I done screwed up.

Apparently I'm not very good at this "knowing what my doctor wants me to do by reading his mind" thing.

The last time that I took Provera I took it for 5 days, per his instructions, then had the HSG test.

At our last visit he told me to take the Provera again to bring on the bleed (and having only taken it for 5 days before I thought that was what I was supposed to do again because I don't know any better) and after a week and a half and only three days of very light spotting I finally called his office because  I figured it was time for the The Lady In Red to act more like a spoiled houseguest than one that didn't leave any messes behind.

(I know, gross.)

The nurse was super nice and told me very kindly that I am basically an idiot.

(Ok, fine. She didn't call me an idiot. She was very comforting and told me it would be okay and not to cry and it can be fixed and she will ask the doctor right now and sweetheart honey pie you'll be okay but all I heard was "YOU IDIOT".)

I was supposed to take it until I started bleeding or for 10 days and wait two weeks.

I really don't want to have to wait for this semi-cycle to finish.

I cannot believe I did this. I feel so stupid. And frustrated.

FUDGE NUGGETS.

Update:

The Lady reared her ugly head this morning! Yay!

I'll be ovulating when my husband is out of town. Nay!

C'est la vie.




(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

I drank the physical therapy kool aid. And then I cried.

I went to Physical Therapy today for my back and side. I'll admit I was very skeptical that it was going to be of any benefit because hullo, it's OBVIOUSLY a tumor causing all this pain and not just weak muscles.

It was helpful.

Someone (finally) listened to me and helped me.

That? Rocks.

And made me hurt so bad that I teared up.

That? Sucked.

BUT. I did feel kind of good after it was over.


(I know! Someone pour me another glass of kool-aid, please? It will help the bitter taste of being wrong go down easier. Until the tumor comes back, natch.)

As I walked out of physical therapy with a spring in my step (ok, maybe a rusty spring) I overheard a woman talking on her phone. Loudly.

Ok, annoying, right?


(Yes, I can see all of you are nodding in agreement.)

She was complaining about not being able to find someone who was supposed to wait for her and went ahead and she can't find her now and blah blah blah.

Turns out the person was her grandmother, who was standing in the hot sun under a tree, leaning on her walker.

She called out to her that she was going to get the car and the grandmother responded.

Then, as she walked directly behind me, almost all the way to my car, she started to (again, loudly) mock her grandmother to whomever she was talking to on the phone.

I don't know if was the endorphins from the exercises or the fact that my hormones are all over the place or that it was just really freaking rude but it upset me.

I wanted to turn around and shake her and say "Do you know what I would give to be able to talk to my grandmother one more time? DO YOU?"

But I didn't.

I just cried as I walked to my car.



(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

Happy Easter.

Now get off my lawn.

This is the first Easter in 11 years that I have not trekked through our home to hide eggs for the kid to find.

There are no more Easter bunny pictures. (Or Santa or any other creepy guy in a costume pictures.)

She's too old.

I'm 11, mother. And way more mature than you.

(It's true.)

The demand is still there for the candy. And the Easter basket filled with goodies.

(From both of us.)

She spent the night at her grandparents house because our house is a mess. Extreme Home Makeover could have built five houses in the time we've had to lay down these floors. We are going to try to finish up the floors and trim this morning and then head over there when she wakes up and it's past her "don't talk to me I just woke up" grumpiness.

So probably around 3.

I'm a tween, mom. I like to stay up late and sleep in. Gah.

In other news, my throat hurts, my back hurts, my side hurts, and I have cramps.

Lovely.

(A shout out to my Mom for going shopping for the Easter basket goodies because I was so pathetic yesterday that I could barely stand for five minutes even though I found the power to drive the kid across town for vocal lessons and then drive her to my parents house and then drive back home. I had to take a two hour nap after that.)

Happy Easter, y'all.




Note: for my new readers...there are sometimes swears on this here blog...but I do try to make it tasteful because if I don't then I get a phone call from my mother asking me if it is really necessary that I use the "f-word". I usually respond to her by giving her the "Seriously, Mom? I've heard you say that word before" look and then I realize she can't see me through the phone so I actually say it.


(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

IComWeLeav Smörgåsbord.

I know realize that I should have done a welcome post for those of you stopping in from ICLW.

WELCOME!

Was that helpful?

No?

Let me try again.

¡Bienvenue!

Välkomna!

Bienvenida!

Ok, enough shenanigans.

You can read about me here.

