For More Than Half My Life...

I have been a vegetarian. For longer than I have had periods, and back before I even had my first kiss, I have abstained from eating meat. I used to take my babysitting money and buy non-meat items at the grocery store so that I could make my own meals – that’s how committed I was.

My dad is a hunting/fishing kind of guy, and I grew up around meat. The man is also a big jokester (don’t know where I got my biting sarcasm from!) and he always picked on me (but in a way that only a loving father can!) When I was 3 he was preparing my bath for me and I was sitting on the toilet naked and patiently waiting. Out of nowhere he turned around and said “Boo” and I was so scared I leapt of the toilet and landed on my hands. I broke my wrist. I was a 3 year old with a cast because she broke her wrist falling off the toilet when her dad tried to scare her. Great. When I was older, he told me that if I wore white shorts they could show drive-in movies on my butt. My brother really liked that one. Fabulous.

But, none of that ever really scarred me (if anything, I learned how to fire back… When my dad and his college buddies were going to Vegas for a guys trip I told him they had to go see a show, and that the show they would all enjoy the most was Thunder From Down Under.

He believed me. I’m pretty sure the poor man will never live that one down.) What did scar me was him taking deer carcasses, naming them “Bambi” and then moving their cold, dead jaws as though they were talking to me right before skinning them in our garage. Or showing me how to gut a fish, only to point out all the eggs inside that would have been babies if we hadn’t just caught them for dinner. I think this was supposed to foster in me a love for hunting and fishing (and I always was a bit of a tomboy), but it did just the opposite. It made me think of every piece of meat that went on my plate in its original form, and all the things it could have been doing if I wasn’t eating it. Starting young (maybe 5 years old) I began rejecting any kinds of red meat. The idea of it just really grossed me out, and I didn’t like picturing those cute cuddly animals before they wound up on my plate. There would be fights, and I would go to bed without dessert more often than not, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want it, and even then I was stubborn.

I still ate chicken, and I had a thing for bacon, but that was pretty much it. Then (as I got older) I started to become disgusted by even that. It wasn’t ever that I wanted to save the world, or keep anyone else from eating meat; it was more that I just didn’t like the idea of flesh being in my mouth. It really freaked me out.

When I was in 8th grade, I gave it up. I declared myself a vegetarian, and then I moved forward fully planning on committing to this lifestyle. I don’t think anyone in my life really thought this would stick (after all, I was a kid. I could never possibly make that big a change all by myself, and eventually I would crave something meaty, right?), but I did. I never looked back. I have always cooked meat for everyone else (I kind of like being Suzy Homemaker, and I love making meals for other people. I always knew that if I was going to entice my meat eating friends over for dinner, I would have to give them something to make their carnivorous mouths water. I’ve been told I make the best chicken tacos ever.), but I have always abstained and made something else for myself. I learned the art of finding something to eat, even in steak houses (usually involves a lot of substituting – waiters love me), and I even prepared the Thanksgiving turkey on more than one occasion (still can’t figure out why anyone would want anything to do with that sack of organs inside the poor bird though!) My lifestyle was working out just fine for me, and I was happy with it!

But, I always knew that I would start eating meat again when I had kids. I have lived a healthy vegetarian life, and never have I been anemic or lacking in any nutrients, but I’ve also always known that a well balanced diet (with some meat) was the healthiest way to live. I knew I would want to be as healthy as possible when I got pregnant, and that this would include meat from time to time. I also knew that I would never want to raise my children vegetarian. If that was a decision they made later in life, I would happily educate them on how to do so the healthy way, but it was not a lifestyle I wanted to enforce upon my kids who would likely benefit from animal proteins while growing up.

So, when I made the decision to try for baby this year, one of my goals was to reintroduce meat before the IVF cycle, so that my body would have time to adjust (I didn’t want to make any big changes during IVF or pregnancy that could possibly freak my body out bad enough to cause a miscarriage, and when you haven’t eaten meat in this long there is an adjustment period.) Over the last month, I have implemented or started working towards almost every one of my goals, except re-introducing meat. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, and I kept telling myself that I still had plenty of time.

Then, someone mentioned to me the possible connection between soy and infertility, and it scared me. My diet is very soy heavy, and it always has been. Now on the one hand, I thought to myself that if soy was the issue I would have started having problems long ago (since it's not like my diet had just changed), but on the other hand I found myself thinking “do I really want to take that risk?” I figured I had already made this decision to bring meat back into my life, so I might as well eliminate the soy and do so now; I just don’t want anything else stacked against me in terms of baby making odds.

I went to Costco this week, and I bought myself some turkey slices.

I figured this would be the easiest thing for me to start with; I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle anything that looked meaty just yet. Plus, I had been advised to start very slowly since my body no longer has the enzymes required to digest meat, and would need to rebuild those up. One slice a day, every 3 days, for the next 2 weeks was the plan.

Last night I decided I was ready. I opened up the package, and was immediately taken aback by how slimy this stuff was.

What causes that? (And if it has anything to do with it being from an animal, I don’t need to know the answer! P.S. I kind of love how my Live Strong tattoo is in this photo. That wasn't planned, but is pretty much perfect because this took some strength!) I took one slice out, examined it, and patted it down with a paper towel trying to get rid of the sliminess. I then proceeded to completely hide it in a wrap with veggies and cheese, hoping I could eat it without even noticing.

That didn’t work out so well, as the texture is obviously something I’m not used to. I knew I was eating meat, and it felt weird; but I didn’t vomit like I was afraid I would (I know it’s hard for a meat eater to understand my repulsion, but you must have some food that you just can’t stand, right? Now, imagine trying to choke down a whole one of those. No easy task, is it?) In fact, I was fine. It was weird, and not necessarily something I would have chosen to eat if I could have had anything, but it was fine. This is going to be fine.

I have returned to the land of meat eaters. I am officially a carnivore again. I don’t think I will ever get to red meat (no interest what-so-ever), but I think I will be fine sticking to the poultries. I’m also going to try to get into fish here in the next few weeks, since I know how good it is for you, but we will see; I’m a little afraid of the smell.

Regardless, I am one step closer to baby. This was actually the thing I was the most afraid of doing, and it wasn’t so bad. And when I think about it in terms of being my healthiest, so that my baby can be its healthiest, it almost seems worth it.

Almost.

Sorry. That was just melodramatic!

The Confession She Probably Shouldn't Make

I had a comment yesterday from a new friend who said that she had been reading for a while, but had just looked up what endo was. It kind of made me laugh, because the truth was that I had no idea what it was before I had it either. I mean sure, I had heard the word, but I didn’t really know what it was. When I got the diagnosis I felt lost. I didn't know what it meant; for me, or my future. Again, in my infinite search for answers I turned to the web, and that’s where I found and joined this facebook page.

It has 5,012 members. 5,012 women suffering from endometriosis, and those are just the ones who happened upon this facebook group and decided to join. 5,012 women hurting and looking for answers. And here is where I have my confession to make:

I have known women in my life who have suffered from endo. Do you know what I thought of them? I thought they were weak. I thought they were hypochondriacs. I thought they simply had “bad periods” (and didn't we all have that from time to time?) and were latching onto a diagnosis to wear on their sleeves for sympathy. A diagnosis to define them and to excuse the days they didn’t feel like going to work or school, and instead preferred to lie in bed watching lifetime movies and avoiding the real world. I was disgusted by them. I thought they weren't trying hard enough. I am ashamed to admit that this is what I thought, but it is. Perhaps it is some kind of poetic justice that I should be shown the truth of endo first hand now.

It is thought that endometriosis affects some 20% of women, and in infertile women endo is to blame at least half of the time. The most simplistic explanation I can give is that endometrial tissue (the stuff that is usually shed from your uterus every month during your period) implants itself in other areas of your body, and then it too sheds every month; only it has nowhere to go. This causes scar tissue, which eventually builds up. That scar tissue can fuse organs together, and this can continue to cause pain long after your periods have stopped. No one knows what causes endo (although there are theories) and there are no cures. Even women who have hysterectomies sometimes still experience pain for the rest of their lives. Every woman’s symptoms are different, and sometimes extreme cases result in minimal pain, and vice versa. In my case, the endometriosis has implanted itself in several areas of my body. My kidneys and bladder are both hot spots, and as such it is almost always uncomfortable for me to pee. My appendix was removed because the endo had caused it to start leaking, and my bowel was half way closed off by endo tissue my last surgery. Both my tubes are destroyed; one was removed and one left behind simply to give me hope. My left ovary is completely scarred into my pelvic wall, and my right one seems to attract endometriomas (cysts filled with this tissue that bleed). My doctor isn't sure, but she also thinks I have implants on nerve endings which give me shooting pains frequently enough down my right hip. There is nothing she can really do to remove those implants, so she hasn't looked to confirm this theory. I actually have pictures of all this, but no one would ever want to see those, right? I mean, I’m probably the only one who is fascinated by those horrible photos of my insides… I find myself looking at them morbidly from time to time and wondering what it would be like if they looked “normal”.

