Telling the doctor I'm giving up the drugs feels a lot like giving up my last hope. I had wanted a full family, maybe three kids, and it would appear that's too much to ask for, and the anger and helplessness of having no choice completely throws me. I'm thrown.
I'm amazed every time I'm with Fletcher at how fast it's going, how's he's not a baby, how so very soon he won't even be a kid anymore. Maybe having more babies wouldn't change how that feels, how it wrenches me. But a big section of the pain is being forced to believe that this is it. This is it. This is everything.
From Waiting for the End by Linkin Park
Waiting for the end to come
Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It's out of my control
Flying at the speed of light
Thoughts were spinning in my head
So many things were left unsaid
It's hard to let you go
I know what it takes to move on
I know how it feels to lie
All I want to do
Is trade this life for something new
Holding on to what I haven't got
Friday, December 21, 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
Castle of Glass
Out of the blue, on November 8, I jumped into writing a novel for National Novel Writing Month, having zero expectation of finishing because even when I had a full 30 days I rarely got the job done. Fueled by Diet Pepsi, insomnia, and Linkin Park, I've reached 42,000 words and counting by today, the home stretch.
I have no idea if the story or the writing are excellent or complete rubbish. I can't be objective. I only know it's the most exhaustive, draining fun I've had in ages. There are a billion problems and edits to make, but I believe in the story this time. Whether or not it's a bestseller, it has worth to me.
The finished story will be much larger than 50,000 words, so the midnight deadline doesn't have a lot of meaning. My real deadline is to finish the rough draft by the end of the year, and to edit it into something worth sharing by springtime.
I've had many favorite songs over the years. This is the current one. No one offers writing fuel like Linkin Park.
CASTLE OF GLASS
Linkin Park
Take me down to the river bend
Take me down to the fighting end
Wash the poison from off my skin
Show me how to be whole again
Fly me up on a silver wing
Past the black where the sirens sing
Warm me up in a nova's glow
And drop me down to the dream below
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
Bring me home in a blinding dream,
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything else I need to be
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
For you to see
I have no idea if the story or the writing are excellent or complete rubbish. I can't be objective. I only know it's the most exhaustive, draining fun I've had in ages. There are a billion problems and edits to make, but I believe in the story this time. Whether or not it's a bestseller, it has worth to me.
The finished story will be much larger than 50,000 words, so the midnight deadline doesn't have a lot of meaning. My real deadline is to finish the rough draft by the end of the year, and to edit it into something worth sharing by springtime.
I've had many favorite songs over the years. This is the current one. No one offers writing fuel like Linkin Park.
CASTLE OF GLASS
Linkin Park
Take me down to the river bend
Take me down to the fighting end
Wash the poison from off my skin
Show me how to be whole again
Fly me up on a silver wing
Past the black where the sirens sing
Warm me up in a nova's glow
And drop me down to the dream below
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
Bring me home in a blinding dream,
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything else I need to be
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
For you to see
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The next Justin Bieber
Although it hurts my heart a little that he still doesn't speak much or enjoy books, Fletcher is in a constant state of learning and growing that brightens my life. There's at least one moment out of every day that I think, This is what I'm going to miss when he's grown up.
He dances now – bobbing his head to the beat, jumping up and down, swinging his arms, twirling in circles. He'll try to imitate what he sees me doing or what he sees in a movie, clapping when we clap and spinning when we spin. In the bathtub, he break dances on his butt.
I have never experienced someone with the energy that he has. He puts it to good use. After a great deal of practice, he is one amazing jumper. He crouches low, puts his arms into it, and gets air as both feet lift off. This week, he went back and forth jumping the foot of space between a couch and a mattress in the basement, getting red in the face and out of breath but having too much fun to stop.
He sings too. This fact has changed how I feel about his apathy toward using words. After all, words are just one tiny way in a vast world of ways to communicate. (We rarely have trouble knowing what he's "saying.") I know when he likes a song by the singing sounds he makes – he doesn't change pitch a whole lot. Of course, it's cute that he can't carry a tune. And the visible joy he gets from joining the song make me wonder... Dancing? Singing? Could he be the next Justin Bieber?
He had a lot of energy last night and didn't wind down until after 11 pm. Then at 4 am, his screaming woke me. Expecting a foot or arm to be stuck between crib bars, I rolled out of bed to check on him. He wasn't stuck. He immediately stood up though, grabbing his blankets, and said, "Up." I expected to hold him until he calmed and then set him back in the crib. He had other ideas. He pointed to the door, so I walked to the door. He pointed to the stairs, so I walked there too. "Down," he said clearly.
So I'm not worried by his disinterest in words. He'll say them if it gets him something he desperately wants. He says "no" if anything at all doesn't meet his approval. He says "eat" if it makes a critter in an ipod game eat the food on the screen. A handful of times, he's said "help" and "open" and made animal and car noises.
For now, he dances his happiness, sings his joy, screams his anger, and giggles his mirth. He pulls and points and looks us straight in the eyes before he kisses us. That's the only I love you I need.
He dances now – bobbing his head to the beat, jumping up and down, swinging his arms, twirling in circles. He'll try to imitate what he sees me doing or what he sees in a movie, clapping when we clap and spinning when we spin. In the bathtub, he break dances on his butt.