---

Because many of you who are also struggling with infertility here's a little about that...

I was recently diagnosed with PCOS but looking back, it's so obvious I've had it forever. I'm kind of amazed I accidentally got pregnant in college (I know, I was one of those people. I'm sorry. Forgive me?). She's the best part of my life and I wouldn't have it any other way. She would love a sibling and we're trying to work on that. I must admit, it's a little weird when she asks me if I've started my period and if I have then asking me if I would possibly consider adoption? She's on a schedule and she wants a sibling. STAT.

---

I'm sick. Again. AGAIN. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. I get sick all the time. I may start wearing a mask all the time because I'm so tired of being sick and tired.

---

Our floors are still not done.

---

I might be crying.



Smooches.

Infertility. That's what this post is about.

I have started reading a lot of infertility blogs and am still figuring out what all the acronyms mean. I've got to be honest, it's like reading the classifieds, like, in a real newspaper. I think they still have those. I wouldn't know. I get all my news from radaronline.com.

BFP BFN TTC HPT OPK OMG.

This here is my Blog. This Blog is about my life. My life now includes Infertility. I hope you keep reading. But just in case reading about how thick my uterine lining is kinda grosses you out I promise to always preface my posts about that with IF.

This week should be called IF: When Will The Lady In Red Appear.

Seriously, when will she?

This is our first round of Clomid. I'm supposed to start taking it on Day 3 of My Lady's visit. I took the Provera last week (ended on Thursday) so soon, yes?

I'm anxious to get this party started.



Yeehaw!



(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

Defeat, I admit it.

I've done okay posting everyday for NaBloPoMo but the time as come for me to admit defeat. There is too much going on for me to stick with the pressure of having to post something interesting every day. Or even something uninteresting.

The kid is sick. Again. I missed work. Again. My backed is effed up. Again. And I'm convinced I have a tumor on my left side and none of my doctors seem to be concerned and it's frustrating. Again.

My to do list is still not to done. Again.

Naturally that means watching more of The Office on Netflix. Again.



MEGA DESK!!!!!!!!!!!



Smooches.




(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

Comedy Central, here I come!

I had a fun day at work today.

I spent my morning putting together a power point presentation for a roast we did for a coworker that is leaving.

I could share what I did but a lot of it was inside jokes and probably wouldn't make sense to anybody but the people who know that person. And even then, maybe not. I'm pretty sure that me and the person were the only ones who got any of the pop culture references.

Like Hipster Cat, for example.

About 15 minutes before I was about to go on I got a call from my kid's school that she was running a fever and had a stomach ache. My parents came to the rescue. Thank goodness for them or else I may not have been able to make my comedic debut.

Look out Lisa Lampanelli.

I hope you had a good Monday, too.

Cheers!

P.S. The kid is sick and probably won't go to school tomorrow which means I won't go to work which means I'll be up all night making up for both the work I should have done today and the work I need to do tomorrow. This is my life.

P.P.S. I'm so lucky.

(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

I've accepted that this is my life now.

Because this is how I spent my entire day, nay, weekend. And also how I will spend my next weekend and the weekend after that and the...SOB.

I'm calling in sick to Blog today.

Cheers.

(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

Still not to done.

I accomplished nothing on my list today. And I injured my wrist at the movie theatre through a series of bizarre actions which involved my kid, a cup of soda and an armrest. Oh and my shoes.

It took me ten minutes to write that because of the pain.

Do you see what I'm willing to do for you, Internet?

Here is a picture for you to enjoy.

Cheers.




(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

To do, not to done.

I have exactly 18 things on my to do list and all I've done is, um, write this. And play solitaire. And watch hours of The Office on Netflix.

Among the things I need to do is plan our vacation that is in four weeks, pick up the curtains that have been at the dry cleaners for the last two weeks, buy new dress pants to replace the raggedy ones I am currently wearing, schedule an appointment with my doctor to figure out what is causing this sciatica pain I have in my left side, work on the flooring project that will NEVER EVER END and get groceries.

That's just the top half of my list.

Back to Netflix. And solitaire.

Cheers.



(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

I might be sleeping on the couch tonight. The one that is in the garage.

I dented the floor.


I.

Dented.

The.

NEW.

FLOOR.

ME.

Remember that my fridge was now in my family room?

I told my husband that it would be fine there all week.

What I didn't expect is that after three days of not being able to watch TV downstairs that the kid and I would really get tired of just going upstairs every night to hang out in my bedroom.

