today. Can you believe it? I can't believe it! My friends are convinced that I am carrying twins. And maybe I am. Hard to say. I'm awfully emotional. And eat! Wow...some days I have an appetite and the next day I'm just so turned off food...........and I've had no morning sickness at all....this has been a dream pregnancy...really!"

and it went on...and on....and on. And she of beauty sat there, popping caviar toasts into her perfectly pregnant mouth, in her oh so cute new maternity pants, threatening to cry.

And I could see myself in all my excitement of two years ago. Saying many of the same things. And being so happy that I was experiencing no morning sickness, not realizing that perhaps that was not a good sign.

And so I sat beside her most of the night, smiling at my awesome husband, singing with him, and listening to her rave about this.... her first pregnancy.

And I said a silent prayer to myself for her and her unborn child.

And then I tried the caviar. I'll stick with artichoke heart dip and wheat thins.

Soft sounds of first snow

The first snow of the year is here. I'm upstairs, playing on the computer. I can hear hubby and the boys beating each other up playing hockey in the basement, and the dawgs are wrestling each other in the living room. Every once in a while one of us goes to the window to see how much snow is actually staying on the ground.

These are the sounds of family life.

Even though I get frustrated with this step mess, and think that I am a step monster mother at times, I do know how blessed I am to have these two awesome creatures as part of my daily life.

This morning was a case in point. Hubby had taken Frodo to hockey at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m., while Mini Me and I slept soundly in our beds . At about 6:30 a.m., I heard this knock at my door. It was Mini Me, wondering where everyone was. He jumped under the covers and snuggled with me for a while... we talked about the hockey game he had gone to with his dad and brother the night before ... and then we went downstairs, shivering under a blanket together, eating toast and watching some horrible cartoons on television. Laughing. Chatting at times. Not talking at all at others.

These are the sounds of family life.

And so as I sit here, listening to the noise of kids and their father playing in the basement and snow softly falling outside, I close my eyes and inhale. And realize yes, I am indeed blessed.

Yep...scared.

I know that I will probably be ok as a mom. I think that part of what's going on with me is that I'm terrified about this appointment at the fertility clinic.

What if it doesn't work?

What if it does work?

What will happen?

Will I have to go through all the tests again?

With the history of twins in my family, what are the chances of multiples?

Can I physically carry a child to term?

I'm terrified.

Questioning my parenting skills

I'm looking for an instructional video on how to be a stepmother, because I'm sure not doing a good job here.

When I first started seeing their father seriously, Frodo and Mini Me were 3 and 5 years old. Now they're 7 and 9, and I don't feel like I'm any further ahead than I was four years ago. After my husband and I moved in together, things started to go off the rails when the kids were around. I realized that I was turning into an oozing pot of resentment because I was being treated by all three of the testosterone carriers like nothing better than a cook, maid and disciplinarian.

I did some reading on stepfamilies. That's the social worker in me ... research and get thyself prepared with a case plan. I found an article on something called "disengagement" which made a lot of sense to my 12-stepping self. It's similiar to the Al-Anon philosophy of detaching with love.

So I sat my husband down, and explained to him that I loved him and the kids, but that I loved myself as well. And I laid out the boundaries. I was not their mother. They had a mother. Therefore, I would not try to act like their mother, or even their parent. Which means, for example, that if I happen to be cooking, I will include them in the meal plan, but don't get up and walk away from the table assuming that I will also do the dishes. I had a list of other stuff that I wouldn't do, including disciplining them (because you can't have your cake and eat it too), monitoring whether he was getting them out the door on time, clean and dressed appropriately, nagging him, etc.

And this has been for the most part working. I no longer am the bitch that does nothing but nag at everyone to pick up after themselves, eat with their mouth closed, wash their face, etc. And it was working because my husband took that stuff on while the kids were here.

But lately he has been slowing down on that stuff. And the 9 year old is turning out to be (God forgive me for saying this) the most spoiled rotten child I have ever met. His behaviour is less than likeable most days, and I'm not exaggerating. This child will literally throw himself on the floor, crying and bawling, to get what he wants. He will look his father straight in the eye and refuse to do something he was just told to do. He will manipulate. He has the "gimme right now" attitude, and then when he does get whatever it was he wanted, he has total disregard for caring for it. I can't begin to tell you how many baseball caps he has "had to have", only to have us buy it for him and him lose it within 24 hours.

And through it all, I have been growing the understanding that on the nights that the kids are here, I am excess luggage. This became glaringly clear on Friday night. Now understand that my husband and the kids' mother had made plans for the kids to be here all weekend, and I wasn't even consulted. That's another story, and I've dealt with that piece of it (Grant me the courage to change the things I can...) with my husband. Anyhow, back to Friday night.

I've been working 12 and 13 hour days at my job lately. So I'm at work at 7:30 a.m. Friday, and finally get to leave at 6:30 p.m. to go home. I had been talking to my husband earlier in the afternoon and told him I'd stop and get groceries on the way home, and he agreed to cook up the tacos we had decided upon for supper. Ok, so I didn't actually say the words "save me some supper". My bad.