I have never experienced someone with the energy that he has. He puts it to good use. After a great deal of practice, he is one amazing jumper. He crouches low, puts his arms into it, and gets air as both feet lift off. This week, he went back and forth jumping the foot of space between a couch and a mattress in the basement, getting red in the face and out of breath but having too much fun to stop.
He sings too. This fact has changed how I feel about his apathy toward using words. After all, words are just one tiny way in a vast world of ways to communicate. (We rarely have trouble knowing what he's "saying.") I know when he likes a song by the singing sounds he makes – he doesn't change pitch a whole lot. Of course, it's cute that he can't carry a tune. And the visible joy he gets from joining the song make me wonder... Dancing? Singing? Could he be the next Justin Bieber?
He had a lot of energy last night and didn't wind down until after 11 pm. Then at 4 am, his screaming woke me. Expecting a foot or arm to be stuck between crib bars, I rolled out of bed to check on him. He wasn't stuck. He immediately stood up though, grabbing his blankets, and said, "Up." I expected to hold him until he calmed and then set him back in the crib. He had other ideas. He pointed to the door, so I walked to the door. He pointed to the stairs, so I walked there too. "Down," he said clearly.
So I'm not worried by his disinterest in words. He'll say them if it gets him something he desperately wants. He says "no" if anything at all doesn't meet his approval. He says "eat" if it makes a critter in an ipod game eat the food on the screen. A handful of times, he's said "help" and "open" and made animal and car noises.
For now, he dances his happiness, sings his joy, screams his anger, and giggles his mirth. He pulls and points and looks us straight in the eyes before he kisses us. That's the only I love you I need.
Monday, November 5, 2012
In which I cast a fake movie
I'm becoming progressively more addicted to fast-read, guilty-pleasure novels downloaded instantly from Amazon. One is Cora Carmack's Losing It, and the lovely author is having a contest that I'm compelled to enter (the prize happens to be more of these addicting books). It requires a blog post of my dream cast if the book were to become a movie. Of course the actors must all be young and gorgeous. A couple of these actors aren't very famous, but I think they have the right age and look.
Garrick: Alex Pettyfer
Bliss: Lily Collins
Cade: Bryce Hayes
Kelsey: Emma Roberts
and for kicks, Dom: Boyd Holbrook
Garrick: Alex Pettyfer
Bliss: Lily Collins
Cade: Bryce Hayes
Kelsey: Emma Roberts
and for kicks, Dom: Boyd Holbrook
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
11DPO negativity
I went ahead and published several old TTC posts. We've been trying to conceive for about 500 days now. We've been through an extremely early miscarriage, a boatload of testing, and now fertility drugs.
And the tests are still coming up negative. And this is my life. And I wish the promise offered by the fertility drugs had not pulled me out of my numbness, because right now, all I want to feel is numb.
I go back to New Moon, second in the Twilight series. It's been my spirit book in many ways.
And later
And the tests are still coming up negative. And this is my life. And I wish the promise offered by the fertility drugs had not pulled me out of my numbness, because right now, all I want to feel is numb.
I go back to New Moon, second in the Twilight series. It's been my spirit book in many ways.
The pain was something I could avoid for days at a time now. The tradeoff was the never-ending numbness. Between pain and nothing, I'd chosen nothing...
And later
I still hadn't been able to sink back into my protective shell of numbness, and everything seemed oddly close and loud today, like I'd taken cotton out of my ears... I wished I could feel numb again, but I couldn't remember how I'd managed it before.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
resiliance
Fertility drugs create unbelievable nausea, enough so that I couldn't sleep last night and breakfast is waging a battle within. It's like being pregnant without the baby.
I'm testing my resiliance in many ways today. Though it can only end badly, trying to stretch out the firmness of time, my eyes remain trained on the impossible. For better or worse, I am my own worst enemy.
I'm testing my resiliance in many ways today. Though it can only end badly, trying to stretch out the firmness of time, my eyes remain trained on the impossible. For better or worse, I am my own worst enemy.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Cycle Day One
Today is the first day of our 20th cycle trying to have another baby. It will be our first cycle taking Clomid.
Time moves strangely so that it feels like decades have been lost in pursuit. The fact that nothing changes, however, gives the sense of stopped time, of no time at all, everyone frozen in a position of stress.
Sometimes I am very much alone on a barren world.
Time moves strangely so that it feels like decades have been lost in pursuit. The fact that nothing changes, however, gives the sense of stopped time, of no time at all, everyone frozen in a position of stress.
Sometimes I am very much alone on a barren world.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Applying logic to election campaigns
A) Every politician in the 2012 presidential election has lied/is lying to us blatantly in speeches, interviews, and ads, usually by taking the opponent's words and actions out of context.
B) The majority of Americans are actively supporting such politicians via everything from "liking" their Facebook pages to repeating the rhetoric.
If A and B, then C.
C) The majority of Americans don't care about being lied to by the politicians that are on the "correct" side.
If C, then D.
D) We are asinine for letting this election approach work.
B) The majority of Americans are actively supporting such politicians via everything from "liking" their Facebook pages to repeating the rhetoric.
If A and B, then C.