So I did the responsible thing. I got cardboard. I got the kid to hold it and I managed, with my terribly effed up back and lack of upper body strength, to get it on the cardboard.

She pulled the cardboard while I carefully pushed it.

I checked the floor and there were no scratches.

I swear there was no damage.

Tonight I dropped something on the floor and when I bent to pick it up I noticed that the tape was
messed up.

Then I noticed it had long scrapes across it. It was dented.

In several places.

Where I had pushed it across the floor.

I may have cried.

The kid said that we should just tell my husband that she did it because kid's always do stuff like that and he won't get mad if it was her that did it.

I considered it for a minute...but then I decided that I wouldn't be a Very Good Role Model if I didn't take responsibility for my actions.

DAMN IT.





(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

Now is not the time to let go.

As I have stated before here I was pretty upset a few weeks ago because I was not allowed to accompany my eleven year old to get her vitals and medical history information taken during a visit to the gynecologists office.


As I said I would, I filed a complaint with our health care provider.


I received both a written letter and a personal telephone call from the grievance coordinator. She expressed her dismay about how the situation was handled and told me that she had a daughter a year older and would have reacted the same way. It felt nice to know that I was not over dramatizing the situation (as I am apt to do, natch).


I'm glad that someone took the time to really listen and investigate. I'm ambivalent about the fact that the people who treated us poorly are going to be reprimanded. I feel vindicated that I was correct and that the privacy laws and rules they were citing did not apply to minors. But most of all, I'm happy to know that they are putting measures in place to insure that this doesn't happen again.


I've learned a hard lesson too -- the next time I'm in a situation like this I will not back down or compromise. Concerned about privacy? Take us to a private room. Following a law? Show me. It's your procedure? Make an accommodation. Continue to be a bitch? Then give me your supervisor. Still no help? Time to go.


I know that there will be a time when my daughter won't want me or need me to go with her to the doctor. I know that I need to prepare her now so that she will be able to answer medical questions on her own.


But now is not that time.

Je convoite: the peacock feather rug.

I know that it seems insane in the membrane that when one spends almost an entire month ripping up carpet and replacing it with beautiful wood floors and is still not done that one would then want to buy rugs to cover such beauty.

But we have things like this to contend with:


When my husband pointed out another like mistake I told him, "don't worry! I'll put a rug there, too!"

He responded with, "I have a beter idea. Let's put rugs everywhere! We'll cover the entire floor in them! I think they have a name for that...it might be...carpet?"

And then he had to be rushed to the emergency room because I stabbed him with my eyes.

He redeemed himself today, with this e-mail exchange:

And, 15 minutes from now, I will purchase said rug. Because it is beautiful. And I've wanted it, like, forever.

Peacock Feather Rug from Pier1 Imports.

Bisous.





(Originally posted on my other blog, but now, brought here, to you, by magical elves. You're welcome.)

BONE TIRED.

I'm so tired the bones in my toes ache.


A word of advice to new parents: teach your children from infancy how to sleep on their own or else when they are eleven they still will ask you to come and lay next to them because they can't get to sleep and it is 11:45 p.m. and you both have to get up in six hours so you will forgo any arguments and stumble to their room to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the edge of a bed (or worse in this case: a futon) clinging desperately to your pillow for fear that you are going to end up on the floor. And just when you think it is safe to get up and go back to your bed it isn't. It never, ever is. 
Also, sometimes, you won't be able to sleep on YOUR own and you will find yourself crawling into their bed in the middle of the night. Just like that creepy mom in that book. You know the one. (I love her. I am her.)
---
The three words that I hope people use to describe me are: pretty, witty and bright.

The three words that my kid chose to describe me are: stubborn, beautiful, (a) pain (in her butt). She (rather reluctantly and hastily) added that I was also a very nice friend and mother.

Nothing to see here, folks. I'm just a mom. Doing her job.
---

Happy Monday to you and yours.

Cheers.

It's the project that never ends. It just goes on and on again.

All day.

This.

Hope you had a more relaxing Sunday than we did.

Listerine and milkshakes do a body good.

I woke up to the sound of my husband diligently pounding the wood ... floors.


When both the guilt and the noise made it too hard for me to go back to sleep I got out of bed. And fell to the floor in pain. My back is still mad at me.


But being the Good Wife that I am, I ignored the pain and put on my apron so I could whip us up some breakfast. It was weird to go into the restaurant with an apron on but duty calls!


