It Was A Dodgeball Massacre

If I had to describe last night's game using just one word, I would choose: Ow.

Ow, my jammed thumb.

Ow, my pulled shoulder.

Ow, my FACE (I took two ridiculously hard shots directly to the face, hard enough to send my glasses flying both times, within about 5 seconds of each other).

Ow, my pride.

My team didn't stand a chance. In the minutes before the game, while my teammates talked and stretched and bullshat each other, the other team ran around the court with knees high and practiced organized throwing drills with a few footballs. We watched them with interest (all right, more like fascination) and thought, "Hm. This doesn't bode well."

The other team picked us off the court as if they were shooting fish in a barrel. They had several intimidatingly strong throwers (two of which hit me in the face) and they sent the balls flying at us at honestly frightening speeds. It wasn't nearly as fun as last week's game, when we actually stood a competitive chance. We were entirely outranked, and plenty disheartened since our competitors obviously didn't belong in the social league.

It was fun enough, though, and it was better than sitting at home, not playing dodgeball, especially since our Internet connection went kaput (it's back today, obviously).

I'm currently waiting for the love of my life to rouse. Today is the 2nd anniversary of our elopement, but we don't have much planned other than seeing a couple movies and cleaning the house in preparation for tomorrow night's party. We've got the next few days off and I'm looking forward to a long weekend filled with love, friends, and sleeping in.

Here's a link to this month's Pregnant Lady Quiz (the twins edition!) in case you missed it..

Happy Friday, everyone. Any weekend plans?

A [Not So] Brief History Of Passion

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted badly to be a mother. Some little girls want to be dancers when they grow up, some little girls want to be revolutionists, some little girls want to be Mensans, and some little girls want to be the best athlete/writer/doctor/fire fighter that they can be. I wanted to be quite a few of these things at one time or another as a child; but I changed my mind about as often as I changed the barrettes in my hair. The one thing I never changed my mind about or doubted was that I wanted to be a mother. There was no doubt about that, ever.

Like many teens, I became sexually active while still in high school. Unlike enough teens (unfortunately) I immediately took responsibility of my sexuality; weeks after losing my virginity, I started on the pill (and stayed on it for almost a decade). I made my appointments for Pap smears and STD screenings every 6 months, and I did all that I could to help my friends do the same. I helped a few of my peers make appointments with the clinic and then drove them there; I compiled all the information I could find about safe sex, pregnancy symptoms, and STDs on inconspicuously labeled floppy disks (remember those?) and distributed them to my friends; I took as many condoms from the free clinic as I was allowed and gave them out to anyone who asked; and I even showed a friend the proper way to put on a condom using an empty wine bottle as a prop. I was known among my friends as the go-to girl for information and advice about safe sex. I would help anyone that needed help, and I would do it without judgment.

I always practiced what I preached, but as I got older and entered committed relationships that I thought would last forever (I'm grateful that they did not, and my husband might be too), a little voice inside my head started to complain. She was getting a bit antsy, with all this sex and none of the pregnancy. But she understood that the time was not right, and it would not be fair to me or any child I had to jump the gun. I wanted badly to become a mom, but I did not want to be a teen mom.

College was more difficult. By then the little voice was not quite as impatient, as I was in a long-term relationship that I was pretty sure would end in marriage [Insert silent prayer of thanks here for that relationship's dismal failure], but she was starting to become paranoid. What if something were not right with me? How could I be sure that I was capable of pregnancy? How could I be sure that I would not have a miscarriage someday?

Back then, miscarriage was a bogeyman to me. It was this beast that lurked deep in my mind, and I was sure that if I ever saw its face, I would not survive the encounter. I had the naive privilege back then of believing that miscarriages were these rare anomalies that only happened to women that had something wrong with them. It terrified me.

In my early twenties, that voice once again began to get impatient. I was not a child anymore, I was not a teenager, but the situation was still not right, dammit! My boyfriend was dragging his feet on the marriage thing (praise Zeus!), and as I started to realize that our relationship was a mess that could not be salvaged (which happened around the time that I realized that his drinking habits were like not your typical college binge drinker, but much more insidious), that little voice inside started to despair. Nothing was happening like I always thought that it would. I had waited, patiently, and the time was still not right.

Surprisingly, less than a year after breaking up with the alcoholic, I met an amazing man. He was so amazing that I broke my vow to be single for a while so that we could date. So amazing that we were married less than a year after we met (on a Tuesday!). So amazing that even though he snores and hogs the bed at night, I love him with all my anxious little heart.

Anyway, after I got married, the little voice inside that for years had only whispered and whined started to yell. I wanted to start trying within a year of our wedding. He wanted to start trying significantly later. It was something we fought about regularly - the only thing we really fought about. When we bought a house of our own, that little voice evolved into a full-fledged banshee. We finally came to an agreement; we would start trying after Christmas.