C) The majority of Americans don't care about being lied to by the politicians that are on the "correct" side.
If C, then D.
D) We are asinine for letting this election approach work.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Buying power
Oh what a running theme it is. It's hard wanting something you can't have, but especially when it's within reach.
I've spent much time and energy trying to conceive and wanting medical help toward that goal. When I finally have my doctor's attention, I'm faced with insurance coverage that doesn't actually cover anything.
I put effort into being satisfied where money is concerned. I've fought my way into not having expensive tastes, not needing fancy vacations, fancy cars, a big house, or name brand anything. But to find out that the baby I really do want is on the other side of expensive tests makes me crazy.
Maybe it's because I don't understand why it's so expensive for a half hour of a doctor's time and an x-ray. And that dredges up the ugliness I repress, the bitter person who hates the rich for not knowing what it's like. For how easy it must be.
For making it true that something I want so much can be bought, just not by me.
I'm being dramatic. I have a job. I'm not homeless. Eventually I'll get the test and pay the money and let the stress of wondering how to pay the mortgage on my little hole in the ground compound. And I'll fight to forget that so many people don't have this problem, because so many more people are currently unable to buy life-saving treatment. Angry thoughts give way to sad thoughts and the world keeps turning.
I've spent much time and energy trying to conceive and wanting medical help toward that goal. When I finally have my doctor's attention, I'm faced with insurance coverage that doesn't actually cover anything.
I put effort into being satisfied where money is concerned. I've fought my way into not having expensive tastes, not needing fancy vacations, fancy cars, a big house, or name brand anything. But to find out that the baby I really do want is on the other side of expensive tests makes me crazy.
Maybe it's because I don't understand why it's so expensive for a half hour of a doctor's time and an x-ray. And that dredges up the ugliness I repress, the bitter person who hates the rich for not knowing what it's like. For how easy it must be.
For making it true that something I want so much can be bought, just not by me.
I'm being dramatic. I have a job. I'm not homeless. Eventually I'll get the test and pay the money and let the stress of wondering how to pay the mortgage on my little hole in the ground compound. And I'll fight to forget that so many people don't have this problem, because so many more people are currently unable to buy life-saving treatment. Angry thoughts give way to sad thoughts and the world keeps turning.
Friday, August 17, 2012
If anyone wants to read it, well, that's nice.
I'm not even sure what this blog is about anymore, or if it matters that it has no purpose and my original motivation has quietly come free from gravity and is floating somewhere up in the rain clouds, appearing occasionally during the brief flashes of lightning that is my old self, my old brain, making cameos in my current life.
Now and then I'm just going to blabber here and throw questions, because questions are all I really ever have, and if anyone in the world wants to read it, well, that's nice.
I get short home movies from my husband sometimes in the middle of the work day, and that's just one more reason why I couldn't make it through the week or day or moment without this guy. Here are the more recent ones.
I live for them.
Now and then I'm just going to blabber here and throw questions, because questions are all I really ever have, and if anyone in the world wants to read it, well, that's nice.
I get short home movies from my husband sometimes in the middle of the work day, and that's just one more reason why I couldn't make it through the week or day or moment without this guy. Here are the more recent ones.
Knocking cars off the ottoman.
He watched Daddy put two felt stickers on the chair legs and did all the rest himself, even repositioning the ones that weren't straight.
We're still working on talking. Daddy got him to say one "oh oh." The rest is babble, to our slight frustration.
Expressing yes and no.
I live for them.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Where I can breathe
Elsewhere by Sarah McLachlan. This song has owned me for half of my life.
I love the time and in between the calm inside me
In the space where I can breathe
I believe there is a distance I have wandered
To touch upon the years of reaching out and reaching in
Holding out, holding in
I believe, this is heaven to no one else but me
And I'll defend it, long as I can be
Left here to linger in silence
If I choose to, would you try to understand?
I know this love is passing time, passing through like liquid and
I'm drunk in my desire
But I love the way you smile at me
I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near
I believe, this is heaven to no one else but me
And I'll defend it as long as I can be
Left here to linger in silence
If I choose to, would you try to understand?
I love the time and in between the calm inside me
In the space where I can breathe
I believe there is a distance I have wandered
To touch upon the years of reaching out and reaching in
Holding out, holding in
I believe, this is heaven to no one else but me
And I'll defend it, long as I can be
Left here to linger in silence
If I choose to, would you try to understand?
I know this love is passing time, passing through like liquid and
I'm drunk in my desire
But I love the way you smile at me
I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near
I believe, this is heaven to no one else but me
And I'll defend it as long as I can be
Left here to linger in silence
If I choose to, would you try to understand?
Friday, June 29, 2012
Not Your Fault
I'm adding this song to the soundtrack of my life.
Baby, when I'm yelling at you
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
and baby cause I'm crazy for you
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
Maybe I'm a little confused
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
and baby, it's a wonderful news
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
Oh, it's not that you should care.
I just wanted you to know.
Baby, when I'm yelling at you
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
and baby cause I'm crazy for you
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
Maybe I'm a little confused
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
and baby, it's a wonderful news
It's not your fault
It's not your fault, yeah
Oh, it's not that you should care.