After I had our vittles in hand, I decided to do a quick run through the Starbucks drive through to get coffee. 


My "quick run" turned into 20 minutes because apparently I didn't get the memo that you can now buy merch at the drive through.  The lady two cars in front of me purchased a travel mug, six $10 gift cards, 1 $5 gift card and an adorable little Starbucks teddy bear.


Uh...seriously, lady? GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF YOUR CAR AND GO IN. (I said to myself after ten minutes.)


I finally made it home and then what did I do, you ask?


The same thing I've done every other weekend, Pinky.

I TOOK OVER THE WORLD.


After two hours of hard labor, I (reluctantly...uh, NOT) had to leave as it was time for me to take the kid to voice lessons.


When she asked if she could bring one of the dogs with us I said,"Sure!" and followed it with, "Let's take both girls!".


I am blaming this apparent lack of judgement on all the wood glue I've been sniffing lately.

They whined. They barked. They whined and barked. They barked and whined. They took horrible
photos. And a few good ones.

I barely made it home with my sanity intact. After a few pain pills and a shot of tequila, I was back in business.


During my first break I was so proud of myself for playing the word "gonad" against my husband in Words with Friends.


During my second break I yawned and my dog licked the roof of my mouth and I spent 10 minutes rinsing the shame away with listerine. I got no sympathy from the Internet. Or my husband. 


During my third break I had a donut. Because I DESERVED it.


During my fourth break I laid on the floor and sobbed. Because it will never, ever be done.


During my fifth break I rinsed again with listerine.


During my sixth break I contemplated life whilst staring at the bright light.


And on my seventh break I went to get In-N-Out for the family because our refrigerator is currently in our living room and the kitchen is unusable and that is my story and I am sticking to it.


I tapped out about 10 minutes ago.


He's still going strong.


Which means I'm going to have to be a Really Good Wife tonight.


Probably.


Smooches.

Bright, sunshiny day.

Living in Smog City means that there are only a few precious times of the year when the sky is crisp, blue and full of fluffy white clouds. It's so rare to see such lovely skies that sometimes I forget I am surrounded by majestic mountains. One time (at band camp) after I first moved here I was driving to work and got lost because I found myself on a street that had a beautiful mountain behind it. I knew it wasn't there the day before and it wasn't like mountains just come and go as they please. Right? (They don't. But the smog? Blech.)

You won't hear me complain when the rain starts because after the rain leaves? Hellooo blue skies!

This week I took about 15 pictures of bright skies and pretty clouds. There would be more but sometimes a pesky little thing called Driving and Not Turning Your Car Into A Thousand Pound Murder Weapon makes it difficult to snap pictures.

I get mad when people don't appreciate the beauty that surrounds them. Every time I stop to smell the proverbial rose I think of The Color Purple, by Alice Walker: "I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it." Amen, Shug.

My kid and I were in the car and I turned around the corner and we both exclaimed "oh, pretty!" at the same time.

I immediately pulled the car over to snap the picture below.

And I whipped out my notebook of Winning Parenting Moments.

Appreciate nature's beauty?

Check.

Working for the weekend.

If I never see the inside of a home improvement store it will be too soon.

Which means sometime this weekend it will be too soon.

I still haven't recovered from last weekend but my desire to cover the concrete floors that greet me each night must override the pain.

IT MUST.

I will not give into the pain that radiates from my back to my knees to my ovaries.

I'm a poet.

And I know it.

So, that's it.

My weekend will be much like the last three.

Expect more abstract instagram pictures of my lack of progress and lots of begging you on Twitter to play Words with Friends so I can pretend the notifications are Very Important Texts From Real Work that I Must Attend To Immediately.

Until tomorrow,

Cheerios.

Wishing.

I wish that things were different and that I could be the one to stay home to take care of my kid. I wish I could lose weight and get pregnant and that my kid didn't have to struggle with being different and that the wood flooring would lay itself throughout my house and that I could clean a la Mary Poppins and that I was independently wealthy.

But like my grandfather used to say that you can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.

(Hint: it's brown. Usually.)

Needless to say I'm still very weepy today.

It is kind of hard to focus on anything.

All I can think about is how to make those wishes come true.

And don't involve me committing a felony.

Obviously.


Maybe.

Smooches.

P.S. How are "smooches" and "poppins" not in my spell checker???

Working mom guilt.

As a working (outside of my home) mom I have to rely on other people to take care of my daughter.

Sometimes it doesn't work out.