I got pregnant in November, a month before we were supposed to start trying. I can't really call it an accident, as we had gotten lazy with the condoms (but if you can't have spontaneous unprotected sex with your spouse, then who can you do it with?), and I would never call it a mistake. But it was unplanned. And intensely joyful. And entirely too short.

About a month or two after the loss, I encountered a feeling that I had never once imagined possible. I did not want to be pregnant. I was terrified of the very thought. And rather than being a relief, it was devastating. My one faithful desire, the only thing I have ever been sure of in my life...was gone. I was unsure. I didn't know who I was without it.

This might all seem a bit silly. But everyone has their passions, and while there are people who would be quick to dismiss mine because it's "only" motherhood, I can assure you that the passion I have always had for being a mother is just as valid, just as alive and organic, as some people's passion for music. Some people have a talent for dancing, and they need to dance to be happy. I have a talent with children, and all I've ever wanted to do was raise a couple of my own.

Time healed my uncertainty. It may have happened gradually, but it sure didn't feel that way. One moment I didn't know what I wanted; five minutes later, after listening to this song for the millionth time and having yet another good cry, I did. It was an astonishing relief.

And now here I am. For better or for worse, I suppose.

------------------

My chart looks a little different this cycle. I'm on CD8 and today is my highest temp of the cycle so far, and hopefully it just continues upwards. On my other failed cycles, my temperature peaked at CD5 or CD6 and then it was all downhill from there, tanking around CD9 or CD10. It might not mean anything, but then again, it might. It's different. I know what my chart is supposed to look like and this one has just been different, even pre-ov. Hopefully different means good.

I'm waiting until Saturday morning, when I'm on CD12, to test. I have a date with the stick after my daily romantic interlude with my thermometer. And I'm nervous. I hate seeing those stark white negatives. I hate wishing to see something that will not be there. I hate thinking Yes? and being consistently told No.

I hate putting my hand on my stomach and wondering, Are you there? and being told, time and time again, There is no one here with you.

Bad Dreams

Marcus doesn't have to work today, so I got up alone. As I was getting dressed, he mumbled sleepily, "How did you sleep?"

"I dreamt that my brother was dead."

He sat straight up in bed, suddenly awake. "So did I."

I looked at him. "How did he die?"

"He was shot."

I sat down on the bed with him, put a hand on his shoulder, kissed him. "I have to go to work," I said.

"How did he die in your dream?" he asked.

"I don't know. He was killed in the line of duty. I don't know any more than that."

..............

I'm in a bad mood. It's not the first time that I've dreamed about the death of someone I love, and I know it won't be the last time. But dreams like that just make me think about all of the fucked-up, terrible dreams I've had over the years. The ones that are much, much, much worse than the one I had last night. You wouldn't think that there COULD be a dream much worse than that of my little brother, a 22-year-old rookie cop, being murdered...but there are. Oh, yes.

I'm Classy

Me: We have a date tomorrow night.
Him: To do what?
Me: It.

If that isn't romance, I don't know what is.

P.S. There's a new poll up! The winner of the last poll (Do you enjoy answering blog polls?) was "banana."

I Can Spell, Dammit (or is it damnit?)

This is the conversation that followed after my husband read my last entry:

Him (horrified): "Why did you tag it testicular torsion?" Pause. Looks annoyed. "And why did you misspell testicular?"

Me: "It's a pun. About testing. And how it's spectacular."

Him (less horrified): "Well, okay then."

Speaking of testing, I didn't even bother this morning. My basal body temp has tanked and Little Miss Menstruation is almost certainly on her way.

Post Scriptum: Let it be known that I do not actually think that testing is spectacular. It's expensive and, more often than not anti-climactic (for me, at least; my lifetime score is something like 200 negative pregnancy tests to my 1 lonely positive).

Hellcat

We have adopted a new kitten. Her name is Sega, she is approximately 3 months old, and she was almost certainly born of the fiery depths of hell. This is no exaggeration. We didn't realize this when we first brought her home, but several clues and recent incidents have brought me to this conclusion about her nature.

1. She is actively trying to stop my husband and I from conceiving. My poor husband's precious cargo has been attacked more than once since she arrived on the scene. Some nights I've resorted to placing a teddy bear between his legs to act as a buffer while he sleeps.

2. She loves to torture our other cats. Or tries to, rather. You know that cliché scene in a cartoon when a little guy tries to beat up a big guy, but never even has a chance because all the BG has to do is set a hand on LG's head, easily keeping LG at arms-length, and even as LG swings and kicks for all he's worth, he never ever makes contact with BG? Yeah, it's kind of like that. She's fierce but she's tiny, and (for now, at least), most of their fights end up with the big cat looking bored and the little cat trapped under his paw looking furious.