I just wanted you to know.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
return to present day
Last week, I took a vacation from work. We all have a preconception of what "vacation" is supposed to be. Going places, doing stuff, relaxing, adventuring, getting away from everything.
There is no such thing as getting away, not for me, not right now, because I won't take any real breaks from my responsibility to my child.
What's preventing that is the fact that I don't want it to be like my child is only along for the ride. He isn't an accessory. It is essential that he be an equal part of the life we're building, always.
Being the parent of a tiny person means, to me, giving up my independence for a time. It's the hardest thing about being a parent right now.
But I'm stubborn and won't change my mind on that point.
Eventually, as my child gains his own independence, I'll take mine back.
Although I didn't "get away," I had a glimpse of something during my vacation. Each day, there would be maybe two hours, a small window of precious time, that I was alone and not needed. And if I closed my eyes so I couldn't see the disaster my house has become, it felt like stepping into a time machine, back three years or more, to a place where decisions took into account me and that's all.
Me.
This type of time travel is bittersweet, almost dangerous in its seduction. It weakens my resolve and makes the return to present day an internal battle between my will and my capacity. This lifestyle will continue no matter my capacity to handle it, until the time comes that it's best that I take my step back.
Priorities. I am far down my own list. For two years, I've been below even the cats. That, at least, will change soon no matter what anyone thinks. Letting go of the guilt and the worrying about what other people think is one way, at least, to make a little room in my capacity to deal with life.
There is no such thing as getting away, not for me, not right now, because I won't take any real breaks from my responsibility to my child.
What's preventing that is the fact that I don't want it to be like my child is only along for the ride. He isn't an accessory. It is essential that he be an equal part of the life we're building, always.
Being the parent of a tiny person means, to me, giving up my independence for a time. It's the hardest thing about being a parent right now.
But I'm stubborn and won't change my mind on that point.
Eventually, as my child gains his own independence, I'll take mine back.
Although I didn't "get away," I had a glimpse of something during my vacation. Each day, there would be maybe two hours, a small window of precious time, that I was alone and not needed. And if I closed my eyes so I couldn't see the disaster my house has become, it felt like stepping into a time machine, back three years or more, to a place where decisions took into account me and that's all.
Me.
This type of time travel is bittersweet, almost dangerous in its seduction. It weakens my resolve and makes the return to present day an internal battle between my will and my capacity. This lifestyle will continue no matter my capacity to handle it, until the time comes that it's best that I take my step back.
Priorities. I am far down my own list. For two years, I've been below even the cats. That, at least, will change soon no matter what anyone thinks. Letting go of the guilt and the worrying about what other people think is one way, at least, to make a little room in my capacity to deal with life.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Happy 2nd Birthday
 |
| Step One: Try to light hand on fire |
 |
| Step Two: Smash cupcake to face |
Fletcher, my fearless boy, you have been with us for two brief, life-altering years. You practically flew out to meet us, and have been bringing adventure to our lives ever since.
You may never comprehend what that means to me, what you've given me just by being you.
By being mine.
It isn't something that can be explained. Saying you'd give your life for someone is just words until you become the parent of a bright, demanding, magical child like you.
Being immersed in your present and future, I have a hard time remembering what you were like in the beginning, or a year ago. You were walking then, but not as fast. You knew what you wanted, but weren't as independent or stubborn. A lot of the things you control and take ownership of now were out of your reach then.
Your reach continues to grow.
Today you begin your third year. This year, I'm determined, you will learn to speak beyond your four words, become potty trained, move out of your crib, move into a new house, have more time with grandparents or daycare, and God willing become a brother.
Big changes.
Nothing you can't handle.
My little boy, you won't always be little. But you will always have someone who will protect you, stand up for you, and hold your hand. You will always have someone who believes in your ability to learn and stand on your own. Someone who will listen. Someone who will let go when that's what's best for you. Someone who will never let go in her heart.
I will always be at your mercy, little man. There's no place else I'd want to be.
 |
| ice cream cake |
 |
| Woody! |
 |
| his first mp3 player |
 |
| a little too much partying? |
 |
| a present saved for his actual birthday |
Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
It's a good thing I don't wear makeup.
Just when I think I have everything under control, I seem to fall apart.
Having a big sobbing cry the moment upon arriving at work on a Monday morning is not a good thing.
I'm trying to separate myself from this feeling and take a serious look at it, like a scientist would. Put the slide under the microscope, get answers.
Stress. Trying to conceive, trying to sell my home, trying to be a worker, trying to be a wife, trying to be a mother. Getting a speeding ticket I can't afford.
Failure. I'm not getting pregnant. No one's buying our home. I stare at my computer at work like I've forgotten how to use it. I don't think I'm the wife my husband deserves. I'm screwing up our insurance with my speeding ticket.
Guilt. Because of the failing. And I don't want to hurt the people I love with the blinking vacancy sign I carry with me everywhere.
Fatigue. I'm not even sure I should get pregnant if I'm this exhausted all the time. Why? The fatigue is unwarranted. After all, I'm not pregnant, and I get around 7 hours of sleep at night.
I think I could sleep for 12 hours. And if not, I'd have no problem with just laying there if that were possible.
But it feels like there's so much to be done (and really it's just basic stuff, shouldn't be hard). Have to shop. Have to cook. Have to take care of the child, who happens to be my Big Love, my reason for living. Have to. Have to.