And the panic, frustration and guilt of having to find another provider sets in.

Sometimes it does work out.

And the panic, frustration and guilt of having someone else take care of my kid sets in.

Either way I feel like I'm failing her because I am the mom and I should be the one taking care of her.

This is really all I can write today because there is no more.

Selah.

Feelings.

I am feeling a lot of things right now.

I've been mulling over a conversation I had with the AP at my kid's school and the more I think about it, the more I get really pissed about some of the things she said.

I'm still angry about how we were treated when I took the kid in to get examined because of some severe symptoms she is experiencing related to her lady parts. I know there will come a time when I need to let go. Now is not that time. I filed a grievance.


I don't file grievances, Internets. I like to avoid conflict at all costs. You bring me the wrong thing at a restaurant? That's okay. I can eat it. Even if it has mushrooms in it and mushrooms make me gag.

I'm appalled that after I described the kid's symptoms and how it was impacting her quality of life (missing school at least 2-3 days a month) that the RNP said she had never heard of young girls experiencing this and her advice was essentially "to take two aspirin and don't call me ever again about this" when my fertility doctor (I'm getting my $$$ worth, people) told me that she had all the textbook symptoms of a particular condition. His advice was basically the same (pain meds, vitamins, and herbal stuff like essence of the earth mother or something like that) it was good to have a name for what she is experiencing. I will do anything to prevent some of the issues she has, like um, FAINTING and VOMITING.

I'm tired. And my back hurts. Forever and ever, amen.

I'm excited to start taking the clomid. The kid and I are now addicted to A Baby Story, Make Room for Multiples and Bringing Home Baby. I don't even have room on my DVR for Real Housewives anymore.

I'm frustrated that it is 10:25 p.m. and after several warnings that the tweenager is STILL UP and despite having SEVERAL HOURS to do ALL THE THINGS SHE NEEDED TO DO she has just decided to take care of them now AND complain LOUDLY about EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD.

And, it's ALL my fault because I won't let her stay up now to do whatever it is that she needs to do that is so critical that if she doesn't do it right this second THE WORLD MAY END EARLIER THAN EXPECTED.

I'm a horrible mother.


Not.

I'm happy that my biggest problems are the ones that I describe here because I know they could be so much worse.

I'm thankful. For yesterday. And for today. And tomorrow.

Ok, I'll stop getting all emo on you.

Cheers.

Hard like a Monday morning.

The only thing that sprouted today was another pain in my back.

I fear that I will be living in a construction zone until September.

Friday:



Sunday:



We're only half way done with this room and still have the kitchen, family room and a bedroom to do.

And now, I cry.

11 minutes.

I have 11 minutes left in this day to get a post up to meet my goal of posting every day.

Challenge: ACCEPTED.

Today was busy. I spent the first part of the day dealing with tween angst then the second part of the day on my knees laying our wood floors.

Thank goodness for my Mom.  She helped us out by taking the kid to her voice lessons and then over to her house so we could continue our projects.

But oh my back. It hurts.

We have family visiting from out of town and they are staying with my parents. My mom made dinner for everyone so we went over there to eat and also to collect our kid.

We were there for about 5 minutes when my kid came downstairs to get a band aid for a small cut on her finger. Just as I was finishing putting it on her she told me she was dizzy.

She gets dizzy a lot but that is a story for another time.

I told her to go sit down.

As she was walking to sit down she seemingly tripped and fainted at the same time. Her chin on the table, her head hit a chair and she landed on her back.

That?

SCARY.

We gave her dizzy medication and some food and tylenol and an ice pack.

We got home, watched about a million episodes of A Baby Story and I am now trying to convince her to sleep on an air mattress in my bedroom so I can listen to her breathe all night long.

I have four minutes to do a quick spell check and publish this bad boy.

How was your day?

This is about my lady parts. You have been warned.

Today we had our follow up visit with our fertility doctor.

Our tests were all normal and confirmed what I thought all along. My problem is that I don't ovulate.

Those active little guys work so hard to get home only to find that mama didn't make any eggs.

Again.

What can I say?

I don't like to cook.

I've got my marching orders as well as a few little pills (clomid) that are going to get things cooking.

We have a 60% chance of getting pregnant with my condition and these little helpers and an 8% chance that we could have twins.

I'd rather think about it as a 40% chance of not getting pregnant and a 92% chance of not having twins.

Because, twins?

Baby Jeebus Take The Wheel.

All I want is one little sprout.

With a side of ranch.