I walk into the house at about 8:15 p.m., dragging the groceries. Hubby gets up off the couch and goes out to the truck to get the rest of the groceries ... his face looking like he just ate the sourest pickle in the world. Not a word to me ... no "how was your day?" or "glad you're home" or "thanks for getting the groceries after your 11 hour day hon". But that's ok. I'm understanding that he has the kids, and he also has had a long day.

He drops the groceries on the table, and then goes back to the couch, leaving me to unpack and put away. Which I stupidly did without saying anything to him ... brewing and stewing all the time. Then I look on the counter, and there's an extra large pizza box. Empty.

Not only had he not cooked what we had planned for supper, he hadn't even saved me one piece of frigging pizza for supper.

I was pissed. You can imagine how the rest of the weekend has gone. The kids have been disrespectful to me, he hasn't kept me informed about where anyone is going or what their schedules are, and on it goes. I cooked breakfast this morning, and Mr. 9 year old decided to throw a fit. That was the last straw for me. He sat there at the table, refusing to eat, with his chin literally resting on his plate. I told him to get his chin off the plate. So then he started to kick my chair. I told him to stop. When we finally got up from the table, he walks away leaving his plate and cutlery on the table. I told him to take it to the sink. "I didn't eat" says Mr. Attitude.

So I do the dishes, willingly because they really did have to get to Sunday School and Mass, and hubby had to help them get bathed and dressed. I leave his plate on the table. Now I would have left it there all day until he put it away. Hubby comes home after dropping them off, and puts the plate away. So once again, this child has learned that bad behaviour is acceptable and that he can get what he wants through inappropriate action or inaction.

My husband is a teacher and has much more patience with kids than I do. When he came home from dropping them at Sunday School, we were able to have a talk. We are very lucky in that we do have good communication, and as long as we both do the "I feel" and not the "you dirty rotten prick, you always..." thing, we can resolve almost anything. He asked me if I had something on my mind. I told him how I was feeling. Like an outsider in my own home. Like I could easily check into a hotel on the nights the kids were here and no one would even notice (well, maybe the dawgs, but even that I'm not sure of). Like I felt that he and his ex wife made mega plans all the time without consulting me, and that even though 99 times out of 100 I'm not going to disagree, I want to be given the opportunity.

He listened. He said all the right things. And knowing my husband, he will take this and do what he can about it. I have to learn to accept those things that I cannot change, but it feels good to be taking responsibility for what I can change or ask to have changed.

But the last thing I said to him, before I completely broke down in tears, was that all of this was making me question my ability to be a mother.

Are we making a huge mistake trying to introduce yet another child into this step-mess? Do I have a freaking clue about how to be a mother? A parent? Am I out of my mind? I'm almost 42 years old. Pretty set in my ways apparently, judging from this step family experience.

I'm on my way....

There's a song by the Proclaimers that goes "I'm on the way from misery to happiness again". My hubby's band always dedicates it to me whenever they play it ... and it's in my head big time today.

Because we're on our way. Whether it's to misery or happiness, or a bit of both, yet to be determined.

We came home yesterday to receive a letter giving us our appointment time for the fertility clinic. Thursday, November 21st at 9:15 a.m.

The letter was a trip in itself. An obvious form letter, it's addressed to me only and does the Dear First Name Last Name thing, which always cracks me up. It goes on to tell us that we're being seen by Dr. Dr. So-and-So (must be really qualified!) and is signed lovingly by, and I quote, "The Fertility Clinic". So not only is infertility a living organism in my life, apparently The Fertility Clinic is a living, breathing, letter writing being as well!

Attached to the letter were two questionnaires, colour coded pink and blue just in case we couldn't figure it out I guess. Hubby's was two pages. Mine was EIGHT pages long!

So here's the thing I'm most stressed about with this referral. I was married (just for a minute, by mistake) before and we were fixated on getting pregnant. I don't think I really understood that there would be a baby as a result of any pregnancy, but I was married, and married people got pregnant, right? After a year of no success, my doctor referred me to the fertility clinic ... the same one we're going to this month.

Now this is going to sound silly, but my real husband (the one I should have waited for!) hates it whenever someone asks me if I ever went by the last name Asshole (not my real former married name but a good description of it's owner!) and it causes stress between us. I know it's silly, and we've had a few arguments about it. There are times when I can't control this happening, and links with medical records are one of those times. It happened when we were at this hospital during our pregnancy and loss two years ago, and it drove him crazy. I even went so far as to call the medical records section afterward and ask them to please link my files together and not ask if I ever went by that surname ... find another way to know that I did and move on! So of course now we have to go together on the 21st, and my surname has changed again. We have married since our pregnancy, and I have to go through all the change the name thing again with them.

Oh...the silly things we focus on when we're trying not to stress about what might happen regarding the infertility battle. So I really am on my way from misery to happiness again ... or am I on my way from happiness to misery? I'm not sure.