Have to open my eyes, move my legs, stop crying.
I have a lot. More than a lot. I have everything. Still, I feel like M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias, except I'm not sure what died. I wish someone would explain it to my heart.
I might talk to a professional, except I have better things to do with that time and money than to find out that I'm being a crybaby. (This is my history with doctors: Hi, my wrists kill me and I can't use my hands. Oh, there's nothing wrong with me? Okay. Hi, I can't get pregnant. Oh, there's nothing wrong with me? Okay. Hi, my back has me in absolute agony 24 hours a day. Oh, I'm just out of shape? Right, thanks, bye. AND I PAY THESE PEOPLE HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS. I'm now tapped out and hate doctors.)
Although I'm tired always, I only feel down like this now and then. PMS is a definite trigger. Maybe this is PMS. Heaven knows, I'm aware of the power of hormones.
Writing it out here helps. I still love to read. I still want to write. It's hard not having the time to do the things I enjoy doing. At least I know I still enjoy them. I need to find my inner strength. Embrace the cry when I need to cry. Be good to the ones who love me. Find a way to move, do things, even though my feet are trapped in sand.
The essentially selfish nature of people has bothered me for a long time, in the sense that I'm bothered by "the world" and "the way things are." How petulant of me.
Knowing I'm one of those selfish beings is the worst part.
All of my problems stem from my selfishness -- mostly, wanting more. Wanting more never ends well. And my biggest problem, the thing I constantly want more of, is time.
I crave time like a drug. It's why I have a speeding ticket. It's why I get angry and almost physically ill at the necessity of employment. It's why I don't want to bother doing anything or going anywhere or knowing anyone.
It isn't healthy.
But at least I know what I'm looking at in that microscope now.
Having a big sobbing cry the moment upon arriving at work on a Monday morning is not a good thing.
I'm trying to separate myself from this feeling and take a serious look at it, like a scientist would. Put the slide under the microscope, get answers.
Stress. Trying to conceive, trying to sell my home, trying to be a worker, trying to be a wife, trying to be a mother. Getting a speeding ticket I can't afford.
Failure. I'm not getting pregnant. No one's buying our home. I stare at my computer at work like I've forgotten how to use it. I don't think I'm the wife my husband deserves. I'm screwing up our insurance with my speeding ticket.
Guilt. Because of the failing. And I don't want to hurt the people I love with the blinking vacancy sign I carry with me everywhere.
Fatigue. I'm not even sure I should get pregnant if I'm this exhausted all the time. Why? The fatigue is unwarranted. After all, I'm not pregnant, and I get around 7 hours of sleep at night.
I think I could sleep for 12 hours. And if not, I'd have no problem with just laying there if that were possible.
But it feels like there's so much to be done (and really it's just basic stuff, shouldn't be hard). Have to shop. Have to cook. Have to take care of the child, who happens to be my Big Love, my reason for living. Have to. Have to.
Have to open my eyes, move my legs, stop crying.
I have a lot. More than a lot. I have everything. Still, I feel like M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias, except I'm not sure what died. I wish someone would explain it to my heart.
I might talk to a professional, except I have better things to do with that time and money than to find out that I'm being a crybaby. (This is my history with doctors: Hi, my wrists kill me and I can't use my hands. Oh, there's nothing wrong with me? Okay. Hi, I can't get pregnant. Oh, there's nothing wrong with me? Okay. Hi, my back has me in absolute agony 24 hours a day. Oh, I'm just out of shape? Right, thanks, bye. AND I PAY THESE PEOPLE HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS. I'm now tapped out and hate doctors.)
Although I'm tired always, I only feel down like this now and then. PMS is a definite trigger. Maybe this is PMS. Heaven knows, I'm aware of the power of hormones.
Writing it out here helps. I still love to read. I still want to write. It's hard not having the time to do the things I enjoy doing. At least I know I still enjoy them. I need to find my inner strength. Embrace the cry when I need to cry. Be good to the ones who love me. Find a way to move, do things, even though my feet are trapped in sand.
* * *
The essentially selfish nature of people has bothered me for a long time, in the sense that I'm bothered by "the world" and "the way things are." How petulant of me.
Knowing I'm one of those selfish beings is the worst part.
All of my problems stem from my selfishness -- mostly, wanting more. Wanting more never ends well. And my biggest problem, the thing I constantly want more of, is time.
I crave time like a drug. It's why I have a speeding ticket. It's why I get angry and almost physically ill at the necessity of employment. It's why I don't want to bother doing anything or going anywhere or knowing anyone.
It isn't healthy.
But at least I know what I'm looking at in that microscope now.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Growing up
This song makes Fletcher dance. When we dance together, I always wish I could freeze the moment and save it in my pocket for a day when he's out of my reach.
He's growing up on me. There's a lot less cuddling these days, which makes it all the sweeter when he does choose my lap over his designated movie watching bean bag chair. Although he's still a physical creature, craving room to run and climb, movies have become an obsession. The Toy Story movies top the list, along with Tarzan, Shrek, Little Mermaid, Enchanted, Tangled, Cinderella, The Wizard of Oz (funny how that movie stands the test of time).