When I first started suffering, the people in my life looked at me like I was making things up. I had just moved across the country (leaving behind a strong support group of friends), just gotten into (and out of) my first “real” relationship, and there had been multiple visits to the Doctor which had all resulted in him blaming stress. Still, starting with that first missed period, I just knew something was wrong. Before the pain (before any other signal) I said that I was either pregnant, or that I would never become pregnant. People looked at me like I was crazy, but I just felt it. I had an ominous feeling that something was really wrong. Even after my first surgery, I still remember thinking “This isn’t over.” I had no reason to think that, but I just felt it. And 5 months later, there I was, going under again.

I knew my friends and family loved me, but I could also feel their eyes upon me those early days. I could literally hear them thinking “has she lost it? Should we be watching her more closely?” But I knew. I knew something wasn’t right, and I knew the pain I felt. Still… Even I found myself questioning what was going on with me as my Dr. at the time continuously shooed me away. I started to wonder if maybe I had become a hypochondriac. I couldn't figure out why I was so sure, in spite of a Doctor who didn't seem concerned at all.

Years ago I questioned those women with endo, and now I am one of them. I used to find it suspect that their pain always seemed to hit on days that would have otherwise required a lot on their part, and then I found myself in the emergency room the day of my best friends baby shower. I used to think they were simply pill seeking, until I (a woman who used to avoid taking even tylenol) was the one crying and screaming and begging for more meds; lacking any and all dignity and just wanting relief.

I try not to allow the pain to bring me down. I strive to go to work and maintain my schedule, even on bad days. I concentrate on keeping my complaints to a minimum and slapping a smile on my face even when it's hard. I’m afraid of being seen as weak; afraid of someone looking at me like I used to look at them. It’s gotten better since the Lupron, but now there are the headaches and nausea. It still isn’t easy.

There is no defining the pain, the fear, the uncertainty of endo. There are millions of women who carry that badge, but as with any chronic pain disease it gets brushed aside more often than not as “all in their heads”. No one who has never been in the position of having pain that they can’t explain (or assuage) can ever understand.

Do you know? Are you one of those women for whom entire days are spent in pain? I try to be strong, I try to overcome. And in truth… the pain, the sickness, the constant fatigue: all of that I can handle. It’s the fear of never being a mother because of this disease that truly threatens breaking me.

I’m sorry. For every woman I ever judged and for every time I questioned motives. I’m sorry.

Can I be forgiven?

Getting Past The Gate Keeper

As usual, I got myself all worked up over nothing! Today’s consult was actually super easy and not at all what I expected. I don’t know why I somehow thought this woman’s job was to talk me out of this, or to judge me and determine me unfit, but I was all kinds of anxious that one of those two things were going to go down. In reality, it was what I logically knew it would be: An informative session where she just tried to gauge where my heart is at and make sure I know what I'm really getting into; not in a bad way, just in a “here’s what you should know and think about” way. I don’t know when I convinced myself that it would be anything other than that, but we’ve obviously already proven that I tend to have minor and unnecessary panic attacks from time to time!

It was actually more like a therapy session than anything, and I always did like therapy! OK, that’s a lie. When I was a kid and I was forced into it (you know, because mommy kicked daddy out and moved a lady in, and kids at school told me I was going to get AIDS and that my mom was going to have a sex change, and I didn’t really want any of those things to happen, so I started freaking out a bit more than is considered normal for a kid under 10) I used to HATE it. I took pride in figuring out whatever it was those people wanted to hear and telling it to them so that they would leave me alone… Even as a kid, I thought I was so much smarter than those doctors (if we’re being honest, I still think I was smarter than some of them… It was part of the reason I wanted to get my degree in psych; because I always thought I could be “better” than those doctors I had… I always figured I could get through to kids so much more effectively than any of them had ever gotten through to me!) But, as an adult, I really love therapy. I had an amazing doctor in college who really helped me work through a lot of my issues and start to see the things that had happened to me in a totally different light. It was incredible to have someone neutral tell me (so openly and honestly) that I was looking at things the wrong way, and then explain to me why… That year I was seeing her was a big year of changes for me, and one of the most productive times of healing in my life.

So yes, I do love therapy. When I was first dealing with my endo diagnosis (after my initial surgery) I actually went to someone a handful of times just for a refresher course on breathing… I was so worried all the time after I received that diagnosis (I somehow just knew that wasn't the end of it); I just needed to be reminded how to cope, and it helped. This last time it feels like church has stepped into the place of therapy, but in some ways that’s appropriate too, right?

Anyway, back to how this was like therapy: She wanted to talk about everything. My history with this disease, my feelings about my egg donations, my feelings about my family, and what it was that led me to want to pursue single motherhood. She wasn’t judgmental at all, but she did ask me questions that made me think (which I do need right now). One question she asked me in particular that threw me was what I plan on telling my child when he or she asks why they don’t have a dad. I caught my breath, and then I answered as honestly as I could. I told her that one of the main reasons I had struggled with this decision as much as I had was that I had longed for a “complete” family for more than half of my childhood. When my mother disappeared from my life, I felt that hole for a long time. It took years to fill it and stop missing the presence of a mother figure, and even still I found myself wishing for that “whole” family. I had struggled a lot with whether or not I could bring a child into a similar situation, only this time missing their father. I told her that I didn’t have any idea what my answer would be, and that my only hope was that if I kept moving forward and did everything in my power to love my child with everything I had to give, it would come to me eventually.

I expected her to scold me; I expected her to tell me I needed to figure it out now. She didn’t do that though. Instead, she told me that having that answer right now would be almost impossible, and she was glad I had answered honestly. Then she told me that I needed to remember that I had actually lost my mother (and in a way that felt like a rejection from someone who was never supposed to reject me), and had as a result needed to grieve and feel that loss in order to recover from it. She explained that my child would never have that loss (or feelings of rejection), so it wouldn’t be nearly as traumatic for them as it was for me. I hadn’t even thought of that, but she’s right, isn’t she? She said that yes, my child will be curious and have questions, and that if I don’t seek out male role models (friends and family for now) for him or her, then they will feel that absence of a male presence; but that they will never feel the same loss I had. She said I would need to be thinking of an answer (because the question will someday come) but that I shouldn’t spend all of my time worrying about hurting my child before he/she is even born.

I needed to hear that.

The other sparkling revelation came when she asked me what my biggest fear involving the IVF process was. I explained to her that I was terrified of conceiving and then miscarrying; that I actually have nightmares about it. I told her that I have read about so many women who have gone through this experience, and it has become (by far) my biggest fear. She told me that there are no statistics stating that women with endometriosis miscarry more frequently than anyone else, but that the average rate of miscarriage is 20%, no matter who the woman is. She said that unfortunately when a woman tries so hard to get pregnant and then loses it, that loss is felt that much more deeply, but that it isn’t any more frequent for them than anyone else. She told me that I shouldn’t worry about miscarrying any more than I would have 2 years ago (and 2 years ago it wouldn’t even have been a consideration in my mind), and that I should move forward trying to think of this just as I would have with any pregnancy before (before endo). It didn’t exactly make me feel better to hear, but it was nice to know that the stats aren’t weighted against endo sufferers. I think it is still going to be a fear of mine, but I’m going to work on trying to ignore it more.

When our hour was up she said the most incredible thing: She said that she thought I was an amazing woman who was doing a fantastic thing and that I would be a wonderful mother. I almost cried. This lady is trained to detect crazy (and sometimes I’m pretty sure I spray crazy like a skunk!), and she thinks I’m going to make a wonderful mother! I’m still a little bitter that it cost me $200 to talk to her, but I’m just going to choose to look at it as a pricey therapy session with a happy ending!

The first hurdle has been jumped, and the gate keeper has given me access to the sperm! The next step is a consult with another sperm lady in 3 weeks. This one is more of a tour guide; she is going to walk me through everything involved in picking a donor, and help me to decide on the criteria that I'm looking for (when asked this question today I said: green eyes, tall, dark hair, and olive skin. In that order. It was pointed out to me that I may want to refine beyond the physical, but she was laughing with me anyway. I tried to explain that I’m not so concerned about creating my own little design-a-baby [complete with mad athletic skills and perfect SAT scores], but that I liked the idea of picking a guy with physical features similar to what I am normally attracted to, so that it would kind of be like a guy that I could have ended up with. She said that was fine, but that those four criteria would still leave me with a few hundred options, so I could expand out too!) The tour guide will also grant me entrance to the bank, and help me figure out how to navigate the website (since I am so techno illiterate, this is going to be helpful!) I won’t really start looking until after that consult (although, I’ve already trolled around the site a bit because… heck, it’s kind of fun!), but I’m getting in that mindset! What do you think? What traits does my baby to be need to get from their sperm daddy?

P.S. I went shopping at Costco today, and was accosted by good looking men. I was laughing to myself and thinking “either I don’t normally pay attention and this always happens, or somehow my decision to start dating again is being broadcast on my forehead!”

I swear to you ladies, if I didn’t know better I would have guessed that I was in heat!

The Most Unexpected Stress Relief...