3. She loves to torture me and my husband. Sega has attacked us in the middle of the night by biting our fingers and ears and doing that kicky thing to our heads and faces. My husband once complained that she actually started chewing on his eyelid in the middle of the night. Once I woke up to find her asleep on my face - I'm convinced that this was an effort to suffocate me, but she was unable to do the job properly with her tiny lightweight body. On more than one occasion I've fallen asleep in bed with the spray bottle in hand. For more evidence that she intends to do us harm, also see #1 above.

4. She has a very expressive face. By itself, this probably seems rather innocent. But have you ever seen a robot with a face designed to seem human? The loverbots from Artificial Intelligence spring to mind; their faces and expressions are just human enough to seem familiar, but inhuman enough to creep the ever-loving shit out of you (no offense to Jude Law). Sega's face is like that. I've never seen such an expressive animal, let alone a cat. Charlie has two different expressions and Rocky has exactly one. But I've witnessed a variety of near-human expressions flash across Sega's tiny face, and not only is it fascinating to watch, but it is almost certainly evil and a sign of the devil.

This is our boy Charlie's usual expression, known as Serene Keeper of the House:


This is Charlie's other expression, Love Me Forever:


This is Rocky's expression, Oblivious to Everything Around Him:


And this is Sega giving me the stink eye:


And shamelessly pilfering her brothers' food:


We don't have very many pictures of her yet (she rarely sits still), so I can't yet show you the whole kaleidoscope of evil, but I'm working on it.

There you have it. I am convinced that we have inadvertently welcomed Satan's Kitten into our loving home. I'm off to scoop her litter box* before she decides to slash my tires or leave a horse's head on my pillow.

*I'm not actually going to scoop her litter box. Potentially pregnant ladies are not supposed to do that.

Letter To My Husband

Do you think we'd have been better off never getting pregnant in the first place? I guess I'm sort of wondering if it really is better to have loved and lost, as the saying goes. I guess I don't know if the excitement and the joy I felt when we thought we were going to have a baby was worth the sorrow I feel now. To say that nothing positive has come out of this would be untrue, as loathe as I am to admit that. I feel like you and I have reached a new level in communication, and I think that our relationship in general has been made stronger than it was. And as much as this sucks, and as hard as this is, I'm still alive and I still want to be alive, and I'd always imagined that something like this would spell my doom; so I'm finding out that I am stronger than I knew that I was, and I love my life more than I knew, and this isn't the worst thing in the world that could happen, although it is the worst thing that has happened to me so far. I also think that it's a good thing that we're now on the same page as far as having kids; it was so hard before, when I wanted so badly to start a family soon and you just weren't there with me on that.

But all the silver lining in the world doesn't change the fact that, more than anything, I would rather still be pregnant. I would rather have a second heartbeat inside me instead of the emptiness and loneliness of just...me. Before, I could touch my belly and think about what was there and send good thoughts; now there's nothing but a line, a scar. There's nothing growing, nothing changing. There is nothing made of you inside me. It's just me, alone.

I can't help but think of how you cried when the nurse told us that we were going to have a baby, and how we held each other and smiled and just were amazed by ourselves and what we had done together. Can we be that hopeful the next time? Or will we just be afraid? I don't know. I am trying to see if I still have that excitement in me somewhere and I'm just not finding it. I'm just afraid to have to go through this again, or something even worse than this.

I'm just sad, and I can't stop thinking, and I wish that I could. It helps to be at home, it helps to have something to look forward to when I get off work tonight. But there are so many reminders even there. Last night I picked up the packet of new baby papers we got from Planned Parenthood off of my nightstand and threw them on the floor on the other side, where I couldn't see them. The last time we were in the house I threw away the pregnancy test. There is just all this stuff that I pored over, took pictures of, daydreamed about, and I have to sweep it all out of my house and out of my mind, or at least put it away for the next time, because it's of no use to me now. It's just so hard and nothing will let me forget. Not even for a little while.

I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Love,
Me

The Magic of Science!

Me: "The embryo is super tiny. Like a grain of rice." Pause. "I bet it's wearing a top hat."

Him: "Um, I don't think that they have 'top hat cells'."

Me: "What are you talking about? Stem cells can become anything!"

A Word of Advice for Husbands

There are, among a myriad of other things that you could possibly do wrong, at least two sentences that you should never utter to your pregnant wife, no matter how early in the pregnancy she is:

"I think it's psychosomatic."

and

"You didn't start having symptoms until after you knew you were pregnant."

I shouldn't have to explain that I didn't even know that shortness of breath and nosebleeds were first trimester symptoms until I started having them, panicked, Googled it, and then breathed a sigh of relief. You should just trust me when I say that these things that started happening a few days ago really did just start happening a few days ago. There are going to be a lot of changes, a lot of scary new things happening, and I shouldn't have to worry about whether or not it's really just all in my head. If anything, now that I do know that I'm pregnant, now really is the time to really start trusting and listening to my body.