At the slightest bit of frustration, his instinct is to make a loud whining sound. If the frustration persists for more than a moment, his next instinct is to throw and hit. I'm struggling to figure out how to communicate that feeling frustration is fine and normal and you go ahead and make yourself feel better, but also that there are good and appropriate ways to vent frustration that don't involve hurting anyone or anything, or making my ears bleed.
He babbles and says mom, da, up, out. Possibly hi and down. Everything else is "ut-da." No idea.
I'm still eager for him to talk, but I can't really imagine having a real conversation with him. Even if he were talking, I know him well enough to know he can't be reasoned with. That doesn't mean I won't try, when the time comes. It just means my head will be sore from how much I bang it into the wall.
Ah, growing up.
He's growing up on me. There's a lot less cuddling these days, which makes it all the sweeter when he does choose my lap over his designated movie watching bean bag chair. Although he's still a physical creature, craving room to run and climb, movies have become an obsession. The Toy Story movies top the list, along with Tarzan, Shrek, Little Mermaid, Enchanted, Tangled, Cinderella, The Wizard of Oz (funny how that movie stands the test of time).
At the slightest bit of frustration, his instinct is to make a loud whining sound. If the frustration persists for more than a moment, his next instinct is to throw and hit. I'm struggling to figure out how to communicate that feeling frustration is fine and normal and you go ahead and make yourself feel better, but also that there are good and appropriate ways to vent frustration that don't involve hurting anyone or anything, or making my ears bleed.
He babbles and says mom, da, up, out. Possibly hi and down. Everything else is "ut-da." No idea.
I'm still eager for him to talk, but I can't really imagine having a real conversation with him. Even if he were talking, I know him well enough to know he can't be reasoned with. That doesn't mean I won't try, when the time comes. It just means my head will be sore from how much I bang it into the wall.
Ah, growing up.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Cycle 14
If the bird isn't broken,
the world is broken all about her
like crumbs you can't assemble.
A flap of a wing
and nothing.
It may be brittle bone
or airless wind,
no sky left for stars
so they choke.
Tired bird remembers
how it felt to fly.
Flap, flap, flap
pitiful wings
again, again.
Friday, March 30, 2012
I'm putting that on my business card.
Me at 1:30: "Fletcher hasn't pooped in a day. He's going to poop when you guys are on the road this afternoon."
Andy at 2:30: "You are a poop psychic."
Andy at 2:30: "You are a poop psychic."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
8dpo
I feel majorly nauseated yet hungry which was my main condition when pregnant with Fletcher and I test this weekend so please pray there's a little bean attached to me this time thanks bunches
Now here's my son laughing at a rubber ball it makes me laugh you should laugh too it's good for you
Now here's my son laughing at a rubber ball it makes me laugh you should laugh too it's good for you
Monday, March 26, 2012
Happy Birthday to Daddy
Yesterday was Andy's birthday. Fletcher tried to wake daddy up extra early by babbling and crawling all over him in bed. When that didn't work, he got up close to his face and then proceeded to slap him multiple times in the cheek. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.
Birthdays aren't exciting when you're a parent approaching the start of your fourth decade. There was no surprise party or balloons, no big pile of presents or even 24 hours of complete relaxation. As someone who doesn't have much affection for cake, he didn't even have candles to blow out.
What he had was us.
And he was happy.
Birthdays aren't exciting when you're a parent approaching the start of your fourth decade. There was no surprise party or balloons, no big pile of presents or even 24 hours of complete relaxation. As someone who doesn't have much affection for cake, he didn't even have candles to blow out.
What he had was us.
And he was happy.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
21 months (and 9 days) old
Pictures from his 21-month-day trip to the park with daddy:
Shoveling:
Laughing at Humpty Dumpty and Aunt Alyssa:
When you're trying to cook, and your toddler is hanging on you and screaming at you, and then you ruin the food, throw the plate on the floor. Win-win:
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| Happy 21 Months! |
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| OMG IT'S A PARK AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! |
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| THIS ISN'T WORKING |
Shoveling:
Laughing at Humpty Dumpty and Aunt Alyssa:
 |
| Okay, I got shoes on. That means we're going outside, right? |
 |
| loving grandma |
 |
| loving cheese puffs in a can |
 |
| joining his new friend Emma at the piano |
When you're trying to cook, and your toddler is hanging on you and screaming at you, and then you ruin the food, throw the plate on the floor. Win-win:
Miserable Sick Faces:
 |
| a shared love of ribbon |
 |
| extension cords & spilled cheerios |
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| Oh, it's not time to play in the sink? Really? Maybe you should tell that to my PINK STEP STOOL. Burn! |
Thanks to a snow storm, we all had a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa Simpson's last night, which was good practice for next weekend when Andy and I are in a wedding and he'll have his first night without us. Or, perhaps more significantly, we'll have our first night without him.
Coming soon: a photo journal of the many messy projects we've attempted daily to keep the boy busy and learning.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Hope with me?
I haven't made a big secret of the fact that we are trying to conceive a baby, not like last time when it was all cloak and dagger into the second trimester.
We're trying to have a baby.
We've been trying for 10.5 cycles.
We had a chemical pregnancy back in October.