I’ve been stressed all day. It’s stupid, but I have my consult with a social worker at Seattle Reproductive Medicine tomorrow, and I’m anxious. I have to spend an hour talking to this lady before I can be allowed into the sperm donor program. I get the purpose behind it, and I don’t really think for a second that they are going to deny me (do they even really do that? This is big bucks for them after all!), but I still just find the entire thing irritating. The consult alone is going to cost me $200 out of pocket (yes, I have to pay them to judge me and decide if they are going to allow me to pay them again... brutal!), and my stubborn side wants to push back and say “Why do I need approval? Nobody gave those 16 & Pregnant girls approval!” It kind of makes me feel like I'm being picked on, and the "But... it's not fair!" 5 year old living inside of me starts to stick her lower lip out and pout (and yes, I have a 5 year old living inside of me. I also have a hormonal teenage boy and a cantankerous old lady in there. Lately, theres been a bitter, dried up, menopausal shrew poking around too, but I try to make her stay isolated in a corner. Sometimes it can get pretty crowded in there.)

I know they want to make sure I understand what I am getting into, and that I recognize the complications involved with using donor sperm (mainly identity issues that a resulting child may face… I had to go through all of this when I donated my eggs too), but come on people! Does anyone really enter into this decision lightly? OK, there was Octomom, but does she really have to ruin it for the rest of us?!? I know all the implications; trust me, I mulled over them for months before making this decision. I don’t like the idea of someone talking to me as though I haven’t considered those potential issues. It just feels like it is going to be a long hour of my time, and I’m not really looking forward to it.

So, I was kind of irritated and anxious over it all day today, and I left work a little high strung (so bizarre for me, right?!?!) I was driving home though, and this song came on:



And suddenly I had the radio blasting and I was singing at the top of my lungs. It’s funny, because I don’t remember ever being much of an Aqua fan, but there I was: singing every word, doing the hair flips, and waving my hands in the air (I am an awesome driver!) At one point I looked over and this guy was staring at me from his car with this look on his face that was a bizarre mix of utter horror and total amusement. I stared right back and mouthed “Come on Barbie, Let’s Go Party. Ooooh Ahhhh, Ooooh Ahhhh!” Then I laughed my ass off, and I thought “This is what life is about. I need to stop being such a stress case and remember to have some fun!”

So, I’m going to have some fun with the sperm lady (or, "the gate keeper" as I would like to refer to her from here on out!) tomorrow. I am going to be witty and adorable and I am totally going to win her over. That woman is going to be begging me to take their sperm… She is practically going to be giving it away (I wish!) It is going to be like sperm-a-palooza in that joint!

OK, probably not, but it certainly isn’t going to be something for me to get all worked up over either!

(Side note: Bloggy Blog Designz is having a giveaway, and I really really really want to win because I want my blog to be all pretty and hopped up on aesthetics, but I am so lacking in the whole visual creativity department. I just can't do it, and I want them to do it for me. But, since I'm not spending money on non-essentials [and dang it all, because 3 months ago I would have dropped money on this in a heart beat!] I am going to go all out and try to win a package! Here are the details: Bloggy Blog Designz is doing it all over again! They are giving away blog designs and all kinds of goodies. Plus ALL entrants will receive 15% off their purchase! Be sure to check out their website for more information, or to enter yourself. The giveaway will close on Jan 31 at midnight. Go to www.bloggyblogdesignz.com to enter!)

Bring on the gate keeper, Mama's gonna get herself some sperm!

The Problem With Finding a "Mate"

I was struggling a lot last week with reconciling my beliefs and feelings about non-judgment with the churches beliefs (or more clearly, the word of the bible). I’ve been exposed to a lot of talk about sin lately, and what is and is not a judge-able offense; it’s left me raw. I’ve wondered where people get off passing judgment on others, and why it becomes OK to throw scripture around in an effort to endorse hate. I actually found myself praying a lot on this (yes, I am becoming a girl who prays when she has questions! Look at me go!), and trying to determine what my response should be when I hear these discussions, because I do have personal experience that makes me feel strongly that the world is not always black and white.

I was becoming discouraged, and I even found myself saying in conversation one day “If someone isn’t going to be allowed into heaven for seeking out love or becoming the person they were born to be, than I don’t want to be there either.” I realized that this was a blasphemous statement, even as I said it. I immediately bit my lip and inhaled deeply, but I wouldn’t take it back. I was frustrated with being told who was and was not “good enough” and I started to feel like I didn’t want to be a part of an institution that was so seemingly exclusive. I just had so much trouble believing that the God I pray to wouldn’t have a purpose behind every soul on this earth, and reasoning behind all of their struggles. It was such a hard concept for me to wrap my head around, and I found myself wanting to scream at all the people preaching to me their beliefs because it just felt so… hypocritical. I wanted to be able to call out all of their “sins” and ask them how theirs were any less reprehensable than anyone else’s. How they were any more justified? So, I prayed, and two incredible things happened.

The first was that I received some beautiful words from a new friend that I desperately needed to hear, and with that, she helped me put faith and compassion into perspective when I needed it most. The second was that in the midst of all this confusion (and in the questioning of whether or not any church would ever be the right place for me) I opened my bible study to lesson 5 of last week, and literally felt as though it had been written for me in that moment. No other section had spoken so loudly, or been so desperately needed right when it appeared.

The section was on “Legalism”. I’ll be honest when I say that I had no idea what the term meant when I started to read (I am more and more astounded every day at all the things I didn’t know… I really always thought I was a religion expert. I thought I had no need for church because I knew my God. I was wrong). I was confused the entire first half of the section, trying desperately to figure out what the heck Beth Moore was talking about. But then suddenly, the light bulb flashed on in my head and I thought “Wow. There’s your answer.”

So for those of you as novice as I am, here’s my best explanation of my new favorite concept (and for those of you more firmly engrained in church and religion; be kind! I may be way off right now, but I really like my interpretation!) Basically, what I got out of the lesson is that legalism refers to what is lost when someone tries to live 100% by the rules of the bible, and in turn expects the same of others. The heart is lost; the soul. The message becomes unclear, and you lose track of the relationship because you are so focused on the rules. God never intended for us to all fit into one tiny box; he never anticipated that we would all be able to adhere to his word without ever faltering. Even more so, there needs to be a recognition that sometimes you may need to stray for a greater purpose; sometimes there is something more to be learned. This isn’t to excuse sin, or to say that it’s OK because everyone does it; it’s simply to say he understands that we are only human. The people who follow the word of the bible in the strictest sense possible will never be happy or have that fulfillment in God, because they will forever be attempting to attain an image of themselves that is impossible to produce. They will never be satisfied. No one is perfect, and we all have our struggles (and trust me, I work on mine every day), so sitting around trying to point fingers at who is and is not a sinner is simply a ridiculous waste of time. I don’t know about you, but I have enough to worry about when it comes to guiding my own life; I don’t have time to be worrying about making sure I enforce my version of “right” upon everyone else as well.

So, here’s my new plan: I am accepting the bible as the word of God, but I am also recognizing that he has a purpose for everything and that very little is ever as set in stone as humans try to make it. I will continue to believe that sexuality is not a black and white concept, and that it is not the place or job of anyone on this earth to determine it as a sin or not. I don’t need to have the answers to this, I just have to know how I feel about the subject (and so many other issues where it starts to feel almost as though certain “Christians” have picked a hot topic to point at and say: “that’s wrong, and I’m better than that” in order to justify their own sins). All I have to do is be at peace with my feelings and interpretations; the only person I need to be accountable for is myself. I am choosing to look at the bible more for the heart, and to leave the head out of it. So many things can be interpreted so many ways, and a “legalist” could make themselves mad trying to differentiate between “sin” and “not sin” in 1000 different contexts. I will not do that to myself. I will not question God (or his words), but I will continue to shy away from people who want to throw the “rules” around in order to lift themselves up. I am choosing to read it (and hear it) with my heart.

This entire lesson and realization brought me peace. I stopped worrying; stopped wondering. He has a plan, and it is not my place to say “but why?” I will get the answers when I need them, and for now, that is all I need to know.

I would have thought that the relief that came from this section was the most I could have hoped for from the week, but then... there was more. I looked back on a section about pride, and realized I had inadvertently underlined 3 items in a list of the things God wants to do for us, and the ways in which pride hinders that. They were:

God wants to…

• Bring us out of dark closets. Pride says secrets are nobody’s business.

• Help us with constraining problems. Pride denies there is a problem.

• Make us strong in Him. Pride won’t admit weakness.

Those 3 stood out to me in a way I hadn’t even realized initially, and I had needed to go back to them to fully comprehend their meaning to me. I have never thought of myself as prideful; I’ve never equated my need for strength as a hindrance to God. But reading those three items again, I thought “Wow. I do all of that”. I hardly ever reach out for help, and it is rare that I will admit when I am truly struggling. I like to pretend I can handle everything on my own; heck, I even like to believe it. And, in truth, more often than not I can come out on top when I set my mind to something (with little or no help from others), but did I really just do something so great, or did I choose the most difficult path possible? When did I become so afraid of asking for help; of exposing my weakness?

I was thinking about this a lot before the bible study started last night, and wondering when I would begin to shed this pride I hadn’t even realize I had. I got my answer sooner than I expected.

One of the first questions we opened with was “Has dissatisfaction ever led you to discover Christ in a new and satisfying way?” and I thought “Crap. You can’t ignore this. It’s time to come clean. You have to tell these women your story and hope that they are understanding.” So, I did. I plunged into all the sordid details of my medical history, and told them about the lowest point I’ve had in years and how it led me through the church doors. I explained (as I fought back tears... shaking and feeling so weak in front of these women) how I didn’t think I would be where I am now in my quest for God, if it hadn’t been for hitting rock bottom then. I described the peace that I have felt in God in the last few months, and the way I have transformed my fear and anger into hope and optimism (most day’s anyway!)

I did not tell them of my plan for IVF (I wasn’t ready), but then that too got forced upon me (boy, when God has a plan, he sure makes it known!) The leader was explaining that I shouldn’t take anything as an absolute negative that I wouldn’t be able to have kids, because she had endometriosis and now has two children. I knew she was just trying to be positive, but I felt like she wasn't "getting" the severity of my situation; like she was simplifying it. I felt the need to explain the extent of my damage and the fact that I will never get pregnant naturally and have been advised strongly to do something now. I told her (them) about the e-mail I just received from my RE calling my case “remarkable” and stating that no one had any idea why my endo had been so aggressive, therefore making it even more frightening because there is no real clue on how to stop it (that e-mail broke my soul. I found myself thinking “I don’t want to be ‘remarkable’. This is the one time in my life where I want to be ‘ordinary’ and ‘unmemorable’. I don’t want to be the extreme case of endo that stands out and makes even the specialists question what to do next.) I then dropped the IVF bomb, and explained that I will be doing this on my own in November. As soon as I finished speaking, I bit my lip; waiting for the backlash.

The group leader (who I still can’t decide whether or not I like… she seems very sweet, but she also reminds me of the girls I never would have fit in with in high school because I was always [and likely will always be] too brash and unpolished… I make girls like that uncomfortable.), then said “Well, I think that’s something we should pray for then. I think we should pray for you to find a mate, because God would never have intended for you to have to go through this alone.”

My anger immediately flared. This was just what I had expected, wasn’t it? This judgment. This belief that they knew what was best for me. I almost shot back. I almost walked out. I felt my body temperature boiling and the angry words making their way to my tongue when my brain suddenly shouted out “STOP!”

I knew this girl meant no offense (she even said so, as in “please don’t take that wrong, I just think this would be so much easier for you if you had a partner.”), so why did I take it so? I think part of it is because if I was told I could choose between having a baby, having healing, or having a husband, I would choose baby, healing, and then husband; in that order. The husband is the lowest priority in my mind, so why did she automatically jump to praying for that? I felt myself bristle up, and I felt this urge to make sure this girl knew who I was, and what I was capable of. I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. I wanted to makes sure that she knew (that they all knew) that I could do this just fine on my own.

Pride.

STOP!

In a matter of seconds my brain was throwing so much at me, and I immediately thought “Seriously right now? Would it really be so bad to have a partner in this? Are you really going to get angry that that’s what she wants for you?” Sure, it’s not what I would have chosen to pray for, but I don’t even like asking for prayers for myself, so who am I to correct her on what she wants to pray for, for me? And really, what is so wrong with the idea of having a partner in this? Yes, I am cantankerous, and I wear my independence around me like an armor of barbed wire. I often wonder if there is any man who will ever be able to get close enough to break through, and in that wondering I think I convince myself that I am (and always will be) happier alone, because it’s easier than saying I want more and facing disappointment if it doesn’t appear… But, wouldn’t it be OK if he did appear? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone hold my hand through this; to have someone sit behind me as I scream my way through labor? Would it really be so bad to have a daddy for my child?

So, even though it isn’t what I would have chosen to pray for, and even though there was a stubborn side of me that took it as her questioning my abilities (and that pride that I didn’t even realize I had recoiled at the mere implication that I may not be able to do this on my own) I stopped my mouth from spewing venom, and I forced my heart to recognize that what she was wishing for me wasn't so bad. I sat silent (and awkward) as the entire group focused all their prayers on me (such a weird feeling for me; how had this night turned into “all about me” night?) The whole prayer was about me finding my “mate” (yes, that word was used… over and over again. It made me think of the monkeys at the zoo who hump each other with no regard for who may be watching. Wait… that doesn’t sound so bad!), and I tried to make myself feel those words. I realized though, that the problem with praying for me to find a mate, is that I may not exactly be all that open to it. The idea scares me, and the process doesn’t sound fun. I like my life. I like my quiet and my independence. If my “mate” came along, would I even give him the time of day?

So before I went to bed last night, I found myself saying a complimentary prayer. I asked God to open up my heart, and to tear down my walls. I begged that if he was going to put my “mate” in front of me, that he would force me to see him. I pleaded for the ability to welcome love into my life. I’m not saying that I can’t do this on my own, because I am here to tell you that if it comes to that; I will be just fine. Maybe I just realized that knowing I will be OK, and recognizing that it would still be “better” to not do this on my own, are two concepts that can coexist. I can still know I will be just fine on my own, but all the while be praying that I won’t have to prove that. So, I prayed for my “mate”.

Crap. Does this mean I’m dating again?

Can You Guess?

This is a picture from inside my shower:

Can you guess what I un-intentionally washed my face with this morning?

Awesome.

Also, I went to work with 2 pairs of underwear on. Seriously. I went to the bathroom mid morning and realized I had 2 thongs on. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why it happened. I just know; that it happened.

No one will ever accuse me of being a morning person.

And the award goes to...

Me?

Didn’t see that one coming!

I’ve been nominated for a few blog awards in the last few weeks and I’ve let them slide for a handful of reasons:

1. Because I still can’t believe people are reading my blog. When I started this thing it was going to be my outlet and the way to get myself through this, but I never really thought too many people would be all that interested in my journey. Sure, I figured I’d snag a few infertile's here and there (because we are a group that likes to commiserate!) but I was never prepared for the outpouring of warmth and sweetness from total strangers. I still forward the comments that give me goose bumps to my dad! Still… I write far too much by all blogging standards, and I touch on subjects that most people probably don’t care to know about. I just never expected much to come out of this; let alone the friendships I have formed. So, getting nominated for (and accepting) a blogger award feels… weird. Maybe even a little awkward. I don’t know; that’s the best way I can explain it.
2. I have too much to say (clearly) and couldn’t bare giving up venting space to accept an award… what if I had something really pertinent to say that day?
3. Most of these awards are accompanied by a series of questions you are supposed to answer about yourself, and I don’t do well with things like that. It feels too constrained, and I find myself wanting to bust out of the mold and type profanities… Not normal. Part of this has to do with the fact that I can’t look at a questionnaire now without thinking about all the medical questionnaires I’ve had to fill out in the last year (all the ones where I have had to hack through my “partners” information… Sometimes I just want to put something really witty there, like “Prince Charming has yet to appear… Think someone from the nursing staff could set me up on a date with sperm donor number 136 who supposedly looks 80% like Ben Affleck? If we could make that happen, I'd be happy to put him here!”) I know it’s silly, but questionnaires make me cringe now.

But, I’ve realized I can ignore the kindness of my blogger buddies no more, so I’m going to do this, but I’m totally going to break all the rules and do it my way!

First, the ladies who sent so much sweetness my way:

1. 
   
   
   

   Yoga Savy with “Live Laugh Breathe Yoga” nominated me for a happy101 award. Her blog reminds me to breathe when I often forget. She is on an incredible journey of travel right now, and leads a life focused on peace that I am often envious of. I kind of love her because she thinks my blog is “happy”, which makes me smile, because I think it is too, but… I know there are some naysayers out there who would call it angry. You just don’t get me, but Yoga does!
   
   
   
2. 
   
   
   

   Donora over at "Pinklets" nominated me for a Best Blog Award. This girl was one of the first “strangers” to comment on my blog, and her words were so kind and heartfelt that I was literally crying reading them. Since then, she has become the person I look the most forward to hearing from when I post something new, and I LOVE reading about her ambition to become a counselor since that was, at one point, my dream as well. She is good, and kind, and warm, and I never thought I could grow to adore a “stranger” as much as I adore her. I’m pretty sure she’s my blogging BFF!
   
   
   
3. 
   
   
   

   Robin at "Lolidots" nominated me for a Beautiful Blogger Award…. Yeah, OK, I’ll take that! ;) I mean, I am getting hairier from the Lupron, and I did just start buttoning my pants again, so if someone wants to call me beautiful... I’ll take it! Seriously though, this girl is a RIOT, and I love hearing her thoughts/views/opinions on just about anything. I think she is just so well spoken, and not afraid at all to go against the grain (which I so admire). She’s pretty much a rock star in my eyes… I want to be just like her
   

OK, so the next set of rules for most of these things is that you are supposed to nominate a few bloggers as well. Well, I’m not going to do that, for so many reasons:

1. I am so new to blogger land, that I would nominate the same blogs over and over again!
2. I would have no idea who to give what.
3. By picking someone, I am invariably leaving someone out, and as the girl last picked for every single sport her entire life (I lack coordination and that whole hand eye thing), I hate the idea of that. But, there is also no way I can list everyone I read.
4. I really just wanted to make another list!