It's a roller coaster of highs and lows and today is definitely a HIGH, as yesterday was seven days after ovulation (right around the time that a potential baby would implant in my uterus) and I had some nice bright red spotting, which has only one explanation I know of: implantation.
I want so badly to be pregnant again. I feel like this is it. I've felt this way before, though, and it's driving me to insanity knowing that in a few days I could very well be starting over again, as has become our habit. Hope... hope... HOPE... Aaaaaaand failure.
But this time around, there's no reason we need to be alone. Hope with me, won't you? I can see no downside to having a few cheerleaders.
We're trying to have a baby.
We've been trying for 10.5 cycles.
We had a chemical pregnancy back in October.
It's a roller coaster of highs and lows and today is definitely a HIGH, as yesterday was seven days after ovulation (right around the time that a potential baby would implant in my uterus) and I had some nice bright red spotting, which has only one explanation I know of: implantation.
I want so badly to be pregnant again. I feel like this is it. I've felt this way before, though, and it's driving me to insanity knowing that in a few days I could very well be starting over again, as has become our habit. Hope... hope... HOPE... Aaaaaaand failure.
But this time around, there's no reason we need to be alone. Hope with me, won't you? I can see no downside to having a few cheerleaders.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
There's nothing else I can do
Red Red Red
Fiona Apple
I don't understand about complementary colors and what they say
Side by side they both get bright, together they both get gray
But he's been pretty much yellow, and I've been kinda blue
But all I can see is red, red, red, red, red now
What am I gonna do
I don't understand about diamonds and why men buy them
What's so impressive about a diamond except the mining
It's dangerous work trying to get to you too
And I think if I didn't have to kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill myself doing it
Maybe I wouldn't think so much of you
I've been watching all the time, and I still can't find the tack
And I wanna know is it okay, is it just fine
Or is it my fault, is it my lack?
I don't understand about the weather outside
Or the harmony in a tune, or why somebody lied
There's solace a bit for submitting to the fitfully cryptically true
What's happened has happened, what's coming is already on its way
With a role for me to play
I don't understand, I'll never understand
But I'll try to understand
There's nothing else I can do.
Monday, February 20, 2012
I don't want to fall to pieces
Today's the day
I pray that we make it through
Make it through the fall
Make it through it all
I want to know who you are
I want to know where to start
I want to know what this means
I want to know how you feel
I want to know what is real
I want to know everything, everything
I don't want to fall to pieces
I just want to sit and stare at you.
I don't want to talk about it
I don't want a conversation
I just want to cry in front of you.
Avril Lavigne
Fall To Pieces
I pray that we make it through
Make it through the fall
Make it through it all
I want to know who you are
I want to know where to start
I want to know what this means
I want to know how you feel
I want to know what is real
I want to know everything, everything
I don't want to fall to pieces
I just want to sit and stare at you.
I don't want to talk about it
I don't want a conversation
I just want to cry in front of you.
Avril Lavigne
Fall To Pieces
Friday, February 10, 2012
an epiphany, and finding patience
Epiphany: Fletcher whines three out of every four minutes that we're together. This does not mean I have done anything wrong.
People, probably all of us, have a bad tendency to assume or make things about ourselves.
I have to stop doing this with Fletcher's behavior.
It isn't me.
While there are always ways I can improve as a parent and a person, I haven't raised him wrong. When he scream-whines, it isn't because I've failed him in some way.
My son doesn't hate me. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he loves me. He doesn't say it, and there are times that his smiles and hugs feel like a distant memory. In fact, the way he looks at me sometimes, screams at me, and pulls at me, it seems that he wishes I were very different -- that he detests me for changing his diaper, or for not making and feeding him dinner within four minutes of getting home, or for needing a minute or two to not be his servant.
My son doesn't hate me.
It isn't my fault that it feels, at times, like he does.
It isn't my failure.
There are many things I can handle. Really, with Fletcher I can handle absolutely anything except four hours straight of scream-whining. At 10 pm one night, when there was something very specific that he wanted but I couldn't figure out what it was... "What is it, honey? What do you want? What are you pointing at? But there's nothing there. What do you want?" and his whining became so angry and epic that I thought my brain was fizzing and about to explode and then...
"WHAT?" I demanded in the loudest voice I have.
...from across the room his body jerked once.
"AHHHHHHHHHH," he screamed with such betrayal and desperation that it knocked him to the floor and he lay there in utter misery. Scream after scream tore from his throat, his face turning red, his eyes watering, and he denied all attempts I made to comfort him, pushing me and my useless arms away.
Denying me, because I wouldn't help him and my reaction was to yell back.
I hated myself. I knew I needed to find patience, but I couldn't and never would in that mindset. His desperation to be heard and heeded was matched by my desperation for proof that I was a great mother.
But it isn't about me.
It isn't about whether I'm a good mother or whether he loves me.
I didn't teach him to whine. I'm not doing anything to encourage it. It's a communication gap that will be crossed in time.
Whatever he wants and however he asks for it does not reflect on me.
There is patience in this epiphany. Somewhere.
People, probably all of us, have a bad tendency to assume or make things about ourselves.
I have to stop doing this with Fletcher's behavior.
It isn't me.
While there are always ways I can improve as a parent and a person, I haven't raised him wrong. When he scream-whines, it isn't because I've failed him in some way.