But, what I will do is give you a brief list of some of the blogs I follow with religiosity (not counting the women above, who are all some of my favorites!) This is by no means all encompassing, just the first few that came to my mind and are worth checking out!

1. Laura from "Blogging From Bolivia" takes the most incredible pictures. They make my heart skip a beat when I look at them, and I now want to go to Bolivia.
2. AKD at "Little Footprints". Her daughter Madeline was born premature at 21 weeks on July 7, 2009. She now navigates the minefield that is feeling that loss, combined with the hope, anticipation, and fear that go along with finding herself pregnant again. I admire her courage, and even more her ability to say exactly what she's feeling, even when those feelings aren't so pretty.
3. Mama M. at "My Little Life". This lady is just so real, and such a great writer, that her tales of her day always put a smile of my face. Plus, she has the most adorable little ones!
4. j at "Smile Laugh of Die". She’s a preschool teacher… enough said. Her tales from the trenches regularly have me peeing my pants with laughter! She is going to be the most amazing mother when her time comes!
5. Mel at "Stirrup Queens". Every infertile has heard of this site (and if you haven’t; head there NOW!) and the wealth of information and kinship there is incredible. I still haven’t been able to weed my way through all of it, but… it feels like home.
6. Kim at "The A.R.T. of Baby Making" I’m a new follower of this one, but I LOVE her style (she incorporates photos so much better than I do! Actually, she has the whole "blog design" thing down so much better than I do... OK, all these ladies do. I'm a juvenile when it comes to the visual aspects of blogging!) She often says exactly what I am feeling, and she and her husband are preparing for their first trip down IUI lane right now. I can’t wait to see her photo of her BFP plastered across my screen.

So my friends, there you go! That’s the best I can do, sorry for being so late and breaking all the rules! Maybe you’ll think twice before giving me an award again! ;)

How Did He Know?

Today was one of those days; you know, those days when I wonder if the hormones aren't affecting me more than I care to admit. I woke up angry at the world, and could have thrown my alarm clock across the room if it hadn’t been just out of reach. I showered bitterly, and then aggressively gulped down my protein shake, thinking to myself the entire time “Why can’t I just have a fatty cheese bagel?”

It continued throughout the day; this fury at everything in my way. I knew I was still hurt and sad; but I don’t handle hurt and sad so well. It makes me feel weak, and I am not great at feeling weak. So instead; hurt became anger, and anger became rage. I was mad. Mad at him for caring so little. Mad at myself for caring so much. Mad at this life for striking me infertile and alone. Just mad.

As I drove home from work a woman cut me off, and for a split second I had the urge to rear-end her. I immediately caught myself and thought “Where did that come from? I don't do things like that! Heck, I don't think things like that! That would just be stupid!” But, I did want to hit something. I was that frustrated. I just felt so... raw.

As I was pulling into the garage Syrah called and asked if I wouldn’t mind helping her wrangle the kiddos at the grocery store (IV was at school). I knew I could use the distraction, so I readily agreed. As soon as I pulled up to her house little man was there to give me a big smooch and tell me he had been waiting all day to play with me. That right there was all I needed to start thawing out the icyness that had formed around my heart throughout the day. This little boy will always love me, I thought. This little boy will never throw my heart away. We trudged off to the grocery store, and already I felt better just being around my best and her two perfect children.

Not 5 minutes in to our outing, V needed to go to the bathroom. This is why Syrah needed the extra hands; because managing him and her 7 week old while trying to also get the grocery shopping done is a bit much to ask of any woman! I gladly took him, and left her and E.K. to shop.

We found the family restroom, and little man crawled right up on the toilet like a big boy. He sat there for a minute quiet, and then he looked up at me and said “Auntie… when are you going to have a baby?” The funny thing about this question is that it’s the second time he’s asked it in the last two weeks. Syrah and I have no idea where it’s coming from, because it’s not like we really talk about my situation in front of him; and even if we did, he’s 3. How much of it could he possibly even comprehend? He must just have babies on the mind because of his new little sister. That, or he knows more than we give him credit for.

I started to tear up a little bit, and said to him “I don’t know monkey. When do you think I’ll have a baby?” He didn’t say anything. He got up, flushed the toilet, pulled up his skivvies and pants and walked over to the sink… still silent; still contemplating (he really is such a little man, thinking out his words so carefully.) That’s when he turned around, looked up at me and said “Tomorrow”, as matter of factly as he could be.

And that’s when it hit me: I am going to be a mom. That is all that matters. Nothing else can hurt me. No man, no disappointments… nothing. I am going to be a mom. My favorite little boy told me so. And yes, maybe his timeline is a little off, but... he's 3. Give the kid a break!

I swooped him up and held him tight and said “Thank you little man. I needed to hear that today. I love you.” To which he replied, “I love you too. But…” He paused for half a second and placed both hands on my cheeks.

“You’re still going to come over and play cars after you have a baby, right?”

How did he know exactly how to make me smile, on a day when and no one else could have?

That Just Happened

* A quick note before we begin today’s tale of bad behavior: I was given the opportunity to write a guest post for a fellow 20 something blogger about love horrors. Obviously, that is something I have plenty of, and I didn’t even have to think twice about what story to share. Most of those near and dear to me know this story from almost 5 years ago (and it’s one they consistently beg to have retold), but all of you lovelies just finding me in blogger land have never really seen this side to me (mostly because I drink a whole lot less now!) Before I give you the link though, I am going to give you the disclaimer that it is of a sexual nature, it is completely humiliating, and it is a bit graphic. The faint of heart (or simply those who have no interest in reading about my sexual misadventures – a.k.a. Dad – Don’t go anywhere near it buddy. I’m warning you; you do not want to see this. No man needs to know a story like this about his daughter. Don’t say you weren’t warned!) probably shouldn’t head that way (and my feelings will not be hurt at all! I don’t want anyone having to read about what a total failure at life I was at 22 unless they can do so with an open mind and with the thought process that at least it’s a good laugh now!) But, for those of you who, after reading this little disclaimer now only want to read it more, here is the link. It (combined with today’s anti-love story) may give you some insight as to why I am still single (and probably always will be)! I love how she gives a disclaimer that it’s a long post, but worth the read. That was actually some of my shorter fare! Do you guys need me to make disclaimers for all of my posts, or have you gotten used to the fact that I am practically incapable of doing “condensed”? Ha!

So, on to the mistake that was last night:

Last night, I did something bad. Very bad. In my defense, Akon made me do it.

I was working on the book (my chapter for the week that is nowhere near finished… I’ve been looking for distractions this weekend for some reason), and I had my iTunes playing on shuffle (standard protocol). I have a lot of music, so for me to hear the same song with any kind of regularity is odd. That’s why it caught my attention when Akon’s “Right Now (na na na)” came on for the 3rd time in one day.



A brief history on the meaning behind the song: Back at the end of October 2008 things with the ex were moving along very fast and we got into our first real fight. It was all a bit much for me to handle (having never been in a real relationship) and it was when everything with my health was just starting to make itself known; I bailed. You have to understand, up to that point he had been incredible to me. No one, in my entire life, had ever been so good and open and caring towards me. It was crazy for me to walk out, but I couldn’t handle everything at once. I was overwhelmed and I panicked. A few months passed and I realized what an idiot I was. That’s when we started on the very long and arduous path to seeing if there was something there to save. That’s also when Akon and his little ditty were being played on every radio station at least once an hour (small town = not a huge variation in radio play). For me, it became my song for us. It became his ring tone on my phone, and every time I heard it playing on the radio I turned the music up full blast and sang my little heart out. It was my redemption song; Akon offered me hope.

We had a long year from there, with a lot of ups and downs. I never doubted that we would get back together; maybe he did. Either way, we were getting closer than we had been in a while and even spent time together in Seattle when he was living there for work. I had hope. I thought I could rely on him.

When everything hit hard after my second surgery, he was my first call. I was drugged out and broken down and all I could do was cry. That was the last time I ever really heard from him. When he has seen me in public since, he has acted as though nothing happened, but he disappeared. No more phone calls, no more returning mine. Gone.

I was angry, obviously. There was that little flipping him off incident, and I haven’t heard from him or seen him since (a little over 5 weeks). Anyway, I’ve been working on this whole forgiveness thing, and I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of guy (I thought) he was. I’ve been realizing that he just couldn’t handle the intensity of my situation, but that that didn’t make him a bad guy (there are days when I can't handle the intensity of my situation.) I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want our relationship to be, and if I really want to have this anger towards him (I don’t), and so for a few weeks now I’ve been toying with the idea of extending an olive branch and at least saying “Hey, I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work out, but how about we at least try to be friends?” Every time I’ve thought about it, I’ve backed down. Mostly because I didn’t feel like that was a directive that should have to come from me; but then, there was Akon for the third time in one day. I’m a big believer in signs, and I thought to myself “Why can’t forgiveness begin today? Why can’t I be the adult who chooses to sweep the yuckiness under the rug and move forward?” I thought I was prepared to do something so out of my character; forgive someone who had hurt me.

But, I had to do it my way. No sappy bullshit. I would be witty and sarcastic, and he (knowing me, and my sarcasm) would get the point and all would be well. After all, this is a boy I used to be able to banter with for hours. He used to love my wit.

So I thought about it for a second, and then I texted:

Me: Do you remember how bad I am at ping pong?

10 minutes passed; I was nervous. Had I miscalculated? Would he just ignore the text?

The Ex: Ya I remember… You suck!!!

Relief. That was where I was hoping he would go with this (I really do suck at ping pong. Both his kids used to kill me at it. Ping pong is brutal.)

Me: I know, huh! The thing is, I was just thinking about it and I remembered how bad you were in bed and it made me feel better about how bad I was at ping pong. At least we both sucked at something, you know?

OK, before you jump down my throat: The man does not suck in bed. In fact, he so the opposite of sucks in bed that it becomes OK to joke about him sucking in bed. He and I both know that he does not suck in bed. It actually makes me sad to remember just how much he does not suck in bed.

The Ex: Ya i know!!!!!!

OK, good, he’s playing along.

Me: I mean, I suppose at least I can get better at ping pong, so if we were comparing failures in life (which of course we’re not) then it would appear that I’m in a better boat than you are; but of course, we’re not (not competing for who sucks the most at life that is – because if we were, I think it’s pretty clear that you would win).

The Ex: Ya whats up?? Having a week moment? And want to bring me with you?

Weak moment. He meant to say weak moment. I shouldn’t correct his spelling now though. That would be wrong.

Me: No, I’m actually doing really well. No weak moments here! Just figured it was time to let you off the hook for being a total waste of space as a friend (and probably even human being). Don’t do it again.

Perfect, I thought. I’m pretty much a rock star (in my own mind at least.)

The Ex: Do what again? Leave you hanging.

Crap. I knew where he was going with this. This was about to come back to me leaving him over a year ago. Let’s forget about the fact that there was a lot of work done in between now and then; that I’ve apologized more times than I can count and literally done everything in my power to get him to forgive me. Let’s even forget the fact that the difference was that when he bailed on me I had just had my world cave in on me and had reached out to him to stabilize me, meanwhile when I bailed on him, he didn’t even kind of protest or act like he cared at all until months later. There was no way I was going to let him thwart the blame here (for something that happened just a few months ago) and turn it around on me and something I did 15 months ago (yes, I am now officially counting it as though it is a child that hasn’t yet reached 2. Every month counts here. It’s kind of like saying I’m 15 months sober. I haven’t done a single thing to hurt any boy (but especially this boy) in 15 months; in fact, I’ve gone out of my way to be there for him in every way imaginable, and I’ve put myself out there over and over and over again to make sure he knows how much I care. I am on the wagon damnit!)

Me: Yeah, you know, the whole disappearing act when my entire world is falling apart and I could at least use a friend. Not a cool move dude, just for future reference.

He doesn’t respond. An hour goes by, and he doesn’t respond. He was supposed to apologize. He was supposed to thank me for my understanding. We were supposed to have walked away from this at least being able to be pleasant to each other in public. How had this happened? I had been so close there at one point, hadn’t I?

These questions led me to do the unthinkable. I texted him again an hour later after no response (who have I become?)

Me: Especially since, when I bailed on you I at least had the balls to TELL you that’s what I was doing. But, you know, we already established that I suck at ping pong and you suck in bed and if one had to choose between the two, they would probably prefer to suck at ping pong, so therefore we have established that I am the cooler one between us, and as such I just figured I should let you off the hook for said uncool move and let you know that I still could use a friend; albeit a friend who recognizably has the emotional capacity of a 5 year old!

Yes, I really do send text messages like that. Yes, I recognize it’s completely abnormal. I can’t help it. I write exactly what I’m thinking, even if it is in a text message. And text speak and misspellings drive me nuts. I’ve been known to dump guys for less. Which proves even more that I must have cared about this guy if I kept him around; we are on entirely different texting levels. Actually, I’m pretty sure no one is on my texting level. I’m pretty sure I take it too far. I don’t care.

Ten seconds later I had another thought.

Me: Also, I’m writing a book and it’s about every man I’ve ever slept with. You probably don’t want to be on my bad side when I get to the chapter about you.

Zing. I was again patting myself on the back. That will make him laugh for sure, and then we will be fine. I should join the United Nations and work on spreading peace across the world. I clearly have a gift for it.

The Ex: Hey I dont have time to read book wright now ill do it tomarrow.. I got someone that wants my cock!!! Later.

This is where I realized that he was drunk (DUH! It’s Saturday night. Just because I no longer have a life, doesn’t mean everyone else has suspended theirs too. What was I thinking?) This was also where my feelings got hurt and it was no longer fun to banter back and forth. Two seconds later:

The Ex: Ya ok im making my own book now and don’t have anything about a scared 25 year old in it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, he really put that many exclamation points. And yes, that’s when I realized that that’s what this had all been about. He was still punishing me. Still, 15 months down the road. All of this had boiled down to the fact that he wasn’t about to be there for someone who had hurt him; someone who he had loved and saw a future with, and who had bailed on him. He was never going to forgive me, and when things got tough for me, he was never going to consider sticking around. As far as he was concerned, that was his perfect opportunity to hurt me back as badly as he thought I deserved.

Me: You’re a dick and I hope you get Chlamydia.

There. Done. That just happened.

He had a few beauties roll in after that (one of them even asked me if I missed him), but I ignored them all. I was angry at myself for trying to forgive; angry at him for proving to me that I never should have. I should have left well enough alone. I should have recognized that any guy who would abandon me like that didn’t deserve a spot in my life.

* Note: no text messages were altered for spelling and grammatical errors. I really am that anal, and he really is… not.*

We are dysfunctional at best, and I am a moron at the very least. Why did I even try? What was the purpose? Now I was just all angry again and left wondering… what happened to that thoughtful man I fell in love with? How did he become a person I didn’t recognize?

I woke up this morning still upset and jilted. I couldn’t figure out how everything had gone so downhill. Hadn’t Akon given me a sign? I started to get ready for church, but then decided I just wanted to stay in bed. Yes, I stood God up because I was upset over another man. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to earn some brownie points to make up after that one.

He called a little after noon. Akon started blaring out of my phone, mocking me. I starred at it for a moment, debating whether or not to just ignore it. But then I figured “Hey, he’s calling. Give him a chance. Maybe we can still clean some of this up.” Wrong.

The conversation basically started with him stating how he wasn’t wrong at all because he had just done exactly what I had done to him. He was still justifying; still comparing the two; still punishing me. I got upset, and I told him everything I was thinking. I asked him how, after everything we had been through since then, he could still keep going back to that. I asked him how he could care about me so little that he wouldn’t even call to check on me when he knew I was hurting. His excuse there was that he had asked other people to do that for him, and he had. His mom and his sisters rallied around me, and I was forever grateful for their support, but… I wanted him. I had called him. I tried to explain that to him; tried to explain how badly I had needed him to just pick up the phone and at least tell me that he couldn’t be the man in my life, but that he cared about me and hoped it all worked out. I explained how badly I had cried over his absence, how shocked I had been that he could just walk away like that without even telling me that was what he was doing. I fought back the tears, and I tried my best to explain it all. He just kept saying “I don’t know what to say.” Until finally he said “My daughter’s calling me, I’ll call you right back.” I haven’t heard from him since. I won’t hear from him again. I realized that in the last year anytime the conversation has ever gotten heavy this has been his excuse to get off the phone, and then he doesn’t call back. The man cannot handle heavy conversations. I almost wish though that he would just say “I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel guilty, and I don’t care about you. You got what you deserve and I’m glad you are hurting. Now, I’m going to get off the phone because I’m sick of hearing you whining.” At least that would be honest. At least that would be real. What kind of a 35 year old man makes an excuse and says he'll call you right back, when in reality he has no intention of doing so? It’s just… lame.

I didn’t finish my chapter this week. I was too bitter and hurt and upset (both with him and myself) to work on being all witty and funny and introspective with Operation: Fall In Love. I’ll be a chapter behind. Whatever. Instead, I sat around the house, caught up on my DVR, clipped coupons, and cleaned up my bill pile. I only cried a little bit, and only at the grocery store. It was just for the brief moment in aisle 3 when I realized that nothing I ever said or did was ever going to fix this (and that it was pathetic how I kept duping myself into believing this guy was someone he wasn’t) that I started to break down a little bit. But then some man came over and tried to comfort me, and I was angry again. Who did this guy think he was? I mean, yes, he had a nice smile and charming green eyes, but I am SO OVER charming green eyes. He was probably totally faking the nice guy act (aren’t they all?) and what exactly made him think that what I really needed right there, in that moment, was some MAN coming over to comfort me. A man had caused this. A man was to blame for me crying while starring at the miracle whip. The last thing I wanted was this man touching my back and asking if I was OK. I glared at him until he went away.