My son doesn't hate me. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he loves me. He doesn't say it, and there are times that his smiles and hugs feel like a distant memory. In fact, the way he looks at me sometimes, screams at me, and pulls at me, it seems that he wishes I were very different -- that he detests me for changing his diaper, or for not making and feeding him dinner within four minutes of getting home, or for needing a minute or two to not be his servant.
My son doesn't hate me.
It isn't my fault that it feels, at times, like he does.
It isn't my failure.
There are many things I can handle. Really, with Fletcher I can handle absolutely anything except four hours straight of scream-whining. At 10 pm one night, when there was something very specific that he wanted but I couldn't figure out what it was... "What is it, honey? What do you want? What are you pointing at? But there's nothing there. What do you want?" and his whining became so angry and epic that I thought my brain was fizzing and about to explode and then...
"WHAT?" I demanded in the loudest voice I have.
...from across the room his body jerked once.
"AHHHHHHHHHH," he screamed with such betrayal and desperation that it knocked him to the floor and he lay there in utter misery. Scream after scream tore from his throat, his face turning red, his eyes watering, and he denied all attempts I made to comfort him, pushing me and my useless arms away.
Denying me, because I wouldn't help him and my reaction was to yell back.
I hated myself. I knew I needed to find patience, but I couldn't and never would in that mindset. His desperation to be heard and heeded was matched by my desperation for proof that I was a great mother.
But it isn't about me.
It isn't about whether I'm a good mother or whether he loves me.
I didn't teach him to whine. I'm not doing anything to encourage it. It's a communication gap that will be crossed in time.
Whatever he wants and however he asks for it does not reflect on me.
There is patience in this epiphany. Somewhere.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
to travel before I die
I've got the traveling bug lately, and not a two-hour road trip. I yearn to see certain parts of the world that feel very much out of my reach. I've begun a Pinterest board of the places I must see before I die. The list in progress not only fills me with wonder, but also a painful sadness, because many of these trips don't seem possible.
My list so far... http://pinterest.com/sayschu/to-see-before-i-die
I'm curious what's on your list. Let me know. And I highly recommend Pinterest for organizing these fantasies.
My list so far... http://pinterest.com/sayschu/to-see-before-i-die
I'm curious what's on your list. Let me know. And I highly recommend Pinterest for organizing these fantasies.
Monday, January 30, 2012
trying to challenge a curious mind
I keep thinking about school, and how (in a couple short years) I would put money on the fact that Fletch will love being in an environment of learning and discovering.
I'm not challenging him enough.
There's too much TV, for one thing.
TV isn't the only thing hindering full use of his huge curiosity. There's fear of him making a huge mess or wrecking something. Fear of him getting hurt or frustrated. Mommy's tiredness. Lack of time, which may or may not be true. And of course, his age. Some toddler activities I've researched just wouldn't work for him because he would rather throw things than play with them, rather scream than listen.
I'm working toward it though. With the help of Pinterest (http://www.pinterest.com/sayschu) I'm planning activities we can try now, and in the near future. Some of the things I've pinned will be really fun if Fletch cooperates.
Let me know if you have any great, cheap, instructive, or creative ideas. Or if you know how to turn off the TV.
I'm not challenging him enough.
There's too much TV, for one thing.
TV isn't the only thing hindering full use of his huge curiosity. There's fear of him making a huge mess or wrecking something. Fear of him getting hurt or frustrated. Mommy's tiredness. Lack of time, which may or may not be true. And of course, his age. Some toddler activities I've researched just wouldn't work for him because he would rather throw things than play with them, rather scream than listen.
I'm working toward it though. With the help of Pinterest (http://www.pinterest.com/sayschu) I'm planning activities we can try now, and in the near future. Some of the things I've pinned will be really fun if Fletch cooperates.
Let me know if you have any great, cheap, instructive, or creative ideas. Or if you know how to turn off the TV.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
CD14 baby fairy shout out
Any posts about the dream of a second baby are written here in fits and starts, I realize. This is my place to go when I need to work things out, or it used to be. These days I find my highs and lows and hope and pain going more internal. Like a knife, each cut goes deeper. I spend a lot of time feeling as if I've gone into hiding. A little quiet, a little cold, a little tired. Eyes close, but can't fall asleep. Staring at the computer screen, but unable to concentrate. Voicing the emotional words without feeling any of the emotions.
In any case, if we conceive a baby this cycle, today was the magical day. So please, baby fairy, sprinkle your fairy dust on my uterus today, okay?
In any case, if we conceive a baby this cycle, today was the magical day. So please, baby fairy, sprinkle your fairy dust on my uterus today, okay?
Photo album
December 2011 and January 2012
McDonald's...
Christmas 2011
Random 50 degree day in January...
 |
| The boys chillin' |
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| miniature Andy |
McDonald's...
Christmas 2011
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| a handsome boy in his suit |
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| Fletcher-sized picnic table handmade by Grandpa |
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| picture perfect smile |
Random 50 degree day in January...
Remember that time as a kid that I took my mitten off, stuck my hand in the snow, and started crying? Yeah, this little apple barely fell from the tree.
He loves being tucked into mommy and daddy's bed...
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