I got in the car to go home, and just as I was pulling into my garage, this song came on:



I sat in the car and listened until it was over. It was like it was speaking to me. It was like it was the two of us speaking to each other. It could have been our story. I thought to myself “Now there’s your sign.” (yes, it’s possible my head was doing its best Bill Engvall impression).

I walked upstairs, sat on my bed, and deleted him out of my phone. This game was officially over, and I was officially done. There was nothing left there to save.

Then, I got on my laptop and I deleted Akon. Akon had given me false hope. He had tricked me into believing that all could one day be good again. Akon was full of it. I don’t want to make up Right Now (na na na).

As a matter of fact Akon, you and I? We’re through right now (na na na).

Do you know how much I paid for you?

I’ve been reviewing all of my financial forms from the clinic today, and coming to terms with just how deeply this is all going to hit me. Sometimes I think about the cost of IVF (with a sperm donor – don’t forget about that! Every time I remember how much sperm costs I want to kick my previously skankier self for not being more efficient with that stuff back when she had ready access to it!) and I start to freak out a little bit, but today I came up with a silver lining (because there should always be a silver lining). I’m pretty sure that the cost of having a baby is going to, in and of itself, result in one of the best disciplinary tactics ever known to man. Think about it. And then picture me using these zingers when my little one misbehaves:

“Do you have any idea how much I paid for you? Now go clean the kitchen and earn your keep.”

“You cost mommy an awful lot little monkey, and if you don’t start behaving I’m going to ask for a refund.”

“Yes, I know you want that (insert name of expensive futuristic toy here) for Christmas, but unfortunately mommy still owes a pretty penny on your life. You’re just going to have to be happy with books this year.”

“I understand that you want a new car for your 16th birthday, but do you know what? Once upon a time I had the choice of buying myself a new car or buying myself you. You just better be thankful I chose you, because I really wouldn’t have minded a shiny new car either. Now, go get a job and buy yourself a car. I’ve already spent plenty just bringing you into this world!”

OK, so that last one may be going a little too far, but you see where I’m going with this, right? I’m fairly sure it could have implications for years to come. Should be classic parenting at its best!

I pretty much can’t wait.

Ain't No Reason

It’s been an odd day, and I’ve realized that everything my little fingers have typed has been riddled with errors; be it e-mails, work proposals, or my baby name articles. Actually, I think the baby name articles are to blame here, if we’re being perfectly honest.

You see, I signed on to write ten 400 word articles (something I could pretty much churn out in my sleep; in fact, limiting myself to 400 words is proving difficult!) All 10 articles have a pre-assigned theme. Most are fairly generic; names inspired by nature, or by colors… you get the picture. But, there were a few that were a bit out there; Vampire baby names, Evil baby names, and Elvish baby names. I had fun with the Vampire baby names, mostly because I am not going to lie about my love for Twilight. I am generally a bit ashamed to admit it, because I did get into the books at the urging of the ex’s 13 year old (which is really what makes me feel like I am too old to love them), but I’ve read all the books twice… please don’t judge, I read grown-up books too! So yeah, Vampire names were fun. But then I started in on Elvish names today, and let me just tell you: I had no idea what that even meant. I had to get online and do some research first, only to discover that it is an entire language based on Tolkien’s books. And when I say entire language, I mean entire language; complete with its own syntax and pronunciation rules. People actually learn this make believe language, and then speak it to each other... For fun! I’m not knocking it; I’m actually impressed. I always struggled with foreign languages. The only reason I passed in high school was because my Spanish teacher was a perv, and in College I took 3 semesters of sign language (I figured that was my best bet) and managed to walk away from it remembering only how to say “pink taco” (because the idea of signing “pink taco” from across a bar made the roommates and I laugh) and “soda pop” (because the sign for that was amusing). OK, I remembered a few other words which I taught to V before he learned how to talk (nothing more adorable than an 18 month old signing “please”) , but actually conversing was beyond me. I had real issues with the grammar rules (or lack thereof). I wanted to be able to sign “I am going to the park this afternoon” (just as a for instance), but really all you are signing is “I go park afternoon”. As you can imagine, I consistently found myself wanting to correct my deaf instructor. I still don’t know how I passed with a ‘B’.

So there I was; learning all about Elvish today, and marveling at these people who actually choose to learn it. When it finally came time to write the article, I found myself looking down at my research every 5 seconds for guidance on how to spell a certain name, because it certainly didn’t sound how it was spelt. After that, my spelling and grammar were jacked for the rest of the day. I looked over a few quick e-mails and forum comments I posted, and am appalled at all the errors. I think it is going to take me a good 24 hours to un-discombobulate my head, so for now I am going to leave you with one of my all time favorite songs (and a perfect description for how I’ve been feeling lately).



If Brett Dennen weren’t such a goofy looking kid, I'm pretty sure I would make it my life’s goal to trick him into being my baby daddy!

The lyric that makes me laugh and want to high-five him the most? “I don’t know why I say the things that I say, but I say them anyway.” Ditto Mr. Dennen; Ditto.

Music rules my life.

I would just like to point out...

Remember way back (a few weeks ago) on New Year’s day when I proudly proclaimed my goal to be a mommy and all the little goals I had built up to get me there? Yes, that obsessively long and tedious list of things I wanted to accomplish in order to feel ready. Well, it occurred to me that some of you may be wondering how I am doing with said goals.

That whole not being able to button the pants situation? Yep, that’s under control! I’m 2 weeks in to eating like an Olympic athlete, and can officially button my pants again (insert huge sigh of relief here!) I definitely still have a few months of kicking my butt into shape until I am a lean, mean, baby making machine, but it feels good to at least walk around with the confidence one possesses when their clothes actually clasp together as intended. I still haven’t been able to convince myself to add meat, but I’ll get there. I’m thinking I may just give it a few months to get used to the idea!

The writing situation? Well, it’s gotten a little out of hand. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and watched television (and anyone who knows me knows this is not normal!) All I want to do is write. The book is churning along, although I am catching myself wondering if it’s going where I want it to go. I’m determined not to give up on it though, and I have been diligently completing my chapter per week. I’m going to finish it, if for no other reason than to say I did. Then, if it doesn’t become what I want it to be I’ll start on book number 2. The point of this little exercise was to actually finish a book though, so I’m just going to see where this takes me. I still have no idea how it’s going to end, but I’m hoping that comes to me as I progress.

And last night? Last night I was awarded my first job on Elance! It’s not a ton of money, but it is money! I am going to be paid to write 10 short articles on baby names (how ironic is that!) It will be the first time anyone has ever paid me to write anything. I was so excited that I immediately picked up the phone to call my dad and tell him that I was practically famous, just to realize when it went to voicemail that it was 11 p.m. where he was… OOOPS. Sorry dad!

Now you may find yourself asking, "Sure, that's all well and good, but how are you doing on saving money?" Well, let me just tell you, I haven’t gone out to eat in 3 weeks (not even for lunch) and I haven’t bought any expensive toys. I haven’t even paid for a massage, and I’ve really wanted one the last few days. I’m feeling rather deprived because I am used to spending at will, but I am pretty proud of myself. This is the longest I’ve ever gone sticking to a budget (and yes, I realize that makes me pathetic!) I’ve had mixed results with the coupons. I’m finding myself stocking up on non-perishables just because there are coupons (not because I actually need them – but because I figure at least now they will be there when I do need them), so I’m sad to say my grocery bills have actually been higher because I’m buying things I don’t necessarily need (at least not right now). And Sunday, I picked up a newspaper for the coupons, and I only clipped one 50 cent coupon out of the entire thing. It kind of felt like a waste, but we will see. I am not giving up.

The roommate is moving out on February 1st, and was completely cool about it. I am getting really excited because I haven’t lived alone in almost 7 years. I am already having visions of all the things that room is going to become, but I am trying to convince myself that turning it into a nursery before I’m even pregnant is not the best idea ever (think Charlotte in Sex in The City). I will be patient, but it will be hard! In the meantime; if anyone comes to visit Alaska, I've got a spare room!

And finally, today, I got a brand spanking new laptop at work! It kind of felt like Christmas. Or, like I’m a real grown-up with a stable job that isn’t going to let me go any time soon because if they were they wouldn’t have just spent so much money on a new piece of equipment for me!

So go ahead and score a few points for column baby my loyal readers!

Some days I actually feel like I am going to be able to do this.

Surrender

There's something you should know about me: I am a control freak. I am one of those people who truly struggles with working in a team environment because I like to do everything myself. It's not that I don't think others will do something "right" it's more that I question whether or not they will do it how I would do it. And even then, it's not that I think my way is the best way (or that I in any way delude myself into thinking that I am better than anyone else), it's just that I know what I want and if my name is on something I want it to be my way. I have always been this way; in the professional environment it typically works well for me because people are generally happy to hand over the reins if it means less work for them, but in school (where teamwork is forced and everyone must prove they contributed) I'm sure you can imagine it was a struggle. I was forever frustrated when I would do my work, just to discover that someone else hadn't done theirs (but had come supplied with 1000 excuses.) I would be angry, feeling like if I hadn't dropped the ball when I was juggling 100 different things myself (20+ credits and working at a bar most nights), why should their excuses mean anything to me? I was a pretty serious student, and was always baffled by those who weren't. I can still remember the anxiety boiling up inside of me every time a teacher announced a group project. I am ashamed to admit that I once even tattled on another student. I had done all the work after he had failed to complete any of his tasks, and then when we stood in front of the room to give our presentation, he had taken over. I was dumbfounded, and having never been great at speaking to an audience of my peers, I was also shocked into silence. So, after the presentation I pulled the horrendous act of marching up to the professor, proclaiming all the work as my own, and providing her the documentation to back up my claims. I wound up with an A, and he received a C, and you know what? I felt justified.

I’m pretty sure that alone makes me a not so great person, and it is something I have tried to tone down in my adult life (after all, no one likes a tattle-tail.) Still, I am definitely one of those people who likes to believe that I have complete control of my life. I like to pretend that if I work hard enough, try diligently enough, and believe for long enough, that I can accomplish anything. Of course this has bitten me in the ass on more than one occasion when my well laid plans have fallen through and I have had to force myself to realign my vision of the future, but I still do it. I still plan for months (if not years) in advance and convince myself that I can bring my plans to fruition if only I make the right moves.

There was a lesson this week in my bible study that had to do with Surrendering. I realized that I am almost incapable of surrendering any facet of my life to anyone, even God. I thought about it for a moment, and the things I was willing to surrender and those I was not. I could surrender my job situation, my relationships with friends, even my love life (because let's face it, I'm pretty sick of worrying about that myself and wouldn't mind so much if the big guy took over on that one from here on out.) What couldn't I surrender? A couple of things, but mainly two very distinct areas: My family and my fertility.

We have already discussed my inability to forgive. I struggle with it daily. I love the idea of being able to hand that over to God and saying “do with these feelings what you will”. I really do love the concept of letting it go, but... I just can’t. I thought about this a lot today, and even tried to convince myself to just hand my anger and indignation over. You know what happened? I could practically feel hands squeezing tightly around me to hold on. I literally can’t release it. I won’t let myself. I am afraid that if I release my anger, than the people who deserve it will be off the hook. I’m afraid that everyone else will forget what happened, and that those things that damaged me so deeply will be wiped away. I neglect to focus on the fact that they would also then be wiped away for me; all I can think about is how they will be wiped away for the people who hurt me. All I can focus on is how they don’t deserve that; how they will never deserve that.

Surrender

It’s even deeper in terms of my fertility. I never thought I would be here. I never thought I would be one of those women planning for single motherhood because it was her only choice. I always thought I would easily be a mother when the time was right. Having that taken away from me has changed me; it has made me fierce in terms of my determination to carry a child. I almost can’t hand those plans over to God because, what if God's plan doesn't match mine? What if he messes it up? I realize, I am completely sacrilegious in having that thought, but I had it, so there! I know God has a plan. I know that no matter what, in the end, everything will have served a purpose. Still, I simply cannot imagine the purpose behind my not being able to conceive. I received a comment yesterday from a woman who was telling me she could relate to me, and went on to explain the 2 years it took to conceive her daughter, and the miscarriage and still birth that resulted after years of trying for baby number 2. She had nothing but good things and positive thoughts to send me in her comment, but I couldn't help it; reading what she wrote had me balling at my desk. I literally lost it. All I could think was "what if that happens to me? What if this IVF round doesn't work? What if it does, and then I lose the baby? What then?" I read these stories a lot. I don't know if it is something to do with Endo that makes carrying a baby to term riskier, or if it is just our own fears that lead to less than healthy pregnancies (due to stress). I'm not sure what it is, but I keep hearing about all these women who try really hard to get pregnant, only to lose the baby in the end. It terrifies me. The thought of not being able to conceive (or worse being able to do so only to lose it) is enough to leave me rocking back and forth in a corner with my arms wrapped tightly around my chest trying to hold the pieces together (Bella Swan style for all you Twilight fans out there!) And this is why I can’t surrender that to God, because I’m afraid he won’t get it right. I know that’s wrong, and I know that whether I surrender or not, God is going to get his way, it’s just that thinking about this turning out any way other than how I have it planned makes me fall to pieces a bit, and I can’t afford to fall to pieces.

Surrender

In my bible study we were given prayer partners; a woman in the group who we are supposed to call at least once during the week to encourage and support. I still haven’t told any of these women what I’m going through. I can’t really explain it, but forming those words just seems so difficult. I’m not ready for them to know these details of my life yet. I can see them looking at me funny when everyone has prayer requests but me, but I just can't open up... not yet. Anyway, at the beginning of the group last night my prayer partner said she had an announcement, and then gleefully revealed that she was pregnant. Her first. I was the only one in the group who didn’t immediately jump forward with the congratulations. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I was left there thinking “Seriously God? You paired me up with a pregnant girl for the next 3 months? I had a hard enough time being around my best friend when she was pregnant, and she was my best friend! Now I’ve got to listen to this stranger gush every week about the joys of pregnancy? Am I being punked?” It was then that I realized (in the midst of my deep scolding directed towards God) that I was silent, and this poor girl was expecting my congratulations. I instinctively cooed all my support; told her how exciting it all was and feigned true joy for her. I knew I was being selfish. I knew her being pregnant didn’t make me any more or less pregnant. I knew I should let go of my jealousy and just be happy for her, but…

Surrender

I got sucked into a debate today regarding the bibles views on homosexuality. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get involved. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't help it. After seeing the bible twisted and turned every which way to make homosexuality an evil and impure act, I actually started to feel guilty for poking fun at my lesbian mother yesterday, because I realized that things like that don't help the problem; they only exasperate it. The thing about me though is; I poke fun at my life. Period. I make fun of myself more than anyone else ever could; I try really hard to find the humor in my circumstances. Sometimes my mother being a lesbian becomes the butt of those jokes. Sometimes it's funny (especially when some moron makes a homophobic joke in front of me and I turn to them [all hurt and offended] and say "My mother's a lesbian." Shuts them up every time, and then I walk away laughing and thinking "If only the dirtbag had any idea that I haven't spoken to my mother in 13 years! Sucker!") But, I want to make it perfectly clear once and for all that I think intolerance is simply ignorance, and no one has the right to ever condemn another for their sexuality. I was involved in this debate today, and I felt myself getting more and more heated. Bible verses were thrown out, and righteousness was handed down like the gauntlet. I found myself wanting to scream. The bible is vast and all encompassing. You can read it cover to cover 100 times and still miss something. There are several areas where the interpretations contradict themselves or where God makes exceptions. If you go to the bible looking for excuses for hatred, you are surely going to find them, but I cannot believe that was its intended purpose. God does not make mistakes, and homosexuality is not a choice. I really wish I could force everyone to see the documentary "For The Bible Tells Me So". It includes theologians from a wide variety of sects who all talk about how the original interpretations of the bible don’t refer to homosexuality as evil, or even as a sin. They simply call it something along the lines of “abnormal”, and the reason it was abnormal was because at the time the population had been decimated due to disease, war, and famine. It was necessary to procreate, and so homosexuals weren’t as common. That doesn’t mean that they didn’t exist (homosexuality dates back as far as any writings we have), or that they were looked down upon; they just weren’t the norm. One of the women involved in the discussion said that if you believed in evolution it was contradictory to then say that homosexuals were born the way they are because they can't naturally reproduce so they serve evolution no purpose. You can imagine how well I took that one. My mother naturally reproduced just fine, I'm the one with plumbing problems. I am straight and have a serious penchant for green eyed boys, yet I can't reproduce naturally and she could. Explain that. Homosexuals can reproduce (yes, even naturally… they do have all the necessary parts), and there are a ton of straight women who can’t. Not to mention, medical advancements have made it possible for almost anyone to reproduce (even a straight single woman with completely jacked up insides like myself, thank you very much!) and I personally think that there is something amazing in that. God performs miracles every day, even in ways you wouldn’t necessarily think of. I think medical advancements of any kind are huge miracles, and besides any of that, this was simply the worst argument I have ever heard. It kind of made me want to punch someone.

Surrender

I cannot control anyone but me. I can’t force people to be less hateful, and I can’t require tolerance. I can’t ensure I’m going to be a mother, and I can’t make my past simply disappear from my mind. I'm trying to surrender. I'm trying to give him control of these things I don't want to relinquish and trust in his plan. But... every time I do this tightness envelops my chest and I feel like I can't breathe. I find myself thinking "Now wait a minute... I'm willing to do this, but only if you promise me it's all going to turn out exactly how I want it to. If you can't keep up your end of the bargain buddy, no deal!" I'm fairly sure I'm missing the point.

God and I have been having a lot of serious talks lately about my expectations for this life. I can't be positive, but I'm pretty sure I've been hearing a lot of laughter from his end.